Hey guys, Charli! So while I'm working on 'Twisted Night,' I thought I might as well get started on something else to make sure writer's block stays away. So then when I thought about a story, I remembered that I had promised one to my friend on the SFTCOL(AR)S forum.

She asked for a fic based on a conversation from 'The Kids are Alright.'

She's been patiently waiting on this story since October, and though I've started it many times, this story has been a P.I.T.A.! I mean, I love the story line and the characters, it just doesn't seem to want to go in one particular direction… So after scrapping it many times, I just decided to let it go and live. Hopefully you'll like it, Charli, and hopefully the rest of you will too!!

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, the characters, or even the full story line… They belong to my bedroom… I mean- uh- Eric Kripke and the CW.

Happy reading!

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'For he was speechless, ghastly, wan,
Like him of whom the story ran,
Who spoke the spectre hound in man.'

-Sir Walter Scott, The lay of the last minstrel, Canto VI, v.26.

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"Dad, are you sure we shouldn't call Dean for help on this one?" Sam asked, looking up from the tome he had been reading. The fifteen year old had been doing research for the past two hours, and he wasn't happy with what he had been finding.

Banshees were nasty things to deal with and Sam wasn't sure he and his father wouldn't need help on this hunt.

"Sam, let it go." John sighed, turning from his gun cleaning kit to look at his youngest imploringly. "Dean's on his own hunt right now, and all that calling him would accomplish would be to make him worry." Sam averted his eyes at the thought of making his brother worry; he never wanted to make Dean worry.

"Yeah," he answered softly.

"Besides," John added after a moment, "it's just a simple banshee hunt. We can handle it ourselves without a problem." Sam nodded, looking back up at his father, who gave him a little smile in return.

"Sure," Sam gave a small smile and turned back to the Gaelic book he had been perusing. He heard his father sigh, and knew the man had heard the underlying doubt in his tone, but there was nothing Sam could do about how he felt.

His father's footsteps fell hard on the wooden floor of their newest "accommodations" as the man made his way to the door. Sam didn't have to look to know when his father turned to look back at him, but glanced over his shoulder at him anyway.

"Be ready in twenty, we'll leave in thirty. That should get us there around seven tonight, with enough time to scope out the place before we meet up with the banshee." Sam nodded and looked back to his book with a sigh, place a marker on the page he had been reading, and pushed his chair out. With a weary breath, he stood and walked toward his bed to pull the ready made duffle out from under it.

Placing the ratty duffle on the bed, he unzipped it and carefully sorted through it, making sure everything that he needed was in the old bag. Grabbing the knife Dean had given him for his last birthday, he tested the blade, and slid it into the special made sheath on the inner edge of the side. He also grabbed a spare bottle of holy water, and stuffed it into his pocket, before looking around and making sure everything was ready, and closing the duffle.

The sound of the quiet zipper rattled loudly in his ears and he winced, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming behind his right eye and temple. Pushing the pain to the back of his mind, he unconsciously reached into the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a bottle of aspirin and popped two, before tossing the bottle into the pocket on the side of the duffle.

He grabbed his duffle and slung it over his shoulder, before walking back to the old desk in the corner of the room and grabbing the old tome that rested there. He walked out the door with thoughts of Dean and the hunt roaming through his wayward and otherwise overloaded mind.

As he walked towards the kitchen, he grabbed his inhaler from the table near the phone and his father's keys. On a second thought, he grabbed the keys also, and walked to where his father was in the kitchen, packing weapons meticulously. The metal of the knives shined, and his father's wedding band clinked against the barrels of the guns as his father looked up at him.

"You ready?" He asked, looking Sam over, noticing the packed duffle over one shoulder and the tome in his hand.

"Yes sir." The reply was automatic, something he had done since he had first started training to fight the supernatural almost eight years ago.

"Well okay then, lets get a move on." His father grinned at him as he slung the weapons bag over his shoulder, and cuffed Sam's neck for reassurance.

"Yeah." Sam followed his father out the door quietly, glancing back at the house with longing before turning back and getting in the truck.

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Sam almost laughed when his father cut the engine in front of the house the banshee resided in.

So there was a more decrepit place than theirs.

The house looked like something straight out of a horror movie. It was old and rickety; it's gray exterior lending itself to age the building. The broken windows along with the falling shutters spoke of many accidents in the past. Cobwebs had been formed in just about every corner Sam looked, and dust lined every surface like a blanket.

"You have your inhaler?" John asked gruffly, as he too took in the sight of the old house.

"Yes sir," Sam answered quietly. He hadn't had an asthma episode in a while, but from the looks of the old house, it was a good possibility that one might happen that night.

"Good, let's go." His father's voice flowed behind him as he pushed himself out of the old truck, clashing with the screech as the door shut. Grabbing his bag, Sam hopped out of the truck and jogged to catch up with his father.

"So this thing struck again last night, right?" Sam asked quietly, a salt gun in one hand a flashlight in the other as he looked around the building.

A nod was the only forthcoming answer from his father.

"Well okay." Sam said after a minute, looking up at his father before turning his attention back to the task at hand. "So she seems to be attacking in a time range between eight thirty and nine every night. Every victim that has been found has the same profile description, mid to late teens, with dark hair and a tall build. Seven of the last ten attacks have been male too."

"Yeah, Sammy?" his father asked, spurring Sam on.

"I was just thinking that- well," Sam started before hesitating. "Ah, never mind, it doesn't matter." Sam said quietly after a minute. He wanted to tell his father that he thought they should stay together, that maybe he was just a little bit afraid.

With the record there was a really good chance that he would be the next in line to be attacked. There was also a pretty good chance that he wouldn't make it out of the building unscathed, and he really wished his father was thinking about that and not just the fact that the monster was going to be taken down. But-

…He was a Winchester and Winchester's don't show fear.

"You sure?" The question was rough, and his father didn't turn to look at him, but Sam could see the concern creasing the outside of his eyes and the corners of his mouth from where he stood.

Sam pushed the uneasiness down and swallowed, putting up a stoic façade, to make sure the concern on his father's face went away, and he focused completely on the hunt. "Yeah. I'm sure."

"Okay, good then. Why don't you scope out the upstairs and set up the traps and I'll do the same down here?" He finally looked to Sam for an answer, and Sam nodded.

"Sounds good." Sam asked, walking over and starting up the stairs. The old wood creaked under his feet, and dust rose as his hand ran over the hand rail. Sam sneezed but kept walking, determined to do his best on this hunt.

"And Sam," John called, forcing his son to look back at him. "Be careful, son." A caring smile lined his worn features and Sam froze at the sincerity and concern in it.

"You too dad." With that John got back to work and Sam turned and continued his way up the stairway.

Now if only they kept to that promise.

TBC

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A/N: So what did you think? I hope you enjoyed, and though this starts off slow, there will be plenty of angst and limp… I mean this is me right?

Take care, and reviews are awesome!

DS