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After Sam and Dean indulge in a particularly depressing phone call precipitated by Lucifer's extremely seductive invasion of Darling Sammy's sleepytime at the end of the last episode, Zachariah drops by Dashing El Deano's rathole of a Kansas City motel room to propel Our Intrepid Hero five years into the future, where President Palin bombing Houston back into The Stone Age is the least of humanity's problems. Remember the Croatoan virus? The one that Azazel's so-called son unleashed upon River Grove, Oregon, killing almost every single person in the town? The one that "the Winchester boy" was "definitely immune" to, "as expected"? Lucifer's minions released it in major cities across the United States 2012, and by the time Dean wakes up in what's left of The Barbecue Capital Of The World, three-fourths of the world's population has been reduced to mindless 28 Days Later-style rage zombies.
Dean eventually escapes from Missouri, and -- after a quick side trip to the lush coastal rainforests of central South Dakota to collect several key clues from now-dead Bobby's Emporium -- he hauls himself over to the survivalist guerilla camp his future self has established somewhere remote. Wacky Double-Dean hijinks ensue, with Future Dean bonking Present Dean on the head a couple of times due to Present Dean's reckless insouciance and both Slutty Deans getting into trouble with the ladies and such, until Future Dean rallies the troops for a raid on Future Lucifer's stylish downtown Detroit digs. Unfortunately, the raid ends in nothing but horrible death for the all the troops involved, including Future Dean, who winds up with a snapped neck after Future Lucifer over-vigorously hugs him and pets him and names him George, for Future Lucifer is none other than...The Ginormotron Antichrist! In a white leisure suit with matching loafers, no less, and let me tell you: Future Lucifer's clothing was by far the most terrifying part of the episode.
Future Lucifer of course lectures Present Dean on a variety of topics, because everyone knows evil simply cannot shut the hell up, ever, and just when Present Dean is at his lowest in 2014, Zachariah pops in to zap Our Intrepid Hero back to 2009, where Dean promptly summons his errant brother to a summit to that trestle bridge we've seen at least five times before on this show, and long story short, they're no longer broken up, because Dean's convinced himself that despite the risks involved, they're at their best when they're with each other. Or something like that.
In other news, My Sweet Baboo continues to be adorable in all his many guises, and Future Chuck suggests you start hoarding toilet tissue now.
Want more? The full recap starts right below!Rattle Rattle THEN! A long time ago, Our Intrepid Heroes found themselves stuck in a tiny Oregon town whose residents had been afflicted with a sulphur-based "dee-monic virus" Darling Sammy and Dashing El Deano called "Croatoan," for lack of familiarity with scientific naming conventions. An even longer time ago, Samuel Colt made a fucking plot device that could kill anything, except when it usually couldn't. Far more recently, Dashing El Deano and Darling Sammy learned they were meant to be angel condoms for St. Michael and Lucifer, respectively, and -- much to the horror of many in the viewing audience -- broke up with each other in the middle of a ridiculously scenic highway rest stop. Though, you know, not because they're meant to be angel condoms. I'm pretty sure.
Slashy, Slashy NOW! Somewhere in America, a premillennialist fundie stands on a dark, rain-streaked sidewalk, pestering innocent passersby with the question, "Is your soul Rapture-ready?" Guess he didn't get the memo that The Tribulation officially started four episodes ago when The Ginormotron Antichrist unwittingly unleashed Lucifer from Hell, thereby invalidating one of his cult's central doctrines. Ooops. While all this is going on, Dean wheels the Impala over to the curb and disembarks to enter the cheap-looking hotel that stands at the premillennialist fundie's back, and though Our Intrepid Hero takes great pains to carefully sidestep the religious nutball on the sidewalk, the premillennialist fundie nevertheless accosts him with, "Excuse me, friend, but have you taken time out to think about God's plan for you?" Dean tosses the loopy pamphleteer a hairy side-eye before grumbling, "Too friggin' much, pal." Having thus devoted more time than is strictly necessary to the insane crazy person on the sidewalk, Dean wearily enters the hotel. Fundie Man waits until Dean's vanished, then darts his eyes back and forth in a manner most suspicious. "Evil!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, terribly agitated by this turn of events. "The exceptionally slender gentleman on the sidewalk is EVIL!" And Raoul, honey, the guy's a fundamentalist Christian shoving pamphlets into people's faces. Of course he's evil. "Eeep! I can't bear to look! Make that...that thing go away!" Um. He's already gone. "Really?!"
