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When news of a suspicious rash of suicides reaches him, Secretly Evil Sammy decides that This Is Their Kind Of Thing, and he drags Deeply Dubious El Deano down to Springfield, where it soon becomes clear someone made the stupid mistake of summoning Veritas, the ancient goddess of truth. Now whenever anybody in the town wishes for a little honesty in their lives, they immediately get bombarded with the entirely candid opinions of family, friends, coworkers, and complete strangers to the point where the unfortunate recipients of these unvarnished sentiments have little choice but to off themselves, after which their corpses mysteriously vanish from the city's morgue.
Our Intrepid Heroes eventually realize that Veritas is masquerading as local investigative journalist Ashley Frank, and when they break into her house to slaughter The Goddess, they find out what's been happening to all those missing bodies: Veritas has a taste for human flesh, so her basement looks like Ed Gein's rec room. The Goddess herself soon enough deigns to make an appearance and -- after she smacks them around for a bit, natch -- the boys finally manage to impale her with a poker and a couple of hunting knives.
Of course, all of the above is only half the story, because what would an episode of Supernatural be without Matters Of Great Wangsty Import? After last week's wacky vampiric hijinks, Dreary El Deano's deeply distrustful of Secretly Evil Sammy, so when he himself gets infected with Veritas's truth mojo, he immediately puts Secretly Evil Sammy on the spot by demanding an explanation for Secretly Evil Sammy's near-fatal inaction outside The Black Rose. Secretly Evil Sammy claims he froze with fear at the most inopportune of moments, but this is eventually revealed to be a filthy LIE when Veritas herself realizes her mojo has no effect on Secretly Evil Sammy, because Secretly Evil Sammy is "not human." DUN! And in the end, Openly Evil Sammy admits he did, indeed, Come Back Wrong For The Thirty-Eighth Or Thirty-Ninth Time Since This Godforsaken Series Began, so Deeply Depressed El Deano smacks the pretty clean off Openly Evil Sammy's face. Oh, and Bendy Lisa told Dean to go blow because she can't handle his psychotic ass. And then Veritas got Dean to admit he's dead inside. Why doesn't he just end it all, already, and put us out of his misery?
Want more? The full recap starts right below!Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter THEN! And as this week's THEN! does little more than detail last week's Twilight-themed atrocity while reminding us of the fact that Secretly Evil Sammy's Come Back Wrong For The Fifty-Eighth Or Fifty-Ninth Time Since This Godforsaken Series Began, I'll be skipping right ahead to the...
...Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter NOW! "He said he'd call, but he never did," a sprite-like Biggerson's waitress moans into her cell phone as the location card at the bottom of the screen informs us we've arrived in Calumet City, Illinois, for this evening's festivities, and you might want to make note of the suspicious-looking and filthy bandage the wee lady's got wrapped around her left wrist, as upon rewatch I believe it might indicate a certain preexisting predilection for self-destructive behaviors on her part. Which if it does, then: Pretty sneaky, show. In any event, the tiny lass -- "Jane," if her nametag's being honest about her identity -- continues to babble about her tedious relationship issues instead of, you know, doing her job until her stern-faced manager catches her eye to toss her A Look, at which point she concludes her babbling with, "I just need the truth, that's all!" before hanging up. The camera zooms in for an extreme close-up of her mouth at that last bit, by the way, and a tiny little sparkly flourish hits the soundtrack as she utters the sentence's central word, so we can tell some wacky supernatural hijinks are afoot during everything that follows. Just so you know.
Cut to the kitchen, where the wacky supernatural hijinks commence when the cook slides Jane her latest order before leaning across the warmer to emphasize, "I pity you." "I'm sorry?" Jane asks, the smile on her face faltering a bit. "You're sad and pathetic," the cook elaborates, "and I pity you." He then glances down at a bowl on the warmer and warns, "Stay away from the clam chowder -- I flavored it with my own...seasoning." Jane has the gall to look shocked and appalled by the cook's latter admission, like she's never dosed an obstreperous customer's appetizer with something foul herself in all her many years of waiting tables, then composes herself before sailing out to the dining room, where her stern-faced manager calls her aside to note, "You know that new girl, Misty? Way hotter than you." "'Scuse me?" Jane mewls, starting to get more than just a little unsettled by all the wacky supernatural hijinks erupting around her. "Basically, she's an eight," the manager blithely continues, blind to Jane's obvious distress, "and you're a three." Jane's face falls, but she manages to pull it together long enough to approach an elderly diner and ask, "Can I get you anything else?" "No, thank you," the proper and poshly toned woman replies before blurting out, "I ran over a homeless man once, and I never even stopped to see if he was alive!" And then the little girl sitting at the counter perks, "I hate mummy! I want to burn her in her sleep!" "I don't know what it is," the busboy immediately proceeds to confide, "but you just give me the creeps -- like, I get physically nauseous!" "You're pathetic!" someone else shouts. "Loser!" Jane hears from another corner of the floor. "Stupid!" "Nasty!" "You're a desperate, pathetic loser!" "You're gonna die alone!" By this point, Jane's skulked over to the manager's station and pulled the restaurant's revolver from its hiding place beneath the register. DUN!
