Disclaimer: refer to chapter one

NOTE TO READERS: I'm hoping to post a chapter every weekend. This chapter is around nine pages long. I wanted to say thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you enjoyed chapter one. Here's chapter two! Happy Reading, I hope.

So Long, Good-Bye

Chapter Two: Shadow and Light

"…The truth is gonna change everything. So, lie to me and tell me that it's gonna be alright. So, lie to me and tell me that we'll make it through the night. I don't mind if you wait before you tear me apart. Look me in the eye, lie…"Lyric excerpt by David Cook, Lie

Eight Days Later, January 10, 2006, Rapid City Regional Hospital, South Dakota

"Dean you're pacing," Sam said quietly. Dean stopped and pivoted toward his brother.

"I gotta do something Sammy," Dean huffed in frustration.

"The doctor will be in later he already said," Sam answered easily as he smoothed the sheet down around him. He hated hospital beds and especially the gowns.

"We've been here a week Sammy and nobody knows what's wrong with you," Dean paced back to the window and looked down on the parking lot from the eighth floor.

"They're just being thorough," Sam suggested. "You know when Bobby gets back from getting coffee and sees you pacing he's gonna chew you out. It drives him just as crazy as it does me," Sam said with a lopsided grin. He was trying to take away some of his big brother's stress. Dean offered him a tentative smile.

"Thorough," Dean huffed. "They don't know what's wrong Sam … all they know is something isn't right but they don't know what it is. You can hardly cross a room without needing help Sam … your balance is for crap," Dean's eyes were part agonized and part angry. "How can you be so calm?" Sam shrugged.

"Who said I was?" he offered lightly as he stared at his hands. Dean stopped and looked at his brother. Sam looked fragile sitting in the hospital bed.

"Sammy," Dean's voice was quiet, gentle as he approached his little brother. He placed a hand lightly on top of the blanket and grasped his brother's left knee. "I don't want you to worry, okay? They're gonna fix you up and then we're taking a vacation, all right? How about South Beach? I'm so sick of snow and cold weather I could hurl," Dean smiled at his brother. Sam smiled back.

"Sounds good."

"Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking it might be time to call Dad," he said quickly rushing the words out before his sibling could stop him mid-sentence.

"No," Sam replied flatly.

"Sam, this is something he should know about. Hell, remember how ticked he was when we didn't call him about your visions?"

"There's nothing to tell him," Sam suggested. "He didn't call me back when I called him when you got fried and had a heart attack and was dying," Sam's voice held a bitter edge to it.

"Yeah, I know, but…"

"No, Dean, stop giving the man every excuse in the book. We don't know anything, so what is there to tell him, huh? Nothing, so leave it alone." Dean turned back toward the window and was silent. "Damn," Sam said under his breath and Dean turned quickly.

"What? What is it?" He was already moving toward his little brother at the statement and the look on his face.

"I gotta take a leak," Sam huffed in impatience and humiliation.

"No problem," Dean answered easily. He knew Sam hated the help. He helped Sam out of the bed and supported him to the small bathroom in his room. He was thankful for the private room. "You okay from here?" Dean kept his voice light. Sam nodded without looking at his brother. "Just hang onto the grasp bars on the wall Sammy for your balance. I'll be right outside the door."

Two Hours Later, Sam's Room

"Well, Sam," Dr. Finley began. "You've been pretty patient with all the poking and prodding we've put you through. I've been touching base with your diagnostic team. Dr. Kelts ruled out any neuro-opthamology problems for your blurry vision. Dr. Cwach ruled out epilepsy and EEG irregularities. Plus, Dr. Tibeau has ruled out any strong evidence of neuro sleep problems that would explain your transient sleep pattern problems and he can't pinpoint a neuromuscular problem to explain the mobility issues."

"Okay, so you've said what isn't wrong but I haven't heard anything telling me what is wrong with my brother," Dean huffed. "He's been in this hospital for a week and you still don't have a clue, right? We were sent here for help." The doctor understood the impatience but had to admit he was pretty frustrated himself.

"I've put out a call to a good friend and colleague of mine in Baltimore at Johns Hopkins. I've forwarded the tests we've run so far. We've narrowed it down to a definite neurological based problem, but what exactly we haven't been able to ascertain."

