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For whatever reason, Richard Roman negotiates a deal with the temporarily ensnared Crowley that basically amounts to this: If Crowley agrees to sneakily provide Our Intrepid Heroes with a vial of ordinary demon blood -- thus rendering This Year's Unnecessarily Complicated Ultimate Weapon useless -- The Leviathans will grant the demonic horde full dominion over Canada in perpetuity. This is an asinine move on both of their parts for a number of reasons, so it's a good thing Crowley promptly goes behind Richard Roman's back the instant he's freed to screw the idiot Leviathan King over by providing Our Intrepid Heroes with a vial of his own super-potent demon blood, so there's that bit of this year's season finale all sorted.
Unfortunately, Our Intrepid Heroes must also still deal with My Batshit Baboo, who is totally useless, and Dead Bobby, who threatens to derail their slapped-together plan by barging into Leviathan World Headquarters on his own. The former issue never really does get resolved this evening, but the latter goes away when Darling Sammy somehow shows Dead Bobby the error of his ways, after which Dashing El Deano tearfully barbecues Dead Bobby's traveling flask, thereby at last sending Dead Bobby on to his just reward. So, you know, expect the grizzled old spectral coot to resurface sometime in November.
And in the end, with a minor assist from Demon Meg and a major assist from Crowley's army of minions, Our Intrepid Heroes manage to break into Leviathan World Headquarters, where Dashing El Deano spears Richard Roman through the neck with This Year's Unnecessarily Complex Ultimate Weapon. Of course, there's a problem: The force of the vanquish blasts both Dashing El Deano and My Sweet Baboo bodily into Purgatory, where they are immediately menaced by a pack of snarling, red-eyed beasties. DUN! Will Supernatural's prettiest cast members survive?
They will as long as this crap show is still on the air. Bet on it.
Want more? The full recap starts right below!Rattle, Rattle WE DON'T GIVE A SHIT ANYMORE THEN! As expected, this season's final THEN! has been set to the overfamiliar strains of Kansas's "Wayward Son," and despite the angry promise I made on the forum boards, I did not, in fact, choke a bitch when this sequence originally aired last Friday -- partly because the only bitch available at the time just happened to be a certain dear old friend of the dragonly persuasion, but mainly because I was too bored to move. And why is that, I'm sure I hear you ask? Because over the course of the full two minutes of screentime this montage proceeds to chew up, the people responsible for the ungodly mess this show has become do little more than remind us of certain key events and characters from the last couple of episodes, which only serves to reinforce the sad idea I've been harboring that the majority of this season was little more than a complete waste of my time. Sigh. They do include a few entirely unnecessary vignettes from what ended up being my favorite episodes this year, so that's nice, but the rest of it? Whatever.
Rattle, Rattle STILL NOT GIVING A SHIT NOW! As has been its wont as of late, the NOW! creeps forward for a bit before dissolving into a blackness in which we linger for far too long until the camera finally fades up on the interior of Richard Roman's tackily-appointed office deep within SucroCorp's world headquarters in Seattle, which is exactly where we left off at the end of last week's installment. Crowley, temporarily fixed in place thanks to that massive Devil's Trap in the ceiling, slumps himself into a handy chair while his host quite generously pours them a couple of cocktails and, after a few preliminaries, the two settle in to chat. And chat. And chat and chat and chat and chat and chat, and long story short, Richard Roman proposes a deal: Should Crowley provide Our Intrepid Heroes with a vial of blood from "one sadly unimpressive demon in New Jersey," thereby rendering This Year's Unnecessarily Complicated Ultimate Weapon useless, The Leviathans will grant Crowley and his demonic horde free reign over Canada and its exceptionally polite inhabitants until the end of time. Crowley thinks that one over for a moment, then announces, "You have a deal." An incredibly stupid deal, but there you go. "I suppose you want it in writing?" Crowley asks. "I don't kiss on the mouth," Richard Roman smirks by way of reply, so Crowley magically whips a "standard rider" out of his jacket pocket and unfurls the massively lengthy scroll across the office's carpeting. "I do so like this part," Crowley teases as Richard Roman tosses a fairly irritated side-eye at all of the paperwork involved. "Don't you?" No comment. And with that, both of these extremely talkative gentlemen vanish into...
