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After opening with an unexpected (and unexpectedly horrific) bank-vault massacre perpetrated, apparently, by Our Intrepid Heroes, the episode leaps back to reveal what's actually going on: Leviathan Chet -- he of the especial fondness for convenience-store cheese -- actually swiped a bit of Sam and Dean's DNA from Last Week's Motel Room, and two of his fellows have cloned themselves into the boys to embark upon a multi-state killing spree designed to bring the hammer of American justice down upon the real Sam and Dean's heads. Yes, it's an unnecessarily complicated scheme to get the guys out of their way when the Leviathans should just be shooting the Winchesters in the face with those fancy TEC-9s they've managed to procure for themselves, but it led to one of the most entertaining episodes this show's produced in a very, very long time, so whatever.
With Bobby's assistance -- of course -- the real Sam and Dean first attempt to mask their identities with the help of some master forger and all-around paranoid lunatic named Frank Devereaux, but eventually, they decide the only way to deal with the situation is to confront it head-on, because Sam and Dean are idiots. Well, actually, they decide to confront the situation head-on mainly because Fake Sam 'N' Dean manage to rack up an absolutely appalling body count in just a few short days, but I think we can all agree that Sam and Dean are idiots just the same. In any event, Sam plots out the Leviathans' spree killings on a map of the United States, tracing them from Jericho through Black Water Ridge to Lake Manitoc and St. Louis to realize the Leviathans are hitting the very same towns Our Dear Boys did way back in Season One, and in the exact same order. So, they motor on over to Ankeny, Iowa, to head the Leviathans off at the pass, as it were, only to find themselves promptly arrested by the fantastically competent local constabulary while their Leviathanically enhanced doppelgangers look on with evil smiles on their faces. Fortunately for the real Sam and Dean, though, Bobby's learned that borax quickly reduces Leviathans to clumps of charred and mangled flesh and, after they convince the Ankeny sheriff of the truth, the real Sam and Dean douse the fake Sam and Dean with various cleaning products before decapitating them. Problem solved, right?
Not quite. In a quick, end-of-episode scene between the lead Leviathan and Crowley, of all people, we learn that the Leviathans have infiltrated the highest levels of power in the United States, including several government agencies and some of the largest corporations. DUN! Now, watch as the idiots in charge of this mess drop this shocking development completely for the five or six episodes so we can instead watch as Dreary El Deano tries to out-emo The Ginormomope again, some more.
Want more? The full recap starts right below!Rattle, Rattle WE DON'T GIVE A SHIT ANYMORE THEN!, and it's Leviathan 101, more or less: Sheriff Jody, momentarily ensnared by the shapeshifting beasties in Sioux Falls General Hospital; the Leviathanically enhanced version of her doctor, discreetly devouring the unfortunate gent he modeled himself upon; Leviathan Edgar, stubbornly refusing to die even though Dean dropped a car on him; Leviathan Chet, oozing bitterly black Leviathan goo from the fresh bullet hole Dean pumped into his chest at Last Week's Other Motel Room; James Marsters, momentarily disabling Leviathan Chet with a bit of extra-fancy mojo. You know, the usual. Oh, and the THEN! would of course be remiss were it not to make mention of Dead Amy Pond, whom nobody cares about, ever. Have we covered everything, here? "We have!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, who just so happens to be all peppy and alert this evening because he'd heard rumors of mayhem and bloodshed attached to this particular episode. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Would you wait for it, Raoul? "Oh, my! I do apologize, I'm sure! Please continue!" Excellent.
Rattle, Rattle STILL NOT GIVING A SHIT NOW!, and barely has the dripping begun before we cross-fade to the bustling interior of the "First Bank Of Jericho." Our Intrepid Heroes wander into the near blurry foreground of the shot and stand there for a moment, taking in the scene, until the camera leaps around to capture Darling Sammy's face as he warily wonders, "You sure about this?" "Trust me," Dashing El Deano nods, all grim determination and flaring nostrils and such. Darling Sammy comes thisclose to rolling his eyes, but he remains silent and stands by the bank's front door to watch as Dashing El Deano lopes up to the available teller, who just so happens to be a perky young brunette with a winning smile, and my, but that's convenient. For once, I'd love to see him try to pull the flirting that follows with an utterly indifferent battleaxe of a middle-aged broad. Or, you know, a guy. In any event, Dashing El Deano leans insouciantly against the counter and addresses "Megan" by name, complimenting her on her especially drab beige dress while surreptitiously signaling to Darling Sammy behind his back. Sneaky Sam just as surreptitiously slides over to shut and lock the bank's front door, and he resumes standing guard as Dean convinces Perky Megan to change a hundred for him, even though he doesn't have an account. And as Megan drops her head to dip into her drawer, Our Intrepid Heroes exchange A Look Fraught With Significance, and...wait a minute. Is that...is that a frigging machine gun Sam's just now magically produced from his jeans pocket? "I believe it is!" Raoul shrieks, ever helpful, and thanks for the input, friend of friends, but how did he stuff that goddamned thing down his jeans? "The dear boy does seem to be quite talented, does he not!?" No comment.
