Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural… I only own this story line and the poems.

Saying Goodbye

Chapter One

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What if I told you I was going away?

For a long time. Not just a couple of days.

Would you beg me to remain?

Or let me go and then take all the blame?

How would you feel if I told you I was dying?

Would you scream and tell me I am lying?

A while ago, I wished upon a star.

In the end, it didn't take me far.

But either way, I just have to say

that no matter what, I'll be there... always.

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Dean sat down on the chair next to the hospital bed. He reached out and took Sam's hand gently, so gently that his nerves didn't even register the cold skin bellow his fingers.

"Hey buddy," Dean's voice cracked, reaching a higher pitch as he continued. "It's time to wake up."

He reached with his free hand and rubbed back his little brother's brown bangs and then ran his fingers through his hair.

"God Sammy, you scared the crap outta' me. You are scaring me." Dean looked up at the monitors; a deep beeping came from several. Dean watched one of the green lines tick up and down, the heart monitor.

He gave a foolish laugh, "Your heart... it's too big for your own good."

Dean broke his stare with the machine and glanced at his brother's serene face. He allowed his expression to fall, "Why didn't you tell me sooner Sammy?"

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Sam stared silently at the star speckled sky. He listened to his breathing, evening it out so that it was in synch with his heart.

A single dot of light flew quickly across the sky. He shut his eyes, feeling foolishly immature, but whispering words that could only be heard by nature anyway.

"I wish that he will understand."

The silence descended again over the young man sitting on the ground, eyes closed, his breath creating small puffs of white condensation in the evening air.

"Sammy?" The irritating nickname made Sam groan in displeasure.

"It's Sam." He sat up, letting out a long breath of air and shivering in the cold.

"Whatever. You're gonna' freeze your ass off out here. Come inside."

Sam stood up slowly and then made his way to the entrance of the dingy motel room they were staying at. The stench of cigarette smoke overpowered his sense of smell, but the warmth from within easily made up for it.

Sam shivered despite the warmth and climbed into bed, regretting the fact that tonight his dreams would be filled with Dean protesting and praying that Sam was lying.

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There was a quiet rustle from the hospital doorway, which interrupted the dull beeping of the heart monitor. Dean's head shot up as he looked around.

"Hey son."

John Winchester stepped from the shadows; his tall frame blocking the hallway behind him. His shoulders were drooping and his face was lax. But what caught Dean off guard were John's eyes.

They had unshed tears gathering in their depths.

"Dad." Dean jumped up and in two strides was standing in front of his father. They held each other's gaze for a few moments and then embraced.

"I didn't know if you'd come."

John broke away, abruptly changing the subject.

"How's he doing," he asked, his gaze landed on his younger son. The machines beeped in their pattern, breaking the silence.

"Not so great," Dean admitted and John glanced over, knowing it had to be bad if his son was willing to say it so honestly.

"He's... he's dying, Dad, and there's nothing they can do to stop it." Dean looked away, feeling helpless. He could deal with the supernatural, but this he couldn't stop and his heart was breaking just thinking about it.

John put his hand on Dean's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "It's alright son, we'll pull through."

Dean's eyes filled with tears. "You and I will, but Sam's not gonna' make it."

They fell silent again, staring at Sam's unconscious body, their hearts tugging and straining at the effort of holing all the emotions at bay.

The beeping filled the room again, attempting to drown out the thoughts of the two Winchesters, but failing miserably.

John released Dean's shoulder and pulled up a chair, Dean following in suit. Dean grabbed his brother's hand again, holding on for an anchor to keep his emotions locked inside.

"The doctors," John cleared his throat, not pleased with the rasping sound emanating from within, "they um... they made sure he isn't in pain?"

Dean nodded, "They said it doesn't hurt… It won't hurt."

John's eyes clouded, the knowledge that Sam wasn't in agony allowing him to relax only slightly.

"And- how much longer?"

"A couple of days," Dean answered solemnly, "At the most."

They silenced once more, watching Sam's chest rise and fall, both unknowingly praying for the same thing; Sam to wake up.

There was another shuffle at the door and someone cleared their throat. Both men glanced up, acknowledging the doctor.

The man entered, his face holding a shallow look, the look that he planted on himself all day, the look that anyone could see right through, the one that hides the truth; their loved one was going to leave the world forever.

"Gentlemen," he smiled forcefully, "any changes I should know of?"

Dean shook his head, his hand still gripping Sam's limp one.

The doctor shuffled with a clipboard and proceeded to check over Sam. He looked at all of the machines, checked his pupils, listened to his heart and then, with another forced smile, left the room.

"I wish he would wake up." John's voice was hollow, almost begging. "I have so much to tell him. I just- I-"

Dean glanced over, "I think he already knows. He's a smart kid."

John laughed, "Yeah. Always correcting my grammar. Even when he was a boy he used to quote Shakespeare and Steinbeck sometimes. I have no idea where he got the books."

Dean smiled mischievously, "No idea eh?"

"None at all," John gave him a look that clearly said 'You-were-so-obvious-but-I-let-you-off-the-hook.'

The humor faded and silence ruled again. They both looked at Sam sadly.

