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The evening opens with Sam leading Dean and Bobby down deep beneath the former Campbell Compound into the bunker where Dead Zombie Grandpa stored his secret stash of spooky arcana, and no, I don't know why Sam's only just doing this now, so don't ask me. While there, the boys plus Bobby quickly find a piece of lore that claims The Mother Of All can be slain with phoenix ash right before they just as quickly find a potential source for said ash amid the alcoholic scribblings set down in Samuel Colt's personal diary. Of course, there's one tiny problem: Said source of phoenix ash exists 150 years in the past. The relevant entry, you see, notes that The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Usually Can't successfully shot a phoenix on March 5, 1861, in a tiny bit of nowhere called Sunrise, Wyoming, so Our Intrepid Heroes must figure out a way to leap back in time, because they're too damn lazy to find a phoenix right here in the present. Or something like that.
Good thing, then, that they're best friends with a certain angel who's sent them into the past before, and it's also a good thing that that certain angel has absolutely nothing better to do with his life than cater to Our Intrepid Heroes' every whim. My Sweet Baboo therefore quite obligingly zaps Sam and Dean back to March 4, 1861, giving them a full 24 hours to locate the phoenix and scoop up its ashes, but because nothing's ever that simple for the boys, they must first entangle themselves in the rather sordid goings-on of the town's inhabitants, thereby wasting so much time that they ultimately fail to secure the phoenix's remains before Castiel's forced to yank them back into the present. Fortunately, Sam left his Android behind, and as the illustrious Samuel Colt's apparently well versed in the various plot machinations of the Back To The Future movies, he simply gathers up those remains and uses the information he gleans from Sam's phone to ship a bottle of the necessary ash to the boys in 2011 via "Western Courier."
I feel like strangling someone.
Want more? The full recap starts right below!Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter THEN! Way back at the end of Season Two, we learned that Samuel Colt -- of The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Usually Can't fame -- built a series of railroads in Wyoming that formed a massive Devil's Trap protecting the portal to Hell. More recently, My Sweet Baboo shoved Dashing El Deano backwards through time so Our Intrepid Hero could interfere with his parents' lives, thereby setting in motion the disastrous series of events that led to last season's abortive Apocalypse. And finally, back in February, Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon led an especially tragic sartorially challenged virgin into his tastefully appointed makeover den, where he changed her life forever. "Doesn't she look fabulous?!" Yes, Raoul. Yes, she does, but I'm afraid I must ask for your silence, as it's time for the...
...Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter NOW!, which once again this evening is a LYING LIAR WHO LIES, for the instant it vanishes from our screens, the just-appearing location card informs us we've arrived in "Sunrise, Wyoming," on "March 5, 1861." Actually, the just-appearing location card is also a LYING LIAR WHO LIES, because this is clearly Cold Oak, South Dakota, but we haven't time to scream about that because the camera's already leapt forward from the wide establishing shot to focus in on a swinging iron sign for the "Western Courier" delivery service, which will become very, very important at the very, very end of this episode, so remember that name. "I'm writing it down now!" Excellent, Raoul. And after a couple of moments of that, the camera scuttles down to ground level, where it tracks the heavy, deliberate footsteps of a spurs-sporting, duster-encased gent whose identity will remain a secret for exactly twenty-five seconds. Another pair of manly, cowboy-style legs appears on the town's wooden sidewalk before stepping down into the mud of the street, and as various tense womenfolk glance nervously out their windows at the scene, the two gentlemen square off for a duel at -- wait for it -- high noon. We're treated to an extreme close-up of the second, black-clad gent loudly cracking every joint in his clearly arthritic hand before the camera sweeps up to take in his face, and it's... Radioactive Ted from Heroes! Haven't thought about that show in a really long time, and as I'm not particularly thrilled to be thinking about it now, let's travel with the camera back to the first gentleman, where it pans up past the sheriff badge pinned to his vest before settling on his face, and it's... Dean! Dun-dun-DUN! Our Intrepidly Time-Traveling Hero, all steely-eyed and such, glances up at the town's clock as it strikes the hour, and the shot whips back to a wide-angle just as Dean and Radioactive Ted whip their pistols from their holsters. The screen suddenly snaps to black, and in the darkness, we can hear the two fire.
