Disclaimer: refer to chapter one

NOTE TO READERS: I wasn't sure I'd get a chapter out to you this weekend. There is so much going on but I hope this chapter meets expectations although I'm a little worried I fell a tad short on this one in terms of what a lot of you were wanting. It's about 5 pages long. I probably won't be able to post next weekend as we are having my Mom's memorial service on Saturday and family is coming in from out of town. So, I will try to work on the next chapter and post just as soon as I can. Thanks again to everyone that has reviewed or PM'd me. I appreciate your kind words and support you've been giving me. Thanks again.

Happy Reading, I hope.

So Long, Good-bye

Chapter Six: Fading Light

By Dawn Nyberg

"Will you think that you're all alone when no one's there to hold your hand? And all you know seems so far away and everything is temporary rest your head, I'm permanent…" Lyric excerpt by David Cook, Permanent

Three Days Later, Singer Salvage Yard

John pulled down the dusty gravel driveway. It had taken him a day longer to get here than he expected but the flat tire wasn't planned and not having a spare had him stuck in a small town while they ordered the tire from two towns over and had to wait for them to deliver the tire the next day on their regular parts run. He hadn't called his boys or Bobby to alert them to his arrival. He hoped his boys were still at Bobby's but if they weren't he'd touch base with Bobby and find out how his boys were fairing on their own since the wreck.

He saw the Impala as soon as the house came into view. It looked cleaner than he remembered and there was a ramp off to the side of the staircase now. John quirked his eyebrow at that, but shrugged and blew it off. He got out of the truck and walked up the steps. He knocked on the door but no one came to open it up. He looked at his watch, it was a little after 2:00 in the afternoon and he saw that Bobby's truck was here, as well. He tried the doorknob and the door opened with a quiet creak.

Meanwhile, in the Salvage Yard

"Almost done Dean," Bobby assured. "Thanks for helping with this order. Hank will take it for me later." Dean nodded and glanced at his watch. "I'm sure he's still sleeping Dean," Bobby smiled. "Anyway, he's got the walkie-talkie and if he needs us he'll use the beep signal button."

"Yeah, you're right," Dean agreed. "I just don't like being out of earshot, you know?"

"I know, but hey at least he's been willing to listen to our suggestions about his care. Has he filled out the paperwork Dr. Finely sent the other day to the house?"

"No," Dean's eyes showed the emotion that was close to breaking free. "This advanced directive crap makes me sick to my stomach Bobby. I hate it."

"I know, me too, but I understand it thought."

"I do too, but I want him here and not in some home."

"It's a hospice Dean and he's not ready for that yet. He's been willing to consider staying here if we aren't the one's doing all of the care. He's got his pride, you know. He needs some dignity and I think the idea of having his big brother bathing him or changing diapers is too much for him to think about and his instinct is to remove himself from the picture."

"He doesn't have anything I haven't seen already Bobby," Dean complained. Bobby shook his head.

"Ain't the same thing and you know it. How would you feel if Sam had to bathe you or something?" Dean nodded sadly. He understood his brother but it didn't make it any easier. "Come on and let's finish getting this boxed and ready for Hank and we can get back in before Sam wakes up."

Back at the House

John dropped his duffel bag near the door. He looked around and couldn't dismiss the changes that had occurred. The usually cluttered home was now clean and well kept. There were no more stacks of papers and books gathering dust, instead the place was clean and dust free. He stepped into the room further and noticed a rolling walker off to the side in a nook. He frowned. He stepped into the family room and glanced down the hallway toward the library and saw a wheelchair parked just at the threshold of the double wide wooden arch into the room. The double wood doors were open and soft light was lighting the hallway. John walked toward the wheelchair and when he reached the doorway and looked into the room his heart skipped a beat at what greeted his eyes.

Sam was in a hospital bed covered with a pale yellow woven cotton blanket. His head was rested against two pillows and the electric bed was angled up. Sam was clearly asleep. John just stared at the sight, his hunter's eyes sweeping the room and cataloging contents. He saw sterile wipes, a rolling hospital bedside table, and various other supplies. He felt a tremor work through his body and he stepped further into the room. Sam looked thinner, weak, frail even. John stood next to his child and watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest assuring him that his youngest was alive. He reached his hand up and gently brushed back his son's long, unruly bangs. "Sammy?" his voice was soft and questioning. His youngest stirred under his father's touch. "Son, its dad." John wanted to shout to demand answers but just seeing Sam in this state had triggered something in him that left him stunned.

Sam opened his eyes and blinked at his father. "Dad?" the voice was unsure and the speech slightly off, slurred. John frowned, was his child drugged, sedated. What the hell is going on? His mind growled.

"Yeah, it's me Sammy, hey kiddo?"

"What are you doing here?" The words were slow and deliberate. It was obvious to John that Sam was trying very hard to speak properly. "Dean called didn't he?"

"A month ago, but Sammy he never said anything about this," John's eyes blazed. "Sammy what is all of this?" His voice wasn't soft but flitted between concern and anger.