Also: Whatever, because I think we're supposed to be more concerned about the fact that Our Intrepid Heroes are about to knock over a bank at the moment. And as Perky Megan lifts her head back up to saucily inquire of Dashing El Deano, "How do you want it?" Dean produces a machine gun from his own goddamned jeans and points it at Perky Megan's face to demand all the money in Perky Megan's till, thank you very much. Our Intrepid Heroes then unexpectedly unleash several sputtering rounds of ammo at the ceiling, sending various customers and tellers diving for cover as Darling Sammy bellows, "Hands in the air! Hands in the air!" "You're money's insured," he adds, "so no heroes, okay?" By the way, Darling Sammy's standing right to one of those height strips all convenience stores and banks have taped to their entrances, and it's official: Jared Padalecki is eight and a half feet tall. Freak.
Moments later, Our Intrepid Heroes have corralled every last bank customer and employee into the safe, and we can see that Perky Megan's paired her bland beige dress with a pair of white nylons, and for this, she must die. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Along with everyone else in the vault, apparently. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Thanks for nothing, Megan. Yep, after Darling Sammy mutters, "Ya ready?" Dashing El Deano takes a moment to wink at the overhead security camera, and then Our Dear Boys open fire, spraying the cowering -- and prudently off-camera -- throng of hostages with enough bullets to kill every last one of them dead. And when the last of the screaming fades away, Sam and Dean nod at each other in acknowledgement of a massacre well done before stepping directly into the path of this evening's oncoming...
...SNOT ROCKET! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Becalm yourself, lizard -- there wasn't a single drop of the good stuff in that entire sequence, even though you'd expect the two of them to get spattered with all sorts of blood and brain matter, given how close they were standing to their victims. "Oh, poop!" pouts Raoul, two perfect circles of mildly vexatious smoke popping forth from his somewhat exasperated nostrils. "You're no fun!" Be that as it may, did you not find it the least bit unnerving to watch as Our Dear Boys pitilessly mowed down an entire bank's worth of people? "Nope!" All-righty, then! Shall I continue? "Please do!" Let's hit it:
Once this evening's SNOT ROCKET! has wiped itself from our screens, the camera fades up on the exterior of that ridiculously scenic rustic homestead from a couple of episodes ago. Down in the basement, the ever-reliable Bobby's got Leviathan Chet chained tightly to a chair, and we enter the scene just as Bobby's filling a syringe with a dose of some foul liquid or other, chosen from a well-stocked table of similarly foul liquids stored in a variety of bottle and jars. "Let's see how you like a little fruit of the poisoned tree," Bobby growls as he approaches his prisoner with that syringe at the ready. "Isn't that just a legal expression?" Leviathan Chet snides back, and not quite, Leviathan Chet, but thanks for playing. Bobby more or less ignores the snippy monster in the chair and jams the needle into the thing's thigh. "Hmmm!" Leviathan Chet sarcastically muses once the foul liquid's entered his bloodstream. "Oaky!" "Similar finish to holy water," he adds with a smile, "but not as bitter as rock salt!" Bobby rolls his eyes and lumbers back over to his Table Of Torment just as Our Intrepid Heroes wander down from upstairs, with Dean grousing, "Is he still sucking air?" "Greatest hits didn't do the trick," Bobby sighs by way of reply, of course referring to the various items he's already selected from his Table Of Torment to torture the prisoner. "I'm down to B-sides and deep cuts." Dean pisses that Bobby'd better figure something out fast, because James Marsters's extra-fancy mojo's about to wear off at any moment, and when that happens, they'll have to drop a car on Leviathan Chet "just to stop him." "Actually," Leviathan Chet calls out from his murky corner of the basement, "Edgar walked away from that car -- he's fine!" Sam and Dean gape. "Well," Leviathan Chet continues, enjoying the moment, "he's a little pissed at you, but..." "Shut your cake-trap!" Dean snaps right before he demands of Leviathan Chet, "How'd you find us?"