"He can be stupid sometimes too," Dean's voice was biting and accusing. He closed his eyes, his anger fading to sadness.

The warmth from under his eyelids was trying to break free, trying to force its way down Dean's cheek. He leaned forward, pressing Sam's hand to his forehead.

"Dad," Dean's voice betrayed his calm collected expression. He choked on his words, "I don't want him to go."

The statement was like deja vu. Dean had said those same words before Sam had left for college. But this time they held more pain, more emotion.

"There's nothing we can do, son." John leaned forward, composing himself. It was hard to admit that the future was truly etched in stone, hard to give in to the fact that one of his sons would not walk the earth any longer. He wanted to let down his walls, to just cry, but Dean's pain was obvious and he didn't want to lose both of his sons as they had lost their mother and father.

"Sammy," Dean's voice croaked from below the hand he was still holding to his forehead. There was a pause.

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"It says here that Jennifer Bashlen died of a stroke." Sam flipped through the obituaries, reading the ones he found the most intriguing.

"Right. Well, people die of those all the time Sam. Not weird at all," Dean replied, taking a swig of his beer.

"It is strange when the girl is only twelve years old and seemingly healthy until her death," Sam pointed out rather snidely.

Dean looked away gripping his drink and eying the waitress, "Whatever, let's dig into it."

Sam grinned, knowing he'd scored himself a point.

Dean hadn't looked back. Sam stared at him and rolled his eyes when Dean suddenly broke into a flirtatious grin.

"Anything else boys," the waitress smiled at Dean and then Sam, blatantly ignoring Dean's look of sexiness.

"The bill please," Sam replied. Dean continued smiling.

The waitress nodded and then turned to retrieve the check.

"Man, Sammy! You always do that!" Dean glared at him and finished off his beer.

"You always do that!" Sam tapped the table with his fingernails. The waitress returned holding a check. She handed it to Sam, assuming he was the one that was paying.

"Thanks boys." She smiled and then walked away, Dean's eyes following her the whole time.

"Dude... let's go." Sam tossed the bill to Dean who in turn threw a wad of money onto the table.

They stood up and left, Dean glancing over one last time at the waitress.

"Where to Geek Boy?" Dean took out his keys, rattled them and then loaded into the impala.

"Napa, California." Sam smiled at Dean.

"We're not going just so you can see the Main Street are we? Cause that is just lame."

Sam laughed and then shut his door with a snap.

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"So...where are all the hot chicks and bars? Eh Sammy boy?" Dean grouched grumpily. The little town of Napa had so many houses it was like an ant farm.

Dean scowled at the porch lights and scanned for any sign of a motel.

"Why do I always let you do this?"

"Do what," Sam asked distractedly.

"Drag me to no man's land. No woman's land... geese."

"'Cause you let me. And besides, you started it." Sam fiddled with the map he was holding and then glanced up.

"Oh, turn here..." Sam pointed at a small road that led to nowhere.

"What's here?" Dean pulled the car onto the small road.

"A motel. We can't interrogate the family in the middle of the night."

"Right... are you sure it's down here?" Dean looked around trying to find a building among the darkness.

"It's a little ways in. You're so impatient!"

"I don't do good-"

"Well. You don't do well."

"Thank you, College Boy! Anyway... I don't do well with small hick towns and cows." Dean shuddered, imagining the horrible smell of cow dung.

"This isn't an agricultural town, Dean. It just has a low population."

"And I don't think they've realized they're slightly behind on the revolution." Dean said, glancing at the hotel they were quickly approaching. Sam looked at it also, obviously agreeing because he remained silent.

The building was old and falling apart in random places. The shudders were painted an off-green and the wood was chipping. It looked more like a run down shake than a motel.

"This is it," Sam said, double checking the address and nodding.

"Let's go then. I could use a bed right now." Dean parked his precious car and then climbed out.

It took a good half an hour to check out a room. The clerk kept telling them it was inconvenient to awake someone in the middle of the night and purposefully took ages to run the transaction on Dean's fake credit car.

When they finally arrived at their temporary home both boys flung themselves onto the beds, sighing and falling asleep without changing.

Suddenly, Dean sat bolt upright snatching at the knife he had underneath his pillow. He had no idea why he'd woken so suddenly, but then he heard it again. Sam was yelling.

Dean shot off the bed, immediately switching from sleeping man to overprotective brother.

"Sammy?" Dean threw himself towards where he last remembered seeing the light switch. He flicked them on and whipped around to see his brother. Sam was tossing on the bed, sweating and mumbling.

Dean rushed forward. "Sam! Wake up!" He shook his brother's shoulder and jumped back as Sam pitched himself off the bed. His long frame landed roughly on the floor. Dean reached forward and felt his forehead.

"Sammy?" He smoothed back his messy hair, "What happened?"

Sam cleared his throat, swallowed roughly, and then licked his dry, cracked lips. His eyes were glassy and he obviously was still envisioning his nightmare.

"Let me get you some water," Dean helped him onto the bed. He rushed off after making sure Sam was well balanced and filled a cup with cold tap water.

"Here you go Sammy." Sam took the glass gratefully and gulped it down in three steady swallows.

