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When Bobby mysteriously drops into a coma in Pittsburgh, Our Intrepid Heroes are forced to stop feeling sorry for themselves long enough to road-trip over to Pennsylvania to figure out what the hell is really going on. Seems some all-too-human psycho got himself addicted to a magical herb that allows him to creep through other people's dreams, and when Bobby got a little too close to cutting off the freak's supply of the stuff, the lunatic waited until Bobby fell asleep, and then ensnared him in a permanent nightmare in which Bobby's long-deceased wife endlessly torments him, because Bobby stabbed her to death after she got herself possessed by a demon oh, so many years ago. Sam and Dean swallow some of the magical herb themselves, though, and manage to snap Bobby out of it, but the freak makes a run for it, and the boys eventually realize that they'll have to put themselves under again in an attempt to lure Batshit Boy out into the open. Well, out into the open of their dreamscape. Or something. Shut up. It made sense when I was watching it.
And so, lure him they do. Unfortunately, Batshit Jeremy's become quite adept at manipulating others' nightmares, and he quickly splits them up, the better for Dean to beat himself to death with his insecurities, fears, and Daddy Issues while Jeremy beats Sam to death with a baseball bat. Fortunately, Sam -- perhaps because of his lingering psychic abilities -- manages to get the upper hand when he dredges up some wicked Daddy Issues Batshit Jeremy's been hanging onto for the last two decades, and he winds up saving both his brother and himself when he bashes Batshit's brains out.
Oh, and Posh Bela steals The Fucking Colt. God, I hate her. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Rattle, Rattle THEN! Hmmm. Let's see: Slutty El Deano had lots and lots of Gumby sex many years ago with some aerobics instructor, or whatever, named Lisa, or whatever, who may or may not have subsequently borne his child, or whatever, and Slutty El Deano was quite chuffed to run into her again earlier in the season right before he scampered off and got himself a vasectomy. In far more annoying news, Posh Bela Talbot introduced herself to Our Intrepid Heroes as the go-to broad they'd want to see if ever they wished to "procure unique items for a select clientele," and she then proceeded to ruin several episodes that otherwise had the potential to be rather entertaining. Meanwhile, Fretful Sammy and His Worried Hair have been busting their collective and rather tantalizing ass trying to keep Dean alive, but Callous El Deano's been acting like he couldn't care less. Of course, this is simply because Callous El Deano's actually a LYING LIAR WHO LIES, as revealed at the end of last week's episode, in which his Ducky Lips puckered with near-debilitating amounts of angst upon receiving the news that he'd eventually become a demon himself. Got all that? Good. Now zip it for the...
...Silence, Silence NOW! Bad-ass Bobby -- hi, Bobby! -- warily creeps through the first floor of a darkened Victorian, his feeble flashlight leading the way. Something unearthly whispers through the air behind him, but Bobby soldiers on nevertheless, picking his way carefully into the house's kitchen until he's...set upon by a screaming banshee in a white nightgown! DUN! The camerawork gets all dizzyingly hand-held as the banshee slams Bad-ass Bobby to the floor and starts handing him his grizzled ass on a platter, but just as suddenly as the attack had begun, the audience gets pimp-slapped over to...
...a rather peaceful Bobby slumbering quietly upon a motel room's bed. Buhzuh? "Did you not read the promotional materials, you silly little man?!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, contempt for your faithful recapper rouging each syllable. "For that matter," Raoul continues, casting a baleful glare in my general direction over my apparent stupidity, "did you not read this episode's title!? It's a dream sequence!" Well, duh, Raoul. I'm not that frigging dumb; I was simply attempting to illus-- "Oh, do be quiet and get on with it already! You and I both know there's nary a single, solitary SPLAT! of gore until the end of this dreary episode, so hurry along! Now!" Goddamn, Raoul! Fine! If you'll shut that gaping maw of yours long enough for me to-- "CHOP-CHOP!" Stupid Raoul. "I HEARD THAT!"
