A/N: I would like to thank all of you who have put me or this story in your faves or on alert – *gives big hugs* - that's such a huge compliment! And special kudos to those of you who have reviewed. For the ones I can't reply to, I'd like to say thank-you now and let you know that I really appreciate it! You guys are the best.

CHAPTER 6

Sam stopped just before he reached the door with the faded stick-on number eleven, shuffling his feet and fidgeting on the motel's porch. The cardboard drink tray holding three hot coffees in it wobbled in his free hand as he forced himself to knock.

Tasha answered in her sleep clothes as she usually did, giving him a lopsided smile and squinting into the bright sun as he pulled her coffee from the tray and handed it to her. "It's almost nine o'clock," she scolded in jest. "You're getting slack."

"Sorry," Sam mumbled in apology, relaxing at her familiar teasing tone. "Musta slept in."

"Yeah yeah. Just don't let it happen again." She popped off the lid and blew gently on the hot drink, holding his gaze over the raised cup.

"So sorry your highness." Sam retorted, impressed with how convincingly casual he sounded. Maybe if he just pretended last night never happened, things could just go back to how they were before the madness of what they had all done in the Impala's back seat had clouded things. It really didn't seem to be bothering her or Dean, so it was pathetic for him to be all awkward about it.

"When are we heading over to the college?" she asked him, her expression turning serious.

Sam jerked his head to the next door down. "Dean's in the shower now," he told her. "So I'd say about fifteen minutes."

She nodded and stepped back into the room. "I'd better get ready then. Thanks for the coffee." He began to move away when she added "Oh, and happy birthday Sam." He turned to return her smile and give her a wave of thanks before she closed the door.

Twenty minutes later found them all piling into the Impala, Sam in his usual shotgun seat and Dean behind the wheel. The elder Winchester pulled out onto the road with a roar and turned left instead of right.

"Uh, I think the college is the other way, Dean," Tasha informed him.

"Well, I was gonna drop you off at the library first," Dean told her, catching her eye in the rear view mirror.

"What for?"

"We have two angles to work," the hunter explained. "There's the dreamroot thing and the angry spirit thing. I figured Sam and I can canvass the college with the description of our dreamwalker and you can do some research on the killer crop worker to find out where he's buried."

She didn't look pleased. "Why doesn't Sam do the library thing?" she argued. "He actually likes that crap." She squeezed Sam's shoulder. "No offense, Einstein."

"None taken," he chuckled, glad there didn't seem to be any lingering tension between the three anymore.

"I don't want you anywhere near the college," Dean said, his voice taking a no-nonsense tone as he addressed the girl in the back seat. "All it takes is a strand of hair and you're a sitting duck for this pervert."

Tasha looked like she was going to argue but pursed her lips and remained silent. "Okay, you have a point," she conceded. She sank back into the leather seat with a loud huff. "This is gonna be a boring-ass day for me," she griped.

Neither Winchester disputed that statement, both privately glad to not have to sit in a stuffy library on such a nice, sunny day.

They dropped her off and headed back towards the college, parking on a side street and starting near the girl's dorm that Ashley was staying in. There was another co-ed dorm but they had no way of knowing if there were victims in there also. It was very conceivable but, unless there was an incident to bring it out in the open like Ashley's cafeteria meltdown, the girls in there could just all be thinking they'd had a regular nightmare. All the brothers had to go on was the description from Ashley. Tasha had repeated it to them in more detail this morning and given them a hand drawn sketch of a man's face. Last night, while the Winchesters had been scanning the dorm for EMF readings, she had pressed Ashley for every last detail and drawn up the sketch with the scared college girl. Dean took a good look at this sketch now as he got out of the car.

"She's a pretty good artist," he said as he studied it and Sam didn't miss the hint of pride in his voice.

"Better'n' me," Sam admitted with a shrug, fully aware he had could barely draw stick figures.

The elder Winchester folded it up and put it in his pocket. "Yeah, too bad she can't sing for shit," he grinned.

Sam snorted, deciding not to let on that he knew the insult was Dean's lame attempt at covering the fact that he was completely smitten with their new hunting companion. "Dude, have you heard yourself sing lately?" he commented.

Dean chose to ignore the dig, refraining from pointing out that Sam couldn't carry a tune with a bucket either and could in fact start alley cats screeching with what he called singing.

They started asking everyone they saw, showing the picture under the pretense of participating in some fraternity-organized treasure hunt for Grad week. Dean quickly became frustrated as they realized this was a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack.

After a couple of hours, Sam's patience at the constant griping from his brother was wearing thin. "Okay," he said finally, taking a deep breath. "Let's take a break and start checking out the possible names we have so far."

"Right," Dean agreed quickly, grabbing Sam's notepad and flipping to the short list they had generated. "We got Scott Szleweski."

