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The season premiere picks up right where last season's finale left off, and in an instant, it's like the last four months of my life never happened. This is not a good thing.
My New And Improved Baboo -- brimming, as you'll no doubt recall, with all the power the souls of Purgatory had to offer -- speechifies at length at Our Imperiled Heroes and their redneck pet Bobby for a very long period of time, chiding them for their collective lack of faith in Himself, or something, but he eventually suffers them to live and flutters off to pick up where the real God left off however many eons ago. And for a while, Castiel's wacky hijinks are immensely gratifying, indeed, as he proceeds to take out every last hypocritical Christianist asshole in the country before turning his deadly attentions on the likes of The Klan, Tony Robbins, Michelle Bachmann, and most of the aforementioned's fawning acolytes. Alas, the awesomeness cannot continue forever, for those roiling souls clawing around deep within My Sweet Baboo's guts soon start gnawing through the errant angel's Vessel, and it quickly becomes clear that Castiel must rid himself of Purgatory's millions sooner rather than later.
Fortunately, Sam and Dean have been investigating possible solutions, natch, and with the still-kicking Crowley's help, they manage to bind Capital-D Death in an effort to force the Horseman to slaughter My Sweet Baboo. Quite naturally, Death rather haughtily refuses, though he does arrange for another lunar eclipse, thereby allowing Our Dear Boys to pry open yet another portal into Purgatory, so that was nice of him, wasn't it? And in the end, the boys plus Bobby somehow manage to help Castiel send all those souls back where they belong. Well, except for the souls of The Leviathans, who lagged behind like those lazy Leviathans tend to do, and before you can say "Aspidochelone," The Leviathans have seized control of My Sweet Baboo's body, and several of our peppy protagonists find themselves flipping ass over end into this evening's final blackout. DUN!
Oh, I almost forgot: Sam might be going crazy. You know, because of that Wall thing. Or he might actually be entirely sane, and this whole season's going to end up being some sort of great big walloping mindfuck of a Satan-engineered fakeout, like the entire runs of St. Elsewhere or Newhart. Will you stick around to find out? Well? Will you?
Get the scoop on what to expect in season 7.
Want more? The full recap starts right below!Rattle, Rattle BORING NEW TITLE CARDS! Yes, it's yet another new season for this aging wreck of a show and, as always, that new season brings with it a new set of THEN!s and NOW!s and THE ROAD SO FAR!s and such, and wow. Even the title-card guys have thrown in the towel. The style they've settled upon this year basically amounts to little more than a set of spray-painted black-and-white stencils in the familiar Supernatural font against a dreary, mottled, grey-and-white background, and if that's all the effort The Title-Card Guys have deigned to put into these things, I can't imagine how lackluster and crappy the actual episode is going to be. In any event, the black spray paint on one of the Os gets a little drippy for a bit before we snap over into a montage covering the major events of the last two years, and to its credit, THE ROAD SO FAR makes Season Six look a hell of a lot more fun than it actually was. The excellent musical selection for this sequence -- Foghat's "Slow Ride," -- certainly adds to that impression, though to be honest with you, it mainly makes me wish I were watching Dazed and Confused again instead of this episode.
So, anyway, to recap: Darling Sammy went to Hell and all he got was that lousy wall in his head; My Devious Baboo teamed up with Crowley to suck all of the soul-generated energy out of Purgatory, only to double-cross the demon at the appropriate moment; Balthazar, Raphael, and any number of swell beasties bit it; the power of Purgatory's souls turned Castiel into God; and Dashing El Deano stood around looking both pretty and useless for what seems like the last several years. And in the end, as you'll no doubt recall, My Godly Baboo spake as thus: "You will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord, or I shall destroy you." And then everyone giggled when the camera shot straight up his nose.
Rattle, Rattle HIDEOUSLY BORING NOW! The NOW!'s N dribbles a thin line of bitterly black demonic snot down the screen as it advances menacingly towards us before fading into the darkness, and we linger there in the wind-swept murk for a moment until the camera finally fades up to pick up precisely where we left off last May. Well, you know, not precisely where we left off, because that would mean we'd still be halfway up Castiel's goddamned nose, but whatever. My Godly Baboo's still standing there in the middle of Crowley's grue-smeared laboratory with Our Freshly Imperiled Heroes (plus Bobby!) arranged in a gawp-mouthed semicircle around him. "Well, all-righty then!" Bobby perks, and I almost typed "Booby," there, which cannot augur well for everyone's favorite little redneck hairball this season. In any event, Bobby promptly drops to his barely concealed kneepads in response to My Godly Baboo's subtle season-finale suggestion, and just to make sure he's doing it right, he asks, "Is this good, or do you want the whole forehead-to-the-carpet thing?" My Godly Baboo simply stares at him by way of response, so...that's a yes? A no? Anyone? Anyone? Oh, who am I kidding? I totally don't give a shit at this point.