Tinkle, Tinkle YEE-HAA! For this evening's presentation, the usual title card has been replaced by an old-timey map of the Wyoming Territory, the center of which bursts into flame, slowly burning outwards towards the edges in a direct rip-off of homage to Bonanza's opening credits. The fiery title of the show blazes into view from behind the map before exploding, and I suppose here's as good a point as any to note that the Wyoming Territory didn't exist until 1868. "Oh, my!" shrieks Raoul, feigning distress. "How on earth could they have made such an egregious mistake!?" And Raoul? "Yes?!" Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit. "Hee!" Now, why don't you toddle off to your den to fix yourself a brace of flagons, because I'm pretty sure this episode is entirely gore-free, which means you'll be needing the... "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Well, that certainly was unexpected.
The camera fades up on yet another establishing shot, this of the now most blessedly defunct Campbell Compound, and as a card materializes at the bottom of the screen to let us know it's "48 Hours Earlier (And 150 Years Later)," Darling Sammy can be heard to insist, "It's here, somewhere -- I know it!" "Help me move this," he continues as the camera ducks indoors to find the boys plus Bobby shoving aside a large desk in Dead Zombie Grandpa's former office. The instant that desk is out of the way, Sam scrambles down to his hands and knees to claw away at the floorboards, and he eventually latches on to a loose nail. He pulls the thing up, in the process opening a hidden, heavily cobwebbed trapdoor to the Compound's basement, and the thing we know, Bobby and the boys are...
...descending a ladder into the book-lined and bunker-like basement. "Welcome to the Campbell Family Library," Sam smirks as Dean deploys a little flashlight-fu to investigate their surroundings while waiting for the overhead fluorescents to warm up. Aside from the books -- many of which are locked in cages, for whatever stupid reason -- there's a wall of what appears to be old family photographs and daguerreotypes that the nerdy genealogist in me wishes they'd take time to explore, but alas! Dashing El Deano doesn't go for that touchy-feely self-help family history crap, bitch, and, after confirming that Dead Zombie Grandpa did indeed collect all of the materials present himself, he asks, "So, what are we looking for?" "Anything that'll put a run in the Octomom's stockings," Bobby replies, and with that, we leap into a...
...RESEARCH MONTAGE! "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" I couldn't agree with you more, my snoozy friend. Eventually, Bobby flips open an ancient, leather-bound tome, grunts, "Bingo!" and hauls the thing over to the table at the bunker's center, where he wonders, "Either of you jokers ever heard anything about a phoenix?" "River, Joaquin, or the giant flaming bird?" Dean rather unhelpfully snarks back. Bobby ignores the weak attempt at humor to consult the text he's translating and informs the other two "that the ashes of a phoenix can burn The Mother." "Great!" Dean perks. "Where do we get one?" "You got me," Bobby shrugs. "I thought it was a myth." "Well," Sam sighs, "let's see if we can find something out about a phoenix." And with that, we leap into yet another...
...RESEARCH MONTAGE! "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" How I envy Raoul and his Coma Of Boredom at the moment. Eventually, Dean pulls an ancient, leather-bound journal from one of the shelves and scans several entries from the early 1860s before landing on one of particular relevance to this evening's main plot. "Guys, check this out!" he excitedly calls out as he hustles the thing back to the table, where he begins reading aloud from the entry in question like so: "'March fifth, eighteen sixty-one. Sunrise, Wyoming. Gun killed a phoenix today. Left a pile of smoldering ash.'" "Whose gun?" Sam eyebrows. "Colt's!" Dean grins, so pleased with himself, he's practically piddling his pants. The ancient, leather-bound journal, you see, had been penned by this show's version of Samuel Colt himself back when he was laying down those railroads to nowhere, and Sam gets all grabby-hands about it for a bit before things settle down and Bobby thinks to ask if the illustrious Mr. Colt thought to include a description of the beast. Unfortunately, the illustrious Mr. Colt did not, nor did the illustrious Mr. Colt mention how he managed to track t
he thing to Sunrise, but this news does little to dampen the overall mood, and Sam brightly supposes, "So, I guess we gotta find one of our own, whatever it is." Dean silently stumbles across A Cunning Plan and leans in all wide-eyed with glee to state, "I know where we can find one -- March fifth, eighteen sixty-one, Sunrise, Wyoming! We'll Star Trek Four this bitch!" Sam and Bobby stare at him blankly, for they are not gigantic dweebs. "It's like I don't even know you guys anymore," Dean sighs before giving them a brief run-down of the movie's plot, after which he proposes, "We hop back in time, we join up with Samuel Colt, we hunt the phoenix, and then we haul the ashes back home with us!" And how are they to hop back in time, you probably are not asking yourself at this very moment because you've seen the exact same THEN! that I have this evening? With an assist from My Sweet Baboo, of course!
