“The Line” by Ridley C. James

Chapter 6.

Dean pushed their bedroom door open and stormed in completely bent on having his way with Syria in a manner he had never before imagined.

She was sitting on the bed, draped close to Sam, who appeared to be sleeping once more, although restlessly.

The dark-haired woman held a wet cloth to the boy’s forehead and when her deep green eyes lifted to meet Dean’s he felt a violent shiver race through his body. “Your brother is very sick, no?” She asked, and Dean stalked towards her.

“Get the hell away from him!”

Syria carefully removed the cloth from Sam’s brow before unfolding her long legs and elegantly standing up. “His fever is high.”

“Dean?” John’s voice echoed in the room, full of accusation, but Dean ignored it as he moved to his little brother’s side, rested his hand against the boy’s head.

“Sammy? Can you hear me?” He let his fingers slide down to the teen’s shoulder, gave it a little shake. “Wake up, Sam.”

"Dean?” Sam blinked, stirred, but winced as he tried to sit up. "What's...going on?"

Dean glanced up at Syria and his little brother's gaze followed his. "Dean?" He said again, confusion and disbelief easily read in his shaky voice.

"Take it easy."

Sam licked his lips. "Am I dreaming?"

"Do you dream of me, Sam?" Syria smiled playfully, reaching out to touch the teen, but Dean intercepted her hand, squeezing her wrist until she pulled it roughly away with a slight gasp.

"Back off," He growled.

John stepped closer to his son's side, keeping a wary eye on the woman. "Sam? Are you alright?"

Sam sent a disappointed look to his brother as if he'd run and tattled about something, before nodding. "I'm okay, Dad."

"What did you do to him?" Dean was still glaring at Syria.

"Dean?" Sam looked at his brother again, this time pushing himself up in the bed. The ache in his side and the dull pain in his head were still there, but he didn't feel as bad as the look on his big brother's face warranted. Something else was going on.

"I don't know what you mean?" Syria replied. "I was looking for the ladies room, and stumbled across Sam instead. He was calling out in his sleep. I have a strong maternal side, I can’t help myself."

The teen's face flushed even further. "Great," He muttered, shooting his father the barest of glances. "What is she doing here?"

"I think I can explain that." Caleb entered the room, dragging a flustered looking Duran with him.

The medium pulled away, "Manhandling is only appreciated when it's foreplay," He scoffed, trying to put himself back in order.

"Tell him." He said glancing from Hughes to John. "Tell him exactly what you told me."

"I was planning on it," Duran gave Caleb another contemptuous glare before facing John. "It would seem that Sam accidentally drank a potion that my lovely Syria concocted.

"Accidentally?" John took a menacing step towards the man.

"Well..." Duran held up his hands, "Syria put it in his drink on purpose, but I assume Sam didn't intend to get himself poisoned."

"Poisoned?" Dean stepped between his brother and Duran's penetrating glaze, shielding the younger boy much like Caleb had done for him earlier. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The tea," It was the slight tremor in Sam's voice that brought all eyes to him.

Dean frowned. "What tea?"

Sam moved his eyes to Syria, who merely shrugged. "She gave me a glass of raspberry tea, when Dad was talking to Duran."

The twenty-year-old's eyes went to the woman's face, and if the bed hadn't been between them he might have slapped the smile from her full, pouty lips. "Is that true?"

Syria smiled. "It's a family recipe." She looked back down at Sam. "It was good. No?"

Dean started around the bed but Caleb reached out and caught his arm. "Wait, Deuce."

"For what?" Dean snarled, jerking away, moving towards the woman. "For Sammy to get worse? I don't think so."

"Dean!" John tried, but his son ignored him.

The twenty-year-old had only taken two steps when he doubled over in pain, both hands clutching at his head. "Ahhh," He cried, dropping to one knee.

"Dean!" Sam tried to scramble from the bed, his sluggish body refusing to cooperate properly, leaving him floundering with the covers as Caleb bent down to help his brother.

"For that, stubborn ass." Caleb growled as he placed a hand on the younger hunter's shoulder and glared at the woman. "Stop it!" He told her, as Dean curled tighter into himself a ragged cry torn from his lips again as Syria's smile grew. Caleb could feel the small tremors of pain coursing beneath his sensitive fingers, easily reading the agony the witch's mental attack was causing.

"Or what?" She challenged the psychic.

Reaves ran through his recourses. He could always strike back, but the bitch had an open psychic link to Dean, which would leave him vulnerable to whatever assault Caleb launched. Syria might have been poorly trained, but her crude methods were effective.