Anyway, Bobby hisses for Sam and Dean to take his lead lest they end up smeared all over the laboratory walls like the late, unlamented Raphael, but barely have the boys lowered themselves onto the shards of glass now littering the laboratory floor when My Godly Baboo gets all pissily overdramatic with his moany, "Well, what's the point if you don't mean it?" What's the point, indeed, my fine feathery friend? Of any of this? Castiel doesn't answer me because Castiel never answers me no matter how fervently I pray to him, and instead chooses to note, correctly, that the boys plus the hairball harbor little but fear for him at the present moment, rather than the love and respect to which he believes he's entitled. He orders Bobby up off the latter's kneepads, curtly dismisses faithless Sammy's feeble overtures of friendship, and proceeds to bring everyone involved up to speed on his elevated situation and glorious intentions and whatnot, and long story short, My Godly Baboo will suffer these fools to live for the moment, but only if they not "rise up" against him. Darling Sammy chooses to get a little woozy at this juncture, and we're reminded of the fact that Castiel sent the poor lad's Wall a-tumbling down not so long ago, which allows Dashing El Deano to get all uppity and snarl, "You promised you would fix him!" "If you stood down," Castiel icily replies before adding a snippy, "Which you hardly did!" for good measure. My Godly Baboo then mildly suggests Sam be grateful for the "mercy" Castiel's shown him thus far, for it is well within Castiel's power to cast Sam back down into The Pit. Or The Cage. Or The Cage Within The Pit. Whichever. Desperate El Deano pleads with Castiel to "turn this around," now, before it's too late, but My Godly Baboo's all, "See ya! NOT!" and flutters the hell on out of there to begin his thrilling reign over Heaven and Earth.
And once he's gone, Darling Sammy gets a nosebleed and flashes back to the flaming good times he had down in The Cage with Michael, Lucifer, and his hapless bastard of a half-brother no one talks about anymore before collapsing to the floor, where he slices his heretofore remarkably healthy hand open on one of those aforementioned shards of glass now littering the tiles. It's all so terribly dramatic, I'm sure, and I'd linger upon it for an appropriate amount of time so we might appreciate the horror inherent in the moment and whatnot, but My Godly Baboo's up to something far more dastardly and entertaining, I'm sure, so let's flutter off to join him in...
...Heaven, where Castiel strolls through a ridiculously scenic tree-lined clearing whilst declaiming, "Understand: If you followed Raphael -- if you stood against me -- punishment is certain." "There is nowhere to hide," he warns his unseen angelic audience before addressing those of his brethren who remained above the late fray like so: "The rest of you? Our Father left a long time ago, and that was hard. I thought the answer was free will, but I understand now you need a firm hand. You need a father, and I am your father now." I'll toss that a DUN! on the off chance they rev up the whole Angel Wars crap again later in the season, but rest assured: My heart isn't in it. My Godly Baboo concludes his little speech with, "Be obedient, my children, or this will be your fate." At that, the camera sweeps down to his feet, where it lands on the splayed, sightless corpse of one of Raphael's heavenly minions, the grass beneath his body still smoldering from his wings' immolation. The camera then leaps back to take in the entire clearing, which is littered with the badly CGI'd corpses of several dozen former minions, and there's that scorched-wing effect effectively pounded into the ground. Sigh. My Godly Baboo rapturously claims it to be a new day, on Earth as it is in Heaven, and he blissfully breathes, "Rejoice!" as we slam into the...
SPLAT! Wait. Did some demon just blow a snot rocket all over my television screen? "I believe he did!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, finally deciding to join us for this evening's festivities, and I was wondering when you were going to jump in here, my scaly friend. "I was loath to interrupt your spellbinding account of tonight's enthralling opening sequence!" Sarcasm's a good color on you, hon. "Thanks!" Now, should I continue, or would you care to regale our friends out there in Internetland with saucy tales of your sordid summertime escapades? "Oh, do go on, by all means! After all, a lady must have some secrets, yes?!" Yes, I think that's for the best. Now, what crap are they flinging at us ?
