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The episode opens with a most delectably shirtless Darling Sammy rolling around in his lonely Oklahoma motel room bed to find... Burnt Jessica lounging around upon the duvet beside him! And that's got to be the fastest Start-To-DUN! in this show's history. Alas, it is our collective destiny not to learn the reason for her post-immolation visit until the end of the episode, so it's off we go to One Week Earlier, where we watch as Darling Sammy arrives in Garber, Oklahoma, shortly after last week's break-up with Dean, and we continue to follow along as he snags a conveniently available busboy position in one of the local watering holes, where he and his patently obvious hotness immediately attract the ardent attentions of an annoying little blonde twentysomething waitron, because Sam is hot, and Garber has only 845 residents, so this Lindsay person has approximately zero other options, and also because Sam is hot.
Soon enough, strange omens erupt across the vast nearby wasteland known as Enid, and a trio of Sucky John's old hunting buddies roll into town to slice up a little off-screen demonic ass, but of course, one of the demons involved accidentally-on-purpose spills the details of Sam's role in initiating the Apocalypse currently in progress, so Sam must defend both his honor and the annoying little blonde waitron's life through a vigorous bout of fisticuffs, at which he still suh-huuuuuucks, but he somehow manages to emerge victorious via some sort of Hell-sent miracle I've already forgotten about.
Meanwhile, Dashing El Deano's set up shop in Pike County, Pennsylvania, and it's working out quite well for him, all things considered, until My Sweet Baboo flutters in with news that Raphael's been spotted stomping around Colby College, so the heavenly angel and his earthbound boyfriend hop into the Impala for a little road trip in order to beat God's current location out of the guy. Unfortunately, Raphael's of the considered opinion that God is dead, and so much for the eight and a half hours Dean and Castiel just wasted on the road. Well, except for the part where Dean forces Castiel upon a hooker in a whorehouse, I suppose.
And in the end, Burnt Jessica morphs into Lucifer, for Sam's been hallucinating, because while Lucifer can't pinpoint Sam's location, he can still invade Sam's sleepytime to fuck with Our Dear Boy's mind, and oh, what a mindfuck it is when Lucifer reveals that Darling Sammy is actually the devil's One True Vessel. Oh, Sam!
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Want more? The full recap starts right below!Rattle Rattle THEN! In the beginning, Darling Sammy had a shapely, Smurf-loving blonde fiancée named Jessica, who most memorably found herself nailed to the ceiling with a foot-wide gash through her torso right before Azazel set her on fire, after which she fled to Dillon, Texas, where she changed her name and began enjoying the company of a variety of gentlemen whose penises are not fatal. Much later, Dashing El Deano learned he's the officially designated angel condom for St. Michael shortly after someone smote the crap out of Castiel, who unexpectedly found himself completely restored thanks to the magical intervention of an entity or entities unknown, so My Sweet Baboo -- adorably leaping to conclusions by believing God Himself was responsible for said magical restoration -- decided to set off on his own to track down his mysteriously missing benefactor in order to have that benefactor smite Lucifer, and thus Castiel missed the still-later moment when Sam and Dean broke up. And as the agonies of the fangirls echoed across the Internet, I, your faithful recapper, delighted in telling them all to shut the fuck up so we don't miss the...
...Slashy, Slashy NOW!, for Christ's sake. Stupid screaming fangirls. As the NOW! advances forward into the blackness, it briefly shares screentime with the neoned façade of The Great Plains Motel before both NOW! and façade vanish completely in favor of a far more entertaining sight, indeed: Darling Sammy, shirtless, asleep on a motel room bed. Yum. Also: Yowza. "I'd forgotten what an expressive back the dear boy has!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, fluttering a perfectly manicured paw in front of his face to cool his overheated and somewhat drooly maw, and just wait until he rolls over, my scaly friend. "Oh, mercy!" Raoul shrieks again, sounding a little woozy and light-headed this time around, so you'll have to excuse us for a moment while I fetch Raoul's smelling salts from his den, as I wouldn't want him to pass out and tumble off his overstuffed armchair like he did during last Sunday's Mad Men, partly because he's too damned heavy to hoist off the fricking floor, but mainly because he's about to tumble onto my roommate's morbidly obese cat, and that's the sort of mess I'd be happy never to deal with in my life, thank you very much.
There. Feeling better? "Much, thanks!" So, I might continue? "Please do!" Excellent, because when Darling Sammy and his remarkably expressive back and his extremely well-proportioned chest flip themselves around on the ratty and stained motel room bed, they find themselves...immediately accosted by Burnt Jessica! DUN! "Hey, Baby!" Burnt Jessica smiles, all teeth and fabulously glossy hair, the latter of which she playfully tosses around while adding, "I missed you!" The camera leaps across the room for a brief wide-angle of the scene during which Raoul and I are once more distracted by Sam's exceptionally well-proportioned chest before it races back in to focus on Burnt Jessica as Sam whispers, "I'm dreaming!" "Or you're not," Burnt Jessica too-casually shrugs, the smile never leaving her face as she continues, "What's the difference -- I'm here!" "Hmmmmmm!" Raoul loudly muses, exaggeratedly tapping an exquisitely honed claw against his chin for emphasis. "I wonder who could possibly be transmitting this awfully suspicious vision to the dear lad!" I assume you've stumbled across a likely suspect, Raoul? "I have!" Would you like to share that suspect with the rest of the class? "I would! [A-him!] Could it be... SATAN?! Hee! See what I did there!?" Yes. Yes, we saw what you did there, which is the exact same thing that you did during the series premiere, but of more relevance to the matter at hand: I do believe you're correct, my scaly friend. However did you guess? "That charming little Neanderthal of an actor-type person featured prominently in the Previously sequence just passed!" Well, aren't you the cleverest little thing? "Thanks!" Now will you shut the hell up so I can continue with this goddamned recap? "Well! I never! You try to be helpful to some people, and they just...!"