...THE SEASON FINALE SNOT ROCKET!, and now for the news I know you've all been so desperate to hear: Yes, Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon did indeed land at JFK on the evening of the seventeenth as promised, and he is now once more safely ensconced atop his overstuffed armchair, all comfy and warm beneath his delightfully embroidered Snuggie. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Naturally, when he arrived, I immediately asked him to explain his mysterious disappearance, and he promptly launched himself into some wild and fanciful tale involving -- but certainly not limited to -- the following: An elderly and astonishingly well-connected Italian "businessman" named Alberto who has a thing for lizards, a madcap whirlwind romance that led to a spectacularly ill-fated cruise through the Mediterranean, a sheaf of forever-lost travel documents that slipped beneath the waves once the poor dear was forced to swim to shore, innumerable frigid nights spent on the road walking from one rumored place of refuge to the , the entirely unintentional defilement of The Shroud Of Turin, many weeks slaving away in an Italian wallet-making sweatshop staffed almost exclusively by North African dragons fleeing the late unpleasantness in Tunisia, rampant "anti-gentlebeast" "racism" on display at the American consulate in Milan, and finally, the letter he sent that at long last initiated his return to the United States. Of course, there are so many holes in his story that I don't know where to begin picking it all apart, but the poor dear did arrive on my doorstep looking exceptionally peaked -- his manicure is a mess -- and it's obvious the ordeal left him at least three or four pounds lighter, so I think it's for the best if I just let him sleep for now so the dear dizzy lizard can regain his strength. Besides, this episode is so fucking boring, it's really not worth waking him up. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Aw.
Anyway, where the hell was I? Oh, yes: When the dripping is done, we join Our Intrepid Heroes as they motor through the evening on some as-yet-unspecified mission. "I still say this is a bad idea," Dashing El Deano gripes from behind the wheel of this week's crapped-out piece of automotive trash. "It was your idea," Darling Sammy sniffily points out, adding, "and it was the best one either of us had." "I said it as a joke," Dean protests, "only because we got no magic spell, no book, nothing on how to find a freaking righteous bone!" Dirty! Sam suggests they try summoning My Sweet Baboo for a consult, an idea Dean nixes immediately because the last time they tried that, Castiel materialized on the car "naked" and "covered in bees," and this entire conversation has certainly taken an unexpected turn for the disgustingly filthy, hasn't it? Fortunately, Dashing El Deano decides to switch on the radio at this moment and, after a pair of extraordinarily expository business reporters make mention of the fact that Richard Roman's holed himself up at SucroCorp's tackily-appointed world headquarters in Seattle, Our Intrepid Heroes exchange A Look Fraught With Significance.
Meanwhile, Dead Bobby steers that hapless hotel maid he's been riding for the last week over to a bank of televisions on display in a pawn shop window somewhere dark, deserted and damp, and he glowers as Richard Roman appears on every single screen. DUN!
Back in Seattle, Crowley and Roman continue negotiating the terms of their incredibly stupid deal until we cross-fade over to...
..."a friggin' nunnery crypt," as Dashing El Deano puts it, to watch as Our Intrepid Heroes break in. After considering several options, Our Dear Boys decide to defile the grave of one "Sister Mary Constant," a kind-hearted soul who lived "eighty-three years of quiet, humble, nun-like goodness," according to the graveyard inventory Darling Sammy somehow managed to find, so Dashing El Deano whips out his trusty sledgehammer to begin whacking away at the good sister's nameplate.
Seattle. The chatty gentlemen have just now concluded their negotiations, and Richard Roman summons his ever-helpful personal assistant, Leviathan Sue, to make triplicates of the much-amended contract prior to the formal signing of same under the watchful eyes of a few Leviathanically-enhanced notaries.