Oh, right: This crap. We find Bandy-Legged El Deano flipped upside down in the much-abused Impala, trying and failing to pop out a brutal dent in the roof with his heavily booted feet, when Bobby ambles on over from points unknown to kick-start this episode's exposition. Long story short, Darling Sammy apparently fell into something very close to a coma after their worthless little jaunt down to Crowley's laboratory, and Bobby's letting The Ginormotron sleep it off over in the Emporium proper while he and Dean review their options, which are very few indeed. To begin with, My Godly Baboo's simply vanished from the face of the planet, with nary so much as "a trench coat on a tortilla" to indicate his current whereabouts, so our protagonists are momentarily stuck cooling their heels in the lush coastal rainforests of southeastern South Dakota, waiting for reports of "miracles" or "mass visions" or something -- anything -- to direct them towards their adventure. In the meantime, Bobby would research how to subdue or slaughter their erstwhile angelic friend, but he hasn't the faintest idea where to begin. Dean's even more useless than usual, if that's at all possible, and the two bemoan their current situation until the scene sort of just peters out.
thing we know, Dean's wandered into the Emporium kitchen, and just as he begins rifling through Bobby's refrigerator for more beer, Darling Sammy wanders onto the scene with a hale and hearty "Hey!" Sam's tremendous paw is wrapped up in a wad of gauze, but aside from that, he seems little worse for the wear, much to Dean's vocal surprise. The two natter away at each other -- oh, Lord, do they natter away at each other -- and I get so bored with it all that I actually focus on the CW's bug for Ringer, which the graphic insists is a "NEW HIT SERIES," and blow it out your ass, you shitty, shitty little audience-hemorrhaging netlet. ANY-way, Sam insists he's fine, so Dean invites him back out to the yard to chat -- AGAIN, SOME MORE -- about recent developments, but the instant Dean's out the door, the camera goes all wacky with the Dutch angles and such, so we know Something's Not Quite Right With Darling Sammy. Sure enough, ominous tinkly noises assault the soundtrack, and Sam goes, "Whaaaaaaa?" before they unceremoniously drop the whole thing to zip on over to the scene, 'cause that's the way they decided to roll with this bullshit tonight, I guess.
Though I suppose I shouldn't complain, because the scene does rise to a certain amount of awesomeness after its eye-rollingly tedious start. We've shot over to the "Lady Of Serenity Church," where the sign outside commands us to "BELIEVE IN GOD," for "HE WALKS AMONG US," and after we linger on the chapel's quaint façade for a moment, we head inside just in time to be harangued by the congregation's vociferously anti-gay minister. By the way he emphasizes the church's funeral pickets, we're obviously meant to associate him with a certain notorious Middle American preacher, but to be honest with you, this guy isn't nearly cadaverous enough to pass as the person in question. Well, you know. Not yet. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" God, Raoul, would you wait for it? Jesus! "Oh, I do apologize, I'm sure! But it seems like we've been waiting for years for a nice bit of bloodshed, does it not!?" Point to the dizzy lizard on the overstuffed armchair. "Hooray!" Now, would you let me get on with it so we can get this proselytizing dicksmack off my goddamned television set already? "By all means! Pray continue!" I see what you did there. "Hee!"
So anyway, the proselytizing dicksmack shouts about his hatred of The Gays (and Lady Gaga, which: Can't fault him there) for a lengthy period of time, ending his tirade with, "Someone has to speak for God!" On cue, My Godly Baboo materializes in the chapel aisle to challenge, "And who says you speak for God?" "You're wrong," Castiel states while the people in the pews pivot as one to stare at him. "I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation." "On the other hand," Castiel darkly continues, "I cannot abide hypocrites like you." Pastor Dicksmack attempts to interrupt, but My Godly Baboo growls him down with a menacing, "Tell your flock where your genitals have been before you speak for me." Pastor Dicksmack gags -- go figure -- but eventually manages to splutter, "And who the heck are you?" "I'm God," Castiel reveals, to the congregation's general consternation. One of the faithful even rises to his feet to deliver an almighty smackdown upon Castiel's blasphemous ass, but My Godly Baboo's got that whole almighty-smackdown thing covered, thank you very much, and he telekinetically slams the guy back into his seat with such a vengeance that the pew splinters beneath the guy's behind. "VIOLENCE!" howls Raoul, already writhing about atop his overstuffed armchair with anticipatory delight over what's to come. "WANTON ACTS OF UNREPENTANT PEW-SPLINTERING VIOLENCE!" Dude. You're stretching it. "So are the darling little people responsible for this once-charming Friday-evening divertissement!" And that's another point to the dizzy lizard on the overstuffed armchair. "Hooray!"
In any event, startled babbling erupts amongst the remaining extras in the pews as My Godly Baboo advances upon Pastor Dicksmack to intone, "And he who lies in my name shall choke on his own false tongue, and his poisonous words shall betray him." With that, Pastor Dicksmack proceeds to choke on his own false tongue, attended by a minor frothing at the mouth, until he at long last face-plants into the carpeting, dead. "That's it?!" shrieks Raoul, feeling cheated, and I'm afraid so, my scaly friend. "Hmph!" Your sentiments are mine, oh faithful recapping companion -- I mean, couldn't they at least have the guy's head explode from all the vigorous choking, or something? "Hmph!" Oh, well -- best not to dwell on this particular disappointment when the oncoming season's certain to be full of them, am I right? "HMPH!" I'll take that as a yes.
