CHAPTER 7

Sam was still struggling to his feet when he heard his brother utter half a curse word and fall to the floor on the other side of the doorway. He drew from his share of inherited Winchester resolve and forced his shaky legs to carry him towards the scuffle. When he reached the garage doorway, he saw Sheldon whaling on his brother with the tire iron and a new wave of energy washed over him.

"Sheldon!" he screamed, lunging for Dean's attacker. Sheldon looked up just in time to receive Sam's fist in his face and the weapon flew from his hand as he fell backwards. Sam stepped over Dean, protectively placing his bulk in front of him as he clenched his fists, ready to strike again. The smaller man scrambled to his feet, however, and opted for flight over fight, turning and running for the exit. After a quick glance down at his fallen brother, Sam chose not to follow him.

He knelt down next to Dean, who let out a soft groan and slumped back against the wall. The younger hunter gently pushed Dean's defensively raised arm down to get a better look at him. There was a cut on his forehead that was just starting to bleed, a trickle of red making its way down the side of his face. As Sam reached for him, Dean's eyelids drifted closed and his head lolled sideways. Sam fisted his brother's shirt collar and called his name a few times, tapping his cheek when he got no reaction.

Dean was completely out. Sam felt for a pulse and was grudgingly satisfied with what he found. He ghosted his hands over his brother's head, however, and swallowed hard at the couple of big lumps that were already starting to form. Nursing a killer headache himself, Sam rolled back on his haunches for a second to gather his thoughts. He had to get Dean out of there before Sheldon called the cops. As far as they would see it, the Winchesters were the only ones breaking the law.

He grabbed the baggie of dreamroot that had been dropped in his haste to get to Dean and stuffed it into his jacket. He squatted back down and tried to decide the best way to pick his brother up and get him into the car. Hearing a vibrating sound from Dean's jeans pocket, however, he paused and instead pulled his brother's phone out, reading the display. He flipped it open and, at the same time, pulled up one of the unconscious hunter's eyelids to check his pupils.

"Tasha, hi," he said simply, his focus on the overly dilated green eye staring blankly up at him.

"Sam? Why are you answering Dean's phone?"

"Listen, I can't talk right now. We found the guy but Dean took a knock on the head. I gotta get him back to the motel."

"Is he okay?" There was no mistaking the fear in her voice.

Sam lifted the second eyelid and was heartened when he felt his brother stir. "Yeah, don't worry, I got him," he assured her. "I'll call you back in a bit, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed quietly.

Sam flipped the phone shut and pulled Dean up into the sitting position, breathing a sigh of relief at the disgruntled moan he was rewarded with for his efforts. Releasing his grip on Dean's shirt, however, he noticed the blood soaking through on the hunter's shoulder and upper arm.

"What the…" He pulled the shirt aside and tore the t-shirt underneath to get a better look at the source of the blood.

"Bastard shot me," Dean whispered, fighting to raise his head and open his eyes. The stream of blood from the head wound was running down across his brow, making him blink with the sticky accumulation in his lashes.

"What!" Sam heard his voice rise twelve octaves but didn't care as he searched frantically for the supposed bullet wound in the blood-smeared skin of Dean's shoulder. He hadn't heard a gunshot but he had admittedly been a little groggy himself after the blow to the head he'd taken.

"With a nail gun." Dean finished, actually having the nerve to chuckle at Sam's obvious panic.

Sam found the head of the first nail, protruding about a quarter of an inch out of Dean's shoulder and uttered a few choice curses under his breath. "I need to get you back to the motel to take these out," he told his brother. "You gonna be okay 'til then?"

Dean gave him a withering look. "Just help me up, Sasquatch," he grumbled.

Sam tucked himself under Dean's good side and hauled him to his feet, gripping his arm to steady him until he got his feet under himself. He could feel Dean's body tensing with the sharp pain but the stoic hunter never made a sound. Sam never failed to be amazed by the amount of abuse Dean could take and soldier on without a complaint. Why that didn't apply to colds, sniffles, and awkward rashes, he had no idea.

He took the brunt of his brother's weight as they made their way back out to the car. Dean was lowered into the passenger side as gently as Sam could manage, his face screwed up into a continual wince of pain at the jostling. The bleeding hunter tried to relax into the comfortable leather seat but frowned when he rolled his head sideways to face Sam as the younger man started up the engine with a roar.

"Dude, you're bleeding," Dean chastised, obviously just noticing the blood trickling out from Sam's longer hair at the nape of his neck.