"Drew the short straw," Sam offered up trying to lighten the situation.

"What the hell does that mean?" John barked, his temper starting to show despite his attempt to curb it. "Samuel I demand to know what is wrong."

"Something's wrong in my head … PSP, I got PSP," Sam offered as he broke eye contact with his father. Yet one more thing Sam was beginning to have trouble with, keeping his eyes focused and maintaining eye contact.

"What the hell is PSP? Where's your brother?"

"Outside with Bobby … be back soon," Sam tried to assure. Sam picked up the walkie-talkie and pushed the red call button.

In the Yard

The call button sounded just as Dean was taking a drink of cold water from his bottled water and he looked at the walkie-talkie. "Go, I'll be along in a minute," Bobby said easily.

Dean walked to the house with a quickened step. They had been using the walkie-talkie's for the last couple days and was used to the call button going off. However, when he saw the large truck he knew was his father's he started running for the steps, he took them two and three at a time. "Sammy!" he shouted when he ran into the house. John was already stalking down the hallway.

"Dean what in the hell is going on around here?" Dean resisted going off on his father and tempered his voice before he spoke.

"Hey, Dad, look let me check on Sammy real quick and we'll talk, okay?" John nodded stiffly to his son and allowed Dean to pass by and go check on his little brother. He turned and followed.

Two Hours Later

They had all sat and talked and John now sat at the kitchen table staring at the PSP booklet he had read. They had filled him in on the hunt with the entity and that they had turned up every contact and lead they could but hadn't found a way to save Sam from this disease. Sam was asleep once again and the three hunters sat silently in the kitchen.

"Jesus, Dean," John finally found his voice. "You didn't think to tell me this on the phone or at least say Sam was sick and I needed to come, dammit!"

Dean's eyes blazed. "Listen here, we've been over this … you got on my case back in Salvation when I didn't tell you about Sammy's visions, but what the hell difference would it have made, huh? He called you and basically told you I was dying and you never showed up, hell you didn't even call … so it wouldn't have mattered anyway. You don't leave messages like that on voice mail … yeah, um Sammy's basically dying Dad, drop by if you can, yeah, right," Dean leaned back and crossed his arms tightly across his chest.

John wanted to explode, wanted to yell, but instead he let out a long frustrated sigh and conceded as he had in Salvation, "you're right." He looked at Dean and Bobby. "There has to be something to reverse this."

"Johnny," Bobby started. "I've called every contact and lead I had or was told about and they all say the same thing. What this entity did wasn't any curse, it just gave Sam this thing and it isn't supernatural. They say there isn't any known cure or ritual to stop what is happening to Sam.

"We're losing him Dad." John's mind was wild with thoughts. He couldn't fathom losing a child. He had felt the desperation after the wreck when Dean was on life support in a coma and now after listening to everything that Sam couldn't do now, the pureed foods, needing help to the bathroom … it was all so overwhelming. His boy wasn't lost, not yet, there had to be a way. He'd make one if there wasn't. They weren't losing Sam and he wasn't losing his child.

"No, we aren't," John's voice was strong. "There's got to be something we haven't thought of …"

Meanwhile, back in the Library

Sam had awakened a few minutes ago and sat listening to bits and pieces of the conversation that filtered down the hall. It was an old house and the walls were thick and sounds were muted sometimes silent all together. He licked his lips and eyed the water bottle that Dean had left behind when they had all sat around Sam and had talked over what the doctor had been saying and had told John about the need to thicken his foods, etc. He grasped the uncapped bottle. He wanted so desperately to feel the cool water run down his throat and not some thick water solution that he had to drink these days because of his swallowing problems. He took a small sip and the coolness felt wonderful. It had been a small tentative sip, barely anything to slide down his throat. He took another sip this time a little more and it went down easily. Just one more he thought and he allowed himself the luxury of a solid drink, filling his mouth with the cool water and allowed it to slide down his throat only it didn't and he felt his air shut off as he coughed violently. He inhaled and felt the water fill places it shouldn't, his inhale was wet and ragged. He coughed again but it was weaker. He felt like he was suffocating and he struggled to sit up more to clear his airway. He coughed but it didn't help, he struggled and panic was setting in.

"Did you hear that?" Dean stood up. "Sounded like Sammy was coughing. I'm gonna go check on him. I'll be back." John and Bobby nodded.

Dean walked through the family room and down the hallway toward the library. "Sammy, are you …" his statement broke off. Sam was leaned back against the pillows slightly off center, his eyes were rolling back into his head and Dean could see the gray pallor of his brother's skin and the pale blue tinge barely perceivable at the corners of his brother's mouth. He saw the water bottle on the floor near the bed and the remainder of its contents ran out on the wood flooring. Dean understood in that single terrifying instant, "Sammy!"

Dean's horrified and panicked voice reached the kitchen and both Bobby and John were running toward the library.

To Be Continued