So, ANY-way, Bobby's actually sacked out on a motel room's bed, and everything prior to this point was actually a nightmare from which he's apparently incapable of waking, for neither the disturbing content of the dream itself nor the loud entrance of one of the motel's maids rouses Bobby from his deep slumber. In fact, so still does he remain that the instantly rattled maid tiptoes over to his side to jab a hesitant poke at his arm, clearly expecting her finger to bump up against rapidly cooling corpseflesh. Meanwhile...
...The Woman In White's still kicking Dream Bobby's ass, and even starts hammering his head against the floorboards when...
...the maid, increasingly frantic, starts vigorously shaking Real Bobby by the shoulders, yelling at him to wake up, before finally calling out towards the hall, "Help! I need some help in here!" Real Bobby's deceptively placid yet impressively hirsute expression would fall into the METAL TEETH CHOMP!, I'm sure, were the METAL TEETH CHOMP! not getting sick of hacking up hairballs all of the time.
RAAAWWWR! "Eeeeeeeeeeeee!" shrieks Raoul, who I think is still annoyed with me. "Oh, it's not you!" Raoul admits. "It's that silly little Kripke person, thinking I, of all people, would be interested in yet another episode entirely devoted to the psychological workings of those dear boys' minds!" I feel you, my scaly friend, but there's a very nice bludgeoning towards the end, so let's get this moving, shall we? "Absolutely!" Atta boy.
The opening guitar chords of "Long Train Runnin'" by The Doobie Brothers -- get it? -- chug through the blackness that follows the title card, and the lights eventually come up on the interior of some dive, in which Forlorn Sammy is rather uncharacteristically searching for the answers to his many, many woes in the bottom of a bottle, and in a Cleansing Burst Of Synchronicity, Dashing El Deano enters the bar at this precise moment to note the exact same thing about his sad gigantic brother. Thanks, Dean, but I think everyone in the audience already has it handled. Oh, and look at that: the lengthy and mopey conversation that follows covers nothing the audience doesn't already know about Sam's thus-far-ineffectual search for Dean's salvation, so let's skip ahead to the point where Dean's cell phone chirps with a most unexpected phone call. "What?" Dean barks into the receiver. "Where?" And the thing we know...
...the Impala's tearing off through the night, until Our Intrepid Heroes...
...find themselves at Comatose Bobby's bedside, where the boys stand in stunned silence as the doctor explains the dire situation thusly: "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!" Sam and Dean exchange Looks Fraught With Significance before focusing in on Comatose Bobby's ever-placid visage for a moment. DUN! "Are you sure that was a DUN!?" Raoul shriekily inquires. "Because it didn't really feel like a DUN! to me!" Who's writing this goddamned thing, dragon man? "Ooops! My most sincere apologies, I'm sure!" Well, okay, to be honest with you, I wasn't sure how to end the para-- "I KNEW IT! Hee!" Oh, leave me alone, Raoul.
Now, where were we? Oh, yes: The boys have arrived at Comatose Bobby's heron-themed -- yes, "heron-themed" -- motel room, wondering all the while why Bobby would ever be caught dead in a shitty little backwater like Pittsburgh. They quickly deduce he was on a case, and just as quickly uncover his cache of research, which Bobby -- apparent paranoid he must be -- has buried in the back of the room's closet. Among the expected maps and Post-Its and spectacularly psychedelic photographs of mushrooms on the hoof, Sam and Dean zero in on a rather prominently displayed fact-sheet on African Dream Root, which neither of them has heard of before. Fortunately, they also spot a nearby obituary for a local 64-year-old university neurologist named Walter Gregg, "who just went to sleep" one day "and didn't wake up." DUN! I mean, I'm pretty sure this time. "I felt that one!" Raoul assures me, and thanks very much for that vote of confidence, my scaly friend. "Not a problem in the least!" So, armed with this new information, Our Intrepid Heroes decide to split up, with Sam remaining in the heron-themed motel room while Dean heads out to investigate The Good Doctor Gregg's last days on earth.