Castiel -- looking terribly pleased with himself, as well he should -- smiles down upon Pastor Dicksmack's rapidly cooling corpse, then turns to reassert his divinity for the benefit of Pastor Dicksmack's former congregants before ambling back down the aisle towards the doors. Just before he exits, however, a sudden attack of...something or other afflicts his adorable form, and he staggers against one of the pews while strange voices whisper his name. My Godly Baboo, momentarily afflicted, glances up at the chapel's stained-glass window, which features a childish rendering of Jesus cuddling a lamb, then collects himself and continues on his way out. But what's this? The pew's wood has been charred by the mere touch of his hand! DUNZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzz! Also, Castiel swapped out that window while we weren't looking, and Cuddly Jesus has been replaced by a stern-faced image of My Badass Baboo. I hate to admit this, but it's making me snicker.
Meanwhile, back in BORING!, Darling Sammy futzes around deep within the bowels of the Emporium basement when suddenly, all the lights go red! No, seriously, that's it: The lights go red. That's some cheap-ass motherfucking effects, my friends. Even cheaper? The spooooky close-up on a drippy chunk of tuna speared by a fishhook. Gee, I'm sure glad they decided to renew this series for another season, aren't you? In any event, and long story short, Sam eventually snaps out of it and heads upstairs. There, he finds Bobby and Dean glued to the TV, where "CBA News" is reporting on the "sudden deaths of some two hundred religious leaders" across the country, and I gotta hand it to My Godly Baboo, 'cause that's certainly a good start. "Amen!" Oh, Raoul. "Hee!" "The Vatican has yet to issue a statement," the CBA newslady informs us, "but some are already calling this 'an act of God.'" Dean frowns as one of Pastor Dicksmack's former congregants breathily gives witness to Castiel's general awesomeness like so: "We all saw him! No beard -- he was young, and sexy!" Back off, bitch. That feathery-haired little psychopath is mine.
Dean, outraged, snaps off the set, but that doesn't stop the subsequent montage of overheard news snippets, during which we learn that My Godly Baboo's on a righteous rampage, eliminating, among others, The Ku Klux Klan and "New Age motivational speakers." By the end of it, we've landed out in the Emporium yard, where Our Intrepid Heroes chat -- AGAIN, SOME MORE -- about recent developments, the upshot of which is...absolutely nothing, as it turns out. !
"Nancy?! EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" You must forgive Raoul's over-exuberance and high-pitched squealing at the moment, as the darling little...hey! Dude, don't pony on top of your goddamned armchair! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Fine, fall and break your neck -- see if I care! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" God! ANY-way, this scene has opened with Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots Are Made for Walkin'," which is why my faithful recapping companion is now shimmying in so foolhardy a fashion high atop his overstuffed armchair. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" In non-Raoul news, the camera's darted over to an RV park in Tennessee, where it eventually finds Crowley chilling inside a heavily be-sigiled motor home with a glass of Johnnie Walker Black as yet another CBA newslady tells us of the miraculous spontaneous worldwide eradication of leprosy. Which is actually kind of clever of this show, when you think about it. Leave it to Castiel to eradicate a Biblical scourge that modern science has pretty much already taken care of, instead of something far less Old Testament yet far more relevant like cancer or AIDS. Anyway, no sooner has Crowley eased himself into an overstuffed armchair of his own when the TV buzzes and blinks and flickers off, seemingly of its own accord. As expected, Castiel materializes at Crowley's side and mildly observes, "You look stressed." "Bollocks! Crowley sighs, and with that, we walk all over this season's first CHOMP-less commercial break. "DOON-DOON, DOON-DOON, DOON-DOON, DOON-DOON, DOON-DOON, DOON-DOON, DOON-DOON, DOON-DOON CHUNG! Chicka-CHUNG! Chicka...!" KNOCK IT THE HELL OFF ALREADY. "Hee!"
Trailer park. Aftermath. Crowley gamely prepares to be smote, or smited, or smitten, or whatever the hell that stupid word should be, but Castiel's got a bit of a surprise. You see, he's determined it's in his best interest to keep Hell going -- you know, as a threat to those who would cross him -- and he'll thus be needing Crowley to return to his day job, pronto. Of course, the usual distribution of souls will be altered effective immediately, with Heaven receiving the far greater share from now on, as Castiel would hate to see Crowley amass enough power to mount an effective rebellion. Crowley has little choice but to accept Castiel's proposal and scurries back to the bar to offer his new boss a friendly little cocktail, but alas! My Godly Baboo's developed an irritating rash on his hand, and so must skedaddle, now. !
Deep within the lush coastal rainforests of southeastern BORING!, ominous tinkly noises once again assail the soundtrack, and before we know it, a massive chain rattles down from the kitchen ceiling, snakes itself tightly around Darling Sammy's remarkably healthy neck, and violently yanks The Ginormotron skyward, where Darling Sammy kicks and flails and chokes and struggles until...