"What's this new doc do?" Dean asked as his eyes shifted from his quiet brother back to the doctor's face.

"It's a neurology collective of sorts," Dr. Finley began. "My colleague is the head of a neurology research group and they have been doing some advanced research in many areas, so I'm hoping they will advise us on how to proceed."

"When do you expect word?" Bobby asked easily. He hadn't felt right letting the boys go through this alone especially since John was MIA and Sam was adamant that John not be contacted.

"I'm hoping later today. They are presented with quite a few hard to diagnose cases every month and they can't take them all but I'm hopeful they will be able to advise us on Sam's case. Sam, I have a couple pages of forms for you to fill out," the doctor smiled at Sam rolling his eyes. "I know we've had you do a lot, but they're short, I promise."

Ten Minutes Later

Dean and Bobby were outside Sam's room talking to the doctor. Sam was busy with the forms while Dean kept pumping the doctor for more information. "So, this doctor, who is he? Is he good?"

"She," the doctor offered evenly. "And, yes, Dr. Litvan is an excellent neurologist and her team is top notch. They deal in more obscure and hard to diagnose cases, so they are more apt to pinpoint what Sam's problem may or may not be. Worse case scenario they can at least give us some ideas to point us in the right direction." Dean felt a cold heaviness settle in his gut.

"Look doc, my brother's twenty-two and can hardly walk to the bathroom on his own; you can fix this, right?"

"I'm not giving up Dean, somewhere there has to be a diagnosis."

"How does he go from healthy as a horse to this … it just happened," Dean lamented. "No warning," and then it clicked and Dean felt the bile rise. Words uttered by an evil entity over three months ago rang loudly in Dean's head, I take your days, your life … No, this was a medical problem not some supernatural sickness, Sammy was legitimately ill even the doctors agreed, and it was a neurological problem. Then the memory hit, the entity had grabbed Sam's head, rendered him unconscious for a short moment or so. Dean shook his head absently.

"Dean? You okay?" Bobby placed a hand on his shoulder. The young hunter snapped out of his unpleasant epiphany. He looked up and saw two sets of concerned eyes watching him.

"Huh?"

"Are you alright Dean?" Dr. Finley surveyed the young man closely.

"Yeah, I-I was just thinking, sorry…" Dean offered. He had the sudden urge to see his little brother. "Um, I'm gonna go see Sam, okay?" Bobby nodded.

"I'll just be a minute Dean," Bobby assured. "I wanted to ask the doctor a couple things." Dean nodded. The eldest Winchester child entered his brother's room and stopped halfway across the floor. Sam's cheeks were wet with cascading tears as he stared at the forms on the clipboard.

"Sammy?" he spoke softly. "Hey, they're just forms," he offered. Sam looked at him with anguished eyes. "Hey, don't get so worked up. It's just some stuff for a couple more tests," Dean offered. Sam shook his head and handed the forms to his brother. Dean stared at the forms for a long moment. They were filled out all right but Dean couldn't make out hardly anything. Sam hadn't even been able to make his name legible. Dean might not have even figured out it was his brother's name if it hadn't been scratched into the name area on the form. Dean's gut clenched violently. His handwriting had declined drastically in the week since Sam had been admitted. "It's okay Sammy," Dean assured trying to not let his voice shake. "I'll just go get some extra copies and we'll do this together," Dean tried to soothe. He reached up and gently wiped away his brother's tears. "It's gonna be okay," he encouraged with a smile. "I'll be right back." Sam nodded.

Dean had to fight the urge to run from the room to the doctor but he forced himself to walk calmly out. He spotted Bobby and Dr. Finley.

Five Minutes Later

"What the hell is happening to him?" Dean hissed under his breath. "Look he never had fantastic penmanship but this …" Dean stared at the forms he had given over to the doctor. "He can't even write his own name well enough to read it. That kid wrote his name in kindergarten better than this."

"I'll forward the new development to Dr. Litvan."

"Forward! Look dammit," Dean was pissed. "His writing was getting bad now and again before he got here, but at least when he was admitted he could fill out his own forms, now look at it."

"We're doing everything we can." Dean turned away frustrated.

