Here is the follow up story to, 'Breath.' I am so sorry that it took me so long to post it, but I got to writing it, and then it started to just flow... I am getting really far in this story, so I should post every day, or every other day, depending on how much time I get to work on it...
This takes place about a year after the end of, 'Breath,' and Sammy is eighteen.
As usual, I own nothing but the plot, and I make no money from this story, I only please my sadistic muses and loyal readers, any and all payments come in reviews and cyber thanks.
Another Place to Fall
'There isn't much more I can say
For I don't understand the delay
You're asking for friendly advice
And remaining in permanent crisis...'
-Another Place to Fall, KT Tunstall
"I'm fine, Dean!" Sam told his brother exasperatedly. "It's just a bad sprain, nothing to worry about!"
Dean looked at him incredulously. "Just a 'bad sprain,' Sammy? I heard it snap from over there!"
"Yeah well, even so, we need to keep going on this hunt Dean. People are dying, and more will die, if we don't take down this banshee." Sam's voice was filled with exhorting honesty, praying that his brother would see things his way.
Dean looked at him for a minute before grudgingly saying, "Fine, but we need to splint your arm before she does anymore damage to it. God that was a harsh landing little brother."
Sam sighed before nodding to his brother, knowing that the older man was right, but not wanting to admit it. Dean set his pack on the ground, and rummaged through it looking for the first aid kit, and when he found that, he dug through it for the thin metal strips they kept for emergencies, the medical tape, and a couple wraps of ace bandages.
Dean told Sam to sit down and hold out his arm, and Sam followed the orders hesitantly. Sitting down on the ground, and held out his arm to his brother. He winced at the pull of the muscles as he straightened the limb, and knew that despite his protests, it was bad.
His wrist was swollen and angry looking. The unnatural angle of the bone made Sam want to throw up, and the black and purple that marked the break and the area around it, made his wrist look all the worse.
"Here," Dean said, holding out a worn metal bar, wrapped in cloth. Sam nodded, knowing that Dean was going to have to set the bone, and that it was going to hurt like a son of a bitch.
Sam stuck the bar in his mouth, and placed his good hand on the ground beside him, needing something that would ground him through the pain. Dean placed a hand on either side of the break, and Sam readied himself, knowing that when Dean pulled, he was going to scream.
Dean pulled, and Sam screamed into the bar, his vision turning fuzzy. Black spots filled his sight, as Dean moved the bone into alignment, and Sam screamed again, weaker this time. He barely felt Dean placing the metal bars around his arm, or taping them in place, the pain from before effectively numbing the hurt that still assailed his body.
He came out of his pain-induced haziness as Dean was wrapping the second ace wrap around his wrist. His wrist throbbed in pain with every heartbeat, and Sam was surprised to find himself sweating, with a few stray tears running down his cheeks. They had come unexpectedly, and he had never felt them run down his face through the pain.
As Dean finished wrapping the last bandage, he looked up at Sam, and his heart clenched at the pain his little brother was in. He had sworn after the truck had hit Sam the year before, that he wouldn't let anyone, or anything hurt his brother again, and he had failed. Sweat ran down his pain filled face, and Dean grimaced.
"Okay, little brother?" Dean asked, concern lining his tone.
"M'good." Sam answered, as he pulled the bar out of his mouth, trying to get his bearings.
"C'mon, we better get moving," Dean said as he stood and held out his hand to his brother. He hated to make his brother move, but they needed to get rid of the banshee as soon as possible, and then Sam needed to get to the hospital, so they could check the break, and hopefully give his brother something for pain.
Sam grasped the offered hand, and let Dean help him up, as he cradled his broken wrist to his chest. Once up, Sam leaned against his brother for a few minutes, trying to stave off the nausea and dizziness. When he felt better, Sam moved away from his brother, and bent to pick up his pack, slowly.
Swinging the pack over his shoulder, Sam waited for his brother to do the same. Dean stuffed the first aid kit back in his pack, and drew the pack over his shoulder, just as Sam had done minutes earlier.
"Ready?" Dean asked, making sure that his brother was okay to continue the hunt. Sam nodded, and picked up his sawed off shotgun, ready to take down the banshee, should it get too close, or if it hurt Dean.
Their father had gone in the house to look for clues as to who the banshee had been, and how to destroy it. He had felt that it was better to split up so more ground could be covered, and he had thought that his boys would be safer outside the house.
He was wrong.
Sam had been hurt by the banshee, even though they had been outside, and now Dean figured that since they were no safer outside than in, that they ought to go inside and see if there was anything that they could do to help their father.
Dean walked up the rickety steps of the early nineteenth century mansion, shotgun at the ready. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed their father's number, to tell him what had gone on, that they were coming in, and to 'for the love of god, make sure it was the banshee, before he shot at anything.'
Sam followed his brother up the steps of the mansion, his own gun at the ready, as he searched for any signs that the banshee might be near. He shut off as much of the pain from his wrist as he could, and focused on the hunt at hand, wanting to kill the banshee and get it over with.
Dean signaled for him to stop, and hold watch behind them, and Sam nodded, turning with his gun held steadily in front of him. He heard Dean move behind him, and then he heard the tell tale sounds of his father's boots on the wood floor, and he turned to look at them for a second, before turning back to keeping watch.
The split second was all the banshee needed, and she swept at the three Winchesters before any of them had a chance. Sam's eyes widened as she flew straight at him, and he fired...
She kept coming at him, and before Sam knew what had hit him, she had a hold of his shoulders, her long nails piercing through his shirt, and into his flesh. The gun flew from his hands as she lifted him from the ground, and threw him easily into the wall.
The boards cracked behind him as Sam hit, and he cried out as his wrist hit the wall. He fell to the floor, blinking as the darkness filled his vision. He saw his father running to him, but could do nothing to placate his father as the darkness consumed him.
A/N: I know angst-ridden isn't it? But hey what do you expect from me? The leader of the, 'Let's Hurt Sammy,' club? (Okay maybe not the leader, but I am certainly a very active member... I think leadership belongs to Faye Dartmouth and geminigrl11)
So what did you think? I know that right now it doesn't seem like it has anything to do with, 'Breath,' but you will see the connections soon...
Take care and review often,