Cut to The University Of Westmoreland's School Of Medicine, and in case you were wondering: No, Westmoreland County doesn't actually contain a university, though one might argue that Westmoreland's School Of Medicine can easily be found in the still-active glass-lined tanks of Old Latrobe. In any event, Dean enters The Late Doctor Gregg's offices accompanied by the late doctor's assistant, and it becomes clear from a glance at the books still stacked on the desk that The Good Doctor was actually an oneirologist. Dean, once again masquerading as a detective, attempts to confirm this, but of course elicits no more than a puzzled "I already went over this with the other detective" from the befuddled assistant. So he slathers on some of that old El Deano charm to get her to talk, but unfortunately for him, she's not having it. At all. "I'm sort of busy," she claims, and frostily wonders if perhaps they could "do this later," with "later" obviously meaning "some time around, oh, say, never." Dean changes tacks to threaten her with a more vigorous interrogation down at the station house, and fortunately for him, she chooses not to call his bluff, instead quickly spilling her guts over The Good Doctor's horribly illegal drug-related experiments on cash-strapped undergraduates. Dean demands all of The Good Doctor's research, now, and soon finds himself...
...poor Bobby's tormented head, where his nightmare with the banshee continues apace. Dream Bobby -- now sporting a nasty set of scratches on his cheek, yet somehow also still sporting his signature trucker's cap despite the pounding he took the last time we saw him -- has barricaded himself in a closet, and as the banshee goes apeshit with the wailing and the slamming herself against the door and whatnot, Dream Bobby spins around to face the camera and howl, "Help me! HEEEEEELP MEEEEEEEEE!" as the camera shoots backwards from his face, impossibly elongating the closet's interior as it does so, leaving Dream Bobby a mere speck of his bellowing self at the very far end of the shot until we...
...pop out of Dream Bobby's head to land right in the middle of the METAL TEETH CHOMP! "That was most certainly discombobulating, indeed!" Raoul shrieks. Um. Really? "Of course not! But I am trying to be polite, as always! Besides, did you see what I just did there?! 'Dis-com-BOB-ulating'!? Hee!" We really need to get some gore up in here, because Raoul is driving me nuts. "My pleasure, I'm sure!"
Hospital corridor. Sam and Dean pedebabble regarding the issue at hand until Super-Smart El Deano realizes they can find out what's going on in Comatose Bobby's head simply by taking some of the Dream Root themselves. The Ginormotron -- who's positively towering over Li'l Stumpy in some of these shots, here -- finds this an excellent plan, with only one minor hitch: Wherever will they find the necessary amounts of Doctor Gregg's magical herb? Uh, his office? Maybe break into his house, or something? Oh, even better -- I'm sure he's got a huge stash of it squirreled away in some mystery storage unit somewhere, right? Right? Alas, Dean determines they have but a single option: Bela. "Bela?" Sam and I snort simultaneously, with near-overwhelming amounts of disgust. "Crap!" Li'l Stumpy's none too pleased with the idea himself but clomps off to give her a ring, anyway, and The Ginormotron flails about in frustration for a moment before joining his bow-legged midget of a brother down the hall.
Later that evening, Darling Sammy taps away on his laptop in The Heroin Suite until an unexpected knock arrives at the door. He rises to answer, and heaves a tremendous sigh of distaste when he finds Posh Bela standing at the threshold. Instead of punching her in the neck for daring to harm one of his remarkably healthy shoulders, he wordlessly invites her in, and as she's wrapped in a tan trench that clearly has little beneath it, I'm already starting to go blind. Sam snots something about how he never thought she'd show up, she coos that she's full of surprises, her hands move to untie the trench's belt, and Bamp-Chicka-Wow-Wow! "Whaddya think you're doing?" Sam stammers. "You!" Posh Bela pretty much replies as she allows her trench to drop to the carpet, and oh, HELL to the negligeed no! "But Demian, darling!" Raoul hastens to remind me. "If he sleeps with her, she dies! Hooray!" Yeah, too bad this is just a dream sequence, Raoul. "Rats! Fast-forward! Fast-forward NOW!" Already on it, my scaly friend. So, Real Sam quite literally drools his way through an unsightly and unspeakable bout of filthy dream-time fornication with that foul-tempered bint until oblivious Dean shouts him awake. Sam, who'd dozed off draped across the room's table, snaps upright in his chair with both a horrified expression on his face and a steely boner in his jeans. No, really. No. Really. NO REALLY SAM POPPED A WOODY OVER BELA AND THIS SHOW BLOWS AND I WANT TO DROP DEAD RIGHT NOW and look! Here's Bela! CONVENIENTLY ARRIVING AT THE MOTEL ROOM AT THIS VERY SECOND! AAAUAAUAAUUAAAAAAAGH!