Leviathan Chet unfortunately does not reply, "Well, which is it -- you want I should shut my cake-trap, or tell you how I found you? 'Cause iffen I shut my cake-trap, I can't rightly tell you how I found you, and iffen I tell you how I found you, I'm-a gonna be talkin'." Because that would have been awesome. Instead, Leviathan Chet admits, "It was easy -- I used pattern-recognition software and a basic heuristic algorithm to track your known aliases," which is almost as good, actually, because it shuts Dim Dean right the hell up. Our Intrepid Idiot retreats to the relative safety of the Table Of Torment, abashed, as Super-Smart Sammy thinks to ask an excellent question: How, exactly, did Leviathan Chet know what their known aliases are? He swiped them from My Missing Baboo's brain, of course, and nattering ensues regarding Leviathan Chet's inexplicable spilling of "state secrets" until Leviathan Chet sneers, "You are aware that I'm the least of your concerns, right?" A round of dumb greets this question, so Leviathan Chet guesses, "You haven't watched the news today, have you?"
Cut upstairs to the ridiculously rustic homestead's lounge, where Sam, Dean, and Bobby watch in silence as a reporter from the KZPZ Action News Team informs western Montana of the wacky pre-credits hijinks over at The First Bank Of Jericho. Despite the fact that they've been dead for the last three years, the reporter notes that "Sam and Dean Winchester are now the subjects of a manhunt throughout the state of California." Bobby snaps off the set and takes a moment before drawling, "Busy morning, you two?" "Those sons of bitches Xeroxed us!" Dean spits. "But I don't understand how!" Sam whines. "It was the hair!" Leviathan Chet exasperates from far below, and hee! The camera jumps back down to the basement to watch as Leviathan Chet amusingly eye-rolls, "Not too hard to lift some DNA out of a motel shower drain, you fucking morons!" and I perhaps added that last bit myself, but that's neither here nor there at the moment, for we must bounce back up to the ridiculously rustic homestead's lounge to listen as Our Intrepid Idiots piss and moan and gripe and complain about their miserable lot in life for a while before stupidly deciding to attack their murderous doppelgangers head-on. "Wait a sec," Bobby mercifully interrupts. "You don't have a clue how to kill 'em or slow 'em down, and your plan is, what? Go right at 'em? Genius." God love ya, Bobby. Our Intrepid Idiots, however, will not be deterred from their frankly suicidal plan of action, so Bobby sighs and insists they first see "a jackass and a lunatic" named "Frank Devereaux," who owes Bobby one "from back in Port Huron." "In the meantime," Bobby states, "I'll keep working on Chatty Cathy, here, to see if I can figure out what makes him die." "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Again: Wait for it, Raoul! "Oh, I am most sorry for my premature exuberance, indeed! Pray continue!" Okay. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Oy.
Some time later, the Impala swings into a rain-streaked nighttime gas station, and as Dean fills Metallicar's tank out by the pumps, Sam ducks inside the attached convenience store to stock up on supplies. Unfortunately, the clerk almost immediately recognizes Darling Sammy from the wall-to-wall coverage the American media's apparently chosen to devote to the wacky pre-credits hijinks over at The First Bank Of Jericho, so Our Intrepid Idiots have little choice but to flee.
The morning, two actual, honest-to-God FBI agents peel up to the cordoned-off "Manitoc Savings & Loan" and hop out of their car to quiz one of the local sheriff's deputies on Fake Sam 'N' Dean's latest crime. Or maybe it's crimes, actually, because in addition to the apparent massacre at the Manitoc Savings & Loan, Our Inauthentic Heroes also took out a convenience store somewhere, according to the deputy. Special Agent Valenti, who looks like an infant but in fact is pushing thirty, gets inappropriately stoked that they're tracking an actual pair of actual spree killers. Special Agent Buzzkill testily reminds his much-younger partner that actual pairs of actual spree killers equal actual piles of actual paperwork, and Special Agent Buzzkill would likely continue bitching in that very boring vein for an extremely lengthy period of time, I'm sure, were it not for Special Agent Valenti's cell phone bleeping to inform them that Our Actual Heroes were just spotted mere moments ago at a gas station "about a thousand miles" away. The actual, honest-to-God FBI agents puzzle over Sam and Dean's miraculous and well-documented ability to slip through wormholes in time and space in order to travel a thousand miles in under three minutes, and then we're off to...
...some dark and deserted stretch of atmospheric nowhere, and as this episode's internal timeline no longer makes sense, I'll stop paying attention to it. "Good idea!" Thanks for backing me up, Raoul. "No problem!" So, the Impala grumbles through some dark and deserted stretch of atmospheric nowhere until it reaches a ramshackle house at the end of the road. Our Actual Heroes disembark, wonder loudly if they're in the right place, and eventually climb the hovel's broken front steps to rap on the door. There's no answer, so naturally, Sam and Dean just barge right on in and tippy-toe through the generalized gloom of the house's first floor until a chunky, grey-haired, middle-aged gent with questionable personal hygiene standards snaps on a light to menace them both with a very large gun. D'OH! "Well, well!" chuckles Frank Devereaux, for that is indeed whom Our Intrepid Idiots are now gaping at. "Spider caught some flies!" And that's a shitty, shitty line with which to end the first act, but end it there we must, for the METAL TEETH CHOMP! has arrived to drag us all into the commercial break.