And while Raoul prattles endlessly to himself like that, let's see what The Great Dissembler has to say to poor, woebegone, all-by-his-lonesome Darling Sammy: "You SUCK, you delusional FREAK!" Well, that's pretty much how it goes, with Lucifer-In-Jessica blathering on about how Sam signed Jessica's death warrant the instant they said hello to each other back at Stanford, and how everyone even remotely associated with him is destined for the most gruesomely violent demise possible, and how Sam can never outrun his destiny, and blah, and it all makes Darling Sammy very sad, indeed, but none of that matters right now because he boosts himself up onto his elbows in surprise when Jessica suddenly disappears, and the ratty and stained motel room sheet's dropped down to his hips, and I can count each of his exceptionally well-sculpted abdominals and...
...SPLAT! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" shrieks Raoul, having recovered from his earlier snit to writhe about atop his overstuffed armchair with unmitigated amounts of delight over the season's still-new title card, and have you forgiven my earlier outburst, friend of friends? "What outburst!?" Excellent.
"One Week Earlier" emerges from the darkness following the SPLAT! as the camera fades up once more on The Great Plains Motel, this time in daylight as Sam unfolds all 15 feet of himself from the passenger seat of his most recent ride to find himself in Garber, Oklahoma. Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Simple Man" hits the soundtrack at roughly the same time, and there follows an artfully constructed, dialogue-free montage of Our Intrepid Heroes attempting to soldier on without each other wherein Darling Sammy's now-mundane actions and tasks are cleverly intercut with Dashing El Deano's still-daring escapades, as Sam burns his fake IDs and credit cards before landing a busboy job at "Hoyt's Bar" while Dean deploys his fake IDs and credit cards to track down and take out a nest of vampires. Oh, show. Oh, clever, clever show. By the way, they take as much care emphasizing a waitress's admiring appraisal of Darling Sammy's remarkably healthy physique as they do the spurt of vampiric arterial spray painting Dashing El Deano's face red. Make of that what you... "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Little slow on the uptake, there, Raoul. "My apologies, I'm sure!" Raoul gasps, struggling to regain his breath. "But I find that strapping young lad's remarkably healthy physique equally distracting when it's covered by little more than a v-necked t-shirt!" Rarely have words truer than those escaped your maw, my faithful companion. Maybe that's why Sam's typically smothered in layers of flannel? "Perhaps it's for the best!" Perhaps.
In any event, the montage ends by focusing on Dashing El Deano, post-kill, as he steers the Impala down yet another back-country road, and as the Skynyrd nears its depressing-in-context close, Dean tosses a wistful glance at Metallicar's empty passenger seat before peeling off towards his version of this week's motel room.
Once there, he diligently scrubs bloodstains off his jacket in the bathroom sink until... Castiel silently pops up behind him! "God!" Dean freaks, jumping around in surprise. "Don't do that!" "Hello, Dean," My Sweet Baboo replies in that unnervingly calm way of his while standing approximately three inches away from Our Intrepid Hero's nose. After a supremely uncomfortable pause, Dean clenches, "Cas, we've talked about this -- personal space?" "My apologies," Castiel immediately replies, right before retreating all of two baby steps. Hee. Dean, visibly clinging to whatever tattered shreds of patience he has left, carefully steps around his angelic protector to cross to his duffel on the bed, wondering how Castiel managed to find him, what with that fancy Enochian sigil Dean's got etched into his ribcage. Turns out Castiel called Bobby to ask for Dean's current whereabouts, which is funny, because last week it was Sam who had to provide Dean's coordinates, and what, is Castiel suddenly too shy to call his boyfriend directly? Aw! Anyway, after a brief back-and-forth in which Dean LIES about the reason for Sam's absence, the two finally get to the point of Castiel's visit: While My Sweet Baboo has yet to find God, he has become aware of the presence on Earth of the archangel who smote the crap out of him. "His name is Raphael," Castiel reveals. "You were wasted by a Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel?" Dean squints. Of course, the reference zips right over Castiel's head, and with no change whatsoever to his intense expression, he merely replies, "This is a rare opportunity." "For what?" Dean snorts, breaking eye contact with his immortal beloved to cross back over to the sink. "Revenge?" "Information," Castiel corrects, remaining frozen in place while Dean's tones of derision wash over him. "We are going to trap him and interrogate him," Castiel continues, the growly determination in his voice doing wonders for my mood. "You're serious about this?" Dean eyebrows. By way of response, Castiel finally turns around and stares Dean down. "So, what?" Dean jokes, refusing to acknowledge Castiel's deadly determination. "You're Thelma and I'm Louise, and we're just gonna hold hands to sail off this cliff together?" Castiel's unnervingly calm demeanor crumples into a frown. Heh. Dean, embarrassed, knocks it off with the ill-advised attempts at levity and demands, "Give me one good reason why I should do this." "You're Michael's Vessel," Castiel duhs, "and no angel will dare harm you." Dean, of course, takes loud offense at being forced to perform as Castiel's human shield, but My Sweet Baboo lays it on thick with the guilt tripping and the big, beautiful, pleading baby blues, and so Our Intrepid Hero has little choice but to agree with the plan. "Where is he?" Dean asks. "Maine," Castiel replies. And with that, Castiel moves to touch his fingers against Dean's forehead, but Decidedly Disinclined El Deano's all, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Last time you zapped me someplace, I didn't poop for a week!" So that's what was up Dean's ass these last two episodes. "We're driving!" Dean fussily insists, his panties obviously twisted into a tremendous wad while My Sweet Baboo has the good grace to look abashed. Or sickened and repulsed by this episode's sudden drop into doody humor. Your choice.