In any event, after Keanuing about the whole bizarre situation for a moment, Sam realizes that this tastefully appointed Victorian is actually Bobby's house, albeit with radically altered interior décor. They slink through the main floor, urgently whispering Bobby's name, until Stupid Sam comes up with the brilliant idea of checking out the exterior on his own. Dean wisely hisses that they should stay together, because duuuuuh, but Stupid Sam ignores this excellent advice and blunders his way out into...
...an entirely different dreamscape altogether! Yep, he emerges from the nighttime gloom of the Victorian's front hall not into the rainswept evening, but rather onto a stunningly sunlit front porch facing a vibrantly colored front yard, complete with cheery little songbirds chirping in the surrounding trees. D'OH! Ominously enough, of course, the house's front door slams shut and locks itself of its own accord behind him. DUN!
Back inside, Dean continues to lurk through the main floor, shouting Bobby's name until a timid little reply comes from the mud room closet off the kitchen. "Who's out there?" Bobby whimpers. Dean's freaked, because the Bad-ass Bobby he knows would never pull that touchy-feely self-help whimpering crap, bitch. Shoving aside his doubts, though, he warily approaches the door -- claw-scarred from the banshee, natch -- and convinces wimpy whimpering Bobby to come out. "Of the closet?!" Raoul shrieks. Not like that, you screechy little fool. "Ooops! Sorry! Hee!" ANY-way, the instant Bobby shows himself, Dean starts babbling about the magical herb and The Good Doctor and whatnot, but Dream Bobby hasn't a freaking clue what Dean's going on about, and what's more, he descends into a mad panic when the kitchen lights start buzzing and blinking and flickering on and off. Dashing El Deano manfully grabs Dream Bobby by the latter's shoulders and shakes, yelling, "It's a dream, Bobby -- none of this is real!" "Does that look made up?" Dream Bobby quakes, shakily raising a finger to indicate The Woman In White who's just now joining this evening's festivities in clearly visible person. And, frankly, she's a bit of a mess, what with those hideous gashes marring the otherwise flawless skin on her neck and chest. "Wait! What!? Is it?! IT IS! GOOOOOOOOOOORE!" "You deceitful little man!" Raoul chides after he's finished writhing himself into a tizzy on his overstuffed armchair. "You told me I'd have to wait until the end!" I...wanted to surprise you? "Well, you've succeeded!" Raoul shrieks, clapping his freshly manicured paws together with glee. "Those ro-bust gouges in that woman's chest are simply delightful!" I'm glad you appreciate them, my scaly friend. "And did you see what I did there?!" Yes, Raoul. Yes, I did. Now stuff a sock in it so I can get us the hell out of this sequence, okay? "Okay!"
(And I trust that you, dear reader, will not be informing Raoul that I just forgot about all of this, yes? Good.)
So. Where were we? Oh, yes: METAL TEETH CHOMP! Well, sort of. First Dean has to wonder who The Woman In White is, then Dream Bobby has to gasp, "My wife!" and then The Undead Mrs. Bobby gets to lurch forward into the METAL TEETH CHOMP!, but whatever.