Out in the reception area, Jane rings up the Olivia person she'd been babbling at earlier and, hyperventilating just a tiny bit, she pleads, "Can you come get me?" "You sound awful," the Olivia person drones from her end of the line. "Have you been drinking?" "I think I'm going crazy!" Jane wails. "I'm freaking out!" "Of course you are," Olivia wearily sighs, "because you are a freak." "You're certifiable!" Olivia continues, anger and irritation beginning to color her tone as hapless and doomed Jane draws the cell away from her ear to stare at it in disbelief. "Every time the phone rings," Olivia's disembodied voice growls, "my stomach drops." "Jane's got another crisis!" Olivia mocks as Jane slowly draws the restaurant's revolver from her apron. "The whole family's just waiting for you to have another breakdown," Olivia sneers as Jane slowly presses the revolver's barrel to the underside of her chin. "We're like hostages!" Olivia complains as Jane slowly lifts her hopeless eyes to the heavens. "Why don't you just go ahead and kill yourself already!" Olivia snarls as the camera slowly climbs from Jane's defeated expression to take in the enormous Biggerson's sign above her head, and then? SPLAT! "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, writhing about atop his overstuffed armchair with delight as Jane's brains spray upwards across the sign to obscure Biggerson's "The Happy Place!" slogan with great big chunks of drippy crimson irony. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" shrieks Raoul again when bits of Jane's shattered skull drop wetly from the sign to the floor. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" shrieks the dizzy lizard one final time as the camera lovingly lingers on the carnage for a few very long seconds until we're all assaulted by the...
...Tinkle, Tinkle RAAAWWWR! "Oh, poop!" pouts Raoul, two perfect circles of smoke puffing out from his exquisitely outraged nostrils as he immediately slumps into a tacky-title-card-induced torpor atop his overstuffed armchair. "Just when we were starting to have a little bit of fun!" he grumps. "And then they had to positively ruin it with that...! That...! That monstrosity!" There, there, my scaly friend. "Hmph!" It'll get better pretty soon. "Promise?!" Well, I'm pretty sure. "Then by all means, please hurry this along! I absolutely detest lingering upon this...! This...! This abject wretchedness for a second longer than I must!" As you wish, Raoul. As you wish.
The camera fades up on the main lawn of a ridiculously scenic downstate park, where it finds Deeply Disturbed El Deano in the throes of a spitting fury, raging at Bobby via his cell over the fact that Secretly Evil Sammy's Come Back Wrong For The Sixty-Eighth Or Sixty-Ninth Time Since This Godforsaken Series Began. Long story short, Dean's convinced that something has been masquerading as his brother for the last year, but Bobby remains skeptical, mainly because Dean has yet to provide him with any actual evidence to back up his assertions. Bobby does, however, agree to perform some research into the matter, and urges Dean to keep his wits about him over the coming days. "We need facts," Bobby reminds Dean, "'cause if it ain't Sam, we don't know what it is, and if we're gonna put him down, we need to know how." "I don't even wanna ride in the same car with him, much less work a damn case!" Dean protests. "Get in the car," Bobby eyerolls, before correctly noting, "He's your case!"
With that, Bobby disconnects the call, and Agitated El Deano stares at the instant dial tone now humming from his cell phone until Secretly Evil Sammy ambles over with a couple of foil-wrapped sandwiches and a newspaper. "I was just leaving Lisa a message," Dean LIES to his brother, and the two chat about Dean's nonexistent relationship with his ex-girlfriend for a bit until Secretly Evil Sammy passes Dean his copy of The Springfield Daily Reader, which prominently features Pathetic Jane's spectacular pre-credits suicide as its main story. Seems three other people have also offed themselves in Calumet City over the last couple of weeks, and for whatever reason, Secretly Evil Sammy's convinced himself that a string of random suicides in a depressing distant
suburb of Chicago is indeed Their Kind Of Thing, so he'd like to hop into the Impala to get started on the investigation immediately, thanks very much. Dean reluctantly agrees, and the thing we know...