Really, for we've leapt ahead in time a bit, and have now joined Our Intrepid Hero in his lavishly appointed suite on the fleabag's second floor, where we find him with cell pressed firmly against his ear, carefully drawing the drapes while asking the person on the other end, "You're talking about The [Fucking] Colt, right? As in, The [Fucking] Colt?" "We are," My Sweet Baboo's voice tinnily replies from the other end of the line. "That doesn't make any sense," Dean grumps, and Dean. It's The Fucking Colt. The fricking thing never makes any goddamned sense. Ignoring me, as is his wont, Dean continues, "Why would the demons keep a gun around that kills demons?" Because The Kripkeeper can't bring himself to let go of the fucking thing as a goddamned plot device? Just a thought. But never mind me, because Castiel's having trouble hearing his boyfriend, because Castiel's standing at the side of a nighttime highway somewhere remote for some reason, and an eighteen-wheeler just roared past. "It's kinda funny," Dean chuckles, "talking to A Messenger Of God on a cell phone -- it's like watching a Hell's Angel ride a moped." "This isn't funny, Dean!" My Sweet Baboo protests. "The voice says I'm almost out of minutes!" Hee. Dean smirks, but politely gets back to business, telling Castiel he's certain "the mooks have melted down [The Fucking Colt] by now." Castiel begs to differ, citing intelligence from unnamed sources, and if those sources are correct, and if Dean's "still set on the insane task of killing The Devil," they have little choice but to chase The Fucking Colt down. Dean, bone tired, collapses onto the lavishly appointed suite's bed and sighs, "Where do we start?" "Where are you now?" Castiel asks by way of response. "Kansas City, Century Hotel, Room 113," comes the answer, and Castiel proposes he flutter over immediately, but Dean vociferously objects to that plan, noting that he's just spent sixteen straight hours on the road, and he'd like to get at least four hours' worth of sleep before dealing with this Fucking Colt nonsense. To the disappointment of many, I'm sure, My Sweet Baboo does not offer to flutter over and snuggle with Our Intrepid Hero during the latter's extended nap. "You can pop in tomorrow morning," Dean grunts, sounding just a tetch disappointed himself. "Yes," Castiel agrees, but Done-In El Deano hangs up before My Sweet Baboo can finish, "I'll just...wait here, then." And that's exactly what he does, standing stoically at the side of the road. Awwwwww!
Sometime later, Dean's cell buzzes on the lavishly appointed suite's bedside table, and Dean somehow manages to rouse himself and answer with a sharp, "Dammit, Cas, I need some sleep!" "Dean, it's me," Darling Sammy replies, and the thing we know, Dean's grabbing a beer from the lavishly appointed suite's refrigerator while snarking, "Lucifer's wearing you to the prom?" and thank God for time-jumps, because that's a lengthy confession none of us needed to hear in real time. "Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in," Dean jokes, much to Sam's sniffy consternation. "So, that's it?" he huffily snits from the driver's seat of the stolen Lincoln Continental he's steering through the night. "That's your response?" "Whaddya lookin' for?" Dean replies, his accompanying shrug efficiently transmitted to the phone lines courtesy of his tone. "A little panic, maybe?" Sam snippily suggests. "I guess I'm a little numb to the earth-shattering revelations at this point," Dean eyerolls, taking a swig from his beer bottle, and take it from me, Ducky Lips: You're far from the only one at this point. "Indeed!" agrees Raoul. "Why, I simply can't keep track of them anymore!" That's because your brain's the size of an apricot pit, darling. "Oh, you horrible little man! What on earth have I ever done to merit such tawdry treatment at your wretched hands, I'll never know! Why, I've...!"
Sometimes it's just too easy. In any event, as my freeloading houseguest rants on regarding my supposed mistreatment of his lizardly ass, Sam whines something about taking immediate action while proposing the brothers reteam immediately, and as I believe this conversation might become important both later in the episode and later in the season, I'll be a little more careful than usual to transcribe the relevant bits. "I'm gonna hunt him down, Dean," Sam vows, referring of course to this season's primary adversary. "So, we're back to revenge?" Dean replies. "Not revenge," Sam corrects. "Redemption." Dean's eyeroll is practically audible, but Delusional Sammy soldiers on: "I can do this -- I can! I'm gonna prove it to you!" Dean tiredly closes his eyes and, slumping into one of the lavishly appointed suite's chairs, sighs, "It doesn't matter, whatever we do -- I mean, it turns out you and me, we're the fire and the oil of The Armageddon, and on the basis of that alone, we should just pick a hemisphere. Stay away from each other for good." And if his pointed use of that odd turn of phrase "the fire and the oil of The Armageddon" was supposed to trigger my recognit
ion of a specific variation on apocalyptic mythology, it failed, but then again, I am not and have no desire to be an expert on such things, so whatever. Anyway, Sam argues that they can fight back, and Dean agrees with that, as long as they remain apart. "We're not stronger when we're together," he claims. "Whatever we have between us -- love, family, whatever it is -- they are always going to use it against us. And you know that." Well, he should, at any rate. Sam's speechless, and as Dean misinterprets his brother's silence as acquiescence, he concludes, "We're better off apart -- we got a better chance of dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing if we just go our own ways." "Don't do this," Sam begs, finally regaining his voice, but Dean's had it, and he snaps shut his phone to brood while the screen slowly fades to black.
