The Line chapter 4

The lust for power, for dominating others, inflames the heart more than any other passion. ~Tacitus

“So, what was she wearing?” Dean asked from his position on the side of the king-sized bed.

Sam rolled his eyes, putting down the book he’d been reading when his brother had burst in. “I don’t remember.”

“Please,” Dean scoffed, picking up the book and tossing it on the nightstand. “Geek boy or not, you’re still sixteen. Tell me what she was wearing.”

Sam’s lop-sided grin appeared. He remembered every detail, but loved drawing it out. “Black dress. Well, more like an over-sized, skin-tight, t-shirt.”

“Oh man,” Dean groaned. “Show-casing those lovely legs that go on forever, right?”

“Yep,” Sam nodded, enjoying torturing his brother. “It was cut down to here, too.” Sam gestured below his chest.

“No way!” Dean motioned for his brother to scoot over so he could recline back on the bed. His mind easily conjured the plummeting neckline accentuating Syria’s ample cleavage. “Did Sammy cop a look?” He bobbed his eyebrows at his little brother.

The teen’s face reddened. “No!” He said in a huff, but then caved when Dean elbowed him. “Well, a little when she served me my tea. She wasn‘t wearing a bra.” He added gleefully.

“Damn,” Dean sighed in envy. “Was she wearing heels? Those spiky ones she had on last time?”

Sam nodded. “They were red. And she had on that little silver ankle bracelet with the bells.”

“Kill me now.” Dean threw an arm over his eyes. “I could have sent you with Caleb and spent the evening with a goddess, instead of Satan’s son.”

Sam laughed. “You wouldn’t have even gotten to go up to bat, Dean, let alone scored. Duran barely let her out of his sight.”

“What does she see in that dude?” Dean looked at his brother. “So what if he’s got the GQ look. He is by far the creepiest of Dad’s friends.”

“I don’t think he and Dad are friends. They didn‘t seem to be on the best of terms tonight.”

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. “Oh, I definitely could like being friends with Syria, no matter the terms.”

Sam snorted. “I don’t know, man. She’s pretty and all, but she’s kind of creepy herself. Like Elvira, but with less makeup. She kept staring at me the whole time I was there, and all I could think of was how Pastor Jim wouldn‘t let her come in his house. Remember? He made us perform a purifying ritual on the screened porch.”

Dean opened one eye and glanced at his brother. “Dude, as smoking hot as she is, she could be Dracula’s bride and I’d still bang her.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a sap. Romance.” Dean rolled his eyes in mock disgust. “What does sex have to do with romance? If you do everything right, the last thing the woman should be thinking about is hearts and flowers. Nope. I’ll leave that sensitive, poet role to you, kiddo. I prefer to be the direct, physical type. And just so you know, she was probably staring at you, wondering how in the hell I got all the looks in the family.”

“Ah, the truth hurts.” Dean caught the pillow and slung it roughly back at the younger boy. “Don’t feel bad though, Sammy. Some girls dig brains over brawn and sex appeal.”

Sam raised his hand to deflect the blow, entirely bent on retaliating with another strike and a quick insult, but instead found himself caught off guard as a sharp pain lanced through his side. The intensity of it stole his breath and nearly had him doubling over. “God,” He grit out, wrapping his arms around himself.

“Come off it, Sammy,” Dean growled. “I didn’t even throw it hard, big baby.”

The knife-like sensation disappeared as quickly as it had come, but Sam felt his heart-rate speed up, a feeling of nausea creep into the pit of his stomach. “Dean?” He breathed, still not trusting his body enough to sit up straight.

“I’m not falling for it,” Dean said warily. “Look all innocent and shit all you want, but I know how damn tricky you are. I have a few scars to prove it.”

Sam risked opening his eyes, looking over at his brother. His gaze must have revealed a hint of what he had felt because Dean’s face instantly changed, clouded over with worry. Gone was the aloof, bad boy smirk replaced by one of the concerned big brother that Sam had counted on his entire life.

“Sammy?” Dean placed a hand on his kid brother’s shoulder. “You okay?”

The contact gave Sam enough confidence to sit up straight again, take a shallow breath. “I think so.” He said after no other assault hit him, still a faint ache echoed beneath his rib cage.

Dean tightened his hold and forced a weak smile. “Damn. You didn’t eat any of Dad’s cooking, did you?”

Sam smirked. “Do I look insane? I grilled the steaks, but I didn’t feel like eating.”

“Your concern is touching, man.” Sam rubbed at the spot on his side, frowning.

Dean continued to grin at him, although the way his eyes held Sam’s belied the sentiment. “Of course, it could be love sickness.” Dean raised a brow. “You’re not secretly mooning over Syria are you? Like that time with Crystal Holland your freshman year?”

“Hey, I’m just saying…” Dean held up his hands. “ I mean you can talk to me about anything-even your pathetic attempts at seduction , little brother.”

“You‘ll be the last person I come to about love, after that whole kissing fiasco.”

Dean’s smile widened, became more genuine. “I didn’t think you’d actually try it.”

Dean started to reply, started to breathe just a little easier now that the all-too familiar fist of fear started to loosen its grip on his heart, when Sam winced again.

The teen nodded, biting his lip to hold back a verbal expression of the pain Dean could clearly see written on his face.

It wasn’t as sharp this time, more like a steady drumming against his ribs instead of the hot lancing from before, but Sam still felt sweat slick his palms, heard the rush of blood in his ears. “I’m okay,” He said, feeling anything but. The sixteen-year-old forced himself to relax, breathing steadily through his nose. Years of hunting had done nothing if not taught him and his brother how to deal with pain.

“Sure you are.” Dean attempted to reach a hand out and lay it against his forehead, but Sam moved away.

“Then what’s wrong?” Sam heard a bit of frustration in the other boy’s voice and something else-weariness. After all, he and Caleb had probably driven most of the day without stopping. And knowing the two of them any time not on the hunt was probably spent in a bar, instead of a hotel room sleeping.

“It’s nothing. I probably just pulled a muscle or something working out in Mac‘s gym.” Sam glanced to the clock on the wall, amazed that it was almost nine. “Why don’t you go ahead and get something to eat before Caleb and Dad finish it off? I thought you were starved.”

“Sure you did.” Dean continued to stare at him, like Sam was as easy to see through as glass. He jerked his head towards the door. “You going to grace us with your presence? I‘ll make Caleb tell you how he got his ass kicked by three biker dudes, and one really mean chick.”

Sam shook his head, not wanting to tempt fate by moving around too much. “As interesting as that sounds…I think I’ll just try to get some sleep.”

The older hunter held his brother’s gaze for a moment and Sam knew he was being thoroughly scanned before his brother finally nodded and stood up. “You want me to bring you anything?”

Sam smiled, the relief of having the older boy home and acting so Dean-like actually pushing some of his discomfort away. “You offering to serve me dinner in bed, big brother?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “No. I was thinking about bringing you some virgins, instead. Get your mind off of Syria, break that spell she cast on you.”

“Suit yourself,” Dean paused at the door, glancing back to his kid brother. “But if you change your mind, yell.”

The words were teasing, but Sam heard the meaning still. ‘If you need me, I’ll be right outside.’ It was a sentiment the younger boy had come to count on. Dean was always there, always watching out for him.

But as the door closed, separating the two of them, something tickled at Sam’s mind. It taunted from just outside his conscious reach. A voice of uncertainty whispered that there were some things that even big brothers couldn’t protect a person from. The teen had yet to find one, but the ache in his gut warned that there was a first time for everything.