Lunatic Jackass Estates. Immediate aftermath. Various amusing pleasantries are exchanged -- amusing and deeply, deeply paranoid pleasantries, at least as far as Frank's concerned -- and I'd detail the three-minute-long scene that follows, I'm sure, were it not for the fact that none of it -- none of it -- actually has any bearing on what follows in this episode, so long story short, Frank Devereaux specializes in constructing new identities for the gentleman on the run, and after he brusquely confiscates Our Intrepid Idiots' existing IDs and laptops, he sets to wiping all trace of their known aliases from the record. By the way, the actor who's quite entertainingly portraying Devereaux this evening boasts a lengthy list of credits in a huge number of critically acclaimed movies and TV shows stretching all the way from 1976's I, Claudius to this week's Downton Abbey, so I think it's safe to say he's slumming. "Atta girl!" Oh, be quiet, Raoul. "Hee!"
Meanwhile, back at the ridiculously rustic homestead, Bobby shoots Leviathan Chet in the chest. "VIOLENCE!" Leviathan Chet goes, "Woo!" for a bit before chanting, "Do it again! Do it again!" Bobby pointedly ignores Leviathan Chet's lusty exhortations and instead disgustedly slings his sawed-off shotgun back onto his Table Of Torment. Leviathan Chet pouts, "So, you're gonna touch me in the morning, then just walk away?" "Oh, Diane!" shrieks Raoul, getting all misty-eyed and verklempt and such, and would you like me to pause so you can take a moment, my scaly friend? "Yes, please! [Sigh!] Okay, it passed!" Excellent. "Thanks!" Don't mention it. Now, where the hell were we? Oh, yes: Bobby and Leviathan Chet sneer and taunt at each other for a very long period of time until Bobby decides he's had enough of it all, and he lops off Leviathan Chet's head with a machete. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" "Hot damn!" a shocked Bobby marvels in spite of himself. "Well, that's somethin'!" Something indeed, Bobby, if Raoul's present ecstasy of giddily delighted writhing is anything to go by. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" And as the dear, dizzy lizard whips himself into a joyous frenzy over there atop his overstuffed armchair, we zip back to...
...Lunatic Jackass Estates, where Frank Devereaux flips a couple of counterfeit passports at Our Intrepid Idiots before handing Sam a map of the United States, upon which Frank has circled all of the towns the boys' Leviathanically enhanced doppelgangers have hit thus far. "What's the pattern?" Sam wonders, noting, "It seems random. "Little tip from a pro," Frank counsels. "There is no such thing as a 'random' series of robbery-murders by your evil twins!" Frank then -- heresy of heresies! -- suggests they "have the common sense to ditch" the Impala. Dean's all, "I beg your pardon?" so Frank's forced to duuuuuuh, "Your Doublemints? They're using a car just like the one outside." Sam gets visibly tense in anticipation of his brother's outraged reaction to this piece of most unwelcome news, but Dean just looks like he's about to cry. Aw.
Ridiculously Rustic Homestead. Up in the kitchen, we find Bobby unloading a bag of supplies at the counter just as someone comes a-knocking at the door. Bobby immediately hoists a revolver into the air and cocks the thing as he trepidatiously tip-toes over to answer, but he needn't have bothered, because it's only Sheriff Jody, there to thank him for rescuing her drugged-up ass from Sioux Falls General a month ago. Just go with it. "How the hell you find me?" Bobby asks. "I'm a cop," Sheriff Jody replies. Just go with it. "You gonna invite me in?" she wonders, presenting him with a thoughtful housewarming gift consisting of beer and nothing else. "Got one of the big-mouths downstairs," he warns. "So, I won't go downstairs," she airily replies, entering to give the place a once-over with her eyes before settling in to thank him properly for the rescue, and a bit of mild flirtation ensues even though he's old enough to be her goddamned father, for Christ's sake, and after she insists upon cooking him something for dinner, Bobby heads back down to the...