Cut to the lavishly appointed suite's alarm clock, and we immediately know something's deeply amiss, because we saw the previews. Ooops! I mean, "because the clock's face is shattered, and the lavishly appointed suite's bedside table is encrusted with several years' worth of dust and grime." Our Intrepid Hero suddenly snaps awake on the ripped-up boxspring that is all that remains of the formerly lavishly appointed suite's bed and hops to his feet to gawp, because he saw the previews as well. Dammit! I mean, "he's instantly suspicious of the formerly lavishly appointed suite's current state of extreme disrepair." Automatically keyed up over his dramatically altered surroundings, Dean bow-leggedly lopes his wary way to the broken windows, and his jaw drops open in disbelief once he gets a glimpse of the new view outside, for Kansas City now lies in ruins, from the burned-out hulks of the buildings lining the short little street beneath him to the shattered city skyline just visible beneath the ominously lowering clouds in the distance. The camera pans back from this desolate tableau to linger on Dean's manfully furrowed brow for a very lengthy moment until...
...SPLAT! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" shrieks Raoul, enthusiastic as ever over this season's delightfully gruesome title card, and I take it you've forgiven me for the joke I made at your expense? "I have not!" Uh oh. "But!" he shriekily adds. "In the interest of perpetuating our longstanding record of amicability, I am willing to overlook your base transgression for the nonce!" Perpetuating longstanding amicability, my ass. You just want me to get to the part where Dean smacks the living crap out of that little girl. "You are correct!" Then I shall continue with the recap? "With all haste, most certainly!" You're so easy to please. "I am not inclined to disagree!" Silly lizard.
Dean emerges from his now-decrepit hotel to examine the ruined streetscape surrounding him, and I suppose I should point out that they filmed this sequence on a redressed version of The Watchmen's Vancouver backlot, so if certain of the storefronts seem a tiny bit familiar to you, and if you were one of the three people who actually paid to see that mess in the theaters, that might be the reason why. The Supernatural production staff did, however, go to great pains to trash the place, graffitiing the walls and liberally littering the asphalt with tons of debris -- including a score of burnt-out car wrecks, bales of garbage-bedecked razor wire, and at least one bizarrely incongruous smashed piano -- and I have to admit that the final result really is quite creepily effective. Dean wanders through the lifeless mess for a while until...a sheet of glass shatters somewhere close by! DUN! He jogs through the alleyways until he finds a wee disheveled moppet plonked down in the middle of the filthy blacktop, stroking the jagged shards of the mirror she'd just broken while a temporarily abandoned dirt-blackened teddy bear stares emptily up at the sky beside her. "Eeeek!" shrieks Raoul, whose abject terror when confronted with tiny human females has been well documented within the pages of this website. "EVIL! THE CHILD IS EVIL!" Simmer down, you -- do you want me to get to the good part, already, or not? "[Meep!]" You big sissy. "[MEEP!]" Ugh. ANY-way, Dean calls out to the grubby wretch a couple of times, but the child -- her face entirely obscured by her hair -- doesn't reply, choosing instead to stare down at her fragmented reflection while a thick line of blood mixed with drool drops from her mouth to splatter on the ground. Dim Dean, not getting it, hunkers down to her with a friendly sounding, "You know the not-talking thing is kinda creepy, right?" and for his troubles nearly gets his genitals sliced off when the tiny terror slashes at his business area with a shard of glass! "DEATH!" roars Raoul, the mere idea of such fiendish violation snapping him out of his moppet-induced fear coma. "DEATH TO SHE WHO WOULD HARM DEAN'S JUNK!" That's rather an uncharacteristically indelicate way for you to put that, don't you think? "DEATH!" Happily for Dean, Raoul, and, oh, everyone in the audience, Our Intrepid Hero thinks fast and -- get this -- punches the little girl in the face! "VIOLENCE!" howls Raoul, clapping his perfectly manicured paws together in a rapture of ecstatic delight. "WANTON ACTS OF UNREPENTANT VIOLENCE DIRECTED AT SNIVELING LITTLE BRATS AND GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" The hateful little would-be junk-slasher goes down like a French prize fighter, and while it's all very gratifying in the extreme, what happens is far more important to the plot, so we'll leave the now-unconscious monster buried face-first in a pile of garbage where she belongs and join Dean as he slowly spins around to find "CROATOAN" smeared against a distant wall in five-foot-high letters of blood. "Oh, crap!" Dean mutters with his typical flair for understatement, but barely have those words flown from his mouth when a dozen bedraggled rage zombies appear at the far end of the alleyway. D'OH! Dean sprints in the opposite direction, and the camerawork goes all 28 Days Later as the rage zombies chase after him, and Jensen Ackles at full tear is a sight everybody should enjoy at least once before they die, but it's looking pretty grim indeed for Our Intrepid Hero when the rage zombies corner him up against a tall, barbed-wire-topped chain-link fence. Uh oh. Fortunately, The United States Army Reserve miraculously arrives at this, Dean's darkest moment of need, and proceeds to rip through every last rage zombie with a hail of gas-tipped slugs! "VIOLENCE! VIOLENCE! VIOLENCE! GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" I'd warn Raoul he's in danger of passing out, but to be perfectly honest with you, so am I, because that's how awesome this sequence is, and it gets even more awesome when one of the grunts in the armored Humvee hits Play on the thing's dashboard, and The Contours' "Do You Love Me?" blares from the vehicle's side-mounted loudspeakers, and then it's simply an all-out orgy of gut shots and exploding heads and torsos and thighs ripped apart by machine guns and Raoul's hyperventilating and I'm yelling at the television set for him and Dean somehow manages to dive into a cellar for cover and the screen fades to black and Raoul's down for the count and I'm still screaming and the spent shell casings flying through the air and the music and the blood and that was FUCKING AWESOME.