Hoyt's. That leering waitress from the earlier montage tosses some darts at the bar's board, flirtatiously inviting Darling Sammy and his remarkably broad shoulders to join her for a game or two, if you know what she means, and I think you do. "Tramp!" chides Raoul, and for once, the following phrase actually applies: You're just jealous. "Oh, it's true!" Raoul sighs, collapsing backwards against his overstuffed armchair, a paw pressed against his forehead in despair. "Why can I not find a gentleman of such outstanding character in this city?!" Okay, for one thing, that's not his character you're staring at, Raoul, and for another: House arrest. "SILENCE!" Hey, you started i-- "I WILL HAVE SILENCE!" Fine! Fine. You just wallow in your self-pity while I continue with the scene, okay? "Okay!" Dizzy lizard.
ANY-way, the waitress -- who addressed Sam as "Keith," by the way -- smiles, "You finish that crossword puzzle in the kitchen? The New York Times Saturday crossword?" Super-Smart Sammy did, of course, and in ink, I've no doubt, but that's not important. What is important is that I'm calling bullshit on this whole ridiculous exchange, because Garber sits in the middle of a vast cultural wasteland known as "Northwestern Oklahoma," and there is no way -- NO WAY -- a bar like Hoyt's, in a town like Garber, in a part of the country like that, would have a copy of the goddamned New York Times lying around in the kitchen. No. Just... NO. In ANY event, the whole stupid crossword thing's just an obnoxious jumping-off point for this flirtatious waitress to Valley Girl, "You blow into town last week, you don't talk to anybody, you're obviously highly educated, you're, like, this..." "...riddle wrapped inside an enigma wrapped inside a taco?" And cute, Sam, but still: Shut up, Supernatural.
The Lascivious Lass (hey, they still haven't given her a name yet, so why should I?) then challenges Our Intrepidly Mysterious Hero to a game of darts; if she wins, he buys her dinner and tells her his entire life story. Sam's prize for winning -- that would be getting this bleached blonde bint to shut the hell up already -- is never explicitly mentioned, but it doesn't matter, for he steps up to the line and immediately throws three bullseyes in a row. Atta boy. The Lascivious Lass, not getting the message (though in her defense, she is trying to get into Sam's pants), makes with more of the flirtatious remarks, so it's a happy thing as far as my sanity goes that the bartender's just cranked up the sound on a televised news report regarding dire doings in a nearby Oklahoman hellhole. The torrential hailstorm that assaulted the area beginning that afternoon suddenly turned into a rampaging cluster of lightning strikes that touched off fires now threatening to consume the entire town, which in that part of the state probably amounts to eighteen doublewides and a hayrick. "Is it me," the husky old coot of a bartender rhetorically wonders, switching off the depressing news, "or does it seem like the end of the world?" Sam clenches.
The morning, Dean and Castiel arrive at the Kennebec County Sheriff's Office, and now even the goddamned location card must be counted amongst the LYING LIARS WHO LIE on this show, for it's claiming we're in Waterville, when everyone knows the Kennebec County Sheriff's Office is in Augusta. God! Our Dear Boy and His Dear Angel disembark from the Impala, with My Sweet Baboo expositing, "A deputy sheriff laid eyes on the angel," and you would think he'd have found some time to impart that rather vital piece of information during the eight and a half hours they just spent on the road, but whatever, because we've some wacky angelic hijinks to attend to. "So, what's the plan?" Dean asks. "We'll tell the officer he witnessed An Angel Of The Lord," Castiel earnestly replies, resolute in his faith, "then the officer will tell us where the angel is." "You're gonna walk in there and tell him the truth?" Dean buhs. "Why not?" Castiel squints. "Because we're humans," Dean emphasizes, "and when humans want something really, really bad, they lie." By the way, while he'd thus been explaining some of the finer points of earthly social interaction, Dean shoved a fake ID into Castiel's jacket pocket, and then buttoned My Sweet Baboo's collar before straightening the angel's perpetually messy tie. Adorable!