...basement, where Leviathan Chet's just now magically reattaching his head to his stump of a neck. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" "Didja think it'd be that easy?" Leviathan Chet scoffs the instant he's regained his voice. "No," Bobby allows, "but it's a start." And then he lops Leviathan Chet's head off with the machete again. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Your joy pleases me to no end, Raoul. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
Meanwhile, back on the road, Deeply Depressed El Deano tools down a deserted stretch of rain-streaked nowhere in a crapped-out Chevy hatchback while Studious Sam examines the map that slumming lunatic jackass gave them a couple of scenes ago. Dangling from the crapped-out hatchback's rear-view mirror is an aggravating and squeaky My Little Pony that Dean has little choice but to hack off and fling into the backseat. "You okay?" Sam delicately inquires. "It's bad enough that they're ganking people, wearing our mugs," Dean righteously seethes by way of reply, "but this? Have us driving around in this...this caboodle while Baby's on lockdown?" "It's temporary," Sam reminds him, but Dean is having none of it, and he angrily insists, "Nobody puts Baby in a corner!" "You know that's a line from..." Sam begins. "Swayze movie!" Dean snarls, adding, "Swayze always gets a pass!" Not for Road House, he doesn't. Or To Wong Foo, now that I think about it. "Feh!" shrieks Raoul, whose memory of that particular film is as miserable as mine, but let's not dwell on such unpleasantness and instead follow along as Darling Sammy suggests a tune or two might lighten Dean's mood. "Good idea!" Sam switches on the radio, and the soothing strains of Air Supply's "All Out Of Love" immediately fill the car. Mortified, Sam instantly offers to find another station, but Dean too-casually tells Sam he might as well leave it alone, as it's "probably gonna be the only thing on." Sam grimaces and shrugs his remarkably healthy shoulders around, all, "Really?" before returning his attention to his map. For his part, Dean waits until Sam's thoroughly engrossed in the byways surrounding Stockton, California, before giving in to his filthy and shameful urges and lip-synching along with the song's chorus. Soulfully. And it's the funniest goddamn thing I've seen on this show in years. It's also strangely exciting at the same time, but fortunately, just before I start drooling like some batshit fangirl, Sam becomes aware of the utter awesomeness that's transpiring in the seat beside him and, in a fit of extreme discomfort, he snaps off the radio. Bastard. You'll forgive me, I'm sure, if I take a moment to replay that brilliance over and over and over again until I've committed every last tiny gesture of Dean's to memory, yes? "Yes!" Excellent.
Okay, I'm done. Our Intrepid Heroes sit there in a squirmy and hilarious silence for a few moments until Sam suddenly realizes something about their evil twins' rampage across the United States: They're hitting the same towns, and in the exact same order, that the boys did way back at the beginning of Season One. Jericho? Yep. Black Water Ridge? Bingo. Lake Manitoc? But of course. And so on through Nazareth and Toledo right up to St. Louis, Missouri, which should be the city on the list. "Perfect!" Dean grins. "Connor's Diner!" he beams, waxing nostalgic. "Best burgers in St. Louis -- oh, I deserve something good in my life right now!"
Cut to Connor's Diner, where the camera finds Dean already devouring one of those aforementioned burgers. He chews thoughtfully for a moment, then turns to Sam and says, "You know, he has one of these every day, and in his heart, he thinks they're almost as good as sex?" D'OH! Nice fake out, show. LeviaDean tosses the half-eaten burger back onto his plate and all but gags, "This is disgusting." LeviaSam pissily pushes his simple salad away and grumps, "Dead plants with creamy goo -- it's like eating self-righteousness." Hee. There follows a genuinely amusing conversation between the two Leviathanically enhanced doppelgangers in which they proceed to trash, point by glorious point, every single facet of Our Intrepid Idiots' characters that we've grown to hate over the last couple of years. Well, okay, a couple of facets, including Dean's unbearable "hero complex" and Sam's neverending bouts of insanity, but it's worth it. "You know," LeviaSam eventually notes, "I had a brother with this many issues once." "Yeah?" LeviaDean prompts. "Know what I did?" LeviaSam asks. "I ate him." "'Course you did," LeviaDean nods. "How are these guys even a threat?" LeviaSam wonders, and that's an excellent question, LeviaSam. Unfortunately, LeviaDean's only answer isn't an answer at all. "Boss says they gotta go," LeviaDean shrugs, and thanks for nothing LeviaDean. LeviaSam chooses to blow past LeviaDean's answer that isn't, and instead offers up the following proposal: "Wanna trade? I mean, I'll take Chuckles over Schizo." LeviaDean thinks that one over for a moment before deciding, "I like this one's hair better. You can stay in the big one." Ha!
"All right," LeviaSam sighs, "in that case, let's turn up the heat -- the sooner I get out of this and into something more stable, the better." With that, LeviaDean whips his TEC-9 out of his pants, points it at a nearby nerd, and orders the kid to film what follows on his cell phone. The freaked-out nerd immediately complies, and LeviaSam leaps up to shout, "Everybody be cool! This is a robbery!" On cue, LeviaDean stomps up onto the counter and screams, "Any of you fucking pricks move, and I'll execute every mother-fucking last one of you!" And as an embarrassingly tacky riff on Pulp Fiction's undeniably kick-ass opening theme assaults our ears, our very own Pumpkin and Honey Bunny strike a variety of menacing poses for the benefit of the nerd's cell phone camera until they vanish into this evening's METAL TEETH CHOMP!