Dean rises to his feet to respectfully call upon his angelic boyfriend, and he is not pleased in the least when that summons is answered by some flat-haired bleach-blonde chippie named "Rachel" instead. "I understand you need some assistance?" she opens. "How can I help you?" "We kind of need to talk to the Big Kahuna," Dean impatiently snaps. "I'm here on Castiel's behalf," Rachel assures him, a brittle smile fixed firmly on her face. "Where's he?" Sam dares to ask. "Busy," is Rachel's curt reply. Dean starts in with some urgent babbling about The Mother, but Rachel freezes him with an icily condescending, "I'm sure your issue is important, but Castiel's currently commanding an army, so..." "...we get stuck with Miss Moneypenny?" Dean finishes for her. "So you need to learn your place," she corrects him, and testily reminds the trio that she and others like her are rather busy fighting a war at the moment. "We get that," Sam nods conciliatorily. "Clearly you don't," Rachel counters, getting loud as she goes on to chide, "or you wouldn't call him every time you stub your toe, you petty, entitled little pieces of..."
"That's enough," comes a blessedly familiar gravelly voice from another corner of the room, and it is of course My Sweet Baboo, who fluttered in silently at some point during Rachel's rather amusing tirade. "I told you I'd take care of this," she hisses, tossing him a wicked side-eye. "It's all right," Castiel replies, never once acknowledging her tone. "You can go." Rachel attempts to argue with him, but My Sweet Baboo is not having any of that, thank you very much, and she eventually flutters off. Once she's gone, Castiel turns to Bobby and the boys for the first time since his arrival and calmly asks, "What do you need?"
Cut to The Emporium study, where Bobby and Sam futz with various pieces of weaponry as Castiel stands guard, all of them waiting for Dean to return from some supply run he apparently decided to go on. "About your plan?" Castiel begins, more than a little hesitant to deliver his Very Bad News. "You only have twenty-four hours." "Why?" Sam quite reasonably demands. "The answer to your question," My Sweet Baboo adorably replies, all sober and serious about the whole thing, "can best be expressed as a series of partial differential equations." "Yeah," Bobby snorts, "aim lower." Heh. Basically, the further Castiel throws them into the past, the more difficult it becomes for him to retrieve them, and if he doesn't pull them back within twenty-four hours, they'll be "lost." "Then we better get you a watch!" Dean calls out as he enters The Emporium through the kitchen door. He's toting two large shopping bags from something called "Wally's Western World," and he cheerily announces, "We are going native!" "Gotta blend in," he points out, passing one of the bags to his extremely reluctant brother, who begs off by insisting he'll be just fine with what he's got on. "And look like a spaceman?" Dean sniffs. "Just because you're obsessed with all that Wild West stuff," Sam begins to protest, but Dean cuts him off with a vehement denial. "You have a fetish!" Sam swears, backing that assertion up by noting, "You can recite every Clint Eastwood movie ever made, line for line." "Even the monkey movies?" Bobby squints, vaguely disgusted. "Especially the monkey movies," Sam pffts. "His name," Dean huffily interrupts, "is Clyde." Hee. Dean argues with Sam to "at least wear the shirt," and one quick cut later...
...the boys are returning to The Emporium study from above clad in the outfits Dean bought for them. "I look stupid!" Sam pouts, and he'll be getting no argument from me on that point, 'cause that fancy little embroidered Urban Cowboy two-steppin' shirt Dean picked out for him is ridiculous. Even more ridiculous? The stripey brown poncho and silver bolo on Dean. "Is it customary to wear a blanket?" My Sweet Baboo asks. Heh. "It's a serape!" Dean proudly corrects, his enthusiasm for his costume steadfastly undiminished by the entirely filthy and entirely justified looks the others are giving him at the moment. "What's this?" he wonders, pawing through that pile of gold they swiped from Raoul's tastefully appointed makeover den three months ago. Bobby had apparently dragged the trinkets up from the basement and stuffed them into a handy carryalong because, as he rightly points out, "they don't take plastic" in 1861. , My Sweet Baboo informs them he'll be sending them to March 4th which, he states, should give them enough time to find both The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Usually Can't and the phoenix, which of course means they'll run out of time at a crucial moment, and with that, Castiel taps the two of them on the forehead, zapping them back to...