...Our Intrepid And/Or Secretly Evil Heroes have infiltrated Pathetic Jane's former home, where the LYING LIARS WHO LIE pretend to be federal agents in order to give Pathetic Jane's grieving sister Olivia the third degree. "Why would federal investigators be interested in a suicide?" Grieving Olivia quite rightly wonders. "It's a new, more caring administration," Secretly Evil Sammy replies with a smile. Meanwhile, Dean's lurking around in the kitchen, and stops long enough to examine Pathetic Jane's pathetic cat calendar for a bit before swiping a candid photo of the deceased for whatever mysterious reason. Back in the living room, Grieving Olivia offers Secretly Evil Sammy an account of her pathetic sister's final hours on the planet, honestly noting that "Jane was having a really bad day" before carefully and deliberately tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear to LIE, "So, I did what any sister would do -- I tried to cheer her up, you know? Told her to hang in there." Secretly Evil Sammy's eyebrows immediately go all waspish on Grieving Olivia's ass, and he flares his remarkably healthy nostrils to peevishly inquire, "Do you know what a tell is?" "Excuse me?" Grieving Olivia gulps. "It's a poker term," Secretly Evil Sammy needlessly explains, "for when you're bluffing, like what you just did with your hair." "What are you trying to say?" Grieving Olivia flusters. "You're LYING!" Secretly Evil Sammy triumphantly declares. "Tell us what you did to your sister!"
Deeply Disturbed El Deano warily darts his eyes from his uncharacteristically hostile brother to the object of said brother's wrath and back again, but he does not intervene, and Grieving Olivia soon bursts into tears and confesses to everything. "I wanted to tell her, 'I love you,'" Grieving Olivia weeps, "but what came out was, 'You're a burden -- just kill yourself'!" "I just couldn't stop!" Grieving Olivia wails. Secretly Evil Sammy flips an openly evil smirk in Deeply Disturbed El Deano's direction, and Deeply Disturbed El Deano goes, "Buh?" until we...
...join Our Intrepid And/Or Secretly Evil Heroes outside on the driveway, where they process through recent events. Dean came across absolutely no evidence of supernatural activity anywhere in the house, and Secretly Evil Sammy dismissively notes he himself found only "a tuba and an issue of Crochet Today!" Raoul, instantly affronted, stops polishing his tuba long enough to shriek, "And what is wrong with Crochet Today!, exactly, hmmmmm!?" Well, I'm not sure, friend of friends, but they appear to be linking interest in the domestic arts with suicidal tendencies. "Well!" gasps Raoul, appalled. "I never! I'll have those two puny little nitwits know that crochet is the craft of empresses!" Now, Raoul, I understand you're upset, but... "EMPRESSES!" Wow. I'm impressed. "AS WELL YOU SHOULD BE!" Raoul! Volume! "Oh, I do apologize, I'm sure!" Now, do you mind if I continue? "By all means! I'll just be over here practicing until you get to another good part!" "Practicing"? "Practicing!" Oh, Jesus.
In any event, the boys decide that Pathetic Jane was already predisposed to offing herself and agree that the real question is what caused Grieving Olivia to blurt out the string of hateful invective that led Pathetic Jane to pull the trigger. Our Intrepid And/Or Secretly Evil Heroes embark, and we're off to...
...a dentist's office, elsewhere in town. A perky hygienist places a tray of sterilized pointy things at the good doctor's side and exits to retrieve some additional gauze, leaving the good doctor alone with his patient, a fellow middle-aged gent who's apparently an old friend. They banter a bit until the patient nervously admits, "I gotta be honest, Paul -- I don't really want to be here." "You and most people," Doctor Paul grins, "but I don't take it personally." Doctor Paul then shoots his patient up with some Novocain and, making conversation, suggests, "You and Donna should come over for supper." "I'm not really into Donna anymore," the never-named patient confides. "She's old." Doctor Paul, who'd been firing up the drill, looks puzzled at that, and squints, "Your wife looks great for her age." "Her saggy skin makes me want to hurl," the never-named patient snaps. "I have urges, you know," No-Name continues, quickly veering into overshare territory. "Remember that camping trip that I missed because I was sick?" he leads. "Well, I wasn't -- I was just afraid to be around Melissa." "My daughter?" Doctor Paul incredulously splutters. No-Name eagerly nods, then leers, "But then, she spent the night for Jill's slumber party, and oh, it just seemed so easy, you know?" "What are you saying?" Doctor Paul gapes, increasingly horrified. "It's not so much I couldn't control myself," No-Name smiles, "I just knew I wouldn't get caught -- and I didn't!" Ominous horns blare on the soundtrack as Doctor Paul grabs No-Name by the neck and dives into the pervert's mouth with the drill. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Oh, you got that right, doll. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Gouts of blood immediately spurt from No-Name's maw as Doctor Paul jams the drill into the back of the sick twist's throat, and No-Name involuntarily jerks around in the chair, gagging on his own shredded pharynx as Doctor Paul viciously shoves the drill even further into the fiend's gullet. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" And then the hygienist returns just in time to scream her perky self straight into this evening's first METAL TEETH CHOMP! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" This turn of events pleases you, my scaly friend? "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I'll take that as a yes. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
We return from the break to find Deeply Disturbed El Deano ensconced in This Week's Motel Room, once again raging at blameless Bobby via his cell over the fact that Secretly Evil Sammy's Come Back Wrong For The Seventy-Eighth Or Seventy-Ninth Time Since This Godforsaken Series Began, and long story short, Bobby's research has thus far been fruitless, though he does caution Dean that he's been thinking of "a worst-case scenario." "What, Satan's my co-pilot?" Dean snaps. "That'd be the other worst-case scenario," Bobby glums. "Well, then, what?" Dean demands. "Maybe it's just Sam," Bobby sighs. Deeply Disturbed El Deano did not want to hear that and rather rudely barks, "You got a day, Bobby, and then I'm handling this!" before hanging up to wallow in his ongoing, neverending misery with a few swigs of beer. Mmmm. Beer. And then, having decided he doesn't quite feel shitty enough about his life at the moment, Dreary El Deano dials Bendy Lisa on his cell, but hangs up again after only a couple of rings.