...he abruptly snaps awake atop a pile of research, a long string of drool connecting his slackjawed mouth to one of Bobby's no-doubt priceless antiques. Sam freaks, and bellows for both his brother and his host, but unfortunately, they're out in...
...the garage, playing around with the Impala. They presently settle down with a couple of beers to chat -- AGAIN, SOME MORE -- this time acknowledging that Something's Not Quite Right With Darling Sammy, and as Darling Sammy himself tippy-toes in from across the yard to eavesdrop, Dean rages manfully about their collective plight, or something, until Sam decides he's heard enough and hollers out, "Hey!" Dean and Bobby of course get all, "Shhh! Here he comes now!" but that's not important at the moment because what is important at the moment is Sam's news that "a publishing house literally exploded an hour ago." As "the body count is really getting up there," Sam's decided they'd better do something about the whole Godly Baboo issue, and fast. The three bang their empty heads together in a desperate attempt to knock out a solution or two, and mention is made of the late, unlamented Balthazar's "Heavenly arsenal" before Dean gets An Idea.
Cut to the Emporium basement, where the boys plus Bobby summon Crowley so the four might chat -- AGAIN, SOME MORE -- and I'm gonna keep this brief. "Hooray!" Long story short, Dean demands Crowley provide them with "a spell to bind Death," and Crowley agrees to do so. Wow. That was easier than I thought it would be. Oh, I should probably note that Crowley dismissively addresses Sam as "you giraffe" at one point, because that was mildly amusing, and...am I done here? "You are!" Wonderful.
Out on some random street, My Godly Baboo restores a blind beggar's sight, and...am I done here, too? "I think you are!" Oh, wait. "Rats!" Before doing so, My Godly Baboo bemoans his lot in life, or something, whining about how he's so downtrodden and misunderstood and wah, and afterwards, when the now-sighted beggar notices that his benefactor's irritating hand-rash has spread to Castiel's face, My Godly Baboo is forced to beat a hasty retreat to...
...a public restroom, where the souls he's imprisoned inside his body try to fist their way out through his stomach. As you can tell by Raoul's silence, the overall effect is not nearly as exciting as one would hope. "Tacky!" Truer words, my scaly friend. Truer words. Also: The season's very first METAL TEETH CHOMP! So, you know. There's that. "Yaaaaaaaaaaaaawn!" There's that, too.
Bobby's Backwoods BORING!, which is made somewhat less so by the appearance of a slip of parchment slid under the front door by a swiftly disappearing Crowley. It's the spell to bind Death, of course, but naturally, there's a hitch: The spell requires "an Act of God, crystallized forever," which Bobby takes to mean a shard of fulgurite, which Bobby claims is vanishingly scarce, which no, and not even, and never, and SHUT UP, BOBBY, and !
Stately Fulgurite Manor. You see, because fulgurite is so vanishingly scarce, they must break into some fulgurite magnate's impressive manse (built, no doubt, with bales of filthy fulgurite money) to swipe a prominent fulgurite sample from the fulgurite magnate's vast fulgurite collection, and I just can't with this anymore, and I don't even want to try with this anymore, so Chase, Cutting To The: Our Intrepid Nitwits break in to Stately Fulgurite Manor, whereupon they are immediately accosted by the gun-toting fulgurite magnate and his wife, whom Our Intrepid Nitwits immediately overpower and lash to chairs -- the better to have rank civilians witness the supernatural hijinks that follow, natch -- and then, after a beautiful Ritual Preparation Montage that chews up a good sixty seconds of episode I never, ever have to deal with, ever, Bobby finally starts in with the Latinating. Barely has the opening line left Bobby's lips, however, when the entire house around them begins to quake, and as Bobby's recitation continues, the shaking rapidly amplifies in intensity, shooting great, groaning CGI'd cracks through the ceiling plaster while shattering every single pane of glass in the manor's great hall until, just as quickly as it began, the ominous quaking stops, giving way to an even more ominous silence. "Hello?" Dean yodels. "Death?"
The Horseman in question silently materializes at Dean's side, much to the muffled surprise of the filthy fulgurite magnate and his -- let's be honest, here -- extremely tired-looking wife. "That poor dear!" Raoul shrieks in a fit of heartfelt commiseration. "She looks like she could use a nap!" I think we all could at this point, friend of friends. "Hooray!" And yet, we must soldier on. "Oh, poop!" So, Death silently materializes at Dean's side, then promptly makes his displeasure known by way of a mildly incredulous, "You're joking." "I'm s-s-sorry," Dean stammers, instantly on edge, insisting, "This isn't what it seems." "It seems like you bound me," Death acidly replies, lifting his arms to display the flickering, blink-and-you'll-miss-it length of ectoplasm that's loosely linking his wrists. "For good reason!" Dean hastens to assure him, but you know Death's not buying it, and he delicately and deliberately picks his way across the filthy fulgurite magnate's filthy fulgurite floor to stare an increasingly tense Darling Sammy square in the eye. "This is about Sam's hallucinations, I assume?" Death inquires, more than a bit disdainfully. As Sam's hallucinations are news to Dean, he quite naturally gapes and goggles and gibbers most impotently as Death continues, "Sorry, Sam -- one wall per customer." "Now," Death demands, returning his attention to Dean, "unbind me."