Lush Coastal Rainforests Of Montana's Rocky Mountains, Ridiculously Scenic Rustic Homestead Subdivision. Our Intrepid Heroes attempt to summon Crowley and fail, of course, because Crowley's still ensnared in that Devil's Trap over in Seattle, though neither Sam nor Dean is aware of that fact at this time. The two proceed to bitch at each other for a couple of minutes until a certain someone comes a-knocking on the cabin door, and it's Meg, who enters to state, "You deal with him -- I can't anymore." Dashing El Deano's all, "And this would be regarding...?" so Meg seethes, "I was laying low halfway across the world when Emo Boy pops up out of nowhere and zaps me right back here." "Why?" Dean thinks to inquire. "Go ask him," Meg retorts, adding, "He was your boyfriend first." Point to Meg, I suppose, but that's not important right now because we must follow along as Dashing El Deano traipses out into...
...the sunshine flooding the ridiculously scenic rustic homestead's dooryard, where he finds My Mellow Baboo sitting in a car that is not this week's crapped-out piece of automotive trash, listening to Don McLean's "Vincent" on the radio. Dean takes a very long moment to gather what little remains of his increasingly strained patience, and then wonders what gives. "Well, Dean," My Batshit Baboo replies, "I've been thinking: Monkeys are so clever, and they're sensible in that they leave the skins on the bananas that they eat -- is it really necessary to test cosmetics on them? I mean, how important is lipstick to you?" "Not very," Dean admits before inviting Castiel inside for a chat, so it's back to...
...the ridiculously scenic rustic homestead's parlor, where Castiel reminds those assembled that he no longer participates in "aggressive activity" before wandering over to the kitchen table, where he hoists the shattered femur the boys stole the evening into the air so he might get a good whiff of dead nun. "Mmmm!" My Batshit Baboo croons. "Sister Mary Constant! Good choice!" Dashing El Deano gently urges Castiel to get to the fucking point already and, after babbling about the flowers for a bit, Dean's angelic boyfriend finally admits that the members of his former garrison have fallen silent. This, of course, is A Very Bad Thing, so Castiel fluttered on over to Neighbor, Michigan, to check in on that sniveling, snot-nosed teenager from a couple of episodes ago, only to find the place deserted. Well, deserted except for the two dead heavenly custodians who were likely still littering that kitchen's floor. Castiel claims that the members of his former garrison either have been slaughtered or are in hiding at the moment and, after veering off on yet another monkey-related tangent from which the snappish El Deano must drag him, My Batshit Baboo announces, "It's in your hands now."
Our Intrepid Heroes would vociferously dispute that particular assertion, I'm sure, were it not for the fact that Meg's just now noticed the remains of their earlier attempt to summon Crowley, and things get very loud in the ridiculously scenic rustic homestead, indeed, until Crowley himself materializes in the cabin parlor with a cheery, "Hallo, boys!" "Sorry I'm late," he apologizes before raking his eyes across both Meg and My Batshit Baboo to realize, "This is an embarrassment of riches!" An affrighted Meg grits her teeth and blinks a couple of times while Crowley rather placidly allows the corner of his mouth to curl up into a sly half-smile, and the camera lingers on his face for a very long second until he vanishes into this evening's first METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Ridiculously Scenic Rustic Homestead. Immediate aftermath. Silky-smooth Crowley-issued threats abound until Dashing El Deano more or less announces that enough is enough, and long story short, Crowley fills them all in on his recent negotiations with Richard Roman. "So, what did he offer you?" Darling Sammy asks. "A fair deal," Crowley freely admits, "in exchange for giving you the wrong blood." He presents them with a carefully stoppered vial and rhetorically wonders, "Is it mine?" before assuring them it's "the real deal." "And why should we trust you?" Dean quite rightfully demands. Crowley responds by speechifying at length about never trusting anyone, ever, but he eventually hands the vial over and, after lobbing a few more dark threats in Meg's general direction, Crowley mildly observes that the boys will require the services of My Batshit Baboo in order to track down Richard Roman. "I don't fight anymore," Castiel insists. "Given the particulars of your enemy," Crowley cryptically replies, "you're vital." My Batshit Baboo squirms around uncomfortably while the others stare at each other, and when that's all over with, we head on over to...