"I'm fine," Sam said with enough force to effectively quash any ridiculous comments Dean may have been planning with regards to him driving or stopping to check out Sam's wounds. His big brother had been known to be frustratingly overprotective, to both the neglect and detriment of his own health. Dean's impending date with the Hellhounds was proof of that and Sam didn't have the patience to put up with another bout of 'big brother' right now. Not when Dean was beaten and bleeding in the passenger seat.

Dean made a noise that sounded like "hmph" but remained silent for the rest of the drive. Sam helped him into the hotel room and tore the bloodied t-shirt off altogether, for which he received a stream of curses that he knew had more to do with the pain of the three nails protruding from Dean's body than the loss of a plain grey t-shirt.

He started with the one in the hunter's bicep, grabbing the head with a pair of pliers and giving it a sharp yank backwards. Dean simply hissed in pain and nodded for him to continue. The second nail was wedged into his collarbone and Sam winced in sympathy at the mere sight of it. Dean couldn't help but release a sharp cry of pain as that one was yanked out. The third was deep, so deep that Sam had to poke around under the skin to find the head.

"You ready?" he asked when he finally got the pliers clamped on it.

"Just do it already," Dean ground out through gritted teeth.

Sam pulled it out, dropping the nail on the table as he doused the area quickly with alcohol. Well, vodka actually, the usual antiseptic of hunters. Dean clenched his fists around the arms of the chair as he panted his way through the stinging pain of the wounds being cleaned and struggled to stay awake.

There was a knock on the door and both brothers jumped at the unexpected sound. Dean waggled his fingers towards his duffle, gesturing for Sam to grab his .45 for him. The tension instantly dissipated though when Tasha's voice drifted through the door.

"Sam? Dean? You guys in there?"

Sam opened the door for her, standing back when she caught sight of Dean sitting at the table, shirtless and bleeding and rushed past him with a gasp. He stifled a laugh when he caught his embarrassed big brother rolling his eyes at her fretting when she took over seeing to his wounds. Dean wasn't used to being fussed over without first flirting the attention out of an emergency room nurse. Sam could completely understand Tasha's reaction, however, because he had to admit Dean looked bad. Besides the vodka-smeared blood on his shoulder and face, multiple bruises were starting to form all over his shoulder and forearm from the tire iron.

"I got a booboo," Dean chuckled, giving her a mischievous wink. "I'm gonna need you to kiss it better."

"What you need is full body armor," she retorted, no amusement showing through her worry.

"I'll second that," Sam chimed in, deciding to see to his own head wound now that he had effectively been relieved of Dean-duty. He was dabbing a wet cloth on the painful lump on the back of his skull when it occurred to him Tasha had no car.

"How'd you get here?" he asked suddenly.

"I hitched," she answered distractedly.

"What? You know how dangerous that is?"

Tasha spun to face him with a raised eyebrow. "Seriously?" she asked with an astonished laugh. "I hunt monsters and vampires and you're gonna give me a hard time over thumbing a ride from some redneck?"

When she put it like that it did sound a little ridiculous, he admitted so he let it drop, scolding himself for sounding too protective. That was Dean's job.

"So what happened, anyway?" she asked, directing her question at Sam. The younger hunter sat down with a sigh and filled her in on their day.

"Well, it makes sense it's your dreamroot theory," she shrugged. "Coz I found a photo of the crop worker murderer and the three people he killed and emailed it to Ashley and none of them look anything like her guy. I was bored, being stuck in a library and all," she rolled her eyes, "So I looked through recent death records and found two people who've died inexplicably in their sleep in the last couple of weeks. A healthy male student from the college and a woman in her forties who worked across town."

"So Sheldon's killed people as well," Sam surmised.

"That'd be my guess. What's our next move?" she asked him.

She was still addressing Sam and he belatedly noticed that although she was gently applying a butterfly bandage to the cut over Dean's brow, she was avoiding any direct eye contact with the elder Winchester. On top of that, she clearly considered Dean out of commission at this point and Sam realized the fact that Dean wasn't picking up on that meant his brother was indeed in pretty bad shape. Dean was being eerily quiet. Sam could always tell when Dean was really hurting because he stopped his griping.

"Let's take a breather," Sam suggested, gesturing towards his brother whose vision was temporarily blocked by the wet cloth over his eyes. If he was being honest, he was still shaken from the memory of seeing Dean crumpled on the floor and bleeding. He'd seen Dean die a hundred deaths before but there was no Trickster involved here and there would be no do-overs this time. If Dean died now, before Sam had the chance to find a way out of his deal, then it was all over. Today had been too close. If Sheldon had landed just one well-placed blow…

Too fucking close.