...the nonexistent Wyoming Territory. Dean takes one look at his surroundings and exults, "Now we're talkin'!" Sam, for his part, looks both gigantic and confused.
Meanwhile, back in The Emporium, Castiel makes to flutter off, but first warns Bobby to summon him in exactly twenty-four hours. Bobby sets a timer. It is thrilling in the extreme. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" That too.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Sam sets a timer of his own as Dean proposes they hit up the saloon to pump the locals for information. Sam agrees to the plan, and promptly steps into a great big steaming pile of horseshit. Nah. Too easy.
The boys enter the town proper just in time to witness a public execution -- a public execution of Radioactive Ted from the pre-credits sequence, as it turns out. Radioactive Ted stands atop a gallows with a noose around his neck as the top-hatted Judge "Ty Mortimer" reads aloud the sentence he himself passed down. Seems "Elias Finch" -- get it? -- murdered his wife, and for that crime he will be hanged by the neck until he is dead. Finch surreptitiously fiddles with the iron manacles now cuffing his hands behind his back, but the things remain secure, so it doesn't look like there'll be any daring last-minute escapes for this guy. The sheriff at Finch's side asks the prisoner if he has any last words, and Finch obliges him by vowing, "You're gonna burn for this -- every one of you." The sheriff and his deputy exchange A Look Fraught With Significance, the reason for which will become apparent in very short order, after which the sheriff nods, and the deputy springs the trapdoor beneath Finch's feet. "Good times," Dean murmurs as they watch Elias Finch strangle to death and, after a beat, he wonders how they're going to find The Illustrious Mr. Colt. Sam hasn't the faintest idea but, eyeing the sheriff and the judge, he does allow he's got a pretty good lead on whom to ask. Before we can get to all that, though, an old coot standing in front of them turns to gift Dean with a hairy side-eye and remark, "Nice blanket." De
an, humiliated, pushes out his lower lip to sulk as he whips his serape over his head to toss it into the dirt. Wah. Wah. Waaaaaaah.
Moments later, Our Intrepid Heroes enter the sheriff's office, where the LYING LIARS WHO LIE introduce themselves as "Marshall Clint Eastwood" and "Walker, Texas Ranger," before inquiring as to The Illustrious Mr. Colt 's current whereabouts. The sheriff claims he hasn't seen The Illustrious Mr. Colt around town in months, and suggests they ask "Elkins" over in the saloon. Dean offers the gentlemen a tip of the hat, and the boys exit, leaving the sheriff, his deputy, and Old Judge Mortimer to their refreshing cocktails.
Saloon. Another old coot lies sprawled across one of the tables, drunk, as Sam and Dean cross to address the proprietor of the establishment, who for his part refuses to speak with them until after they've ordered a drink. You know, more or less. After some unfunny business involving Dean requesting "top shelf whiskey," the boys settle on rotgut and sarsaparilla -- and I'll be letting you guess which gets which -- before at last getting down to business. Elkins laconically allows that The Illustrious Mr. Colt passed through Sunrise "about four years ago," but the most recent rumors have The Illustrious Mr. Colt "building a railroad twenty miles out of town just by the post road" in "the middle of nowhere." Super-Smart Sammy immediately realizes The Illustrious Mr. Colt must be in the middle of constructing that massive Devil's Trap of his, but before the two can carry that line of thought any further, the bar's only whore saunters on over to them to propose...well, to propose what whores always propose in situations such as this. Unfortunately, this "Darla" person's syphilitic mouth is positively swarming with rotten teeth and God knows what else, so even Slutty El Deano doesn't want to fuck her. Fortunately for Darla, though, Judge Mortimer arrives at this very moment to escort her upstairs for a little geriatric bouncy-time. Dean then gags on his cocktail. !
Upstairs, Judge Mortimer's wasted no time in stripping down to his union suit and is now climbing on top of Diseased Darla when someone knocks on the door. Diseased Darla takes one look at the person entering her boudoir and screams...