Once indoors, Dean tracks down "Deputy Framingham" and introduces himself and Castiel as Alonzo Mosley and Eddie Moscone of the FBI. There follows a bit of business that's far more amusing than it has any right to be, in which Castiel first misses his cue to whip out the fake FBI badge Dean so thoughtfully provided him, then obliviously displays it upside-down. Deputy Framingham, perhaps off his game due to recent events about which we'll learn shortly, just shrugs off the slapstick and invites the very special agents into his office, where he then offers his sorry tale of a "disturbance" "out at the Pump 'N' Go on Route 4" that involved 30 or 40 people going at each other in "kill-or-be-killed combat." "Any idea what set them off?" Dean wonders. "It's angels and demons," My Sweet Baboo nods, trying to be helpful. "They're skirmishing all over the globe." Deputy Framingham goes all, "Whaaaaa?" for a moment, but Dean somehow manages to smooth-talk his way past the angelic conversational gaffe, and asks the deputy to continue with his story. "What happened ?" "Freakin' explosion, that's what," Framingham replies, still not believing what he saw. "They said it was one of those underground gas tanks, but it wasn't your usual fireball." "Pure white," Castiel interjects, knowing. "Yeah," the deputy agrees, surprised. "The gas station was leveled, everyone was... it was just horrible." "And why were we not witness to that!?" shrieks Raoul, and how many times do I have to tell you this, Raoul? Budget. As in, "The Kripkeeper does not have the budget to blow up 40 extras on the screen!" "Well, I am sorry, I'm sure!" Raoul shrieks again, not in the least bit sorry, as I'm sure you can imagine. "But it's been at least 45 minutes since this dreadful episode began, and what have we to show for it?! Hmmmm!?" Well, there was that vampire blood on Dea... "NOTHING! [Sob!]" Oh, for...look, I'm sure a flagon or six will ease your sense of betrayal, so why don't you... "Capital idea!" Excellent.
And as Raoul toddles off whip himself up a batch of something soothing, Deputy Framingham continues, "But then I see this one guy kneeling there, real focused-like, and not a damn scratch on him." "You know him?" Dean asks. "Donnie Finnerman," Framingham replies without hesitation, "a mechanic there." "Lemme guess," Dean smirks, feeling smart, "he just vanished into thin air?" "Um, no, Kolchak," Framingham snips. "He's down in St. Pete's." "St. Pete's," Castiel solemnly nods in Dean's direction. Hilariously, Dean practically crosses his eyes in disbelief at Castiel's complete and utter lack of savoir faire before offering his adorably clueless partner a brisk, "Thank you." Hee.
St. Pete's. Dean and Castiel peer through a window on the psych ward, staring at the catatonic shell of what had once been Donnie Finnerman, who currently seems capable of little more than drooling while rocking himself back and forth, gazing emptily at the scenery outdoors. "I take it that's not Raphael anymore," Dean guesses. "Just an empty Vessel," Castiel evenly confirms. "So, is this what I'm looking at if Michael jumps my bones?" Dean wonders. "No, not at all," Castiel assures him. "Michael is much more powerful -- it'll be far worse for you." Dean's as thrilled as you would expect him to be at this news, but we haven't time to deal with his reaction at the moment, because...
...College Boy's identified some terribly relevant passage in The Book Of Revelation all the way over in the middle of Awful, Oklahoma, and he must now phone wheelchair-bound Bobby with the news. After noting his current location, Sam adds that some pit "up the road is showing some Revelation omens," to wit: "And upon his rising, there shall be hail and fire mixed with blood." "Ooo-kay," Bobby leads. "Is there a reason you're calling?" Sam, thrown and somewhat shamed by Bobby's tone, stammers, "I-I just thought you might wanna find out who's in the area, and put a man on this." "Let me see if I can think of the best hunter who might be in the immediate vicinity," Bobby hmms, busting Darling Sammy's balls. "Oh! That'd be you!" Sam bitchfaces, apologizes, and hangs up before Bobby can apologize himself, and in a sign of how desperately dull this episode has been thus far, we're left to collapse into the first commercial break of the hour most woefully CHOMP!-less.
Maine. As Dean riffles through Sucky John's demonic day planner, My Sweet Baboo flutters in off-screen from points unknown. "Where you been?" Dean grumbles. "Jerusalem," Castiel reveals. "Oh!" Dean sarcastically brights. "How was it?" "Arid." Ha! Castiel places an ancient-looking terracotta ewer on the single table available to them in whatever ramshackle hovel they've decided to hide in and, at Dean's prompting, explains that the relic contains a special oil they'll need for the sunrise Raphael-snatching ritual they're to perform the following morning. Dean frets that capturing the archangel'll be like "trapping a hurricane with a butterfly net," and he's none too pleased when Castiel assures him that not only will the task before them be much more difficult than Dean can possibly imagine, but also that Dean will most likely be the only one of them to emerge from the entire experience alive. "Well!" Dean exasperates. "Last night on Earth! What are your plans?" "I just thought I'd sit here quietly," my adorable little Baboo allows, and I can't tell if he's serious or wallowing in his impending martyrdom in the hope that such guilt-tripping will force his earthbound boyfriend to take him to see Love Happens down at the Waterville multiplex, and I really don't care because: Awwwwww! "Anything?" Dean eyebrows. "Booze? Women?" At this last, Castiel nervously flickers his great, big baby blues up, all, "What? 'Women'? But... but... girls are icky, and I want to stay here with yoooooooou!" Dean, completely misreading Castiel's obvious unease, manfully slings himself into his jacket and announces, "There are two things I know for certain: One, Bert and Ernie are gay; and two, you are not gonna die a virgin!" And, Dean? Darling? Sweetcheeks? Ducky Lips? Yeah, over here. There are a couple of things I know for certain, too: One, Bert and Ernie are nothing compared to you and your fluttery little bashful, blue-eyed boyfriend over there; and two, Castiel will stop being a virgin only when you fuck him.