Much later, after night has fallen, Dean burrows around a section of chain link and shimmies his way through the tight opening to emerge on the other side of the fence, where he finds the following sign: "CROATOAN VIRUS HOT ZONE NO ENTRY by order of Acting Regional Command August 1st 2014 KANSAS CITY." The "August 1st 2014" bit naturally throws him for a loop, but he pushes that bizarre detail aside for the moment in favor of hotwiring a car. The thing we know, he's cruising off down the highway, not getting any bars on his cell, as the telephone networks are apparently down. Also apparently down ar
e all of the nearby radio stations, but that's not Dean's biggest problem at the moment, for Zachariah's just popped into the passenger seat with a newspaper, from which he too-casually reads, "Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia." Dean jumps at the sound of Zachariah's voice and snarls, "I thought I smelled your stink on this Back To The Future crap!" Zachariah, studiously unperturbed, continues reading, "President Palin defends bombing of Houston." Heh. There's more bad news involving the much-diminished Congress "revok[ing] the right to group assembly" and such, but Dean's only question is, "How did you find me?" "Afraid we had to tap some unorthodox resources," Zachariah replies, specifically that shifty-eyed fundie from the top of the hour and thousands of others like him. "We've been making inspirational visits to the...fringier Christian groups," Zachariah explains, choosing his words carefully. "They've been given your image, told to keep an eye out." Dean just rolls his eyes and demands to be sent back, now. "All in good time," Zachariah smiles. "We want you to marinate a bit." "Three days," he specifies when Dean again throws him attitude. "Three days to see where this course of action takes you." Said course of action is, naturally, Dean's continued refusal to grant Michael access to his body, and I'm sure there's a way I could put that so it doesn't sound absolutely filthy, but I'm pressed for time, here, and oh, look! Zachariah's vanished just as quickly as he'd materialized. Dean slaps the steering wheel in frustration, then speeds up towards a set of flaming oil tanks on the distant horizon before...
...arriving at Bobby's Emporium deep within the lush coastal rainforests of central South Dakota early the following morning. Cobwebs abound. Dean picks his way across the debris-strewn floors until his finds Bobby's upended wheelchair, and when he rights the thing, we can see bloodstained bullet holes have been drilled through the backrest at some point in the relatively recent past. Raoul would comment on this fascinating development, I'm sure, but as I believe I noted, he passed out from all the FUCKING AWESOME several scenes ago. "Lllaalalalalalallllaaaaah!" Dean kneels by the chair, references the very first Twilight Zone episode ever, then rises to pry off a piece of the decorative molding on Bobby's mantel. The hidden compartment he reveals by doing so contains Bobby's version of Sucky John's demonic day planner, and tucked away in the back is a black-and-white photo of Bobby and a casually attired Castiel posing in front of the heavily fortified gates of "Camp Chitaqua" with three other unidentifiable hunter-types. Dean recognizes the name of the place, and one quick into-the-photo cross-fade later, he's...
...scampering through the underbrush adjacent to the camp's locked front gate. Mere chains and padlocks are no match for Our Intrepid Hero, of course, especially after he spots...the tragic ruin of the once-magnificent Impala rusting on the other side of the fence! DUN! And before you even so much as have time to think about cursing The Kripkeeper for presenting Metallicar to us in so debased a condition, Dean's inside the gate, poking his face into his precious's interior and keening, "Baby, what did they do to you?" And then? WHAMMO! Yep, a sturdy-looking gentleman has sneaked up behind Dashing El Deano and sent him sprawling, unconscious, across the hatefully debased Impala's front seat with one blow to the head, and when the camera pans up to take in the new arrival's face? It's another Dean! Yahtzee! And as the METAL TEETH CHOMP! nibbles on New Dean's equally tantalizing Ducky Lips, we enter the episode's first commercial break wondering how bad 2014 can be, exactly, when it's got not one, but two versions of Jensen Ackles bow-leggedly stompy-clomping around.
Back from the break, Present Dean groggily comes to, only to discover his future self has handcuffed him to an iron ladder. "Kinky!" Oh, Raoul! So nice of you to join us again. I trust you've recovered from your earlier fit of AWESOME? "I have not! I'm feeling most woozy indeed!" Then you rest up there on your overstuffed armchair, and I'll carry on with the recap, though I fear the remainder of the episode's quite boring, comparatively speaking. "That's okay!" Really? "Really!" Good to know. In any event, Present Dean introduces himself to Future Dean, and explains the whole time-travelling sitch, making sure Future Dean understands it's all Zachariah's fault. And while we're on the topic of Zachariah, I should note that debate has erupted on the forum boards (go figure) regarding the exact nature of this little jaunt to 2014: Is it a real visit to the one and only future, is it a real visit to one of many possible futures, or is it Zachariah just fucking with Dean's mind again in order to bend Dean to his will? I myself am coming down firmly in favor of the third option, but I reserve the right to change my mind about it all when Kripke decides to tie up all of the season's loose ends within the last five minutes of the finale in May. Don't look at me like that -- you know that's what's going to happen. Anyway, where the hell was I? Oh, yes: Future Dean doesn't quite believe Present Dean's story, so he asks for confirmation like so: "If you're me, then tell me something only I would know." Present Dean doesn't even have to think about that one. "Rhonda Hurley. We were nineteen, she made us try on her panties. They were pink, and satiny, and you know what? We kinda liked it." "Touché," Future Dean eyebrows, and fangirls across the Internet are now furiously flooding LiveJournal with megabyte upon megabyte of hot tranny-on-tranny Double-Dean pornography. Thanks for nothing, Supernatural.