...drawing the excited attention of Our Intrepid Heroes down below. As Sam and Dean race up the stairs...
...Radioactive Ted enters the frame and places a hand on Judge Mortimer's back. The old goat immediately unhinges his lower jaw to howl out in agony as Radioactive Ted's touch begins to carbonize his body, and by the time Sam and Dean barrel through the boudoir door, Elias Finch has vanished, what's left of Judge Mortimer now lies in an ashy heap on top of the bed, and Diseased Darla's cowering in a corner, positively paralytic with fear.
We return from this evening's first CHOMP!-less commercial break to find the sheriff surveying Judge Mortimer's remains, with Diseased Darla loudly insisting they were attacked by a ghost. Long story short, the sheriff dismisses this claim, announces his intention to form a posse to hunt down and kill Elias Finch, and invites the boys along for the party as long as the latter equip themselves first with some proper gear. He exits, and Sam and Dean decide to visit Finch's grave. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" My sentiments exactly, hon, though oddly enough, this boredom I feel is not sending me into paroxysms of rage. Maybe it's because Glee sucked so much this week that this episode seems perfectly fine by comparison. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Okay, okay, I'll keep it moving.
Out in the town's boneyard, Our Intrepid Heroes find what remains of Finch's shattered coffin and eventually realize what the audience has known since Radioactive Ted fried Judge Mortimer. They quickly agree to split up, with Sam riding off to fetch The Illustrious Mr. Colt and his Fucking Gun That Can Kill Anything Except When It Usually Can't while Dean remains in town to hook up with the sheriff's posse. "'Cause you know me," Dean grins. "I'm a posse magnet." Sam squints. "I mean," Dean continues, "I love posse!" Sam unleashes a magnificent bitchface and chides, "You done?" Dean looks suitably abashed for all of three seconds before grinning again, and God help me, but it's the most adorable thing I've seen on TV in months. And once that bit of business is done, Sam and Dean head over to the town's stables, where they trade a Rolex for a horse. Just go with it. There's another bit of business surrounding the amusing image of The Ginormotron saddling up, and after Sam takes off into the night, the scene cuts over to the...
...town jail, where we find the sheriff loading a horse of his own with a couple of saddlebags while Radioactive Ted eyes him from the gloomy shadows of a nearby porch. Finch's mere presence seems to spook the animal, and it starts whinnying and kicking up its hind legs before galloping away, leaving the sheriff alone with Radioactive Ted, the latter of whom strides down from that porch, stripping off one of his gloves as he goes. The sheriff fires two totally ineffective rounds into Finch's chest before begging for his life, but Radioactive Ted's not having it, and he throws the sheriff into a flesh-searing chokehold that quickly reduces the sheriff -- and his clothing, by the by -- to a pile of bony ash.
Back in the present, My Sweet Baboo stands alone in an abandoned warehouse until his lieutenant, Rachel, comes fluttering in behind him, and while I'm sure that the conversation that follows will gain importance the closer we get to the season finale, it's all too vague for me to bother with a transcription right now, so let's cut to the chase: Rachel accuses Castiel of certain never-specified transgressions, Castiel insists he's had little choice but to act as he has, Rachel whines something about feeling betrayed, and then they whip out their Angel-Smiting Scimitars to go at it. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Yep, even the knife fight is dull, especially because we all know there's no way in hell she's ever going to win it, even if she does manage to nick My Sweet Baboo in his dear little chest. Castiel eventually drives his blade into her heart, and the screen bleaches out white for a bit before the camera does its usual spinny thing above her corpse, drawing itself ever back and ever up, the better to show us all the massive scorch marks left by Rachel's immolated wings. Castiel murmurs his apologies to Dead Rachel, examines his glowing chest wound, and flutters over to...
...The Emporium kitchen, where he collapses onto the linoleum. Bobby races to the stricken angel's aid, but My Sweet Baboo wards him off with a bloody hand -- a bloody hand he then smears against Bobby's otherwise pristine wall to inscribe a sigil whose purpose, he presently explains, is to mask his presence in The Emporium from his Heavenly fellows. I think. I mean, I'm pretty sure that's what it's for, but I don't feel like fast-forwarding through the rest of Castiel's scenes to confirm it, and he passes out here almost as soon as he completes it, so whatever. !