The Heroin Suite. Our Intrepid Heroes zonk out on their respective beds until a shuddery edit wallops us all into Sam's brightly lit version of Bobby's nightmare, and it's a terribly inviting place to be, what with its carefully manicured lawn and exquisitely precise landscaping, so Dream Ginormotron decides to amble lankily through the saturated primaries for a bit. ...Good for him?
Malibu Bobby's Dream House, and we have reached the part of Bobby's backstory I have never, ever cared about: Why Bobby Singer Became A Hunter In The First Place. Yeah, I said it. Never cared, never will. Stone me if you must. I don't give a shit. So, long story short, Mrs. Bobby had the great misfortune of getting her fool self possessed, and because Bobby didn't know from exorcisms at the time, he, uh, stabbed her to death? Wouldn't the demon have shrugged off the stabbing to snap his hairy neck with a mighty "MUAH HA HA HA HA HA!"? You know what? Screw it. Pretend that initial demon was just fucking with good ol' Bobby, here, and fled Mrs. Bobby's body after it had tricked Bobby into killing her, okay? "Okay!" Excellent.
Lawn. Sam luxuriates in his relaxing ramble until...Dream Jeremy nails him in his remarkably broad chest with a baseball bat! "KILL HIM!" shrieks Raoul, understandably distressed. "KILL THE ONE WHO WOULD HARM THE CHEST!" Calm down, dude. We're getting there. "Oh, goody!" By the way, we get a couple of quick inserts of Sleepy Sammy reacting physically, first to the blow itself, then to the force of his entire fifteen-foot frame hitting the ground. So, you know, what happens in Malibu Bobby's Dream House doesn't necessarily stay there. Just so you're aware. "You don't belong here," Dream Jeremy crazies, and they're pulling this cool, disorienting effect with the editing by letting the shots, for the most part, unspool in real time, with occasional and subtle fast-forwarded blips punctuating the natural flow, the better to indicate the insanity of this dream world now that Batshit Jeremy's in charge of it. For yes, gentle reader, Jeremy -- in both Dream and Real forms -- is both in control and most certifiably batshit, indeed, but more on that later, for first we have to leap back into...
...Malibu Bobby's Dream House, where The Undead Mrs. Bobby's throwing herself against a door again. Sucks to be her afterlife. Well, if this were real, which it is not, which Dean eventually forces Dream Bobby to realize via a great deal of manly shouting, and after Dream Bobby squints his eyes and thinks real hard for a second, The Undead Mrs. Bobby's disappeared. "I don't believe it," Dream Bobby breathes. "Believe it!" Dean snaps. "Now would you please wake up?"
"Sweet dreams!" Batshit Jeremy croons out on the lawn, and he hoists his baseball bat high into the air to bring it crashing down upon Darling Sammy's unruly mop just as...
...Bobby snaps awake in his hospital room, which hauls...
...Sam and Dean out of it over in The Heroin Suite! Generalized panting abounds until the camera finally pulls a gentle cross-fade back to...