We rejoin Our Actual Heroes out on the road, listening in as they finish up a call with Bobby, the latter of whom makes mention of the fact that decapitation seems to slow the Leviathans down. Sam thanks him for that bit of intel, then announces their plans to outflank their Leviathanically enhanced doppelgangers down in St. Louis. "Too late," Bobby gruffs, breaking the sad news that Pumpkin and Honey Bunny defiled Dean's favorite diner during the last commercial break. "Dammit!" I'm sure Dean interjects at some point during this conversation, and then Sam quickly recalibrates their route, pointing Dean in the direction of Ankeny, Iowa. Bobby wishes them luck, and with that, we're back to...
...Connor's Diner, where those two actual, honest-to-God FBI agents from Lake Manitoc are just now bustling in from elsewhere to survey what little remains of the carnage. Seriously, there's, like, a smear of blood on the jukebox, and that's it. Raoul is terribly disappointed, I can assure you. "[Sob!] It's true!" In any event, the actual, honest-to-God FBI agents corner one of the cops and get him to replay the nerd's video. It's a lot of jerky, hand-held crap I don't have time for, but the LeviaTwins do make sure their magically purloined faces are clearly shown at the end, so there you go.
Ridiculously Rustic Basement. Bobby prepares to zap Leviathan Chet with a couple of volts from a car battery, but D'OH! As he leans in to affix the clamps to Leviathan Chet's chains, he accidentally allows his forearm to brush up against the monster's, and now we've got Dueling Bobbys. "This skin make me look fat?" LeviaBobby smarms, once his off-camera transformation is complete, and that's rude. It's also pretty funny, so, you know: Good one, LeviaBobby. "Balls!" Actual Bobby curses once he realizes what's going on, and we proceed to learn the following facts about Actual Bobby, courtesy of his very own Leviathanically enhanced doppelganger: Actual Bobby is a high-school dropout and a drunk like his father before him, and his favorite singer is Joni Mitchell. Bobby totally cries like a little girl every time "Both Sides, Now" comes on the radio. You know he does. "[Sob!] Who doesn't?!" Well, me, for one. "You heartless wretch! Have you no soul!?" That's a funny question coming from a lizard. "Why, I...! I...! Hmph!" Oh, don't pout, Raoul -- I'm kidding! "Some joke!" Raoul harrumphs, practically vibrating in his dudgeon, and I'm afraid you'll just have to take me at my word, my scaly friend, because it's getting terribly late, and I really should be wrapping this whole thing up soon. "Oh, fine! Ignore my feelings, why don't you?!" There, there -- have a flagon or two to settle your nerves until we hit the good part, okay? "Okay! [Slurp!]" Well, that was easy. Now, where the hell was I?
Oh, yes: According to LeviaBobby, Actual Bobby is "ten pounds of sad in a five-pound bag." Actual Bobby would unleash a witty rejoinder at this juncture, I'm sure, but unfortunately, we have no time to wait for his response, for the camera is already lugging us over to...
Ankeny's main drag, where both sets of Sams and Deans are arriving at the same time. Actual Sam 'N' Dean -- who have made absolutely no effort to disguise their appearance, by the way, because they are morons -- are on foot, while their Leviathanically enhanced doppelgangers motor on up in their version of the Impala. Grumbling and bitchery ensue from Our Authentic Idiots until every last cop in Polk County, Iowa, materializes from out of nowhere to swarm around Our Authentic Idiots, much to those idiots' audible dismay. And as the Polk County sheriff slaps cuffs on the hapless duo, LeviaDean blows them both a saucy kiss from the fake Impala's front seat. Actual Dean takes a moment to vomit all over his arresting officer, and then it's back to the...
...Ridiculously Rustic Basement, where Patty and Cathy are still sniping away at each other. It's actually a pretty enjoyable exchange, considering how often we've seen similar scenes already on this show, but we really don't learn anything new -- aside, of course, from the fact that Actual Bobby is also a fan of Robert Browning -- so let's cut to the chase: As Actual Bobby threatens LeviaBobby with that machete again, something drips through the floorboards above to land on LeviaBobby's arm, where it proceeds to eat a gaping black hole right through LeviaBobby's skin! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" "Get it off me!" LeviaBobby roars as more of the stuff drips down to chew through his face. "Get it off me!" Actual Bobby races upstairs, where he finds Sheriff Jody mopping up an accidental cleaning spill with a dishrag. He immediately plants a sloppy wet one on her shocked and appalled lips, then pulls away to demand, "What the hell was in that bucket?" Sheriff Jody gawps.
Polk County Sheriff's Department. At the elderly sheriff's orders, a handful of deputies frog-march Our Authentic Idiots into different rooms.
Meanwhile, the LeviaTwins lurk outside in the false Impala, waiting until just the right moment to ambush a couple of unsuspecting deputies as they get off shift. DUN!