Meanwhile, Darling Sammy's setting off a gaggle of gaydars himself, what with that pink paisley button-down he continues to insist upon wearing, but that's not important right now, for a trio of beer-gutted good ol' boys have entered Hoyt's to blow Sam's cover. Ooops. Sam mumbles hasty excuses to The Lascivious Lass that I really don't care about, because this subplot sucks, and then we're off to a secluded table so the new arrivals might confab in something resembling privacy with Our Intrepid Hero. Long story short, these are the guys Bobby sent to mop up the demonic mess now soiling that miserable hellhole of an Oklahoman pit up the road, and none of them are pleased when Sam confirms that he's "off limits" as far as The Apocalypse goes. And with that, the just-arrived Demon Chow head off to their deaths so The Lascivious Lass might flirt some more with the supremely uninterested Ginormotron, and fortunately for everyone in the audience, no sooner has this "Lindsay" annoyance secured a dinner date with poor, put-upon Sam than the camera whisks us away to...
...Waterville's thriving red-light district, where Dashing El Deano and an absolutely terrified Castiel occupy a booth in a garishly decorated brothel bar. "This is a den of iniquity!" Castiel shudders. Dean, of course, is all, "And your point is... what, exactly?" Alas, My Sweet Baboo does not cry, "I'm in love with you, you fool!" and flee his sordid surroundings immediately, so we're forced to watch as Dean pushes My Sweet Baboo into some harlot's arms and, naturally, mere seconds pass before the harlot's horrified screams erupt from the closet into which she'd dragged him to complete their transaction. "Screw you!" she shrills, hurling a shoe or something at Castiel's chest as Dean and the other whores come running. "And screw you, too!" she howls into Dean's face before tottering on out of there atop her luxurious Lucite heels. "What the hell did you do to her?" Dean more-or-less hisses. "I don't know," Castiel shrugs, genuinely puzzled. "I just looked her in the eyes and told her it wasn't her fault her father Gene ran off -- it was because he hated his job at the post office." Dean rolls his eyes. "This whole industry runs on absent fathers! It's the natural order!" And, Dean? Honeybunch? Sugar britches? Asshole? If that's true, then why aren't you whoring your tantalizing derriere, too? Arrrlalaahhahalgah. ANY-way, security arrives, and this asinine scene finally comes to an end when Dean hustles Castiel out the fire exit and down to the Impala, where he doubles over with a fit of the giggles. And after he's recovered, he assures Castiel he hasn't laughed like that in years. Glad one of us found it amusing, douchebag.
Subplot Of Suck. Lascivious Lindsay dines with The Ginormotron who, of course, is never seen actually ingesting food, despite the fact that a 15-foot-tall freak of genetic nature such as himself would need to consume at least 10,000 calories a day just to maintain the muscle mass required to haul that enormous frame of his from one place to another. Long story short, she's in recovery, and thus can mystically sense the presence of Sam's ridiculous addiction storyline from last season, and after endless amounts of blathering, she concludes her little Buck Up!-style motivational speechification with this gem: "No one has ever done anything so bad that they can't be forgiven." Unfortunately, Sam does not retort, "Oh, yeah? Well, I started The Apocalypse! WILDCARD, BITCHES! YEEEEE-HAAA!" and we head into the second commercial break of the evening once again most woefully CHOMP!-less.
St. Pete's. Dean exchanges pleasant smiles with a passing nurse before ducking into Dead-Eyed Donnie's room, where he locks the door and draws the blinds while Castiel pours a circle of Jerusalem oil around Dead-Eyed Donnie's wheelchair. The plan is to use Dead-Eyed Donnie as "an open phone line" to summon Raphael, after which Castiel will ignite the oil. Once the archangel descends to occupy his Vessel, he'll be trapped within the circle somehow, and Our Intrepid Hero and His Equally Intrepid Angelic Boyfriend will then, uh, talk Raphael to death? I'm not clear on that part. Frankly, neither are they, but what the hell, huh? Jerusalem circle complete, Castiel bends down to Latinate into Dead-Eyed Donnie's ear, finishing his little incantation with, "I'm here, Raphael. Come and get me, you little bastard." Castiel's so cute when he tries to get all threatening. And then, Castiel ignites the circle. And they wait. And they wait. And they wait and wait and wait and wait and...