Shared identity thus established, The Deans discuss the present situation, with Future Dean expositing that the Croatoan virus was unleashed on major American cities "about two years ago," and the situation deteriorated rapidly from there. At Present Dean's prompting, Future Dean reveals that, according to what he heard, Darling Sammy walked into a "heavyweight showdown in Detroit" and never walked back out again. Future Dean wasn't there to see it himself, of course, because Future Dean never spoke to Darling Sammy again after the phone call they had at the top of this hour. And with that, Future Dean arms himself to head out on some undefined mission, clearly intending to leave his past self chained to the ladder. When Present Dean protests, Future Dean spells it out for him: "I got a camp full of twitchy trauma survivors out there with an apocalypse hanging over their heads, and the last thing they need to see is a version of The Parent Trap, so yeah. You stay locked down." Future Dean exits, slamming the cabin door as he goes, and after a contemplative moment, Present Dean delivers the verdict on his future self: "Dick!" Heh.
And as one would expect, by the time we see him, Present Dean's yanked a nail from the cabin's floorboards, and in short order has freed himself from the handcuffs. He tiptoes out into the campground proper, and he's barely had time to scope out the spiffy target range when he's accosted by everyone's favorite prophesizing alcoholic, Chuck, and here we go with the wacky Double Dean hijinks. First The Prophet Of The Lord corners the guy he believes to be his fearless leader to complain about the camp's dwindling supplies, which leaves Present Dean flabbergasted and floundering around for an answer, and barely has that bit played itself out when some asskicker named Risa stomps up to take a swing at Present Dean because Future Dean spent the evening with a different woman. It is to my immense relief, therefore, when Present Dean finally thinks to inquire as to My Sweet Baboo's current whereabouts, and after Chuck points him in the right direction, Present Dean mounts the steps to a large, centrally located cabin, from which floats the soothing strains of a recorded sitar while Castiel murmurs something about "total perception." The camera ducks through the cabin's beaded curtain ahead of Our Intrepid Hero, and it finds a thoroughly scruffy and unusually mellow version of My Sweet Baboo sitting cross-legged upon a faded carpet woven with indigenous designs as he gently lectures a gaggle of bountifully bosomed acolytes on how "the one compartment in that dragonfly eye of group mind" is "the key to this total shared perception," or some such mystical bullshit. To his credit, however, he quickly calls the lesson to a halt when he spots Present Dean hovering uncertainly in the doorway, and after instructing the lovely ladies to "get washed up for the orgy," he rises to crack his back. "What are you, a hippie?" Present Dean buhs. "I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me," Castarishi Mahesh Baboo mildly replies before turning to really look at Present Dean for the first time. "Whoa, strange!" The Castarishi Keanus. "You are not you!" he goggles. "Not now you, anyway." Present Dean quickly drops all pretense of being his future self, and fills The Castarishi in on recent time-travel-related events. The Castarishi is all, "Fascinating!" before dissolving into giggles when Present Dean suggests he strap on his angel wings and fly Present Dean home. "What, are you stoned?" Buzz-Kill Present Dean harrumphs. "Generally," Castarishi Mahesh Baboo admits, "yeah." Heh.
The Castarishi's about to explain what's going on when the sounds of Future Dean's victorious returning posse invade the cabin, so the two exit onto the porch for a look-see and arrive just in time to watch Future Dean...shoot another hunter in the face! "VIOLENCE!" shrieks Raoul, sufficiently recovered from his earlier fit of AWESOME to revel in this unexpected display. "WANTON ACTS OF UNREPENTANT INTERNECINE VIOLENCE AND GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Meanwhile, it's difficult to tell what's more responsible for stunning the other hunters in Future Dean's just-arrived party into silence: The slaughter of one of their own by their fearless leader, the fact that their fearless leader now has an exact replica of himself running around the camp, or the absence of production funds necessary to give either of these galoots a speaking role. "I'd wager it's the latter!" Raoul opines, and my instincts tell me you're correct, friend of friends. Future Dean answers his mute underlings' accusatory stares by bellowing that he'll tell them what's going on only when they absolutely need to know what's going on, and with that, he shoves Present Dean back into his cabin to seethe, "What the hell was that?" "What the hell was that?" Present Dean shoots back. "You just shot a guy in cold blood!" Future Dean, with very little patience, informs his present-day self that a "Crote," as they refer to
the afflicted in 2014, somehow infected the now-deceased hunter during the course of the mission just completed, and Future Dean -- who didn't see "the point in troubling a good man with bad news" -- quite awesomely blew the completely oblivious guy away shortly after the gentleman in question began manifesting symptoms of the disease. "Oooh! Oooh!" Yes, Raoul? You have something to add? "I do! [A-him!] It would have been more awesome if that charming little bow-legged gentleman of the future had hacked his misfortunate compatriot to death! With a machete!" Oh, what an excellent idea, my scaly friend -- after all, if they're going to rip off 28 Days Later, they might as well do it right. "My thoughts exactly!"