...wherever the hell Dead Bobby's been hanging out lately to watch as he steers that hotel maid through the rain and into a motel forecourt, where he covetously eyes a late-model pickup. Dead Bobby directs the maid to the pickup's bed, where he finds yet another massive sledgehammer just sitting there waiting for him, but when he forces the maid to latch onto the thing's handle, a sudden shock of whatever zaps him straight out of the hapless woman's body. And as the maid collapses back onto the pavement in an understandable daze, Dead Bobby howls, "Son of a bitch! Pure iron, dammit!" We'll go with that. I guess. In any event, the maid pleads with Dead Bobby to let her go, but Dead Bobby's a ghost on a mission, so he just plunges back into her. DUN!
Seattle. Richard Roman and Leviathan Sue power through the tackily-appointed halls of SucroCorp's world headquarters, nattering away at each other over various unimportant details until Roman rather unexpectedly wonders, "Do I look like a fool?" No comment. Leviathan Sue obviously disagrees with me on that point, and prompts her boss for a little clarification. "Have I told you there are three rules to contract negotiation?" Roman asks by way of reply before proceeding to list those rules like so: "Bring breath mints, get it in writing and have a plan for when they screw you." "Go to the freezer," he suggests. "The arm?" Leviathan Sue guesses. "The arm," Richard Roman confirms, and with that, we take our momentary leave of them to head on over to...
...some anonymous conference room, where we find that sniveling, snot-nosed teenager pacing back and forth until one of his Leviathanically-enhanced handlers opens the door to escort a bored-looking, Twizzler-chomping blonde over to a chair, after which the Leviathanically-enhanced handler retreats. That was exciting. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" I couldn't have said it better myself, my scaly friend. Gosh, it's good to have you home again. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Yeah, whatever.
Ridiculously Scenic Rustic Homestead. Our Intrepid Heroes gather all the components of This Year's Unnecessarily Complicated Ultimate Weapon together and, after they give voice to a few last-minute doubts regarding Crowley's trustworthiness, Darling Sammy dumps the various vials and containers of blood over the late Sister Mary Constant's shattered femur. Nothing happens. "Where's the kaboom?" Dashing El Deano more or less asks. Darling Sammy of course doesn't have an answer for that one, but we haven't time to linger on the depressing implications of their kaboom-less magical futzings because My Batshit Baboo's just fluttered in from the stormy coasts of Normandy with a couple of artisanal sandwiches for Our Intrepid Heroes' delight and delectation, and could you please knock all of this tedious shit off and kill someone already? Please? PLEASE? They don't answer me, because they never have answered me and they never will answer me, and after My Batshit Baboo refuses once more to have anything to do with the Leviathan vanquish, we head back to...
...Seattle, where Leviathan Sue's just now returning from the freezer with The Arm, the latter of which of course represents the final earthly remains of the real Richard Roman. The Leviathanically-Enhanced Richard Roman compliments The Armsicle on its impeccable taste in high-end timekeeping accessories, or whatever, and then it's off to...
...that anonymous conference room and those boring teenagers, and DIE. SOMEBODY DIE ALREADY, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE. Alas, both of the boring teenagers continue to plague the earth with their very existence, and then the Leviathanically-enhanced handler enters with a new dress for the listless, fructose-poisoned blonde, who obediently begins stripping down to change while sniveling, snot-nosed Kevin surreptitiously swipes one of her barrettes.
Down on the lawn, Richard Roman and Leviathan Sue greet a fleet of their just-arriving colleagues.
Back in the anonymous conference room, Little Listless Blondie's already finished changing and, after the Leviathanically-enhanced handler whisks her tedious ass elsewhere, Sniveling Snot-Nosed Kevin begins picking the door's lock with his stolen barrette.