Fortunately, Secretly Evil Sammy returns at this moment from wherever the hell he'd been to brightly announce, "There's been another one -- a dentist drilled a guy to death!" Dean thinks that one over for a bit, then guesses, "You mean the non-sexy kind of drilling, right?" "Fifty bucks says he's mixed up in all the crazy," Secretly Evil Sammy wagers by way of response, and he goes on to propose they immediately embark to quiz the good doctor on his state of mind and whatnot. Deeply Disturbed El Deano, still tiresomely wary of the thing his brother might or might not be at the moment, begs off, claiming he'd be far more interested in some good old-fashioned research at the moment, so Secretly Evil Sammy shrugs his remarkably healthy shoulders around and leaves to interrogate Doctor Paul on his own.
One problem: Doctor Paul hanged himself in his holding cell
before Secretly Evil Sammy had a chance to talk to him, as we learn when Secretly Evil Sammy himself phones Deeply Disturbed El Deano with the news. Fortunately, Secretly Evil Sammy's managed to have a nice, long chat with the perky hygienist, so he knows all about No-Name Pervert and the foul depredations to which he was confessing shortly before he was so justly murdered. "So," Dean supposes, "Root Canal and Russian Roulette -- both of them, it was like they were cursed? People just compelled to puke the truth all over them?" Secretly Evil Sammy mugs that Dean might be on to something with that little notion of his, then orders his brother over to Doctor Paul's former offices to see what he can see while Secretly Evil Sammy heads to the morgue to examine the corpses. Dean has little choice but to agree and, after he shuts his laptop on the Doppelgänger research he'd been clandestinely conducting, he dutifully heads over to...
...the dentist's office, which is still positively livid with blood and guts. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Dean sneaks past the police tape now blocking the crime scene, tippy-toes through the ruined examining room, and eventually creeps into Doctor Paul's consulting study, which features a prominently displayed saxophone, several photographs of Abused Melissa tooting on a trumpet, a tin case of reeds on the desk, and a receipt from Harry's House Of Horns. Dean flashes back to Pathetic Jane's pathetic cat calendar, on which were noted several regularly scheduled appointments at Harry's House Of Horns and beside which was a label from the same establishment. Thinking fast, he pockets the receipt, swipes a photograph of Deceased Doctor Paul, and heads on over to...
...Harry's House Of Horns, where Harry himself confirms that both Jane and Paul took lessons from him before wondering what that's got to do with their unfortunate suicides. Dean admits he only dropped by on a hunch, and he's about to leave when Harry calls out, "Hey! What about my horn?" Dean's all, "Sorey?" because Jensen Ackles has spent too much time in Canada, so Harry elaborates, "My stolen horn?" "That thing's one in a billion," he continues, giving Dean another idea. What, precisely, makes Harry's missing horn so special? "It's a museum piece," Harry replies, flipping open a handy catalogue on the counter to show Dean a picture of the thing as he explains, "Near as anyone can tell, it's about a thousand years old." Dean examines the photograph for a very long moment before asking, "When did it get swiped?" "About two weeks ago," Harry replies, suddenly realizing, "Same day Jane died!" DUN!
This Week's Motel Room. Dean Googles "Biblical Horns" and immediately lands on a site detailing "Gabriel's Horn Of Truth," so he quite naturally starts bellowing for My Sweet Baboo, as Gabriel's Horn might be one of those heavenly "loose nukes" they devoted an episode to earlier in the season. Castiel instantly flutters down from whatever he'd been doing, and Dean immediately lights into him because Secretly Evil Sammy's Come Back Wrong For The Eighty-Eighth Or Eighty-Ninth Time Since This Godforsaken Series Began, and where has Castiel been for all of that, huh? HUH? "I didn't come about Sam," My Sweet Baboo patiently explains, somehow managing not to smite the screechy little bow-legged howler monkey now prancing about in front of him, "because I have nothing to offer about Sam." Secretly Evil Sammy's not Satan, Castiel continues as he thoughtfully pours Dean a whiskey, because Castiel and his compatriots would sense if Lucifer had escaped the cage, and because nothing's turned up on his angelic radar, there's nothing for My Sweet Baboo to do.