In any event, The Deans, being Deans, hiss and spit and scratch at each other before calling a truce, and over a couple of shots of whiskey, Present Dean finally thinks to inquire as to the purpose of the mission. To capture The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Usually Can't, of course. I swear to God, when this show ends, I'm going to buy that goddamned prop just so I can smash it to pieces with a sledgehammer. Future Dean draws the fucking thing from his duffel and boasts, "Took me five years, but I finally got it, and tonight? Tonight, I'm gonna kill The Devil!" Future Dean takes another swig of whiskey, tossing his head right back into the METAL TEETH CHOMP! in the process, and we enter the episode's second commercial break pondering the best-laid plans of mice and stumpy little bow-legged midgets.
Back from the break, Future Dean's called for a processing summit, and those attending include Risa, The Deans, Castarishi Mahesh Baboo, and absolutely no one else, for Chuck is the only other camper allowed to speak during this evening's presentation, and as Chuck pretty much sucks in any and all crisis situations, his presence has been deemed unnecessary. More or less. After a brief bout of additional Wacky Double Dean Hijinks, Future Dean gets down to business: Lucifer and his entourage have ensconced themselves in a nearby city -- unidentifiable to yours truly based on the brief glimpse I got of Future Dean's map -- and the plan, such as it is, involves those present to sneak into Lucifer's sanctuary so Future Dean can shoot Satan in the face with The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Usually Can't. Castarishi Mahesh Baboo scoffs. "Are you saying my plan is reckless?" Future Dean peeves. "If you don't like 'reckless,'" The Castarishi shrugs, "I could use 'insouciant,' maybe." Hee. Future Dean blows past The Castarishi's amusing insolence to demand, "Are you coming or not?" The Castarishi, of course, will follow anywhere Future Dean leads him, no matter his reservations, though he does wonder why Present Dean's tagging along, what with the overwhelming likelihood of gruesome death for everyone involved in the foolish scheme, but Future Dean simply orders Risa and The Castarishi to be ready to motor at midnight, and sends them on their way.
Once they've left, Present Dean repeats The Castarishi's excellent question, and gets this for an answer: "You'll be fine -- Zach's looking after you, right?" "That's not what I mean," Present Dean squints, and it sure as hell sounded like that's what you meant, but I'll let you continue, just as long as you keep it brief. "Most generous of you, I'm sure!" Thanks for the kind words, Raoul. "Not a problem!" "I wanna know what's going on," Present Dean continues. Future Dean mulls that one over for a minute or so, then sidles right on up into his present-day doppelganger's face and growls, "You're coming because I want you to see something -- I want you to see our brother!" DUN! "I thought he was dead," Present Dean blinks, for Present Dean is a moron. "Sam didn't die in Detroit, dumbass!" Future Dean pretty much replies. "He said yes!" Dun-dun-DUN! "Lucifer's wearing him to the prom!" Future Dean emphasizes, unwittingly parroting Present Dean's dark joke from the top of the hour, except for the fact that this entire exercise is a construct concocted by Zachariah for the sole purpose of coercing Present Dean to say yes to Michael, so of course the parroting is intentional, because Zachariah eavesdropped on Present Dean's entire conversation before zapping him into this alternate reality. Of course, Present Dean's too dim to realize this, and so reacts badly to the news that Darling Sammy is now an angel condom, and reacts even worse when Zachariah's version of Future Dean continues, "And we've got to kill him, and you need to see it -- the whole damn thing, how bad it gets -- so you can do it different!" "What do you mean?" Present Dean frowns, for he is an idiot. "Zach said he was going to bring you back, right, to oh-nine?" Zachariah's version of Future Dean duhs. "When you get back home, you say yes! Do you hear me? You say yes to Michael!" Present Dean refuses to let it go, and almost yells, "Are you crazy? If I let him in, then Michael fights The Devil -- the battle's gonna torch half the planet!" "Look around you!" Zachariah's version of Future Dean shouts. "Half the planet's better than no planet, which is what we have now!" "If I could do it over again," he hisses, "I'd say yes in a heartbeat!" "So why don't you?" Present Dean challenges. Zachariah's version of Future Dean claims he's tried, repeatedly, but "the angels aren't listening" because "they just left [and] gave up" years ago. "I'm begging you," Zachariah's version of Future Dean finishes, "say yes!" Present Dean's silent, but his eyes remain defiant. Zachariah's version of Future Dean takes this in, shakes his head, and sneers, "But you won't, because I didn't, because that's just not us, is it?" It's an accusation, and it's a statement filled with vast amounts of self-loathing and recrimination, and as good as Jensen Ackles has been playing two different versions of the character of himself thus far this evening, he just got somewhere very close to excellent in this scene. Bravo.