Moments later, Sniveling Snot-Nosed Kevin's managed to free himself, and he now eavesdrops on the thoroughly tiresome presentation Richard Roman delivers for the benefit of his freshly-arrived colleagues. It's all about how The Leviathans intend to divide the United States into zones, with the monstrously obese southern states providing a majority of The Leviathans' initial "livestock" and whatnot, and I find myself thinking I might actually have given a shit about all of this had it been introduced a hell of a lot earlier in the season. Oh, who am I trying to kid? I never would have given a shit about any of this, ever, but still: Why are they introducing the details of The Leviathans' nefarious plot now, less than a half an hour before Our Intrepid Heroes rush in and slaughter them all? Oh, sorry -- is that a spoiler, or did everyone already know Our Intrepid Heroes were going to rush in and slaughter them all long before this episode reached its conclusion? Yeah, thought so.
In any event, Sniveling Snot-Nosed Kevin quickly decides he's heard enough, and he tiptoes over to a nearby door prominently labeled "EXIT." Unfortunately, Leviathan Sue rounds the corner at the last possible instant, so it's back to that anonymous conference room for the boring teenager nobody cares about. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Once again, your uncanny ability to pepper the proceedings with precisely the correct sentiment leaves me breathless, friend of friends. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" You're welcome.
Meanwhile, back in the grand Leviathan meeting, we finally find out why they decided to waste so much precious season finale time on Little Listless Blondie over there. Or, rather, we will finally find out why they decided to waste so much precious season finale time on Little Listless Blondie over there after we...
...duck outside to watch as Dashing El Deano steers this week's crapped-out piece of automotive trash over to the curb on the far outskirts of SucroCorp's tackily-appointed worldwide headquarters. Super-Smart Sammy whips open his trusty laptop to hack into the building's full suite of security cameras -- and no, don't bother trying to tell me that someone else hacked into the building's full suite of security cameras for him, because I'm not listening to you, so there -- and, much to Our Intrepid Heroes' horror and dismay, they find the interior of SucroCorp's tackily-appointed worldwide headquarters positively crawling with Richard Roman clones. D'OH! "Son of a bitch!" Dashing El Deano spits.
Meanwhile, back in the grand Leviathan meeting, we finally find out why they decided to waste so much precious season finale time on Little Listless Blondie over there. Little Listless Blondie, you see, represents that particular breed of hateful humans who never pork up no matter how much deep-fried grease they shovel into their mouths, and Richard Roman proceeds to announce plans for a new food additive that will specifically target said particular breed in order to remove them from the population permanently. No, I don't know why the supposedly insatiable Leviathans don't just eat all the skinny people first, so don't ask. Richard Roman proceeds to inject Little Listless Blondie with a syringe full of this new additive, and Little Listless Blondie obliges us all by keeling over dead. Richard Roman takes a moment to gloat, and then it's back down to...
...this week's crapped-out piece of automotive trash, where Our Intrepid Heroes fume and fret about all the goddamned clones until Eagle-Eyed Sammy spots a suspicious pickup truck pulling up to SucroCorp's main entrance. He yanks a pair of binoculars out of his remarkably healthy ass to focus in on the pickup's occupant, and is mightily surprised to recognize the maid from last week's hotel. Darling Sammy quickly puts dumb plus stupid together to realize that Dead Bobby's possessing the poor, hapless gal, and he immediately hops out of this week's crapped-out piece of automotive trash to chase after her, leaving Dashing El Deano all by his lonesome to scream and shout about how ridiculous this latest turn of events has become until he vanishes into this evening's second METAL TEETH CHOMP!, and I feel your pain, Dashing El Deano. I feel your pain.