Saloon. Dean's evidently visited the town's tailor, for he enters in the outfit we saw him wearing during the pre-credits sequence, and apparently, the town's tailor sucks, because the stumpy little bow-legged midget is positively swimming in that damn duster of his. It's like they slung a Ginormotron-sized coat on wee Dean's tiny little body. Nevertheless, Dean thinks he looks good, so I guess that's all that matters. Our Intrepid Hero approaches the proprietor and inquires as to the present location of his promised posse. "I must be early," he supposes. "Or you're the only greenhorn dumb enough to go chasin' after a ghost," Elkins shoots back. "What're you talking about?" Dean frowns. "The sheriff's tough as nails -- he'll be here." On cue, a comically distraught voice calls out from the street, "Oh, God! The sheriff's dead!"
Dean and Elkins head out into the early-morning sunlight to stand over the ashy remains of the town's sheriff and, after a beat, Dean asks, "Well, who's the sheriff now?" Elkins bends down, retrieves the sheriff's badge from its place atop its former owner's scorched bones, shines it up a bit with his bar rag, and rises to pin it to a flabbergasted Dean's vest. "Congratulations!" Elkins drawls. Dean mugs and goggles and rolls his put-upon eyes right into the CHOMP!-less commercial break.
The camera takes in the exterior of a rustic and isolated log cabin before zipping inside, where it finds The Illustrious Mr. Colt diligently penning his journal. Two demonically enhanced cowboys enter, seeking access to that portal to Hell no one's thought about for the better part of four years, and for once, The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Usually Can't actually works like it's supposed to. The Illustrious Mr. Colt blows a neat pair of holes in the demonic interlopers' chests, and the two intruders drop to the floor, dead.
Back in Sunrise, the panicky sheriff's deputy's throwing his meager belongings into a valise to bolt town for his sister's place when someone comes a-knocking on his chamber door. "Who's there?" the deputy calls out, drawing his gun. "Candygram for Mongo!" Dean replies, offering us all his best Cleavon Little impersonation which, quite frankly, isn't very good. The dimwitted deputy opens the door anyway, and a brief Mexican standoff ensues with Dean and the deputy shoving their six-shooters into each other's face until Dean smiles, "Is that any way to greet your new boss?" The ice thus broken, the two holster their revolvers and settle in for a lengthy chat, the upshot of which is this: Dean knows Finch intends to fry up the dimwitted deputy as he promised when everyone was standing up there on the gallows, and Dean therefore intends to use the dimwitted deputy as bait. Is that everything? "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Good. !
Over in that log cabin, The Illustrious Mr. Colt is just now returning from burying the dead demons in his backyard when The Ginormotron comes tippy-toeing through his front door. How the hell Sam ever found this place, I'll never know, but that's not important right now because what is important right now is the fact that The Illustrious Mr. Colt greets his unexpected guest with a faceful of holy water. "Not a demon! Not a demon!" Sam shouts, waving his hands in the air and backing away while hastily explaining that he is, in fact, a hunter from the year 2011. "Prove it," The Illustrious Mr. Colt challenges, so Sam tugs his Android out from the pocket of his jeans and hands the thing over. The Illustrious Mr. Colt examines the phone's glowing display for a moment, eyebrows an extremely casual, "All right!" and crosses to place the thing atop his makeshift liquor cabinet. "'All right'?" Sam incredulously repeats. "That's it?" "When you've done this job as long as I have," The Illustrious Mr. Colt condescends, pouring himself a cocktail, "a giant from the future with some magic brick doesn't exactly give you the vapors." Nice one. Even Sam has to smile at it, and as The Illustrious Mr. Colt takes a slug of his whiskey, Sam explains the purpose of his visit, pulling the modern-day version of The Illustrious Mr. Colt's journal from his jacket to show his temporary host the appropriate phoenix-related entry. The Illustrious Mr. Colt takes a moment to process all of that, then eases himself into a chair to growl, "I appreciate your situation, but I'm not gonna be of any help to you." "But you say right here..." Sam begins. "Don't believe everything that you read," The Illustrious Mr. Colt warns before claiming he's retired, and announcing that he has no intention of hunting anything ever again. An unimportant bit of back-and-forth bickering ensues until Sam finally exasperates, "Either you're coming with me, or I need the gun." "What gun?" The Illustrious Mr. Colt bluffs. "The gun," Sam emphasizes. The Illustrious Mr. Colt LIES that he "lost it in a game of stud," but Sam calls him out on his bullshit, correctly guessing that his temporary host shot a couple of demons with the thing "less than an hour ago." He can tell, you see, because there are two sets of boot prints on the front porch and "the cabin reeks of sulphur." Further unimportant back-and-forth bickering ensues, and the bottom line is this: Sam demands his temporary host hand over The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Usually Can't, and The Illustrious Mr. Colt refuses. !