Midnight. The gang's about to motor on over to that unidentifiable city, but first, Present Dean has an amusing little chit-chat with Chuck, in which The Prophet Of The Lord offers the following piece of sage advice: "If you ever get back, you hoard toilet paper, understand me? Hoard it! Hoard it like it's made of gold, because it is!" Heh. Dean cocks a disbelieving eyebrow, then finally offers a curt, "Thanks, Chuck." And with that, the doomed raiding party rides off.
Out on the road, Present Dean and Castarishi Mahesh Baboo indulge in a little heart-to-heart, and while Castarishi Mahesh Baboo continues to amuse me in ways I never thought possible, what with his newfound love of mixing amphetamines and absinthe, he's just another tiny part of the construct concocted by Zachariah for the sole purpose of coercing Present Dean to say yes to Michael, so all you really need to know (probably -- again, I reserve the right to change my mind when Kripke decides to tie up all of the season's loose ends within the last five minutes of the finale in May) is that Zachariah's version of Castarishi Mahesh Baboo watched his angelic mojo drain away when his brethren abandoned the planet, and now he's "powerless," "hapless," and "hopeless" -- along with "bewitched," "bothered," and "bewildered," I'm sure, as he's certainly little more than a simpering, whimpering child in this scene -- with little choice but to fritter away what little time he has left indulging in marijuana-fueled orgies, longing for the time when his existence still meant something. Got all that? "In fact, I was not paying any attention whatsoever!" Wise choice, my lizardly companion. Wise choice.
The Camp Chitaqua Away Team prowls through the ruins of The Watchmen set, so I guess we're still supposed to be in Kansas City, especially when they wind up at the nonexistent "Jackson County Sanitarium," but the hell with all of that, becaus
e I've got to deal with some more Double Dean Drama. Crouched outside the sanitarium, Zachariah's version of Future Dean gives the others their marching orders, which basically involve attacking the second-floor day room, or something like that. Present Dean, however, catches something in his supposed future self's expression, and drags Zachariah's version of Future Dean off to one side for a chat. Long story short, Present Dean accuses Zachariah's version of Future Dean of being a LYING LIAR WHO LIES, and when he threatens to voice his concerns to the other members of The Camp Chitaqua Away Team, Zachariah's version of Future Dean caves, and admits he's using the others as decoys. Yes, this means they'll be slaughtered like red-headed step-chickens, but Zachariah's version of Future Dean claims he has no other choice. Present Dean freaks. "You're making decisions I would never make!" Ding-ding-ding-ding! That's because he's not really you, you dipshit! "I must admit!" Raoul interjects. "That delightful little bundle of free-floating angst does seem just a bit dunderheaded this evening!" This is what I'm saying, my scaly friend. "So I see! Please continue!" Thanks. In any event, Present Dean attempts to keep arguing, but Zachariah's version of Future Dean gets sick of all the jaw flapping, and rams Present Dean in the head with a rifle butt. I'll have to remember that technique the time I'm stuck in some endless conversation with one of the tedious heterosexuals at my sister's bar.
Some lengthy period of time later, Present Dean wakes up face down in a ditch to the sounds of a firefight on the nonexistent sanitarium's second floor. Present Dean frantically jogs around to the garden at the building's rear, and arrives along with an ominous clap of thunder overhead just in time to watch a white-clad Lucifer stepping on Zachariah's version of Future Dean's throat in order to snap his neck, thereby echoing certain bits of Marian iconography which feature a white-clad Mary stepping on serpentine Satan's throat in order to snap his neck, and oh, show. Oh, clever, clever show. Garish bursts of lightning crash overhead once Zachariah's version of Future Dean is dead, and Jesus Christ, but Zachariah's a frigging drama queen. And once the deed is done, Lucifer -- wearing Darling Sammy as a prom dress, over which he's layered a deeply heinous white polyester televangelist leisure suit with matching grandpa loafers -- turns to smile, "Oh! Hello, Dean." Lucifer flares his unusually large Darling Sammy-brand nostrils all the way out to the METAL TEETH CHOMP! and we enter the episode's third commercial break cursing Jared Padalecki's supernatural ability to make white polyester televangelist leisure suits with matching grandpa loafers look hot.