"We ruled him out because he's dating a girl in Ashley's dorm and apparently spends a lot of time there, remember? If he eats in the cafeteria there every day, then one of the girls at least would have recognized him in her dream," Sam pointed out.

"So if the guy's never around the dorm, how's he getting the girls' DNA?" Dean countered.

Sam shrugged. "Remember it could still be the crop worker."

Dean shook his head. "My gut tells me it's a dude with dreamroot."

"Your gut tells you bacon double cheeseburgers are breakfast food."

"Next on the list is Mason Wright," Dean continued, unfazed by the familiar jab about his eating habits. "He's a TA for the Biology Professor. Let's start with him."

Sam called professor Kogen and got an address for the four suspects on their list. They started with the Biology TA, cornering him outside his next class, but neither of them got a psycho vibe from him so they moved on quickly.

The second guy was a grad student who lived off campus. His roommates informed the Winchesters he had been gone all week as some family emergency had called him back to Flagstaff. Since there had been three incidents this week, it stood to reason this wasn't their guy.

Phyllis had told them their third suspect, Sheldon Weike, was a second year Philosophy student who was also on the university staff as a dishwasher in the campus bar. The brothers decided to try his workplace since his class schedule showed he had no classes today and he wasn't at home.

The campus bar was a busy place in the late afternoon. The waitress huffed in annoyance when they told her they weren't there to eat and just wanted to talk to Sheldon but they managed to sweet-talk her into going to get him from the back anyway. He came out a moment later wiping his hands on a filthy apron and giving them a wary scowl. Like the first guy, he bore a strong resemblance to Tasha and Ashley's sketch.

"Do I know you?" he asked sharply.

"We've been asked to do a survey of university students that are also on the staff and your name's on the list so we just have a few questions for you," Sam lied.

Sheldon looked annoyed but stood his ground. "Fine, what?"

"You're a recent transfer," Sam continued, not really sure what information would help them. "Where'd you transfer from?"

"Pittsburg."

Dean's head snapped up to attention. It had been four months ago in Pittsburg that university student Jeremy Frost had gone all Freddy Kreuger on Bobby. The Winchesters didn't believe in coincidences and this was certainly one Hell of a coincidence.

"Why'd you transfer?" he demanded in a slightly belligerent tone.

"The only decent prof there died," Sheldon shrugged. "The new guy sucked; he was barely even published. This place has a better program."

"The prof that died, that would be Doctor Walter Greg?" Sam pressed.

"Yeah, you know of him?"

Sam and Dean shared a suspicious look but didn't bother answering. "Did you participate in Dr. Greg's sleep study?" Sam asked. The professor's records had been seriously sparse and he and Dean had never found out how many students had been convinced to join in the study for extra credit or cash. It had been run in an unofficial capacity and involved giving some of the subjects African dreamroot.

Sheldon's shoulders stiffened and the Winchesters had enough experience in reading people's reactions to notice the sudden shift in his demeanor. His annoyed stance instantly took on a more defensive and yet vaguely threatening air.

"No. I don't know what you're talking about," he denied quickly. Too quickly.

"Ever hear of African dreamroot?" Dean hissed, squaring his own shoulders.

"No," was the steady, almost angry reply. "And I think I've had enough of your bullshit survey questions," he added, meeting Dean's hard stare with one of his own.

"What's the matter?" Dean spat, "Don't like being up against someone your own size? You're just a regular schmuck out here, huh?"

"What is your problem?" Sheldon demanded, taking a step towards Dean and showing no signs of being intimidated despite being outnumbered by two bigger men. Sam jumped forward and slid his arm in between them.

"Woah, Dean," he placated. "We've got what we needed; let's go."

His brother gave him a look of disbelief. Sam could tell Dean wanted nothing more than to beat this guy senseless right here but that wouldn't solve anything. He leaned forward and murmured in his sibling's ear. "Not here, not now."

He felt Dean's shoulders relax at the sensible words and watched as his brother reined in his temper. He could literally see Dean fighting to gain control over his anger, his struggle playing itself out as clear as day on his face. Sam could see logic and reason creeping in and slowly relaxing his brother's clenched jaw muscles and furrowed brow.

Sam knew there was no point in doing anything to the guy here. They would go back to his place, break in, search for his dreamroot to first confirm he was their perv, and then pay him a little visit later on.

"Fine," Dean finally conceded, taking a step backwards.

Sam turned to Sheldon. "Thanks, you've been a big help," he said politely, not wanting to tip him off any more than they already had.

Sheldon snorted and turned on his heel. "Fucking rejects," they heard him mumble as he headed stiffly back towards the kitchen.

Back outside, Dean nearly exploded. "That's our guy!" he exclaimed, pointing back towards the bar.