...eventually wheel the Impala back to their ramshackle hovel of a hiding place. D'OH! "Well, that's a day I'll never get back!" Dean mopes as they pull into the hovel's dooryard, and poor you, Dean. Waste a Saturday recapping this crappy episode, and then we can talk. Dicksmack. Dean's about to flounce all the way into the hovel's kitchen when Castiel suddenly snatches at his hand to keep him in the entrance hall, and when the camera flips around to take in Castiel's point of view, we can see that was a very smart move on Angel Man's part, indeed, for Dead-Eyed Donnie's somehow magically transported himself all the way over from the hospital, and my, but this is an awesome effects sequence. Up until now, angel possessions have occurred just out of our view, with the attendant bright white light illuminating either walls or other people's faces, or simply burning the images from the screen, but this evening we're witness to the full process, and like I said: Awesome. Intense, blue-white bolts of electricity -- seemingly charging into the room from all directions -- coalesce into four main streams that shoot into Donnie's upper back, and they then arch up into the air, their bottommost tendrils dancing across the floor, drawing ever closer to Donnie's body until they clearly form a pair of enormous wings anchored to the base of his neck. Every light fixture and electrical outlet in the house explodes in tandem with the wings' solidification until suddenly, everything goes dark, from which emerges Donnie's angel-enhanced voice to intone, "Castiel?" "Raphael!" My Sweet Baboo attempts to snarl, but he's no match for the archangel as far as deep-registered threatening intonations go, so we'll jump ahead a little bit to listen to Dean's attempt at insulting the new arrival instead: "I thought you were supposed to be impressive, and all you do is black out the room?" "And the Eastern Seaboard," Raphael amends. Kick ass. Well, except for the part where I'm now sitting in the dark, recapping on battery power. "It is a testament to my... unending mercy," Raphael continues, choosing his words carefully as an electrical storm rages outside, "that I do not smite you here and now." My Sweet Baboo attempts a brave face, but just ends up gulping nervously. Heh. "Or maybe you're full of crap!" Dean sneers, leaping to defend his boyfriend's honor. "Maybe you're afraid God'll bring Cas back to life again," he taunts, "and smite you, you candy-ass skirt!" Dean's words have only served to make Castiel incredibly tense. Hee. "By the way, I'm Dean!" Our Dear Boy grins, insolently wiggling his fingers around in a little wave. "I know who you are," Raphael states -- more than a bit of menace in his tone, and not even deigning to look Dean in the eye -- "and now, thanks to him, I know where you are!" "You won't kill him," Castiel immediately growls. "You wouldn't dare!" Perhaps not, but Raphael will drag Dashing El Deano up to Michael, and as we now know, that would be a fate worse than death, correct? "Correct! [Hic!]"
Raoul! Where the hell have you been? I was getting worried. "Just fixing some flagons! [Hic!]" Wait a minute... are you-- you're drunk already! "Hee-[Hic!]" And what the... where in hell is your ankle monitor? "[Hic!] Hee! I'm sure I have no [Hic!] idea what you're talking about, you [Hic!] charming little man!" Oh, for Christ's sake. I have absolutely no time to deal with you right now, so just, ugh, stop sloshing your flagon all over the carpet and sit down in your chair! "Okay! [Hic!]"
Fucking hell. See what happens? No goddamned gore for the entire fucking hour, and now I'm stuck with a drunk dragon. Thanks for NOTHING, Supernatural!
Now, where the hell was I? Oh, yeah: Raphael's just threatened Dashing El Deano's well-being, but for whatever reason, Dean seems entirely unconcerned, despite having seen what life as an archangel condom will do to your brain. He saunters over to a nearby cooler and casually cracks open a beer while shrugging, "Sounds terrifying, but I hate to tell ya: I'm not going anywhere with you." Raphael, perhaps sensing something's gone amiss with his cunning plan (whatever the hell that cunning plan might be at the moment), pulls his eyes from Castiel's for the first time since his entrance, and slowly pivots his head around in Dean's direction. "Surely you remember Zachariah giving you stomach cancer?" Dean, his back to the archangel, allows his false bravado to drop for an instant as he takes a swig from the bottle before pulling himself back together and smirking, "Yeah, that was hilarious." "And don't call me 'Shirley,'" Dean fails to add. "I love that movie!" Shut up, Raoul. "Hee! [Hic!]" Raphael, unimpressed with Dean's swagger, smiles, "Yes, well, Zachariah doesn't have anything close to my imagination." With that, Raphael takes several very important steps closer to Our Intrepid Hero, and that's a very bad move on the archangel's part, for once he's reached the middle of the hovel's living room, Dean perks, "I bet you didn't imagine one thing!" At this point, Dean whips his trusty Zippo out of his pants and lights it. "We knew you were coming, you stupid son of a bitch!" The Zippo hits the floor, and the Jerusalem oil Castiel had earlier traced in a circle on the faded linoleum bursts into flame, and Raphael is pissed. "Ooooooooh! CATFIGHT! Meow!" Raoul! QUIET. "[Hic!]"
"Where is He?" Castiel demands, getting right down to business. "God?" Raphael mocks. "Didn't you hear? He's dead, Castiel!" and terrific. Just what this already boring episode needs: A motherfucking theological debate. Rrrgh.