Garden Of Eden, Missouri Division. Aftermath. And long story short, Zachariah's version of Lucifer In Sam In A Polyester Televangelist Leisure Suit With Matching Grandpa Loafers barfs up a justification for his fall that's pretty much lifted from Paradise Lost, if I'm remembering it correctly, which I probably am not. The good thing is, Zachariah's version of Lucifer In Sam In A Polyester Televangelist Leisure Suit With Matching Grandpa Loafers looks really hot doing it. The clever thing is, Zachariah's version of Lucifer In Sam In A Polyester Televangelist Leisure Suit With Matching Grandpa Loafers takes a moment during all the speechification to admire a red rose, 'cause, you know, apples and such. Of note is the fact that Present Dean, once Zachariah's version of Lucifer In Sam In Leisure Suit With Loafers gets done with the talking, calls his adversary "an ugly, evil, belly-to-the-ground supernatural piece of crap," which ties in nicely with the whole Book Three thing they've got going on during this scene. And that's pretty much it, save for the very end of the scene, wherein Dashing El Deano warns Zachariah's version of Lucifer In Sam In Leisure Suit With Loafers to kill him now, elsewise he "will find a way to kill" Satan, and he won't stop until he's done so. Zachariah's version of Lucifer In Sam In Leisure Suit With Loafers knows that Dean won't stop, but he also knows a few other things, as well: "I know you won't say yes to Michael, either, and I know you won't kill Sam. Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up here." And as A Single, Perfect Manly Tear escapes Dean's left eye to run down his cheek Zachariah's version of Lucifer In Sam In Leisure Suit With Loafers smiles and concludes, "I win, so...I win. See you in five years, Dean." Lightning crashes, and in a blink of Dean's eye, Zachariah's version of Lucifer In Sam In Leisure Suit With Loafers is gone. Dean spins around to fumble for an exit, only to find Zachariah blocking his path -- almost as if on cue -- to zap Dashing El Deano into the METAL TEETH CHOMP!, and we enter the episode's final commercial break still wondering how in the hell Jensen Ackles managed to train his tears to release themselves one perfect manly drop at a time, because God knows Jared Padalecki's prone to dissolving into a snot-streaked, slobbering mess, and he could use a few words of advice from his elder co-star.
Century Hotel, Present Day. Aftermath. Dean, shuddering against the room's sink, somehow manages to pull himself together and snark, "Well, if it isn't The Ghost Of Christmas Screw You!" "Enough," Zachariah replies, and there's kindness in his tone. "You saw it, right? You saw what happens! You're the only person who can prove The Devil wrong." "How do I know this whole thing isn't one of your tricks?" Dean finally -- FINALLY -- thinks to ask, but Zachariah neatly dodges an actual response by announcing, "The time for tricks is over." Yeah, now, immediately after you've finished fucking with the poor boy's brain again. Zachariah once more urges Dean to say yes, and Dean once more tells Zachariah to roll it up tight and cram it, and this latest bit of insolence instantly flips Zachariah's mood over to "violently vengeful," and things are about to get very loud indeed when...
...My Sweet Baboo magically yanks his belligerent boyfriend out of Kansas City! "Pretty nice timing," Dean sighs. "We had an appointment," Castiel reminds him with the slightest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth, and My Sweet Baboo is almost as awesome as The United States Army Reserve shooting rage zombies in the face with gas-tipped slugs. "Bite your tongue!" Hey! I said "almost." Almost as awesome. "Oh! I do apologize, I'm sure, but this episode has been so dreadfully boring, I'm afraid my perception of reality has become permanently warped!" Then you'd better go rustle us up some flagons, my scaly friend, because the final scene doesn't get any better. "I shall fly to the wet bar immediately!" I'm surprised you weren't half in the bag by the end of the teaser. "What?!" Nothing! Nothing.
So, where was I? Oh, yes: Dean looks like he's about to weep with gratitude, and he places a hand on Castiel's shoulder, and for an instant I think he's going to hug his angelic boyfriend, but instead, he just looks My Sweet Baboo dead in the eye and says, "Don't ever change." Heh. Dean then pulls out his cell, makes a call he "should have made in the first place," as he confides to his boyfriend, and by early the morning, he's driven to...
...that trestle bridge we've seen at least five times before on this show. He's arrived early for whatever assignation he arranged and stands there alone for a while, but within seconds, a battered old gold Lincoln Continental wheels around the bend and eventually, Darling Sammy unfurls all fifteen feet of himself from the driver's seat of the thing to walk over to where Dean's leaning against the Impala. And in an opening gesture of trust, Dean presents Sam with The Knife That Can Kill Anything Except When It Usually Can't. Sam's touched, but remains silent while Dean both apologizes for being a dick and puts forth the following argument: "Look, maybe we are each other's Achilles' Heel, maybe they'll find a way to use us against each other, I don't know. I just know we're all we've got -- more than that, we keep each other human." "Thank you," Sam finally speaks. "Really -- thank you. I won't let you down." They jokingly insult each other to lighten the heavy mood a bit before Sam wonders, "So, what do we do now?" "We make our own future," Dean insists with all the bristling bravado he's known for, but that devil-may-care façade immediately gets blown all to hell when Sam rather helplessly shrugs, "Guess we have no choice."
week: Paris Hilton. Hey, Raoul? "Yes!?" I think I could use that flagon, like, RIGHT NOW. "I'm coming!" That's what Paris Hilton said. "Ew!"
Demian's depressingly certain you still wear white polyester televangelist leisure suits with matching grandpa loafers to formal occasions. Raoul sees absolutely nothing wrong with that at all, for the daring fashions of the 1970s are finally making a much-deserved comeback! You may reach the former at demian_twop@yahoo.com. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon currently under house arrest on the Internet.
Discuss this episode in our forums, then see who vlogger Sean Crespo thinks the brothers should be battling in No Prior Knowledge!