"Or I'll kill you." No one, including the woman attacking Dean, had even noticed Sam's change of direction, until he was on his knees on the bed in front of her, his brother's knife held right up against her lovely throat.

Her green eyes went to his, and her smile faded some. "You do that, boy, and you'll die with me."

Sam didn't flinch, instead he touched the tip of the weapon to her skin. "Stop hurting my brother."

"Do as he says, Syria." Duran sighed. "This is all getting overly dramatic-even for me."

The woman blinked and Dean sagged to the floor. Caleb grabbed his arm and hauled him up. "You okay?"

"Peachy," Dean pulled away, still holding one hand to his head, but glaring at Syria. "But I'll be better when Dorothy drops a house on her."

Sam slowly lowered the knife, his eyes seeking out Dean's. "You're bleeding." He said, not relinquishing his hold on the blade.

The older boy wiped the back of his hand under his nose, surprised to see the smear of red on his skin. "Bitch," He hissed, shooting Syria another look before moving to Sam's side, where he promptly took the knife from his kid brother's slightly trembling hand. "And to think I was going to ask her to the prom."

Some of the worry fled from the younger boy's eyes and he shrugged. "I still think it might have worked out better than Becky Carter."

"You drugged my son?" John turned to Duran, his face twisted in anger. He grabbed the other man by the lapels of his designer jacket and gave him a hard shake. "What kind of fucking game are you playing at Hughes?"

"I'm not playing, John."

"Do you know the penalty for harming one of our own?"

"Sam isn't a hunter," Duran said, matter of factly.

"The hell he isn't!" Caleb snapped.

"He's a boy!" Duran yelled. "He doesn't wear a ring. Jim hasn't bestowed any such privileges to him. He isn't protected."

"The hell he isn't." Dean spoke up, heatedly. “I protect him.”

"By the brotherhood, he is not!" Duran spat. "He is fair game."

Dean started forward but a hard glare from his father stopped him. The oldest Winchester released Hughes. "He's my son. You know you’re splitting hairs."

Duran rolled his eyes. "You should have heard me out at Kline's. None of this would have been necessary. Then your precious son wouldn't have been made to suffer."

"What's to keep us from killing you and the Big Easy?" Caleb demanded.

“Oh, Caleb, surely you know yourself better than that. You’ve had reason to kill me before, but you’re affiliation to this secret club is ingrained too strongly. I fear it is the only thing that keeps you human.”

He laughed and John shook him again. “I don’t have a problem with killing you, Hughes. And Syria’s parlor tricks are no match for Caleb’s abilities you know that.”

"But despite Caleb’s obvious talents, his spell-breaking skills aren't very handy, now are they." Duran's infuriating grin was back. "And even if you were able to find a witch or priestess, without knowing what was used, it would be impossible to counter. Deal with us, or deal with the death of your son. Perhaps you and Mr. Kline could attend a grief support group together."

"Dad?" Dean's voice was filled with trepidation, and John could feel both his boys' eyes on him.

He clenched his jaw and faced Syria. "What did you give my son, bitch ?"

She smiled. "Le feu de sang."

Caleb looked at her. "Le feu de sang," He said softly, the words bringing vivid images of his earlier trip into Sam's nightmare. The blood-the fire. Maybe it was more of a vision than he realized. "The fire of blood." The hunter translated, easily recalling some of his own grandmother's native language.

"What?" Both John and Dean spoke.

Caleb faced the oldest Winchester. "It's French. It means the fire of blood."

"Yeah, we got that." Dean replied. "What the hell does that mean exactly?"

"It doesn't sound good," Sam sighed behind him, and Dean moved closer to the younger boy.

"It'll be okay, Sammy." The reassurance rang hollow even to his ears.

"Basically, it means that your son will die from a very high fever," Duran said calmly. "Kind of like burning to death, only from the inside out." He smiled. "Runs in the family, doesn't it?"

"I'll kill you!" This time it was John's hands around Duran's neck and it took both Caleb and Dean to peel him from the man's body.

"John, stop it!" Caleb growled, wishing he could just turn his friend loose, or even better join him, but knowing that they were in a corner. "He's the only one that can tell us how to fix this."

Finally the hunter released the medium. “What do you want?” He snarled.

Duran coughed, and glared at the other men. “I want you all to stop with this very tiresome cavemen routine. Unless of course you want to run around in some loin cloths, stop touching me.”

“Hughes,” John warned. “I don’t need you healthy, just alive.”

“Fine,” he huffed. “You know what I want. I want Echnon’s Blade. I believe you know someone who has it.”

“That’s a legend.”