"We can't," Sam dares to speak. "Not yet," he hastily amends, once Death has gifted him with A Look, and Bobby pipes up that they need him to kill God. "What makes you think I can do that?" Death eyebrows. "You told me," Dean reminds him. Death eyes him for a very long moment, then inquires, "Why should I?" "Because we're the boss of you?" Dean hesitantly replies. "Amazing!" the just-appearing Castiel breathes from another corner of the room, and oof. My Godly Baboo's not looking so hot, here. That rash now seems to be slowly eating away at the flesh around his eyes, and lurid streaks of red have spread out to cover most of his face. Castiel rises above, however, and promptly vows to slaughter them all with a simple snap of his fingers, but Dean helpfully points out for the audience's benefit that because he and his compatriots have shackled Death, the three are, for all intents and purposes, immortal. This clearly throws My Godly Baboo for a loop, but before we get a chance to dwell on that for too long, Death leaps in to kick-start this evening's heaviest bout of exposition, and the upshot of it all is this: That rash spreading across My Godly Baboo's sweet little face? Merely the external manifestation of the havoc Purgatory's millions are now wreaking upon his Vessel's form. "You're going to explode," Death knowingly predicts, and that wouldn't be so much of a problem for anyone were it not for the fact that Castiel inhaled some Very, Very Bad Things at the end of the last season's finale. Specifically, "The Leviathans," whom Death defines as the real God's "first beasts," creatures who predate everything else in the real God's creation including the angels. "I, personally, found them entertaining," Death admits, "but He was concerned they'd chomp the entire Petri dish, so he locked them away." "Why do you think He created Purgatory?" Death rhetorically wonders, pointedly directing this at Castiel. "To keep those clever, poisonous things out," he continues before emphasizing, "And now, Castiel has swallowed them -- he's the one, thin membrane between The Old Ones and your home." Dun-dun-DUN!
My Godly Baboo has the good grace to look ashamed at all of that, but only for a moment, and then he advances upon Death so the two might engage in a tawdry little pissing contest until Dean seethes for the two of them to "put [their] junk away" so Death can kill Castiel, now. "Fine!" Death shrugs, raising a hand above My Godly Baboo's head, but D'OH! Castiel -- never once cutting his glowering eyes away Dean's, mind you -- snaps his fingers, and that flickering length of ectoplasm immediately drops from Death's wrists. "Thank you," Death practically sings before leaning in to Castiel's ear and sardonically wondering, "Should we kick-box now?" Heh. My Godly Baboo chooses not to reply, so Death ambles over to a wingback chair, where he sits to begin snacking on the fried pickle chips Dean so thoughtfully procured Death's delectation. The Horseman makes some vague remark about "reaping someone very, very soon," but by the time he refocuses his attention on My Godly Baboo, Castiel's fluttered off to...
...Nebraska, where he materializes inside the vast storefront headquarters of one Michele Walker, a batshit Tea Party whackjob who nevertheless has a score of nubile young acolytes busily wrestling the phones for her reelection campaign. My Godly Baboo staggers forward with righteous murder in his eyes, only to be drawn up short when The Campaign Boy With Lines approaches to wonder what gives. "I'm here to see the senator," Castiel replies. "And this would be regarding...?" The Campaign Boy With Lines leads. "Abuse of power," My Godly Baboo growls, and do you see what they did there? Huh? Huh? 'Cause if you didn't, I could spend the several unrecoverable minutes of my life explaining it to you, but you know, if you think you got it, then I'd be more than happy to keep this going. "Get what?!" Shut up, Raoul. "Hee!"
ANY-way, things go south pretty quickly when The Voices In My Godly Baboo's Head start screaming, but before we get to see anything good, the camera whisks us back to...