"And Gabriel's Horn Of Truth?" Dean grunts, changing the subject because the script says he must. "That's a real thing?" "You've seen it?" Castiel wonders, instantly on the alert. "We think it's in town," Dean admits, and barely have those words left his mouth when Castiel flutters off. "You're welcome!" Dean sarcastically shouts at the space Castiel had been occupying, and barely have those words left his mouth when Castiel flutters back in. "It isn't The Horn Of Truth," My Sweet Baboo sighs. "What are you talking about?" Dean splutters. "You were gone for, like, two seconds -- where did you look?" Castiel, perplexed, darts his eyes around for a little bit before lightly shrugging, "Everywhere." Hee. Also: Deeply awesome. My Sweet Baboo then promises to make inquiries on Dean's behalf before fluttering on out of there for good, because My Sweet Baboo is still nursing a massive man-crush for Dashing El Deano even after all these years. It would be sweet, really, were I not so jealous. "[Blaaaaat!]" Shut up, Raoul. "Hee!"
Morgue. As the unreasonably cheerful mortician wheels out Dead Doctor Paul, Secretly Evil Sammy notes he'd like to examine the remains of all of the suicides brought in over the last two weeks. The unreasonably cheerful mortician would be more than delighted to show Secretly Evil Sammy any corpse the latter wishes to see, I'm sure, but there's one teensy-tiny little problem: "They're all already gone." "As in 'transferred'?" Secretly Evil Sammy guesses. "Not exactly," the unreasonably cheerful mortician hedges. "They're gone," he repeats. "As in, gone gone?" Secretly Evil Sammy eyebrows. The unreasonably cheerful mortician nods, the smile falling from his face for the very first time this scene. Secretly Evil Sammy mulls this piece of particularly bizarre news for a very long moment until the camera cuts over to...
...Wenzel's Pub, where Dean downs a slug of whiskey while absently watching the rather stiffly coiffed local investigative journalist on the bar's television. This "Ashley Frank" person's about to launch herself into a new report when the strikingly attractive barmaid stops by to see if Dean's ready for another round. "No thanks -- I'm working," he replies, just as his cell phone starts bleating in his pocket. It's Secretly Evil Sammy, of course, calling with word of the missing corpses. However, he does have a bit of good news: The first missing corpse came in a full week before the officially designated suicides began, and while that unfortunate was originally classified as the victim of a car accident, Secretly Evil Sammy's pretty sure she offed herself, too. He's at this "Patient Zero's" apartment now, intending to investigate, and he orders Dean on over there, pronto, before hanging up. Dean stares blankly at his phone for a second, then calls the strikingly attractive barmaid over for another round. "Thought you were working!" she smiles, and he attempts a half-hearted joke before tiredly wiping his eyes with his hands. "You okay?" the barmaid asks. "Not really," Dean admits, so she kindly informs him that this round's on her. "Anything else I can get you?" she wonders. The camera zooms in for an extreme close-up on The Ducky Lips Of Doom as Dean intones, "I'd just like the freaking truth." A tiny little sparkly flourish hits the soundtrack as he utters that sentence's central word, so we know the wacky supernatural hijinks will abound during everything that follows. As if on cue, the strikingly attractive barmaid blurts, "Sometimes I think I can't get pregnant because God knows my marriage is a sham." Dean's eyes widen a bit at that as the barmaid immediately blinks, "Why'd I say that? I mean, I've been snorting Oxy all day..." Dean's eyes widen further as the barmaid blinks once more, "Why'd I say that?" Dean gets this hilarious "Oh, crap!" expression on his face and sighs, "I'm pretty sure I know," right before the METAL TEETH CHOMP! arrives to drag his prettily cursed self into this evening's commercial break.
Wenzel's Pub. Immediate aftermath. Dean rises to leave, slapping a couple of bucks down onto the bar and turning for the door. As he passes a rather shapely brunette perched atop a stool at one of the tables, she lifts her eyes up to his and simpers, "I'm sitting like this so you'll look at my breasts -- I just bought them, and I need a lot of attention." Dean's all, "Good luck with that!" and scuttles on past, then doubles back for a double-take at the brunette's impressive knockers. Heh.