"I know," Sam admitted. "But let's get some proof anyway, alright?" He sank into his usual shotgun seat and waited for Dean to start up the engine.

"I should have plugged him right there," Dean grumbled.

"Yeah, coz shooting a guy in a bar full of people would have really been the best option," Sam scoffed. "Let's go back to his place and find his stash of dreamoot. That'll be enough proof and we can decide what to do with him later."

Dean gave Sam a sharp look. "I thought we already established that. We smoke him."

"I know," Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It's just that…"

"Yeah, I get it," Dean said more quietly, surprising Sam in the admission. "It's a whole different story when it's a human and they're not in the middle of trying to kill an innocent person or anything." He pulled the Impala out onto the road.

Sam nodded and let out a long exhale, not looking forward to what they had to do. "I don't see any other way of stopping him," he agreed. "It's not like we can send him to jail."

"Just think of it like witches," Dean rationalized. "They're human but they're using supernatural means to hurt people. In my book, that puts them under our jurisdiction."

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Sheldon Weike's address was a nice sized, three-storey house just off campus. The brothers broke in and immediately figured they had the wrong place because there were family photos and nice, yuppie-type furniture throughout. It wasn't until they ventured into the huge three-car garage full of barely-used carpentry tools that they discovered the locked door to the basement with a mailbox on it and realized there was a basement apartment. Thirty seconds and another picked lock later, they were standing in Sheldon's living room.

The place was quite large, the full size of the house above, but was stocked with old, threadbare furniture and a full-depth TV on a scratched up dresser in the corner.

"Think the Cleavers upstairs have any idea who they've got living down here?" Dean mumbled as he started searching the drawers in the TV stand for the dreamroot.

"I doubt it," Sam answered. "From the family photos, they've got a teenage daughter. If he hasn't already…" He let the sentence drop.

"The thought of wasting this guy just keeps getting easier and easier," Dean commented truthfully.

Ten minutes of hard searching and Sam finally cried out in triumph, pulling a plastic Ziploc bag of what looked a big chunk of garlic out from a hole behind a loose piece of baseboard trim in the living room. He pulled it open and took a sniff, wrinkling up his nose at the vile but recognizable stench the root gave off. He turned and moved to stand up to go into the back bedroom to show Dean but was startled to find a figure standing over him. He barely had time to throw his arm up in front of his face before the tire iron struck him. The next few seconds were a blur.

He was knocked to the ground and felt his head strike something hard underneath him, presumably the floor. His vision went white but he kicked out at whoever was above him and felt his sneaker make solid contact. His eyes managed to focus enough to see his brother appear in the doorway at the back of the apartment, a wild and worried look on his face.

"Sam!" Dean shouted as he flew forward.

The guy above him, presumably Sheldon Weike, was raising his arms to strike again when Dean barreled into him, the pair of them rolling to the floor and smashing into the coffee table.

Sam struggled to sit up and watched a blurry version of his brother getting in a few punches before he was doubling over as one landed in his gut. Sheldon struck him twice more before shoving him backwards and knocking him off his feet. The dark-haired man threw a glance towards Sam and his eyes narrowed at the sight of the baggie in the hunter's hand. He then turned and bolted towards the door, Dean picking himself up off the floor and launching himself after him.

Dean was pissed. First off, the guy was hurting innocent girls and there wasn't anything more contemptible in Dean's opinion. Girls and kids were strictly off limits. Secondly, the guy had hit his little brother with a tire iron. Nobody touched his little brother; the instinct to protect Sam was even stronger than the one looking out for girls and kids. It was this anger that fueled him as he propelled himself through the doorway into the garage.

He rounded the corner of the door jamb and straight into Sheldon's line of fire. He was slammed back into the wall and felt the agonizing sting of three sharp projectiles sinking into his shoulder and arm. He looked up to see the dark-haired dishwasher aiming a nail gun at him, a screwdriver pressed to the tip to release the safety.

"Motherffff…" he cursed, trying to swallow past the pain and stay on his feet. He didn't recover fast enough, however, because the next thing he knew he was being hit repeatedly with the same tire iron the bastard had used on his little brother. He instinctively kicked out at Sheldon but had to give up the futile attempt at fighting back to curl his arms over his head in a defensive position as the blows got harder. He had no idea how long the vicious attack continued for the next thing he remembered, his brother was grabbing at the front of his shirt. He heard Sam calling his name, panic tracing the edges of his voice, and felt a hand gently tapping his cheek as blackness swallowed him.

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A/N: Sorry about the delay in getting this posted - busy weekend. More to come soon. Sorry also if this chappie was a tad boring but they had to do some grunt work to figure the hunt out and hopefully the end made up for it? As usual, I'd love to know what you thought :)