...Stately Fulgurite Manor, where it finds Our Intrepid Dimwits plus Bobby loitering nervously on the sidelines while Death slurps down the very last dregs of his soda, and once The Horseman has discarded his cup, Dean clears his throat as if to speak. "Shut up, Dean!" Death instantly snaps, and it's like I'm in love all over again for the very first time. Sigh. "I'm not here to tie your shoes every time you trip," Death impatiently reminds the bumbling, useless object of his immensely entertaining annoyance before chiding the moron like so: "I warned you about those souls how long ago? Long enough to stop that fool, and here we are -- again -- with your little planet on the edge of immolation!" "Maybe I should spend my effort on a better planet," he sighs, at long last rising to his feet to flee these dolts, and would that we all could join you, hon. Before he vanishes, though, and only because he finds "that little angel" "arrogant," Death does gift them all with the only solution they have left: They must compel My Godly Baboo to vomit all those souls back down into Purgatory, immediately. Mindful they'll need a lunar eclipse to reopen the portal, Death schedules another for that Sunday morning, just before dawn, and with that, he sweeps out of the room, though not before warning them all never to summon him again. And while part of me hopes Our Intrepid Idiots ignore Death's last warning because Julian Richings is just that awesome in the role, the majority of me realizes that this show would just fuck it all up if Death began appearing on a regular basis. I used to love Crowley, too, until they started tossing him into every other episode, and see what happened with that? "I do not!" Oh, knock it off, Raoul. "Hee!"
Nebraska, and what's that I spy clotting up on the campaign headquarters floor? "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Yes, My Godly Baboo suddenly snaps awake to find himself practically swimming in a lake of the good stuff, and when he pushes himself up onto his unsteady feet, he finds himself surrounded by a score of nubile young corpses, each with its throat most garishly ripped out. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" And once again, I gotta hand it to My Godly Baboo, 'cause this is definitely another good start. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" I'm so happy this development pleases you as well, my scaly friend. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Unfortunately, Castiel is horrified by what he's done, but before he can flee, The Voices In My Godly Baboo's Head start screaming again, and that's our cue to scuttle back over to...
...Bobby's Backwoods BORING!, where an agitated Sam finds a studiously unconcerned Dean kicking back with glass full of whiskey and a laptop full of "Asian cartoon porn." Mention is made of Sam's latest LIES, but as I believe I've already noted: BORING!, so let's keep this short, shall we? "We shall!" Excellent. So, basically, Dean's given up because he knows they can't force My Godly Baboo to vomit all those souls back down into Purgatory, and what's the point? But Sam's all fired up to give Death's plan a whirl because... something about Castiel still being a really, really good guy deep inside, but I am so beyond caring at this point, so whatever. Just then, Dean's laptop newsfeed horks up some grainy security-cam video of My Godly Baboo moments before he embarked upon his awesome Nebraska massacre. Dean silently observes the manic, infernal glint in Video Castiel's eye for a moment, then decides that My Sweet Baboo is now beyond all hope and reasoning. Sam sighs.
Moments later, we join Sam as he strolls out to the middle of the junkyard, where he lifts his eyes up to the heavens to pray for Castiel to return, and I'd transcribe the heartfelt little speech Darling Sammy delivers at this juncture, but we all know the exact words will never matter because we all know that regardless of what he actually says, My Godly Baboo will listen and respond appropriately, because not only have we all seen TV shows before, we've also all seen this goddamned motherfucking unkillable TV show many, many, many times before, and where the hell was I, again? "I have no idea!" Crap. Is this scene over yet? "I believe it is!" Excellent.
Emporium Kitchen. Sam returns from outdoors, and there follows a bit of amusing business regarding Dean's laptop full of Asian cartoon porn -- the sound effects are an especially nice touch -- but that's not important right now because what is important right now is the fact that Castiel has indeed listened to that heartfelt little speech I will never be bothered to transcribe, ever, and is now responding appropriately by fluttering in from Nebraska all blood-soaked and gore-streaked to beg for their forgiveness, even though he's still got at least 280 former colleagues of the late, unlamented "Michele Walker" to take out. "I need help!" My Godly Baboo bleats, just before slumping down into this evening's METAL TEETH CHOMP! and oh, my Baboo, will this episode NEVER END?
Fade up on the facade of Crowley's Laboratory, above which hangs -- as Death had earlier promised -- a foreboding lunar eclipse, already in progress. We quickly duck inside to find My Godly Baboo slumped down on the floor, all broken and battered, yet still with just enough strength left to call all the shots. He sends Sam off down a darkened hallway to fetch a jar of that special blood they used in the season finale's portal-opening ceremony, then turns his attention to Dean so they might chat -- AGAIN, SOME MORE -- about recent events, and long story short, Castiel apologizes for being such an awesome deity even though he absolutely has nothing at all to apologize for. Dean, rudely enough, blows said apology off, and something tells me he'll be in a world of hurt over that very, very soon, but we can't deal with all of that right now, for we must instead scamper...