“So are werewolves, vampires, and demons,” Duran smiled. “Along with all those other things that go bump in the night. But we all know better- right, brothers.”

“What’s Echnon’s Blade?” Dean asked. Fuck all these games. He’d find the damn thing and give it to the man himself, if it would help his brother. “

“A knife that belonged to a very powerful alchemist,” Caleb supplied. “The myth says that he created it from the iron of his own blood."

"Brains and good looks." Duran nodded his approval, and then smiled in a way that set his cold blue eyes afire. “Funny lot, alchemists. They can change any ore to whatever they wish. But Echnon was especially brilliant. The knife holds all of his power, including the ability to bring the dead back to life.”

“Say the blade is real, and I can lay my hands on it. What guarantee do I have that you’ll give us the antidote or the counter spell ?”

Hughes laid one of his hands over his heart. “Why, you have my word, John.”

“That’s reassuring. Like a rattler promising not to bite you if you pick it up.”

Duran looked at Dean. “So cynical for one so young.” He sighed. “But I suppose I can understand your hesitancy.Just think about it this way . What good would it do for me to have all Mr. Kline’s money, if I was not around to enjoy it. I mean, I doubt that I would live very long if I didn’t hold up my end of the deal.”

“Help Sam now, and I’ll get the blade for you.”

“Dean,” Sam warned, but the older Winchester held up his hand.

Hughes looked from the sixteen-year-old to Dean. “That’s honorable. But although there are many things you could do for me, young Winchester, retrieving that knife is not one of them. Only your father has the contacts to do that- or one specific contact as it is.”

“I assume that you’re talking about Elkins,” John frowned. “But I haven’t spoken to Daniel in years.”

“Yes, but the old coot will come out of hiding for you. He’s as loyal as he is crazy.”

“What makes you so sure that he has Echnon’s blade?” Caleb asked. “Like you said, he’s crazy. Daniel’s not always in the same reality that the rest of us exist in.”

“Perhaps we’ll get lucky and he’ll be on his meds.” Duran grinned at John. “But honestly, I’m not sure he does have it. However, he has made it his life work to find every charmed artifact and weapon known to man or demon. I’d say it’s a good bet he’d know where it is. That is, if it does exist.”

“You’re asking me to bet my son’s life on a wild goose chase.”

“I’m giving you a chance, which is more than Mr. Kline had when his son was taken by that drunk driver.”

“God. You’re an ass,” Caleb growled. “One has nothing to do with the other.”

“My dear Caleb cosmic forces are always at play. Karmatic justice and all.”

“Only in your warped mind, Hughes.”

“How much time do we have?” John raked a hand through his dark hair.

“Dad?” Dean asked, not liking the tone of his father’s voice. It sounded entirely too much like it did when they were working a normal job, and not enough like he was discussing the life of his son, of Dean’s little brother.

“How much time, Duran?” John growled again, and again Hughes smiled in triumph.

“I really do need to start the procedure as soon…”

“I don’t give a damn about your procedure,” Winchester snapped. “I’m talking about the drug. How long until it runs its course?”

“Oh that.” Hughes looked at Syria. “My dear?”

“He will not die right away.”

Dean glared at her. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that the blood fire does not take a life quickly. It eats away at it, a little piece at a time.”

“Meaning, the person suffers.” Caleb stepped closer to the witch. “It’s as much to torture as it is to kill.”

“Voodoo isn’t a pleasant art, Caleb,” Hughes interjected. “But it has its beauty just the same.”

“There’s nothing beautiful about people in pain,” The hunter rounded on the medium. “Unless maybe that person happens to be you.”

Hughes rolled his eyes. “How about we end everyone’s suffering right now. John will go get Echnon’s blade, Syria and I will work on the spell to bind Scott Kline’s soul to the blade and then I will procure a suitable body and Sam will be cured. No more of this dialoguing, as I am growing quite bored of it all.”

“My brother isn’t some bargaining chip.”

“I beg to differ, Dean.” Hughes sighed. “Your father has turned him into a pawn, and unless you want to surrender him to my queen, I suggest you start playing.”

Sam’s hand came up and found his brother’s arm, sensing the building frustration, knowing Dean was on the verge of doing something stupid. “It’s alright. He’s just trying to make you angry.”

“It’s working.”

“Now then, I suppose we should be going.” He turned to John. “I trust that you’ll be in touch as soon as you have spoken to Elkins.”

“It may take some time, Duran. Nothing better happen to my boy in the mean while.”

Hughes nodded, and started for the door of the small guest bedroom. “You will have at least forty-eight hours.” He tilted his head to the other men. “Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure doing business with you.” With that he was gone.