Back indoors, one of the brand-new LeviaDeputies strolls on up to an unsuspecting colleague and unleashes a barrage of crappy CGI at the audience in general before disappearing into this evening's METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Polk County Sheriff's Department. Actual Dean pleads with the sheriff to allow him one phone call to Bobby. The sheriff evidently relents, because the thing we know, we've...
...rejoined Bobby down in The Ridiculously Rustic Basement, where we find him examining the now-headless and thoroughly charred remains of what had once been his Leviathanically enhanced doppelganger. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" In all honesty, it's not that particularly gruesome, but I'll allow Raoul his fun now, seeing as how he's had so little opportunity to revel in the grue thus far this season. "EEEEEE -- Thanks! -- EEEEEEE!" Don't mention it. Anyway, Bobby's cell of course rings, and it's Dean, and Bobby wastes not an instant informing him of the miracle substance that reduces Leviathans to mangled, crispy clots of flesh: Borax. Yeah, that's right -- this stuff. Hey, it's no weirder than frigging rock salt, so whatever. Between the borax and the decapitation, Our Authentic Idiots should be able to put down their Leviathanically enhanced doppelgangers for a fairly lengthy period of time, but of course, there's a problem. The Polk County sheriff heard every word of this particular conversation, and he's so sickened and repulsed by the apparent depravity on display between Natural Born El Deano and the latter's growly henchpsycho on the other end of the line that the sheriff flat-out refuses to cooperate any further with his prisoner, and with that, he flounces back towards his office.
Fortunately, he emerges from the holding cells just in time to watch as the blood-streaked LeviaDeputies morph back into the LeviaTwins, and not an instant passes before the sheriff's staggering back towards the holding cells to beg Actual Dean's forgiveness. Or something like that. He quickly frees Actual Dean, then scampers off to scrounge up every last ounce of liquid borax in the stationhouse while Actual Dean veers off in search of his actual brother.
And speaking of Actual Sam, there he is, all by his lonesome in the interrogation room. One of the Deans presently pokes his head through the interrogation room's door, and it's LeviaDean, of course, there to taunt at The Ginormotron now shackled helplessly to the table. DUN!
Meanwhile, Actual Dean swipes a dead deputy's sidearm just in time to fire a couple of ineffective rounds into LeviaSam's chest. LeviaSam more or less flips Actual Dean through a wall, and things are looking pretty grim, indeed, for Actual Dean, so of course we must jump back to the...
...interrogation room to listen as LeviaDean speechifies at length for the supposed benefit of his captive audience. And because LeviaDean's captive audience does not include any of us, I'm going to fast-forward to the bit where...
...the sheriff dumps a great, big Bucket O' Borax on LeviaSam's head. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" A head that Actual Dean then lops off with a fire axe. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" And as what's left of LeviaSam crashes all the way down to the floor to unleash a torrent of bitterly black Leviathan goo all over the sheriff's nice carpet, we skip back over to the...
...interrogation room, where LeviaDean is still talking! GOD! The one good bit of the incessant babbling that follows is that LeviaDean finally -- finally -- tells Actual Sam about The Late, Unlamented Amy Pond, and then Actual Dean bursts through the door to dump a great, big Bucket O' Borax on his doppelganger's head. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" A head that Actual Dean then lops off with a fire axe. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" And as what's left of LeviaDean crashes a very short way down to the floor to unleash a torrent of bitterly black Leviathan goo all over the sheriff's nice carpet, the sheriff wastes not a moment unshackling Actual Sam from the table. He warns Actual Sam 'N' Dean that the FBI's on its way, and the three settle down to pound out an exit strategy for Our Authentic Idiots, with the sheriff eventually agreeing to fake the boys' deaths. You know, again. Some more.
Which is basically what happens in the very scene. Those two actual, honest-to-God FBI agents arrive in Ankeny to assume custody of the supposedly deceased Winchesters' remains, but the sheriff and the coroner -- who happens to be the sheriff's daughter -- LIE that the supposedly deceased Winchesters' remains have already been cremated "per their living wills and religious requirements." Special Agent Buzzkill gets his wee little man-panties tangled up in a righteous wad over that one, but Special Agent Valenti reminds his partner that no bodies means no paperwork, which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but we're never going to see any of these people again, so whatever, and is this scene done, yet? "It is!" Beautiful.