SucroCorp's Tackily-Appointed Worldwide Headquarters. Aftermath. Darling Sammy confronts Dead Bobby, and tussling ensues, with Dead Bobby directing the hapless hotel maid to slam all seventeen feet of The Ginormotron up against a handy van in a strangling chokehold, and I have to admit: The visual of that wee tiny little woman throttling The Ginormotron is kind of amusing. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Yeah, that too, but come on -- it's obvious we're going to have to make our own fun tonight, so can you cut me a break on this one? "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Oh, whatever. ANY-way, Dead Bobby catches sight of his reflection in the van's window and, utterly horrified by what he's become, he rips his spectral form from the hapless hotel maid's body, vanishing in the nighttime breeze while the now most thoroughly dispossessed maid goes crashing to the asphalt, unconscious. Darling Sammy scoops the zonked-out maid up into his arms and races with Dashing El Deano all the way back to...
...Dead Rufus's ridiculously scenic rustic homestead deep within the lush coastal rainforests of Montana's Rocky Mountains, because why not race five hundred and forty miles all the way back to that rustic lair for no good reason, right? RIGHT? GOD, I hate this fucking show.
IN ANY EVENT, Dashing El Deano, Darling Sammy, My Batshit Baboo and Meg chit-chat about recent events for a while, taking great care to make repeated references to the multiple copies of Richard Roman now wandering the halls of SucroCorp's tackily-appointed worldwide headquarters, until it becomes clear to Dean that Castiel's withholding some vital piece of information. "Hey, shifty, what's your problem?" Dean calls out. "Do we need a cat?" My Batshit Baboo evasively non-sequiturs by way of response, adding, "Doesn't this place feel one species short?" Dean presses his angelic boyfriend to dredge up a more appropriate answer to his initial question, but Castiel continues to hedge and hem and haw until Dean explodes, "You let these frigging things in, so you don't get to make a sandwich, and you don't get a damned cat! Nobody cares that you're broken -- clean up your mess!" At that, My Batshit Baboo decides he'd much rather be playing Twister at the moment, and he flutters off to find an appropriate mat. D'OH! Again! Some more!
"Nice!" Meg remarks from her corner of the cabin's parlor. "You scared off The Empire's only hope!" "Meaning?" Dean snaps. "It occur to you every one of those things was inside him?" Meg duuuuuuhs. "He knows them," she continues. "He can see past their meat suits." Our Intrepid Heroes bang their empty -- yet pretty! -- heads together for a little while and eventually realize this must be what Crowley was talking about all those many, many scenes ago: My Batshit Baboo alone possesses the ability to find the real Richard Roman amongst his army of hastily-constructed fakes. Oh, did I forget to mention that the army of fakes is why Richard Roman had Leviathan Sue retrieve The Armsicle from The Leviathans' walk-in freezer in the first place? You know, because they have to touch some part of the original in order to alter their forms? Well, consider it mentioned now. Not that you should particularly care about that particular plot point at this stage of the season, because none of this is going to matter ever again in about fifteen minutes or so, but there you go. Now, where the hell were we?
Oh, yes: My Batshit Baboo returns to play Twister with himself, and then we skip ahead a few hours to watch as Dead Bobby materializes to apologize for trying to choke Darling Sammy to death. There follows a heartfelt scene of goodbye between Dead Bobby and Our Intrepid Heroes, but you know what? We already saw this. Earlier this very season, in fact. And as it was a hell of a lot more effective back then, I'll be cutting to the chase, here, if that's okay with everyone. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Excellent. So, Dead Bobby offers Our Intrepid Heroes a heartfelt goodbye, and then Dashing El Deano fires up Dead Rufus's barbecue grill down in the cabin's basement -- let me repeat that: Down in the cabin's basement -- so he might torch Dead Bobby's magical traveling flask. And as that flask slowly melts against the grill's glowing coals, the camera focuses in on Our Intrepid Heroes pretty, pretty faces as those pretty, pretty faces begin to glow in the unnatural light provided by Dead Bobby's ghastly immolation. That's one way to save money on special effects, I suppose. And in the end, the camera lingers for a moment to capture the waves of angst crashing against Our Intrepid Heroes' mightily furrowed brows until it dumps us all into this evening's commercial break most woefully CHOMP!-less.