"Bobby I gotta talk to you and I don't want to leave Sam alone. He's already torn up enough over this…"

"I'll leave you two alone. I'll be back later," Dr, Finley assured. Dean offered a tight nod and pulled Bobby away. He stopped short of Sam's room.

"Bobby I think this might be because of that entity, maybe…" Bobby's mind searched for the memory of Dean telling him about his and Sam's hunt before they came to his house for Thanksgiving.

"The one that grabbed Sam's head and said that crap as you banished it?"

"Yeah, you think…"

"It's possible, but…" Dean knew what was on the older hunter's mind because it was on his, too.

"But, what ever it did is causing a natural problem not supernatural, right? There has to be something," Dean lamented.

"There is … we get him help from this new doctor. We're going to get this done Dean but in the mean time I'm going to call up some friends and see if I can get us a supernatural fix, too." Dean smiled.

One Hour Later, Sam's Room

"You don't have to fill the form out Sammy just read it and tell me what to fill in, okay?" Dean urged. "Is your eyesight too blurry?" Sam shook his head and scrunched his forehead in frustration and lifted the paper upward. Dean watched the perplexing movement and finally stood up. "Sam what are you doing kiddo?"

"I can't …" Sam started and stopped. He tried lowering the paper and reading it again and he couldn't make his eyes look down, it was as if he had little to no voluntary control to make them look down to read the damnable piece of paper.

"Can't what?"

"Look down Dean," Sam looked at his big brother and there was an edge of fear in his eyes.

"What? What you mean you can't look down? Just look down," he urged.

"I can bend my head Dean, but you're not getting it, I can't make my eyes look down," Sam paused. "Dean what's wrong with me?"

"It's gonna be okay Sammy," Dean squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Let me go get the doc, okay? I'll be just outside. It's gonna be alright."

Two Hours Later

Sam had been given a light sedative and was sleeping peacefully. "I thought you said the doctor that specialized in eye stuff said there wasn't a problem," Dean huffed. Bobby stood nearby.

"He could not find a cause for the blurry vision or this new eye movement problem. There isn't a blatant neurological problem that is screaming at us Dean. There is an obvious problem but we just don't know what it is, yet."

"What about this doctor in Baltimore?"

"They accepted Sam's case and the PET scan we completed earlier has already been forwarded to Dr. Litvan and her team."

"And, what about his new eye trouble does she know?"

"Yes, that new information was forwarded with the PET scan over an hour ago. She will be in contact when they have had a chance to look over all of the tests results and previous scans I emailed to her." Dean blew out a frustrated breath.

"I'm gonna go sit with Sam." He left with no further preamble and Bobby stepped forward.

"Dr. Finley?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think this Dr. Litvan and her team can help Sam?"

"I think they are Sam's best shot at a solid diagnosis. They really do have a vast knowledge base of a plethora of brain disorders and diseases," the doctor assured. Bobby simply offered a solemn nod.

"I'm going to go be with the boys," he replied. "If you hear anything…"

"I'll let you know the moment I hear something, but it could be a few days Mr. Singer." Bobby nodded once more and turned to go be with Dean and Sam. His mind troubled with the fact John had not been called yet but so far Dean had abided by his little brother's request for their father not to be called and he wasn't going to overstep. He knew it was a matter of time before Dean called his father and told him about Sam.

Meanwhile, Four Days Later, Baltimore, Maryland

"Irene, we've looked over everything pertaining to Sam Collins and it's the only thing that fits completely," Dr. Tim Hain replied. Dr. Litvan looked at Tim and the members of her diagnostic team.

"Do you all agree with Tim?" They nodded.

"He's the youngest onset case we've ever come across," Dr. Lee Goldman commented as he flipped through the various test results and scans. "The youngest onset I've ever heard of was a 35 year old with beginning stages and it took him almost three years before he started showing more advance symptoms. He had almost nine years before it was over."

"I know he's the youngest onset case we have on the books," Irene Litvan replied. "I've never seen it come on so aggressively. It appears he's already coming into phase 2 of the disease."

"Yeah," Nicole Mallory broke into the conversation. "I'm looking at these notations and it looks like he presented at the beginning of the year on New Years but according to this his brother noticed the vision and hand writing problems a month before he and their uncle noticed some additional onset issues around Thanksgiving. This sucker is moving fast at this rate …"

"I know he may be incapacitated in a couple months or so if it doesn't plateau out soon," Tim Hain agreed.