"We can give it a couple of hours before we start looking for Sheldon," he finished with a sigh.

"What if he goes dreamwalking in the meantime?" Tasha pressed.

He pulled the baggie out of his pocket and tossed it on the table. "We've got his stash. Besides, nobody's sleeping in the middle of the day. We've got some time."

She seemed reassured by his words and nodded in acceptance. She finished cleaning and bandaging Dean's wounds quietly and stepped back, letting Sam take his brother's arm to haul him towards the comfort of the bed. Dean's knees buckled after three steps and Sam took all of his weight, sitting him down on the mattress and fluffing up the pillows behind him. He took it as a good sign when Dean groaned at the mother hen routine and batted his hand at him to back off.

"No sleeping," Sam warned, allowing a smirk to pull at his lips as he stood back.

"I think I know a thing or two about concussions and head wounds, Sam," Dean groused, grabbing the remote from the bedside table and clicking the TV on. "Just give me an hour and a cheeseburger and we'll go get this son of a bitch."

"I'll go get the food," Tasha offered quickly, slipping out the door before either of the Winchesters could protest.

"What's with her?" Sam asked, thinking the girl's quick exit was a bit peculiar.

"Women," Dean scoffed, though there was a tone of understanding in his voice. "They think too much about what might have happened. She'll be alright."

Sam thought about Dean's words, finding himself genuinely surprised at how astute an observation Dean had actually made. He sometimes forgot that Tasha had been alone a long time and having someone else to worry about was a bit of a new thing for her. He couldn't help but wonder if she would be as shaken if he had been hurt instead of Dean.

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Two hours and two cheeseburgers later, Dean was back on his feet as promised. His shoulder and forearm were a mass of bruises and he had a nasty gash above his eye but somehow he seemed convincingly fine. Tasha's mood seemed to follow suit and by the time Dean made a joke at Sam's expense, she laughed out loud.

"We gotta find this guy," Dean announced suddenly, turning off the TV and grabbing his coat. "It's suppertime already and for all we know, he could have more dreamroot."

Sam gave him a concerned look and received a sharp glare of warning in return. "I'm fine," Dean insisted. "Besides, this is a normal dude, remember. Not some super-powered fugly."

Tasha snorted. "Yeah, a normal dude who took down two Winchesters," she pointed out, earning herself a scowl of disapproval from both brothers. "I'm just saying," she said with a shrug. "Okay, where do we start looking?"

"I say we try the house again," Sam shrugged. "If he's not there, we try the bar."

"Sounds like a plan," she nodded, rooting through her duffle for her 9mm.

"Uh, where do you think you're going?" Dean said sharply.

Tasha spun to face him. "Oh no you don't," she warned. "Don't even think it. You get yourself half killed and you're gonna try telling me it's too dangerous?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, but this guy's a perv," he argued weakly.

"How's that worse than going up against some ghoul who wants to eat you or a demon who wants to make you his meat suit?" she demanded, tucking her handgun down the back of her jeans. "Besides, I'm gonna be with you the whole time."

Sam looked back and forth between the pair. "I'll wait in the car," he spoke up suddenly, grabbing his duffle and darting out the door.

Dean sighed but held Tasha's gaze. She had joined them on a lot of hunts over the past two months and had been in several dangerous, violent situations and he knew she could hold her own, but this one was different. He couldn't explain why but he had a bad feeling about this one. This guy was worse than the demons and ghouls because they were at least predictable. They were acting like they were supposed to act. They couldn't help what they were – killing was in their nature. This sadistic bastard was human and Dean just couldn't figure out evil humans.

"Look," Dean said gently, "I realize I kinda scared you today."

"Kinda?" she snorted. "Did you see the mess you were in?"

"I'm fine now," he insisted, stepping in close and placing a reassuring hand on her arm, his green eyes unwavering as they peered into her brown ones. He knew how to convince people he was fine; he'd been doing it his whole life.

"I know that," she replied, the antagonism disappearing from her voice. "But I have as much right to hunt this guy as you do and..."…she paused… "…And I have as much right to try and look out for you as you do for me."

Dean studied her face for a moment before she suddenly pressed up against him and buried her head in his chest, her slender arms wrapping around his waist. He closed his eyes and returned the hug, pressing his lips to the top of her head. A diverse mixture of feelings flooded through him, as they did whenever she expressed some hint of affection that ran deeper than the sexual chemistry they shared. There was fear and there was doubt but there was also what he thought might actually be happiness. Or maybe it was hope. He dared not call it love.