Ridiculously Scenic Rustic Homestead. Dashing El Deano enters the cabin parlor to interrupt My Batshit Baboo, the latter of whom has been assiduously playing yet another board game all by his crazy self, and he asks for one final favor. Before we know it, we've been fluttered over to...
...some random boathouse somewhere else, where My Batshit Baboo drops Dashing El Deano off in front of an Impala-shaped lump that's currently lurking beneath a dirty drop cloth. The two get to talking -- again, some more -- and the upshot of it all is this: My Batshit Baboo has had a change of heart, or whatever, and agrees to accompany Our Intrepid Heroes on their insane mission to take out Richard Roman. "So," Castiel wonders once all that's been settled, "can I ask the plan?" "Well," Dean replies, "according to Crowley, Dick knows we're coming, so we're gonna announce ourselves." "Big," he adds, with appropriate amounts of emphasis on that particular word. My Batshit Baboo squints.
Cut to a shot of the open road, the following morning. An Impala-shaped blob takes form off in the distance, and as the camera rushes forward to greet it, Steppenwolf's "Born To Be Wild" kicks in on the soundtrack, and so dreadful has this season been that not even the triumphant return of Metallicar can save it at this point. We follow along as the Impala swerves and skids along on the pavement until it bursts through SucroCorp's main security gate to go crashing through the company's glass logo out on the lawn, and when the car finally comes to a stop, Meg emerges with a smile on her face and a machete in her hand. Several Leviathanically-enhanced security personnel immediately swarm from the building to pump her full of lead, but Meg just keeps that sweet smile on her face while the camera hops...
...inside to catch Darling Sammy sneaking in through an unguarded door.
Meanwhile, down on the lawn, Meg grunts as she takes another couple of bullets to the chest.
Somewhere up above, Dashing El Deano and My Batshit Baboo creep through the halls while...
...Darling Sammy does the same and...
...Meg splashes one Leviathanically-enhanced bruiser with a bit of borax. The bruiser drops to his knees, screaming. There's another unnecessary cut back indoors that lasts all of a second before we return to the lawn to learn that Meg's managed to decapitate all of her opponents. She tosses off some quippy remark I'll not be bothering to transcribe, and then it's back...
...inside to follow the progress of Dashing El Deano and My Batshit Baboo. Castiel quietly identifies the first Richard Roman they stumble across as a clone, so the two creep off to another part of the building.
Downstairs, two of Crowley's henchminions accost Meg just as she's wandering off somewhere I totally don't care about, and that's it for Meg this season, gang! Wave goodbye! "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Or that. That works, too.
Upstairs, Darling Sammy crashes through a door to find Sniveling Snot-Nosed Kevin lashed to a chair. Sam works quickly to free the aggravating and pointless tertiary character, but just as they're about to escape, Sniveling Snot-Nosed Kevin insists they have to blow up The Leviathans' laboratory, lest Richard Roman succeed in his asinine plan to kill all the skinny people.
And speaking of Richard Roman, there he is now, testing a batch of his skinny people potion just as My Batshit Baboo and Dashing El Deano flutter in from elsewhere to catch him entirely unawares. D'OH! Dean lops off the head of the only Leviathanically-enhanced underling present, and then he and Castiel stand there all menacing-like while Richard Roman tries to talk them both to death, and as I really have absolutely zero patience for that kind of bullshit now that we're so close to the end of this god-awful season, I'll just skip ahead to the bit where Dashing El Deano rams This Year's Unnecessarily Complicated Ultimate Weapon into Richard Roman's stomach.