Out on the street, Dean rings Bobby and immediately asks, "Anything you're itching to tell me?" "Not really," Bobby casually replies. "I'm here, hitting the books while drinking a nice glass of milk and watching Tori & Dean." Bobby's a huge Tori Spelling fan, don't you know. "Guess it does work over the phone," Dean sighs to himself, even though he should already have known that given the circumstances immediately preceding Pathetic Jane's suicide, but whatever, because Bobby's got something more to say: "You know what else? I get a pedicure every once in a while!" "Please stop," Dean pleads, but Bobby ignores him to extol the many virtues of his regular pedicurist, a tiny Vietnamese woman with a steely grip whose name means "Velvet Phoenix" in English. He then goes on to admit that, while Dean's his favorite Winchester, Secretly Evil Sammy's by far the better hunter, especially since Secretly Evil Sammy returned from the grave this last time around. Oh, and his first girlfriend turned out to be a dude. "Saucy!" shrieks Raoul, and hon? "Yes?!" Why don't you keep practicing your tuba while I try to plow through all of this crap, okay? "Okay!" I do so love it when you're being agreeable. "[Blaaaaat!]"
Anyway, Dean quickly realizes this supposed curse is likely the best thing that could have happened to him, given his current situation with Secretly Evil Sammy, and he hangs up on Bobby's blithering to dial his brother. Of course, he gets Secretly Evil Sammy's secretly evil voicemail instead, so he leaves a curt message for Secretly Evil Sammy to call him back as soon as possible, then fires up the Impala to jet over to Patient Zero's former apartment...
...where Secretly Evil Sammy's interrogating this "Cory" person's teary-eyed roommate or sister or whatever, and long story short, Patient Zero had been having trouble at school, and then her cat Mittens "ran away," and then her boyfriend started sleeping around on her, so the teary-eyed roommate or sister or whatever's not really surprised that Cory's accident wasn't so accidental after all. Secretly Evil Sammy asks if he can poke around Cory's bedroom just as...
...Metallicar grumbles up outside. Dean would leap out immediately upon parking, I'm sure, were it not for the call he's just now receiving from Bendy Lisa. Uh-oh. Because he is a stumpy little bow-legged masochist, Dean does not allow the call to drop into voicemail, and instead answers to get an earful from the ex-girlfriend. "You wanna know the truth?" she begins. "You've got so much buried in there, and you push it down, and you push it down -- do you honestly think that you can go through life like that?" Dean remains silent, so Bendy Lisa continues, "Just, what? Drink half a fifth a night and you're good?" "You knew what you signed up for," he retorts, but she's got a better retort of her own: "Yeah, but I didn't expect Sam to come back. I'm glad he's okay -- I am -- but the minute he walked through that door, I knew it was over. You two have the most unhealthy, tangled-up, crazy thing that I've ever seen, and as long as he's in your life, you're never gonna be happy." Several points to Bendy Lisa. Even though she immediately apologizes afterwards for her tone. "Never apologize for that, you darling little orange woman!" Raoul? "Yes?!" Practice. "Ooops! Of course!"
Now, where was I? Oh, yes: Dean and Bendy Lisa continue to chat away at each other like that, with Bendy Lisa making several excellent points while Dean verbally flounders about by way of response, and in the end, she breaks up with him. Again. Only this time she, like, rilly rilly means it! Or something like that.
Meanwhile, Secretly Evil Sammy's discovered something interesting up in Pathetic Patient Zero's bedroom: A sewing box stuffed with a variety of disgusting implements of the voodoo trade, including a vial of graveyard dirt and the skull of a black cat. "Sorry, Mittens," Secretly Evil Sammy smirks.
Out on the stairs, Secretly Evil Sammy runs into Depressed El Deano, the latter of whom immediately corners his brother to ask, "When that vamp attacked me, why did you just stand there?" Secretly Evil Sammy unleashes The Super-Special Puppy-Dog Eyes Of Pleading And Doom and LIES that he froze up in shock, or something, and by the time he was able to move again, it was already too late. And because even Dean is not immune to the power of The Super-Special Puppy-Dog Eyes Of Pleading And Doom, he believes every word out of Secretly Evil Sammy's secretly evil mouth. "He could just be stupid!" shrieks Raoul, and Raoul? "Yes?!" You must know that I secretly agree with you on that one, but if you want me to get to the abattoir at the end of this episode before we both die of old age, you'd best hold that forked tongue of yours for the several minutes. "A whole big abattoir!? For me?! Really!?" Really. "I shall be as silent as the grave!" Oh, you can keep practicing. "Are you sure?!" I'm positive -- just stop interrupting me. "Okay! [Blaaaaat!]"