Subplot Of Suck. One of Sam's redneck friends arrives at the bar after hours, beaten to within an inch of his life. "Something you want to tell me, Sam?" the redneck asks, and I can tell you right now what just happened off screen without watching to the end of this godawful scene: A demon told the hunters that Sam set Lucifer free. Am I right? Oh, I don't know why I'm bothering to ask. Of course I'm right. "Of course! [Hic!]" Shhhh! Yeah, there's a tiny bit more to it than that, like the fact that one of the rednecks got his damn fool self killed, and the fact that the other surviving redneck -- who is actually A Redneck Of Color, if that's at all possible -- has just now barged into the bar dragging Lascivious Lindsay by her hair while threatening her with a knife, and probably some other things I'm either too bored or too aggravated to notice at the moment, but I'd rather get back to Maine at this point, and to do that, I must first brave yet another commercial break most woefully CHOMP!-less, and that's really more than enough for one person to bear, don't you think? "[Hic!]" Thanks for that vote of support, Raoul. "[Hic!]"
Maine. "There's no other explanation," Raphael preaches, "He's gone for good," and hoo-boy, maybe I don't want to be back in Maine after all. Sigh. And because Raphael's basic theological theory here was presented in far more compelling a manner at the climax of a rather well-known Pulitzer-Prize-winning play nearly twenty years ago, I'll keep it brief: The horrors of the last century could not have taken place were God truly in charge of this planet, so He must be dead. Or, you know, simply incommunicado for whatever damned reason, but the upshot is the same: He abandoned His creation, leaving the angels to run things on their own with no instruction, and now Raphael and his brethren just want it all over with already. "We just want Paradise," Raphael explains, beginning to weep, and I have to admit, despite the problems I have with this sequence, Demore Barnes is doing a hell of a job as Raphael, and I hope this is not the last we'll be seeing of him this season. Well, just as long as his appearance is attached to a better script. Dean, of course, begins to rage his stumpy little self-righteous bow-legged self around the hovel, and when Raphael's had enough of his ranting, he implodes the hovel's remaining windows in a show of his still-extant power, hurling all of us back to...
...Oklahoma, where Sam confesses to his many, many sins, and it's horribly dull, and then it's...
...Maine, again, where Castiel finally thinks to ask an excellent question. "Why have I returned?" he yells, shouting above the din of the storm raging outside. "Who brought me back?" "Did it ever occur to you," Raphael rumbles, "that maybe Lucifer raised you?" Castiel is shocked and appalled. And very, very wet, what with the rain streaming in through the broken windows, so it's little surprise when he at long last decides to bail on the hovel in favor of the relative warmth and comfort of Metallicar's interior. "I'm warning you," Raphael calls out, still trapped in that ring of fire, "do not leave me here -- I will find you." Castiel considers his options, then chooses to snap, "Maybe one day, but right now, you're my little bitch!" And with that, My Sweet Little Badass Baboo darts out into the rain. Dean barely manages to suppress a delighted giggle as he races out after his angelic boyfriend, leaving Raphael to simmer in silence, alone.
Oklahoma. Redneck The First has produced a vial of demonically enhanced blood from his pocket, with the intention of ramming it down Darling Sammy's throat so The Ginormotron might "Hulk out" and vanquish the hordes up the road a bit, and if I cared, I'm sure I'd insert some sort of joke about not liking Darling Sammy when he's angry, but I don't, and besides, the fisticuffs have begun! "VIOLENCE! [Hic!] VIOLENZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!" Well, at least he's asleep. And if it's Thursday, Darling Sammy's getting thumped, whacked, bitch-slapped, bonked, flipped, cudgeled, flattened, stomped, pinned, and -- in one final blaze of redneck glory -- choked by the vial of demonically enhanced blood getting rammed down his remarkably healthy throat. Their payload thus delivered, the rednecks beat a hasty retreat while gory-faced Sam heaves and shudders and struggles and I AM STILL NOT CARING ABOUT THIS ADDICTION STORYLINE AT ALL and look at that! Valiant Sam has resisted his darkest urges, and is now hocking demonic blood loogies right into his antagonists' faces! I'd cheer, I'm sure, but I'm thisclose to passing in boredom. The fisticuffs recommence, and for whatever idiotic reason, Valiant Sam somehow manages to triumph this time around, and after very nearly decapitating Redneck The First, Valiant Sam pulls his insane shit together long enough to hurl both of The Redneck Twins out the bar's front doors and into the episode's first honest-to-God METAL TEETH CHOMP! Finally!
Maine. Aftermath. Dean and Castiel motor through the Raphael-induced blackness, with My Sweet Baboo looking slightly troubled. "You okay?" Dean asks. Castiel remains silent. "Look," Dean begins, giving conversation another try, "I'll be the first to tell you this little crusade of yours is nuts, but I do know a little something about missing fathers." Which is why, at very long last, you're motoring to the nearest available brothel to begin your proper life of whoring? Oh, I'm kidding. A tad. And only a tad, mainly because I am a selfish bitch, and if Dashing El Deano is going to drag Sucky John into this dismal episode at this point, I want Dashing El Deano naked while he's doing it. Is that too much to ask? "[Hic!]" Thanks, Raoul. Long story short, Dean gifts Castiel with a pep talk that parallels Castiel's search for God with Dean's first-season search for Sucky John, and Castiel, at least, feels better because of it. Then Castiel, attempting foxhole camaraderie in kind, wonders how Dean is feeling at the moment, and the LYING LIAR WHO LIES unleashes a torrential stream of bullshit so rancid, even My Sweet Patient Baboo finds himself forced to flee the Impala's interior, just to escape the stench. Basically, Dean LIES that, now that he's completely severed ties to his family, he's deliriously happy for the first time in his life, and it's at that point that Castiel silently flutters off in that wonderful way of his, leaving the LIAR to his loathsome lonesome loneliness alone. Did I mention Dean is by himself at the end of the episode? "[Hic!]" Good.