"What happened?" Dean was sitting next to him now, his eyes begging and hopeful.

"Just a nightmare." He looked away, frowning deeply.

"What happened in it?"

Sam shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows, "I- don't remember."

Dean could tell he was lying but he didn't push the matter. If Sam didn't want to relieve some of the stress then Dean wasn't going to force him to.

"Alright." Dean stood up, oblivious to the fact that Sam was holding his chest and tears were glistening in his eyes as his brother's strong frame went back to his own bed.

Sam closed his eyes gently, allowing some of the fear to dissipate.

"Dean?"

Dean looked over at his brother's slumped back, he was still sitting on the end of the bed.

"Yeah Sam?"

"I'm dying." Sam blurted it out so suddenly and with so little emotion that both brothers were shocked.

"What?" Dean's voice was a mere whisper shocked and unbelieving. "This isn't funny Sam. If you're trying to get back at me than you're screwed in the head..."

"Dean, I'm dying," he said it again, more forcefully this time. He turned to Dean and allowed himself to make eye contact.

Dean didn't say anything. His mouth was dry and his eyes were starting to burn from not blinking. He swallowed convulsively.

"You- you're joking right?" The seriousness of the situation deepened as Sam only shook his head.

"What?" Dean's eyes burned again, but dammit he was not going to cry! Sam had to be lying. He had to be playing some kind of sick joke on him.

"Dean-"

"Shut up!" Dean stood up from the bed, angrily slamming the bedside table in the process.

Sam flinched as if the punch to the table had hit him in the heart.

"Dean, I'm-"

"No! God Sam! I can't believe you!" He went to leave the room, his eyes burning in their sockets, but Sam had grabbed him roughly by the shoulder.

"I'm sorry Dean."

Dean's stomach rose into his throat. He felt ill. It was painful. He swallowed, eyes suddenly unbearably dry- dryer than a dessert. His body automatically tried to cure the scratchy dry lands by sending a lake full of water to the location.

He felt the first of many tears slide down his cheek.

He swallowed, willing his now overly moist eyes to return to their dry stage. He realized that Sam still had a hold of his shoulder and he yanked away, using the motion to get rid of the wet trail that had remained on his cheek.

"Sorry for what?" Dean kept his back facing Sam, but tilted his head to the side so Sam could hear his question.

"For not telling you sooner… and for leaving you." Sam's voice just sounded lost, not even an ounce frightened that he was actually going to die.

Dean didn't say anything for a while. They both stood still. Finally Dean spoke up, "Is that why you refused to let me go back in Nebraska? Is that why you had that God damned priest heal me? Because you didn't want to be alone before you died?" Dean's voice was accusing and upset.

"No Dean-"

"You are so selfish Sammy!" Dean bit it out with such force that Sam actually took a step back. "You saved me so you could be happy!"

Those words hurt, but what Dean was implying hurt worse.

"Dean I don't want you to die just because I'm going to." Sam looked away, the words Dean had said still burning his heart.

Dean finally faced his brother, "I'm going to be all alone."

Sam made eye contact, his heart shattering when he saw Dean struggling with his emotions, trying to hide his pain behind his typical façade of bravado.

"I'm sorry Dean." Sam said with all his true sympathy. He couldn't voice just how guilty he felt at that moment.

Dean remained silent. He stared at Sam, willing this all to be a dream, willing himself to wake up.

"What of?" Dean asked suddenly, walking slowly to a chair in the corner.

"Huh?" Sam sounded confused. His brother hadn't made any sense and Sam was wondering if maybe he'd gone into shock.

"What's killing you?"

Sam shook his head. "A brain tumor."

Dean looked up, slightly shocked as all the pieces to the sick puzzle of life clicked into place. "So, the visions and-"

"Telekinesis-"

"And why Mom said sorry."

They silenced suddenly, memories from Lawrence flowing unbidden into their minds.

Dean shook his head in confusion. "But don't brain tumors usually affect your functioning ability?"

"Usually," Sam answered honestly.

"Oh right," Dean sighed, "and freak boy here is the exception."

Sam smiled sadly.

"Are you scared?"

The question caught Sam off guard, but he should have been expecting it.

"I used to be. Not anymore though. I guess I'm desensitized with the idea."

Dean nodded.

"Are you scared?"

"I'm scared as hell, Sammy."

The honesty was shocking. Sam went to the empty chair next to his brother.

"Don't be. Even when I'm gone I'll be here. It's not like you won't remember me."

"Yeah, but memories fade Sam. They're like photos, they'll crinkle at the edges first and then yellow 'til they're one big blur."

Sam sat deeper into his chair, "You won't forget all the good times we've had."

Dean looked away, sniffling and then allowing himself to laugh pitifully.

"Nah, I'll remember all our chick flick moments."

Sam laughed, "You mean the ones we never have."

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A/N: As with any story, I had a lot of different ideas for this chapter. I actually was really attached to my first one... unfortunately I was also hooked on the idea I ended up going with: Dean goes back in time and remembers how it all happened. It just worked better for me along with connecting more neatly to the poem I wrote...

chapter three coming soon.