Back from the break I completely missed because I was too busy chatting with the imaginary lizard who lives with me on the Internet, we find Our Intrepid And/Or Secretly Evil Heroes back in This Week's Motel Room, where Secretly Evil Sammy's already figured out what's going on: Stupid Dead Cory killed her cat and stuffed its stripped skull into a sewing box with a variety of other disgusting implements of the voodoo trade in order to summon Veritas, the ancient goddess of truth, because Stupid Dead Cory wanted to know if her slutty boyfriend was fooling around behind her back. Unfortunately for everybody else in Calumet City, Veritas decided to stick around after sending Stupid Dead Cory to the latter's much-deserved early grave, so now whenever a person asks aloud for the truth, they unwittingly invoke the goddess, and we've seen how well that turns out for everyone involved. One additional detail of note is the fact that Veritas exacts a "tribute" from each of her victims, which likely explains the missing corpses, and which supposedly adds a bit of urgency to the matter at hand now that Dean's been infected as well. Fortunately, Veritas should be easy to find, given her penchant for "speaking truth to the masses." "She wants more than tribute," Secretly Evil Sammy explains. "She wants to be worshipped." "An attention whore," Dean realizes. "If you want to put it that way," Secretly Evil Sammy allows. "And what is the 21st-century version of 'speaking truth to the masses'?" Dean rhetorically wonders, for he already knows the answer to this one, for he's remembered that rather stiffly coiffed local investigative journalist from the bar's TV, and the thing we know...
...the boys are paying a security guard to look the other way while they swipe a computer full of Ashley Frank's recent work from the WODH studios on the outskirts of town. They haul the thing back to This Week's Motel Room, hook it up to Secretly Evil Sammy's laptop, and proceed to watch fifty-eight hours' worth of raw Frank Talk footage, seemingly in real time. Finally, after Dean's consumed several boxes of doughnuts and at least one full pizza, Secretly Evil Sammy lands on a clip marred by the sudden, barky appearance of a ferocious-looking Doberman Pinscher in the background. Dogs, you see, are the goddess's sworn mortal enemies (just go with it), and when this one starts yapping away at her, Ashley Frank's carefully maintained façade drops for the briefest of moments. Secretly Evil Sammy zooms in on her eyes, which have flashed a preternaturally blinding shade of blue, so the boys head back to the station that evening and surreptitiously follow Ashley Frank to her tastefully appointed manse deep within the lush coastal rainforests of downstate Illinois. They watch from afar as she enters to slink her way up to the manse's second floor, then slather a couple of hunting knives with dog's blood (don't ask) and tippy-toe into the foyer, where they find several cats lounging about on the expensive furnishings. One of the foul beasts mews at them and takes off down the stairs, so they of course follow the thing until they reach The Goddess's...
...lavishly decorated basement abattoir! "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Yep, the congealed remains of Pathetic Jane lie sprawled across a couple of metal trays, while the partially devoured yet modestly attired torso of one of the goddess's far more strapping victims dangles from meat hooks in the center of the room. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Dead Doctor Paul, meanwhile, lies more or less intact on an operating table off to one side, but he has been accessorized with a variety of fearsome-looking scalpels and bone saws, so it's clearly only a matter of time, isn't it? "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" "You came for dinner!" Veritas peals from somewhere behind them, and Our Intrepid And/Or Secretly Evil Heroes spin around just in time to get smacked up with a whopping burst of telekinetic goddess mojo that sends them flying across the room, where they bodily batter that partially devoured yet modestly attired torso before dropping to the blood-soaked marble floor, unconscious.
Moments later, the boys awake to find their hands tied firmly behind their backs, and they watch helplessly as Veritas rips out Dead Doctor Paul's tongue with a pair of pliers. "VIOLENCE!" "The tongue is the tastiest part!" Veritas smiles. "It's where the lies roll off." She's switched from her newswoman drab to an absolutely stunning little gold lamé number, by the way, and she's bedecked her hair and neck with various pricey jewels for the subsequent festivities. Oh, and then she eats the tongue. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" "Mmmm!" she enthuses, licking her fingertips. "I cannot wait to eat yours!" she adds, beaming down at the bound gentlemen at her feet. "I mean, I've seen liars before," she notes, "but you two? Gold standard!" Shout-out? I'll let you decide, but I'm inclined to take that one as a shout-out.
Meanwhile, Sneaky Secretly Evil Sammy's fumbled a switchblade from his back pocket, and he busies himself sawing away at his ropes while Dean blusters something heroic-sounding for Veritas's benefit. The Goddess lobs something snide at him by way of response, then settles herself down by his side to propose a little game of "Truth Or Truth," presumably intending to torture the pair with their deepest, darkest secrets before slaughtering them. "What should we ask Dean first?" she playfully wonders, staring at Secretly Evil Sammy. "Something personal?" she suggests. "About you?" Secretly Evil Sammy, still sawing away at his bonds, simply glowers at her, so Veritas refocuses her attention on his brother and perks, "Hey, Dean -- I'm curious! What do you really feel about your brother?" and oh, my fucking God. Cram it, Veritas! Have you not been watching this goddamned show for the last five and a half years? We already know what goddamned Dean really feels about his goddamned brother, because goddamned Dean hasn't shut up about his goddamned feelings since this goddamned show began! Jesus Christ! "Demian!" "WHAT?" "My dear, you simply have to calm down!" "WHY?" "Oh, my! That's a brilliant point, I must say!" Yeah? So, what am I supposed to do about it? "Why, do what you always do!" What's that? "Skip to the end!" Oh! That's an excellent suggestion, Raoul. "I'm so happy you approve!" Thanks. "Don't mention it, I'm sure!' So, should I go ahead and continue, then? "By all means!" Excellent.