Back in the ridiculously rustic homestead's lounge, Sheriff Jody and Bobby watch as yet another television reporter confirms the supposedly deceased Winchesters' "violent end in Iowa," and then things threaten to get all inappropriate and schmoopy between Grandpa, there, and the good sheriff right up until the moment Bobby thankgodfully zigs just when we think he's gonna zag. As in, "zag his goddamn tongue straight down her throat." "[Shudder!]" I couldn't have put it better myself, Raoul. In any event, Bobby retrieves his doppelganger's boxed head from the kitchen counter, and wonders if Sheriff Jody wouldn't mind dropping the thing off "Underhill Bridge" on her way back to Sioux Falls. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he nervously adds, "I've got a body to bury in cement." Such a charmer. Sheriff Jody gazes at him all wistfully and such, so he gifts her with a chaste peck on the cheek, and she allows herself a small, fond smile before turning to exit.
Meanwhile, over at the Polk County Sheriff's Department, the sheriff and his coroner daughter chit-chat about the odd situation they've found themselves in until Special Agent Valenti pops up from out of nowhere to bare his crappily CGI'd fangs and devour them whole. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Off camera. "Rats!" And as poor Raoul suffers yet another disappointment in a season already full of them, we descend into this evening's final METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Polk County Sheriff's Department. Aftermath. Special Agent Leviathan unzips a body bag to examine the headless and charred remains of his compatriots, then dejectedly dials a certain someone on his cell. That certain someone is not, surprisingly enough, Leviathan Edgar, but rather Leviathan Edgar's apparent boss, a creature who's taken the form of a slick, glib, buzzword-spouting corporate-type currently going by the name of "Richard Roman." Needless to say, Mr. Roman's none too pleased to learn of the mission's failure, but he seems more than willing to forgive Special Agent Leviathan's apparent incompetence. For now. Also, I should probably note that we still don't know why the Leviathans are wasting their time with Our Authentic Idiots when there's a whole wide world out there practically begging them to conquer it, but it's probably for the best if we ignore that nagging little narrative omission for the moment because this episode still has one final surprise to spring on us all, and that surprise would be...
...Crowley. Yep, Hell's long-lost leader materializes in the back seat of Mr. Roman's ostentatious stretch limousine with a smile on his face and a basket of uvula-laden muffins on his lap to talk business, and to say that things don't go quite the way Crowley had hoped might be a bit of an understatement. Crowley of course proposes an alliance between his forces of Hell and Mr. Roman's vast fellowship of Leviathans, and Mr. Roman responds to Crowley's offer like so: "I'd sooner swim through hot garbage than shake hands with a bottom-feeding mutation like you. You demons are ugly, lazy, gold-digging whores -- you're less than humans, and they're not good for much 'til you dip them in garlic sauce. I'd never work with you, Crowley. In fact, if I weren't so busy with better things, I might actively wipe your kind from the face of the universe, and you'd deserve it. Are we clear?" Crystal, given the way Crowley immediately vanishes from the back of that limo the instant Mr. Roman's finished his preternaturally calm yet undeniably intimidating delivery of that little tirade. So, Crowley will be back to working with Our Authentic Idiots by the time week's SNOT ROCKET! hits our television screens? Good to know.
And in the end, Sam and Dean park that crapped-out hatchback in the middle of a ridiculously scenic stretch of nowhere so Sam can throw a massive hissyfit over SECRETS! and LIES! and NOT CARING ANYMORE! and then Our Authentic Idiots break up. Again. Like, for real this time, you guys! Until week.
Well, if I'm not mistaken, that was sort of fun, up until the very end, of course. "I'm inclined to agree!" I think I'll give it an A-minus, just for the Air Supply. "I think I'll give it an A-plus, just for the decapitations!" Oh, Raoul -- you're awfully easy to please, sometimes. "Thanks! [Slurp!]" Got one of those flagons for me? "Naturellement! But shouldn't you first let all my little pretties know of week's enthralling installment?!" Eh. Let 'em figure it out on their own. "Okay!" See you then!
Demian is going to watch Dean lip-synch again. Raoul has no problem with that. "He's dreamy!" You may reach the former at demian_twop@yahoo.com. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon on the Internet.
And in the end, Sam and Dean park that crapped-out hatchback in the middle of a ridiculously scenic stretch of nowhere so Sam can throw a massive hissyfit over SECRETS! and LIES! and NOT CARING ANYMORE! and then Our Authentic Idiots break up. Again. Like, for real this time, you guys! Until week.
Well, if I'm not mistaken, that was sort of fun, up until the very end, of course. "I'm inclined to agree!" I think I'll give it an A-minus, just for the Air Supply. "I think I'll give it an A-plus, just for the decapitations!" Oh, Raoul -- you're awfully easy to please, sometimes. "Thanks! [Slurp!]" Got one of those flagons for me? "Naturellement! But shouldn't you first let all my little pretties know of week's enthralling installment?!" Eh. Let 'em figure it out on their own. "Okay!" See you then!
Demian is going to watch Dean lip-synch again. Raoul has no problem with that. "He's dreamy!" You may reach the former at demian_twop@yahoo.com. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon on the Internet.