Back in the present, My Sweet Baboo squirms himself into sludgy semi-consciousness on the study's sofa just as Bobby's timer enters the final hour of its countdown. Bobby himself quizzes Castiel on recent events and, after they get all caught up, My Sweet Baboo confesses that, thanks to his wound, he won't be able to yank Our Intrepid Heroes out of the past. For whatever never-explained reason, he can't call upon one of his fellows to do it for him, either. "There's gotta be something that can juice you up," Bobby flails. "A spell? Something?" "There is one thing that might work," Castiel admits, "but it's extremely dangerous." "Shocker," Bobby deadpans. "So, lay it on me." "It's your soul," Castiel replies. "I need you to let me touch it." "ZZZZZZZ -- dirty! -- ZZZZZZ!" Absolutely filthy, if you ask me, my snoozy friend, but we haven't time to linger on such smut, because My Sweet Baboo's busily explaining, "The human soul is pure energy -- if I can siphon some of that off, I might be able to bring Sam and Dean back." "And the catch is...?" Bobby leads. "Doing this is like putting your hand in a nuclear reactor," Castiel claims, and it sure as hell didn't seem that way the last time he did it, but what the hell do I know? "I have to do it very gingerly," Castiel cautions. "Or?" Bobby prompts. "Or you'll explode." "ZZZZZZZ -- DIRTY! -- ZZZZZZ!" As they have no other choice, Bobby's quick to agree to the plan, which for some mysterious reason is enough to summon this evening's very first METAL TEETH CHOMP! CHOMP! needs the paycheck, I guess.
Sunrise. It's ten to noon, and Dean's impatiently awaiting Sam's arrival over in the town's jail, where he's imprisoned that dimwitted deputy for reasons which shall soon become clear. The deputy gripes loudly and at length regarding his current situation until Dean thinks to ask, "Why is Finch gunning for you, anyway?" "I guess you missed the part where we hung him," the deputy snots. Dean sets the iron nail he'd been idly fiddling with down on the sheriff's desk and ambles on over to the deputy's cell. "I'm thinking to a thing like Finch, that's no big whoop," he opines. "He would've just blown town," Dean theorizes, "but he came back -- that seems personal." "You let me out of here, and we'll talk," the deputy offers, but Dean's not about to let his only piece of phoenix bait go free anytime soon, and besides, Radioactive Ted's just now walking into the joint, anyway. "Open up that cell," Finch growls as he deliberately strips off his gloves. "Open it yourself," Dean nonchalantly counters. "Unless you can't," he guesses after Finch flinches at the suggestion, "just like you couldn't break those cuffs when they strung you up." By now, Dean's strolled back over to the desk, and he whips that iron nail at Radioactive Ted's head. Finch instinctively catches the thing before it whacks him in the face, only to drop it when the metal starts burning into his skin, so Dean now has confirmation that Finch just can't deal with iron at all.
"Do you know what this son of a bitch did?" Finch seethes, nodding in the deputy's direction. Dean does not, so Radioactive Ted fills him in, and it's an ugly tale: Seems the deputy attempted to rape Finch's human wife, and when Finch intervened, the deputy shot her. The wife died, the deputy colluded with the sheriff and the judge to execute Radioactive Ted, and now here we are. "Are you really willing to die to protect this piece of filth?" Finch asks of Dean. "Honestly," Dean replies, "I could care less about him. He's a dick and a coward, but this ain't about him -- I know what you are, so I gotta kill you." "If you know what I am," Radioactive Ted taunts, "then you know you can't." And as Dean chews that thought over, Finch lunges for a nearby holster, yanks out the gun, shoves the barrel between the prison bars, and shoots the deputy through the chest. "Wow, I should've seen that coming," Dean sighs to himself, and he hurls himself out through a window before Radioactive Ted gets a chance to draw a bead on him, too.