...Bobby's hospital room, where he and Dean review all of the research gathered thus far. There's a touching moment in which Dean confirms that Bobby did indeed kill his wife, followed by another touching moment in which Bobby thanks Dean for saving his life, and good Lord, but Jensen Ackles is ridiculously pretty in this shot. So. Wow. Yeah. Wow. Um. Wow. "You know," Raoul rudely interrupts, "you can continue any time you're ready!" Ooops. Gotcha. So, Sam arrives with the depressing news that "Stoner Boy" has fled his scummy dorm room, which means it must be time for a hearty round of expository blather regarding Batshit Jeremy's origins. According to Bobby, who yanked the psycho's entire file before said psycho trapped Bobby in a nightmare, "Jeremy Frost" is a "genius" with "a hunnert and sixty IQ." This despite the fact that Batshit Jeremy's dad "took a baseball bat to his head" back in the day, so when I said Jeremy was LYING about the bicycle accident? Here's your proof. You can thank me later. Bobby passes a photocopy of Bad Dad's license to Sam, and according to that license -- which was issued in February 1990 and expired four years later -- Bad Dad is exactly eight days younger than I am, and since "he died before Jeremy was ten," according to Bobby, that means Bad Dad was -- at most -- fifteen years old when Jeremy was born. And God. Damn, but Mr. Henry David Frost is looking rough for a 21-year-old in that license photo. Oh, show. Oh, stupid, stupid show. Whatever! Moving on: Long story short, the beating left Jeremy both batshit and syndromed with Charcot-Wilbrand, and he hadn't dreamt at all until he entered The Good Doctor's study. Sam's excellent question involves Batshit Jeremy's access to Bobby's dream bank (or whatever): How did Batshit Jeremy acquire the DNA sample necessary to hop into Bobby's head via the Dream Root? Abashed Bobby admits that before he knew Jeremy was responsible, he stupidly accepted Jeremy's offer of healing booze. Dean's all, "Um...ooops!" Sam's screams, "You moron! Now that psychotic freak can fuck with both of your dreams!" Overreacting yet again, Bobby howls, "WE CAN NEVER SLEEP AGAIN!" And I'm wondering, "So, Jeremy's scraping skin cells off the mouths of beer bottles and cultivating them in his secret subterranean laboratory for later acts of iniquity? Or is he just storing the backwash somewhere? What?" Of course, I never get an answer to my excellent questions, because we have to leap forward two days to...
...a wall, in a hall, the entirety of which has been trompe-l'œiled into looking exactly like the forest he'd just left, and I don't know about you, but that transition was fabulous. "I agree!" Ah, Raoul. Such good taste you have. "Thanks! My mother raised me right!"
Meanwhile, back in the actual Dream Forest, Sam realizes his brother's gone missing. DUN!
The Magical Mystery Hall. Dean slowly passes through the painted trees until the door at the far end swings open of its own accord to reveal The Heroin Suite. He enters to find a figure seated at the desk, flicking the light on and off, and warily calls out, "Jeremy?" The figure lifts its head and rises to reveal...another Dean! "Jackpot!" shrieks Raoul, who is not immune to Jensen Ackles's many charms, and so would not mind having two of him running about in the least. "Not at all!" Dean The First gapes his way into a commercial break most woefully CHOMP!-less, for the METAL TEETH CHOMP! is not made of stone, for Christ's sake, and would have loved the chance to bite down on two of them at the same time. "Dirty!"
"Well, aren't you a handsome son of a gun?" Dean The First snarks, already disengaging from this clichéd turn of events. "We need to talk," Dean The Second gently opens, and the Deans begin circling each other as Dean The First shakes his sarcastic head around all, "I get it -- I'm my own worst nightmare, is that it? Kinda like the Superman III junkyard scene? A little mano a mano with myself?" Dean The Second orders Dean The First to cut the crap. "You can't lie to me," he claims. "I know the truth -- I know how dead you are inside, how worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror and hate what you see." Dean The First, bless him, understands how tedious this scene has already become, and cockily blows his doppelganger off by insisting, "This is my siesta, not yours -- all I gotta do is snap my fingers, and you go bye-bye." And then he snaps his fingers. And nothing happens. D'OH! Dean The First snaps again and again and again, but Dean The Second doesn't budge. Finally, Dean The Second smirks, "I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you." With that, he, um, flips a little telekinetic mojo at the door, I guess, slamming it shut and locking it. "Like I said," Dean The Second repeats, far more threatening this time now that he's hoisted a sawed-off shotgun into the air. "We need to talk."
