Supernatural

Look, Dad's gone now. We have to carry out his legacy.

And that means hunting down as many evil sons of bitches as we possibly can.

- Lisa. - Dean, ha, ha.

If you wanna stick around, you're welcome to stay.

I can't. I got a lot of work to do.

And it's not my life.

Bela Talbot's her real name.

I procure unique items for a select clientele.

A thief. A great thief.

You wanna break Dean of that demon deal...

...you ain't gonna find the answer in no book.

- Then where, Bobby? - Kid, I wish I knew.

I've been busting my ass trying to keep you alive and you couldn't care less.

I don't want you to worry about me. I want you to worry about you.

I want you to give a crap that you're dying.

Every damn demon, they were all human once?

Every one I've ever met.

The answer is yes, by the way. Same thing will happen to you.

There's no way of saving me from the pit, is there?

No.

Oh! I'm sorry.

Sir?

Wake up.

Wake up, you hear me? Wake up.

Sir, wake up!

Help! I need some help in here!

Cheers.

There you are. What are you doing?

Having a drink.

It's 2 in the afternoon. Drinking whiskey?

- I drink all the time. - No, you don't.

What's the big deal?

You get sloppy in bars, you hit on chicks all the time. Why can't I?

It's kind of slim pickings around here.

What's going on with you?

I tried, Dean.

- To do what? - To save you.

Could I get a whiskey, double, neat.

- I'm serious, Dean. - No, you're drunk.

I mean, where you're going...

...what you're gonna become.

I can't stop it.

I'm starting to think maybe even Ruby can't stop it.

But really, the thing is, no one can save you.

- I've been telling you. - No, that's not what I mean.

I mean, no one can save you because you don't wanna be saved.

I mean, how can you care so little about yourself?

What's wrong with you?

Hello?

Yes, this is Mr. Sniderson.

What?

Where?

So, what's the diagnosis?

We've tested everything we can think to test.

- He seems perfectly healthy. - Except that he's comatose.

Mr. Sniderson, you're his emergency contact.

Anything we should know? Any illnesses?

No, he never gets sick. I mean, he doesn't even catch cold.

Doctor, is there anything you can do?

Look, I'm sorry, but we don't know what's causing it...

...so we don't know how to treat it.

He just...

...went to sleep and didn't wake up.

So, what was Bobby doing in Pittsburgh?

Unless he was taking an extremely lame vacation...

I mean, he must have been working a job, right?

Well, you think there'd be some sort of sign or something, you know?

Research, news clippings...

Or a frigging pizza box or a beer can.

How about this?

Good old Bobby, always covering up his tracks.

You make heads or tails of any of this?

"Silene capensis," which, of course, means absolutely nothing to me.

Here, obit.

"Dr. Walter Gregg, 64, university neurologist. "

- How'd he bite it? - Um, actually, they don't know.

They say he just went to sleep and didn't wake up.

That sound familiar to you?

All right, um...

So let's say Bobby was looking into the doc's death.

- Hunting after something... - That started hunting him.

Yeah.

See if you can make heads or tails of this.

- What are you gonna do? - Look into the good doctor myself.

So you're Dr. Gregg's lab assistant?

That's right.

Well, his death must have come as a shock to you.

Yeah, it did.

But, still, go in your sleep, peaceful... That's what you wish for, right?

Yeah. Right.

Dr. Gregg, uh, studied sleeping disorders?

Dreams?

I don't understand. I went over this with the other detective.

- You spoke to another detective? - Yes. A very nice older man with a beard.

Well, I'd love to hear it again.

Thing is, I'm sort of busy. Maybe we could do this later?

Sure. Yeah.

Just bring you down to the station later this afternoon.

Get your statement on tape, do it all official-like.

Look, okay, I didn't know about Dr. Gregg's experiments.

- Not until I was cleaning out his files. - His experiments, uh...?

The ones he was conducting on sleeping?

No one knew, okay? Not the university, not anybody.

I already spoke with a lawyer, he told me I can't be held liable for anything.

Maybe you couldn't, but that was before the new evidence came to light.

- New evidence? - Mm-hm.

What new evidence?

I'm not at liberty to say.

Look, I'm just a grad student, this was a gig to cover tuition.

Maybe so. But, uh, still...

...this could go on your permanent record.

Unless you hand over the doctor's research to me.

All of it.

Look, I don't know what the RA said, but, ahh, I was growing ferns.

Ha. Take it easy, Phish, that's not why I'm here.

Really?

Oh, thank God. Okay.

I wanna talk to you about Dr. Gregg's sleep study.

Yeah. Dr. Gregg just died, right?

- You were one of his test subjects? - Yeah.

Unless you're on duty or whatever?

I guess I can make an exception.

Now, Dr. Gregg was testing treatments for a, uh, "Charcot-Wilbrand syndrome"?

Which means...?

Um, I, uh...

I can't dream.

I had this bike accident when I was a kid...

...and I banged my head pretty good and I haven't had a dream since.

Till the study. You know. Sort of.

- What'd the doc give you? - It's this yellow tea.

- It smelled awful, tasted worse. - What did it do?

Just passed right out.

And I had the most vivid, super-intense dream.

- Like a bad acid trip, you know? - Totally.

- I mean, no. - That was it.

I dropped out of the study right after that. I didn't like it.

To tell you the truth...

...it kind of scared me.

How is he?

No change. What you got?

Well, considering what you told me about the doc's experiments...

...Bobby's wall is starting to make a lot more sense.

- How so? - This plant, Silene capensis...

...is also known as African Dream Root.

It's been used by shaman and medicine men for centuries.

Let me guess. They dose up...

...bust out didjeridus, start kicking around the hackey.

Not quite. If you believe the legends...

...it's used for dreamwalking.

Entering another person's dreams, poking around in their heads.

- I take it we believe the legends? - When don't we?

- Dreamwalking's the tip of the iceberg. - What do you mean?

Dream Root is serious mojo. You take enough of it...

...with practice, you become a regular Freddy Krueger.

You can control anything.

You could turn bad dreams good, you could turn good dreams bad.

And killing people in their sleep?

For example.

So let's say this doc was testing this stuff on his patients, Tim Leary-style.

Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a dream visit...

...he goes nighty-night.

What about Bobby?

I mean, if the killer came after him, how come he's still alive?

I don't know.

Help me!

Somebody help me!

Help me!

So how do we find our homicidal sandman?

- Could be anyone. - Yeah?

Yeah, anyone who knew the doctor and had access to his dream shrooms.

Maybe one of his test subjects?

Possible. But his research was pretty sketchy. I mean...

...I don't know how many subjects he had or who all of them were.

What?

Any other case, we'd be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.

You know what? You're right.

- What? - Let's go talk to him.

Sure, I think we might find the conversation a bit one-sided.

Not if we're tripping on some Dream Root.

- What? - You heard me.

You wanna go dreamwalking inside Bobby's head?

- Yeah. Maybe we could help. - We have no idea what's in there.

- How bad could it be? - Bad.

Dude, it's Bobby.

Yeah, you're right.

One problem, we're fresh out of African Dream Root.

So unless you know someone who can score some...

- Crap. - What?

- Bela. - Bela?

Crap.

Huh.

- You're suggesting we ask her a favor? - I feel dirty thinking about it, but yeah.

Hey, Sam.

Bela, I didn't think there's a chance in hell you'd show up.

Well, I'm full of surprises.

Though, truthfully...

...you wanna know why I'm here?

Okay.

Because of you.

- Uh, what are you doing? - I can't stop thinking about you.