Dean scampers off between the rickety wooden buildings as Finch squeezes off round after round in his general direction, and while I'm not counting the shots, I'm willing to bet there are far more than six. Just 'cause. Fortunately, Darling Sammy has finally made it back to town, and he hands The Fucking Colt over to Dean with less than...
...two minutes to go, according to Bobby's timer back at The Emporium. Bobby nervously fidgets in a chair at the center of the study while My Sweet Baboo rolls up his sleeve.
Sunrise. With Sam now looking on from the sidelines, Dean and Radioactive Ted reenact this evening's opening sequence, only this time around, Dean's a hell of a lot more screamy about the whole thing.
Meanwhile, back at The Emporium, My Sweet Baboo fists the hairball. "ZZZZZZZ -- SLUTS! -- ZZZZZZ!"
Sunrise. Dean and Radioactive Ted draw on each other, and while both fire off shots, Finch's apparently goes wide. Dean's, however, drills a hole right into Radioactive Ted's chest, where the magical bullet sizzles and zots until the wound bursts into flame. With a shocked expression on his face, Radioactive Ted goes up like a torch, eventually exploding into a pile of what appears to be charcoal, and if I cared, I'd note this seems like a pretty shitty way to treat a guy who really didn't do anything wrong, but I don't, so I won't. Except for, you know, the part where I just did.
With five seconds left to go, Castiel opens his eyes, and the blinding light that pours forth from them bleaches the screen white.
Back in Sunrise, the town's clock starts tolling the hour. Sam bellows for Dean to gather up Radioactive Ted's ashes before they run out of time, and in his haste, Dean drops The Fucking Colt onto the muddy street. Dean pulls a small bottle out of his oversized duster's pocket and races towards what little is left of Radioactive Ted, sliding down on his knees to...
...skid into The Emporium study, with Sam following close behind. Nice cut, there -- I knew it was coming, of course, but I was expecting Dean to at least get his hands in Finch's remains, so the timing was a fun little surprise. Aren't lowered expectations just fantastic? "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Yeah, that too. Our Thwarted Heroes gawp, both at each other and at Castiel and Bobby -- the latter of whom looks considerably worse for the wear, by the way -- and after a very lengthy pause, everyone vanishes into this evening's final CHOMP!-less commercial break.
"You gotta send us back!" Dean pleads with Castiel once we've returned, and My Sweet Baboo's silent glare in response tells Dean in no uncertain terms that Castiel doesn't "gotta" do anything he doesn't feel like doing, thank you very much. Though, you know, it does make me think: They now know there's this big pile of phoenix ash just lying in the middle of that town's main street at precisely 12:01 PM Sunrise time on March 5th, 1861, so even if My Sweet Baboo's too weary to send them back right this instant, couldn't he do so, like, tomorrow? You know, after he's fisted a couple more souls?
Whatever. It's not like I actually care, and besides, what happens renders my musings moot. While Dean despairs, The Emporium's doorbell rings. Sam wanders over to answer, and it's a delivery boy from Western Courier, there to drop off a plot point the idiots responsible for this crap lifted whole entire from Back To The Future Part II. Hell, they even lifted some of the dialogue from that goddamned scene. The whole sordid mess just makes me so very tired, so we'll be cutting to the chase: Long story short, The Illustrious Mr. Colt got Sam's current date and Bobby's address from that Android he never returned, and he arranged for Western Courier to hang on to a package for 150 years that this delivery boy is now handing over to Sam. And inside that package? Sam's Android -- beaten all to hell, natch -- and a bottle of phoenix ash. "You know what this means?" Dean asks...well, everybody, I guess, but it's Bobby who answers. "Yeah," he smirks. "It means I didn't get a soulonoscopy for nothing." "Yes," Dean sighs before getting his tough-guy growl on to deliver this evening's final line. "And it means we take the fight to her." Reaction shots abound for a bit until we finally cut to black.
I'd rouse Raoul so he could join in on week's promo, but it's so totally not worth it, because week's promo is utterly incomprehensible. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" See you then!
Demian usually hates time-traveling episodes set in the Old West, but this one wasn't that bad at all. Raoul would smack some sense into him, we're sure, but he's still lolling about in his Coma Of Boredom "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" You may reach the former at demian_twop@yahoo.com. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon on the Internet.
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