Syria started after him, but Caleb grabbed her arm. “What can we expect?”

She raised a defined brow, tilted her chin so that her elegant neck was exposed. Caleb envisioned reaching out and snapping it as her chilling smile grew. “You don’t like surprises?”

The hunter tightened his hold until it was bruising. “What. Can. We. Expect.” He gave her a little shake to punctuate each word.

Her green eyes went to Sam, and the teen forced himself to hold her gaze. “More of the same. The high fever will drain his strength, cloud his thoughts, bring terrible pain and eventually death.”

Caleb pulled her a little closer to him, lifted her slightly so that she was nearly on her toes. “You know after this is over, there’s nothing to stop us from killing you.”

Syria smiled. “I do not need to be in your little club to feel safe. You are good men.” She said it with more than a hint of disgust. “Good men do not have the stomach for murder.”

“We kill things every day,” Dean pointed out, menacingly, and Syria laughed.

“Cold, dead things, not of this world, yes. Have you ever killed a living, breathing, person, Dean?”

“No,” The twenty-year-old replied, flatly. “But there’s a first time for everything.”

“Yes,” Her smile faded some, and she didn’t’ seem quite so sure of herself as she had only moments earlier. “I suppose there is.”

She looked down at her arm, and Caleb finally released her with a rough shove. “Get the hell out of here.”

Syria slinked a way with only a baleful glance in John’s direction as she was careful to give him a wide berth on her departure. “So what now?” Dean asked as soon as they were alone.

Sam had sank back down on the bed, wearily resting against the headboard. “I’m sorry, Dad. I shouldn’t have taken anything from her.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Dean turned on his brother. “Fuck, Sammy, it was a glass of tea. Who the hell would have thought it was laced with anything.”

“Your brother’s right. I should have known Duran would have something up his sleeve.” John raked a hand across his beard, shot Caleb a look. “I’m going to have a hell of a time convincing Daniel to let go of that blade.”

“You think he has it?”

“Hell yes,” The older hunter grunted. “The old bastard showed it to me and Jim once. Jim tried to get him to put it in the vault at the church for safe keeping, but you know Elkins.”

“Is he crazy?” Sam asked, weakly.

“Mac seems to think so. He keeps him medicated with enough drugs to make a werewolf behave like a poodle.” Caleb shoved both his hands through his black hair and then palmed his eyes. “Damn it, if he were here, he might be able to convince him to hand it over.”

“Oh, I’ll convince him,” John replied.

Caleb grinned at him. “I meant without bloodshed, Johnny.”

“Just stay with the boys.”

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Dean spoke up. “Take Caleb with you, in case you need back up.”

“I don’t need back up with Daniel. He won’t meet me if I’m not alone.”

Caleb nodded. “I might be able to help with some of the other stuff.”

All eyes went to him. “What other stuff?” Dean asked, warily.

“The symptoms.”

“Should we get a doctor?” Dean asked, wondering why no one had even suggested that before. “Maybe they could do something.”

John and Caleb shook their heads. “Duran’s too damn smart for that. Whatever Syria used in the potion would be specific to her,” John said. “No Westernized doctor is going to be of much help.”

“They could analyze my blood,” Sam suggested.

“And find nothing out of the ordinary,” Caleb replied, gently. “Sammy, I’ve seen stuff like this before. My grandmother grew up around it. Syria more than likely sealed the spell with her own blood. That’s strong magic that only she can reverse.”

“Then what the hell were you talking about before?” Dean snapped.

“I know a woman who might be able to help with the fever-the other symptoms.”

“Could you be a little more specific? You know lots of women, Junior.” John’s comment had Caleb rolling his eyes.

“Her name’s Bird Isbell, and she’s sort of a modern day apothecary. An herbalist, actually. Her and my grandmother were friends.”

“She’s not from any of those strange cults you hang with is she?” Dean asked, glancing from his brother’s pale face to Caleb. “Because the last chick you introduced me to was into natural herbs, too, and not the kind for healing purposes.”

“Just trust me on this one,” Caleb glanced to John. “She has a shop in China Town. If I call her, I’ll think she’ll come.”

The older Winchester glanced out the windows lining the far wall. The first pinks of dawn were appearing. “See what you can do.” His eyes went to his sons, taking in Sam’s weary eyes, before pinning Dean with his own hard gaze. “Don’t leave this apartment, Ace. And don’t leave your brother alone.” He’d left his son unprotected once, and he wasn’t prepared to risk any more harm coming to him. It might have been a mute point at this stage in Duran’s game, but John wasn’t willing to risk losing anymore ground. Especially when his family would be the forfeit.

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