Of course, there's a problem, in that the goddamned thing doesn't work. But before you allow yourself to get all bent out of shape about this particularly depressing development, I should probably let you in on a little secret: That wasn't actually This Year's Unnecessarily Complicated Ultimate Weapon. Nope, for whatever blisteringly stupid reason, they decided to try to fake us out, here, and just as Richard Roman threatens once more to talk all of us to death, Dashing El Deano whips out This Year's One True Unnecessarily Complicated Ultimate Weapon and jams that badass motherfucker straight through Richard Roman's neck. Kick ass. Darling Sammy and Sniveling Snot-Nosed Kevin slam through the laboratory's doors just in time to watch as Richard Roman slowly goes nuclear, with wave after wave of pulsating energy pumping from his body until those waves collapse back in on themselves, and then?
SNOT ROCKET! Yep, it turns out that this season's terribly unhygienic title card has been foreshadowing the conclusion of this season's overarching storyline the entire time. Go figure. Richard Roman's body bursts open, head first, and expels an overwhelming tsunami of bitterly black Leviathan goo that washes over everyone present to smack straight into the camera's lens, and we enter this evening's final CHOMP!-less commercial break wondering...well, wondering why they're cutting to a fucking commercial when there's only three goddamned minutes left in the episode, actually. This stupid show.
Leviathan Laboratory. Immediate aftermath. We return to find Darling Sammy and Sniveling Snot-Nosed Kevin still cowering by the laboratory's doors, but of Dashing El Deano and My Batshit Baboo, not a trace can be seen. DUN! Darling Sammy begins to panic, but Crowley materializes to tell him not to worry. Well, not to worry about the remaining Leviathans, at any rate. He's got his army of minions decapitating every last Leviathan it can find at the moment, and as for the few remaining strays? They're pretty much useless without a leader, so with Richard Roman gone, they should be easy to corral. "Where's Dean?" Sam shouts, getting to the point. "That bone," Crowley eyebrows, "has a bit of a kick -- God Weapons often do." "They should put a warning on the box," he smiles. At that, Crowley snaps his fingers, and the two henchminions who took care of Meg now pop up from out of nowhere to assume control of Sniveling Snot-Nosed Kevin, for whatever reason. Over Darling Sammy's mighty protests, Crowley snaps his fingers again, the henchminions vanish with their charge, and I for one could happily live out the rest of my days never once setting eyes on that runty little boring pain in the ass again. "Sorry, Moose," Crowley smirks before taking his leave. "It looks like you are well and truly on your own." With that, Crowley disappears, leaving The Ginormomope alone to flail about uselessly in The Leviathans' ruined laboratory until even the camera gets tired of watching him.
Meanwhile, Dashing El Deano wakes up on the ground somewhere forbidding and remote. DUN! My Possibly No-Longer-Batshit Baboo hovers above him with a deeply unsettled expression on his face, and once Dean has recovered what's left of his wits, Castiel states, "We need to get out of here." "Where are we?" Dean wonders, pulling himself to his feet. "You don't know?" Castiel replies, in an answer that so totally isn't. Rather than throttling his angelic boyfriend's infuriatingly unresponsive ass, Dean instead dumbly notes that, as best he can recall, they successfully slaughtered Richard Roman. "And where would he go in death?" Castiel prompts. "Are you telling me...?" Dean begins. "Every soul here is a monster," Castiel growls, "and this is where they come to prey upon each other for all eternity." "We're in Purgatory?" Dean howls. "How do we get out?" "I'm afraid we're much more likely to be ripped to shreds," Castiel frowns, and no sooner have those words left his mouth than the woods around them come to life with snarling, circling, red-eyed beasties. "I think we better..." Dean begins again, but My Elusive Baboo has long since fled the scene, leaving Dashing El Deano in the dark to confront those snarling, circling, red-eyed beasties all on his own, and I'm calling it now: Both Dean and Castiel will be out of Purgatory by season's second episode, and Bobby will be back by November Sweeps. I hate this show so much.
up: NOTHING! I'm free! I'm free! "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Well, okay, aside from the endless-seeming days I'm sure to spend nursing Raoul back to health, I'M FREE!
Demian will now proceed to drink his face off. Raoul is recuperating quite nicely, thanks, after his distressing and likely made-up ordeal. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" You may reach the former at demian_twop@yahoo.com. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon on the Internet.