Whatever it was, her next words shattered it and replaced it completely with guilt.

"I really can't take anyone else dying, okay?" she mumbled into his chest. "So I'm coming to make sure you don't go getting yourself killed. I can't lose you too."

Dean was glad she couldn't see his face. He badly wanted to tell her he wasn't going anywhere, that she wasn't going to lose him and that he would never leave her but he couldn't. Lies didn't get any bigger than that. His stomach was tying itself in knots with dread over having to tell her about his deal and he knew he was completely to blame for what was to come, for the pain he was going to cause her.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, still holding her close.

He felt a chuckle vibrating through her chest and she pulled away just enough to look up at him. At five foot eight, she was a good five inches shorter than he was and had to push herself up onto her tippy-toes to plant a quick kiss on his lips. "You don't have to apologize," she smiled. "You didn't hit yourself with a tire iron." She stepped away and grabbed her jacket. "Now this Sheldon dude, on the other hand, owes me a huge apology."

Dean managed a laugh of his own, his usual emotional mask reassembling itself as he shoved all the unwanted feelings back inside where they had spent the last twenty-five years. "Owes you?" he snorted. "That guy ruined my favorite t-shirt. He owes me twelve bucks."

He followed her out the door to find Sam waiting in the Impala's driver's seat. Dean didn't argue and simply got in the passenger side. Although he had refused to wear a sling, his arm was still throbbing painfully and his baby, as much as he loved her, was a beast to drive.

There was no sign of Sheldon Weike at his house. The family upstairs was home and Tasha knocked on the door to ask but they didn't seem to have noticed anything amiss downstairs and told her they thought he was at work.

The hunters tried the bar next but again found nothing. Sam and Dean tried to keep a low profile in case anyone who had possibly seen them earlier in a near-confrontation with the dishwasher thought to warn him they had returned. Although it went against all their instincts, they took a booth in the back corner while Tasha asked around for Sheldon.

She came back over after a few minutes and slid into the booth next to Dean. "He left early from his lunch shift today," she explained, "But the bartender says that Sheldon told him he would definitely be back by seven tonight for his late shift."

Both hunters looked at their watches in unison. "Just after six," Sam said with a loud huff. "I suppose we can wait here for an hour."

A waitress came over and Dean ordered a round of drinks; a Becks beer for Sam, Tasha's usual Bailey's and milk, and a double scotch neat for himself. He ignored Sam's disapproving frown at his selection. He was in pain and he felt justified ordering the hard stuff even while on the job when he was in pain.

Half an hour later, as he was jostling his way out of the crowded men's room, Dean threw a furtive glance over towards the kitchen. The doors had two round windows and he could see the dishwashing station from this angle so he and Sam had been taking turns every few minutes or so to scope it out and see if Sheldon had shown up for work yet. There was still a short, red-headed kid standing there, scrubbing pots and looking bored as hell. Dean groaned with impatience and was about to head back to their booth when he saw him.

Sheldon Weike, standing in the dark corner by the staff exit behind the waitress who had taken their order. He was looking right at Dean but he didn't seem worried or nervous. "Arrogant prick," Dean muttered under his breath, anger boiling up inside him at the mere sight of this guy.

But the anger turned to fear when he suddenly realized what Sheldon was holding. It was just a glass, but Dean's observational skills were better than most and he immediately picked out that the waitress was heading towards the kitchen and had an empty bottle of Becks and an empty whiskey glass on her tray. The glass Sheldon was holding up with a taunting wave was empty but had a milky white residue all around it.

Oh shit - Bailey's and milk.

Sheldon aimed a viscous smirk at Dean, throwing a lewd twitch of the eyebrows in the direction of the booth where Sam and Tasha sat at the back before disappearing out the staff door.

"You bastard!" Dean shouted at the top of his lungs, shoving people out of his way in his panic to follow. He literally leapt over a table full of college kids, who jumped up screaming to escape the array of drinks his heavy boot knocked over. He landed on his feet on the other side and kept running but was hindered by two bouncers grabbing his arms as he neared the door.

"Settle down Buddy," one of them ordered, trying to bring him to a halt. Dean hauled off and punched him in the face and kept on running, oblivious to the fact that they were coming after him. He skidded his way out the back door only to see a small blue Toyota peeling out of the staff parking lot, empty glass held triumphantly out the window like the checkered flag after a Grand prix win.

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A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter – I tried to get a bit of everything in there. The story's a bit of a wild ride from this point on so hopefully I can get what I see in my head onto the page for you and do it justice! Let me know what you thought – reviews are always appreciated and do encourage me so! :-)