"Alright, then we're agreed," Dr. Litvan commented. "I know the doctor currently caring for Sam. I'll forward our diagnosis to him and I'm going to catch a plane out to South Dakota to talk to the family personally."

"Do you think we might get them to come to Baltimore for further examination? I mean, it's so rare for someone as young as Sam Collins is to get this," Dr. Hain spoke evenly. "I mean I'm used to maybe 50 year olds showing signs but this kid is only 22," he looked at some paperwork as he spoke Sam's age, "He'll be 23 in May …"

"Well, apparently this disease isn't as age specific as we once thought and I've spoken to Robert … Dr. Finley, the physician that is caring for Sam, the family seems pretty set on staying in South Dakota since their uncle lives nearby. We can't offer them a cure and I won't suggest he become some lab rat for us to examine for medical posterity," Irene understood the medical significance of this case but she also understood what was coming for Sam and his family and she wouldn't add to the tragedy. She'd keep track of his case but wouldn't uproot him and his family for empty hope.

"Yeah, you're right," Dr. Hain lamented. "We'll just keep tabs long distance and record the data as we get it. I wouldn't want to put the kid through more exams that aren't going to do anything for him."

"I'll go make the call."

Dr. Litvan left the room and walked to her office. She sat down with a heavy sigh. This was the part of her job she hated. There was no hope, no cure and he was too young. She silently wished there could have been some other prognosis, some other diagnosis, but it was unavoidable and everything pointed to it, it was a textbook case and she knew with a cold certainty she and her diagnostic team were correct in their diagnosis. She picked up the phone and dialed.

Meanwhile, Dr. Robert Finley's Office, Rapid City, South Dakota

He sat updating some charts from his rounds as his phone rang. "Hello, Dr. Finley speaking."

"Robert?"

"Irene," he knew that voice quickly. "It's good to hear from you. Has there been any progress in coming to a diagnosis for Sam Collins?"

"Yes," her voice was solemn.

"How bad?"

"Rob, we're positive it's PSP."

"What?!" he barked. "He's only 22; I thought that hit 60 year olds. We didn't even consider…"

"You did everything right Rob," she assured. "There was no reason in the world to ever even consider PSP, but there's no mistaking it. We're positive. Until Sam the youngest patient was 35 with early onset but Sam's onset is the most aggressive we've seen based on his rate of symptoms from onset."

"Jesus," Dr. Finley blew out a breath. "Dammit the kid is 22 and this is what I have to tell him and his family. At the rate it's hitting him if it doesn't slow …"

"I know," Irene agreed. "We discussed that and we feel that if his symptoms which clearly are encroaching into the beginning of phase 2 don't slow down he could be incapacitated in a couple months … maybe less, maybe more," she hedged. "I'm faxing some information sheets for the family but I'm catching a plane out tomorrow and would like to counsel Sam and his family personally, but only if that's okay with you."

"Okay? Of course, it's okay. You've dealt more with this than I have. Hell, I only ever read about it in the books and some journals. They need to know what's coming and I can only give the basics."

"Okay then, I'll get a flight out tomorrow morning and should be there late morning or early afternoon, okay?"

"Thanks Irene," Robert replied easily.

"You're welcome Rob. I just wish it were better news. The family and patient info packet is faxing right now," she said.

"Yep, I hear the fax. Hey, call or email your flight info and I'll have a hospital concierge come to get you at the airport, all right?"

"Certainly, see you tomorrow."

A Short while Later

Dr. Finley xeroxed the packet two more times and stapled it. He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. He had read over the packet himself and the clinical sheet Irene had written his name on top of … he sighed and stared at his patients file and he wrote with heavy heart into Sam's file: patient has been diagnosed with Progressive Supranuclear Palsy (PSP). Rare early onset at 22 years old. The case has been determined to be of an aggressive nature and findings suggest that the patient has entered into the early stages of phase 2 in the disease process. I will inform patient and family of the diagnosis and Dr. Irene Litvan will provide addition family consult on this case.

He closed the file and picked it and the packets up; he wanted Sam, Dean and their uncle to have one to read over. He walked slowly back to the neurology unit where Sam was located. Some days he hated being a doctor.

To Be Continued