...down that darkened hallway to chase after Sam, who's already managed to find that jar of extra-special season-finale portal-opening blood. Just as he turns to head back into the laboratory proper, though, um... how does that Internet thingy go? "Surprise Lucifer Is Surprising"? Did I get that right? "I have no idea what you're talking about!" Ever the helpful little houseguest, aren't you, Raoul? "Always!" ANY-way, so, yeah: They spring Mark Pellegrino as Lucifer on us five goddamned minutes before this goddamned episode's supposed to fucking end, but because Mark Pellegrino is quite often a welcome presence on my TV screen, I can't really get all that pissed off about it. Oh, hell, who am I kidding? Anyone aside from the regular gang of idiots on this show would be a welcome presence on my damn TV screen at this point, with the probable exception of Charisma Fucking Carpenter. "Um...! Um...!" Yes, Raoul? "Oh, nothing! Hee!"
"Long time no spooning!" Lucifer croons with a -- wait for it -- devilish glint in his eye, and as that's sending my filthy mind straight down into all sorts of sordid places, and as I'd like to get this recap done, like, yesterday, I'll skip ahead to the explanation for Lucifer's unexpected arrival, such as that explanation is: Sam insists he's simply hallucinating Lucifer's presence down there in Crowley's laboratory, but Lucifer cunningly counters that it's really Crowley's laboratory that Sam's hallucinating, and that Sam has in fact been stuck in The Cage all this time. So, you know, the entirety of Season Six? Didn't actually happen. Which, quite honestly, is an idea I have zero problems getting behind, thank you very much. "Sounds like Lucifer doesn't have any problems getting behind Sam, yes?!" You just had to go there, didn't you? "I did!" Silly Raoul. "Why!?" Because everyone knows Satan's a bottom. "Ooops!"
Back in the laboratory proper, Bobby eyes the eclipse through a handy window, and uneasily notes it's approaching totality. Dean stompy-clomps off down that darkened hallway in search of his brother, and while he easily finds that jar of extra-special season-finale portal-opening blood Sam'd been clutching in his hot little hands mere moments ago, Sam himself is nowhere to be seen. DUN!
Dean hauls ass back to the laboratory proper, and let's wrap this up, shall we? "Hooray!" After Dean and Bobby smear the appropriate sigil onto the laboratory wall, the two haul My Godly Baboo up to the latter's unsteady feet, and Bobby steps off to one side to commence with the Latinating. Halfway through the chanting, the sigil begins emitting flames, and once Bobby's completed his little recitation, the wall cracks open to unleash a mighty, sucking vortex that siphons the souls straight out of Castiel's battered body to propel them back down into Purgatory. And when the sucking is done, the wall seals itself back up, and My De-Deified Baboo drops to the floor, dead. Or is he? "I can hardly stand the suspense!" Well, unfortunately, you'll have to find some way to endure it for a few minutes longer, my scaly friend, because we've just gotten ourselves bitch-slapped into this evening's final CHOMP!-less commercial break. "Rats!"
Laboratory proper. Immediate aftermath. Dean and Bobby check Castiel's apparently lifeless body for a pulse. Finding none, they commence with the mourning I'll not be bothering to transcribe, because what's this? My Sweet Baboo has opened his eyes, and all of those nasty lesions marring his adorable face have instantly healed themselves, seemingly of their own accord! I'd rejoice, but we still have the better part of two minutes to go in this neverending episode, and I know that means something wet and sloppy's about to hit the fan, so I'll just keep my mouth shut and watch as Dean and Bobby cheerily help Castiel to his feet. "That was unpleasant," My Sweet Baboo grunts before the three settle in to chat -- AGAIN, SOME MORE -- about recent events, and just when you think they're going to talk us all to death, it happens: "You need to run, now!" Castiel howls, doubling over in sudden agony. "I can't hold them back!" he wails, while Dean and Bobby audibly freak. "Hold who back?" Dean shouts, and who do you think, dumbass? Were you not paying attention to Death -- AGAIN -- when he lectured everybody about The Leviathans? Asshole. "They're so strong!" Castiel moans, the veins in his neck visibly throbbing thanks to the extraordinary effort he's exerting in his desperate attempt to hold the beasts in, and just when it seems like his poor little head is going to pop open like a zit from all the strain, Castiel shudders and jerks himself upright, a sinister yet giddy smile plastered all over his face. "Go get Sam!" a horrified Dean screams in Bobby's general direction. "Too late!" whoops the monster now controlling Castiel's body, and with that, Dean and Bobby find themselves flung end over end into this evening's very last METAL TEETH CHOMP! Dun-dun-Dun-dun-Dun-dun-DUN!
I sort of liked that one, I think. "You're just delirious from lack of sleep!" You're probably right, Raoul. "Thanks!" Care to handle the promo for week's episode? "No, no! You do the honors, I insist!" As you wish.
week, Sam goes crazy. You know, some more. See you then! "Toodles, my pretties!"
Demian harbors lust in his heart for Death's exquisitely tailored overcoat. Raoul, on the other hand, doesn't even wear pants. "Who needs 'em?!" You may reach the former at demian_twop@yahoo.com. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon on the Internet.
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