Elsewhere, Sam snaps awake in the Impala and frantically whaps at Dean's arm. One problem: The figure slouched over in the driver's seat is actually Batshit Jeremy! DUN! Jeremy rams Sam with his trusty baseball bat -- hard -- leading Sam to spill from the passenger's side into the dirt below, clutching at his bruised abdominals. "KILL HIM!" shrieks Raoul, appalled. "KILL THE ONE WHO WOULD HARM THE SIX-PACK!" And once again, Raoul, we're getting to it. "Thank Heavens for that!" Raoul sighs, placing a troubled paw against his overheated forehead. "I simply can't bear to see that darling young man injured!" Good to know. So, where the hell was I? Oh, yeah: Sam, despite his remarkable levels of health, has somehow been near-immobilized by one tiny little baseball bat to the stomach, and can barely crawl backwards away from the car while Batshit Jeremy looms ever closer to psycho something about how awful his pathetic little life has been. Yawn. Long story short, all those years without dreams were nigh on unbearable for him, and The Good Doctor only made it worse by offering him a cure, only to snatch it away after Batshit Jeremy had become well and truly addicted to the stuff. So, of course, The Good Doctor had to go, as did Bobby, who similarly threatened Batshit Jeremy's stash. And as Sam's promising more of the same, well, Sam's on Batshit Jeremy's hit list. With that, Jeremy flips a little dream mojo in Darling Sammy's still-prone direction, and The Ginormotron finds himself lashed to the ground like he's Gulliver amongst the Lilliputians all of a sudden. He so big. Sigh.
Heroin Suite, Dream Division. Dean The Second's in the process of tearing Dean The First's self-esteem to shreds, and I must say, he's doing rather a good job of it. "You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog," he sighs as Dean The First stutters and stammers and remains mute against the trippy psychological onslaught. "What are the things that you want?" Dean The Second demands. "What are the things that you dream? I mean, your car? That's [Sucky John's]! Your favorite leather jacket? [Sucky John's]! Your music?" "Your worthless bastard of a so-called father's!" Raoul shrieks, completely over this scene, and I can't say I disagree with him, no matter how hard Jensen Ackles is selling it. "Do you even have an original thought?" Dean The Second continues, before ticking off Dean's priorities -- all Sam-related, of course -- one by one, by way of arguing that The John Who Sucks For All Eternity snatched control of Dean's brain twenty years ago and hasn't let go since, even though the worthless bastard in question has been most thankfully dead for most of the last two seasons.
Dean The Second finally gets all up in what's pretty much his own pretty face and shouts, "Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died -- why should you?" Dean The First finally snaps, and then? Dean-On-Dean Smackdown! And I must say, compared to what I've grown accustomed to as far as such scenes go, this one's quite well done. In any event, Dean The First eventually gets Dean The Second pinned against the wall, all the while bellowing how much he hated his worthless bastard of a so-called father -- which, you know, we knew already -- until he finally rears back with the sawed-off shotgun to howl, "It wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me, and I don't deserve to go to Hell!" And with that, Dean The First levels both barrels at Dean The Second's chest and fires. "VIOLENCE!" roars Raoul, writhing about in a paroxysm of unmitigated glee. "WANTON ACTS OF UNREPENTANT VIOLENCE AND GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!"
Meanwhile, back at the Impala, Batshit Jeremy's bludgeoning Darling Sammy's otherwise remarkably healthy kneecaps with his bat. "VIOLEN-- oh, wait a minute! KILL HIM! KILL THE ONE WHO WOULD HARM THE KNEECAPS!" You're so silly sometimes. "I am! Hee!"
And finally, out at the car, after Dean LIES TO HIS BROTHER regarding the content of his dream, the two collapse into the Impala's front seat, where Dean quietly admits, "I don't want to die, and I don't want to go to Hell." Sam, pained, nods, "All right. We'll find a way to save you." Dean, knowing said way doesn't exist, half-smiles, "Okay, good," but somewhere deep inside, Demon Dean quite literally screams, "You can't escape me!" The camera cuts to a black-and-white Demon Dean shooting forward to freak the audience out most thoroughly indeed. "You're gonna die, and this? This is what you're gonna become!" The camera jumps again, and a mellowly smiling Demon Dean snaps his finger just once, hurling us all into black.
"That was unusually dull!" Raoul shrieks, and you must know by now that I agree, my scaly friend, but buck up! "Why?!" Because week is Supernatural's version of Groundhog Day, and Dean gets killed, like, three billion times! "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" See you then, gang. "Kisses, my pretties!"