Oklahoma. Sleepytime Sammy suddenly snaps awake and rolls over to find Lucifer-In-Jessica once more occupying the other half of the bed. Unfortunately, this time around Sam's wearing a grey v-necked t-shirt. Fortunately, this time around he snuggles close to nuzzle Lucifer-In-Jessica's neck, and hooray! Sammy's got a boy-friend! Sammy's got a boy-friend! Believe it or not, I was a little worried Sam would be left behind on his own now that Dean and Castiel are such a hot item, but thankfully, Our Dear Ginormotron's finally landed an angel of his very own, too. In any event, Lucifer-In-Jessica picks up their conversation much where she'd left it at the top of the hour, whispering something unpleasant about the futility of Sam running from his true nature, which leads Sam to bolt upright in bed and spin away from her to counter, "You're wrong! People can change -- there is reason for hope!" "No, Sam," Lucifer-In-Jessica gently sighs, stroking Sam's hair as he does so, "there isn't." And with that, Lucifer allows a veil of flame to burn away Jessica's false image, and before we know it, Mark Pellegrino's sitting there on the bed behind Sam, the same compassionate expression on his face that Adrianne Palicki wore on hers as she delivered her last line, and I can't decide if it's satanically creepy or angelically romantic or both. Probably both. Sigh. Now would be a good time to have a recapping companion who's not passed out in his overstuffed armchair. "[Hic!]" Yeah, cram it, flagon breath.
Anyway, where the hell was I? Oh, yes: Sam, not noticing the manly heft of Satan's hand on his remarkably healthy shoulder, asks, "How can you be so sure?" "Because you freed me," Lucifer sighs, all dreamy-eyed at his brand-new boyfriend's extraordinarily expressive physique. Or something like that. As Sam leaps to his feet in terror, Lucifer amiably confesses, "You are a hard one to find, Sam -- harder than most humans!" and I'm sure there's something smutty about that statement, but I can't quite put my finger on it. "I don't suppose you'd tell me where you are?" Lucifer politely asks, for Sam is indeed still either dreaming or hallucinating at the moment. "What do you want with me?" Sam spits, and you know how I've referred to other rather special scenes in certain episodes as "The Seduction Of St. Sammy"? Yeah, forget all of them, because I was wrong, because this is The Seduction Of St. Sammy, and so far, it's playing out like some sort of twisted, homoerotic Victorian potboiler, and I think I'm in love with it. Anyway, ignoring Sam's question, Lucifer quietly states, "Thanks to you" -- and here he bows his head slightly in Sam's direction -- "I walk the Earth. I want to give you a gift -- I want to give you everything." "I don't want anything from you!" Sam seethes, looking extra manly and such while doing so. Eyeing the object of his affections, Lucifer considers his move, then admits, "I'm sorry, Sam, but Nick, here, is just an improvisation. Plan B. He can barely contain me without spontaneously combusting." "What are you talking about?" Sam flinches, not liking where this is going at all. "Why do you think you were in that chapel?" Lucifer croons, rising to his feet to approach Our Imperiled Hero. "You're the one, Sam! You're my Vessel -- my true Vessel!" "That will never happen!" Sam vows, eyes glistening with barely suppressed horror. "I'm sorry," Lucifer apologizes again, "but it will. I will find you, and when I do, you will let me in. I'm sure of it." "Dirty!" Raoul shrieks in his sleep, the filthy turn this conversation's suddenly taken managing to penetrate even his deeply inebriated unconsciousness. "[Hic!]"
"You need my consent!" Sam protests. "I will kill myself before I let you in!" "I'll just bring you back," Lucifer shrugs before sighing, "Oh, Sam. My heart breaks for you -- the weight on your shoulders? What you've done, and what you still have to do? It is more than anyone could bear. If there was some other way...." Lucifer trails off, finally shaking his head, "But there isn't." And now he steps even closer as he makes this promise: "I will never lie to you, and I will never trick you, but you will say yes to me." "You're wrong!" Sam insists. "I'm not," Lucifer smiles. "I think I know you better than you know yourself." It all finally becomes too much for poor Sammy, and his voice breaks a bit as he near-weeps, "Why me?" "Because it had to be you, Sam. It always had to be you." Sam drops his eyes to cry, and when he lifts them again, his infernally angelic new boyfriend is gone. God, men suck.
week, Zachariah blasts Dashing El Deano five years into the future, where President Sarah Palin is the least of the world's problems. Hopefully, my faithful recapping companion will make it through the episode without stewing himself. "[BRRRAAAAAAAP!]" See you then!
Discuss this episode in our forums, then see which TV brothers compare to Sam and Dean, from Bo and Luke Duke to Nate and Michael Westen to the actual Hardy Boys, here!
Demian's snickering at your pathetic daddy issues. Raoul would offer you loving words of kind consolation, but he's passed out on his overstuffed armchair. "[Hic!]" You may reach the former at demian_twop@yahoo.com. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon currently under house arrest on the Internet.