So, Dean blathers something about thinking Secretly Evil Sammy was a monster until he realized that Secretly Evil Sammy was just acting like Dean, and he's all dead inside, and Bendy Lisa broke up with him, and he can never have a normal life, and Sucky John sucked, and blubbering, and boo-hoo, and SHUT UP, and wah. Apparently satisfied with his answer, Veritas turns to Secretly Evil Sammy to ask if he's happy to be back on the road with his violently depressing wretch of a brother, or something like that. Secretly Evil Sammy offers her a response that basically boils down to "My violently depressing wretch of a brother is the most important person in the whole wide world to me, and that's the truth." "No, it's not!" she protests, calling him out on his LYING ways while rising to her feet, more than a little horrified at the remarkably broad-shouldered thing now littering her exquisite marble floor. "How are you doing that?" she howls. "That's not possible!" she hisses. "You're lying to me!" "I'm not!" Secretly Evil Sammy LIES. You know, again. "What are you?" she demands, before spinning on her heel to face Dean and scream, "What is he?" Dean just gapes, so it's up to Veritas to reach the obvious conclusion by herself. "You're not human!" she breathes, aghast. DUN!
Unfortunately for The Goddess, Secretly Evil Sammy's at long last sliced through his bonds, and he leaps to his remarkably healthy feet to smack her up. Unfortunately for Secretly Evil Sammy, he still -- still -- suh-huuuuuucks at the hand-to-hand, so it's left to Deeply Depressing El Deano to save the day. Again. Dean quickly slices through his own ropes with the switchblade tossed in his direction by Secretly Evil Sammy just before the current bout of fisticuffs began, and he snatches up a nearby meat hook, which he then drives through Veritas's back. "VIOLENCE!" Secretly Evil Sammy takes this opportunity to scramble for one of the dog-slathered hunting knives, which he then plunges through Veritas's heart. "VIOLENCE!" The Goddess gasps, clutching at her fatal wounds, and eventually flops to the floor to die in a pool of her own unnatural blood. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" And as Secretly Evil Sammy pants and heaves himself upright, Deeply Depressing El Deano steels himself and holds out a knife, ready to chop Secretly Evil Sammy's secretly evil head off. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Yeah, it's that, Raoul, but it's also a DUN! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" And a METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Abattoir. Immediate aftermath. Dean advances upon Secretly Evil Sammy with that knife (which is actually a bone saw, I think) until an increasingly panicky Secretly Evil Sammy promises to tell Dean the truth, which is this: Secretly Evil Sammy came back from Hell without his soul. Oh, hang on! My bad. We don't find out that Secretly Evil Sammy's missing his soul until week's episode. Well, actually, we don't find out that Secretly Evil Sammy's missing his soul until the promo for week's episode, which should be airing about thirty seconds after Secretly Evil Sammy finishes this ridiculous and seemingly endless monologue he's delivering at the moment, which is all about how unfeeling he's been since he came back from Hell. Is it over yet? "It is!" Excellent. "Why?!" Because now Dean gets to beat Openly Evil Sammy like Openly Evil Sammy owes him money. "VIOLENCE! WANTON ACTS OF UNREPENTANT SASQUATCH-BEATING VIOLENCE AND GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Yep, Deeply Depressing El Deano sacks up long enough to punch Openly Evil Sammy to the floor, whereupon he pounces and proceeds to smack the pretty clear off Openly Evil Sammy's face with an additional thirteen -- thirteen -- meaty, thwacking, blood-spattering wallops. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" And in the end, Drained Yet Still Deeply Depressing El Deano gazes bleakly at what his fist has wrought until we finally slip into this evening's last blackout. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!"
That wasn't so bad, was it? "I found parts of it most intriguing, I must say!" No. "What on earth do you mean by that?!" I mean no, you cannot set up a lavishly decorated abattoir in my basement. "Oh, you're no fun at all!" See you week, everybody! "[Blaaaaat!]"
Demian didn't know Raoul played the tuba until tonight, either. Raoul will have you know he studied that noble instrument for years at Julliard. "For years! At Julliard!" You may reach the former at demian_twop@yahoo.com. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon on the Internet.
Check out an interview with Supernatural star Misha Collins.
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