The Dee-Annotated Supernatural - Faith
Did I mention I saw five minutes of "Dancing with the Stars" the other day? Some bint in a white dress attempting the Viennese Waltz. OMG the pain! Words cannot encapsulate my horror at seeing that inflicted upon innocent dancesport. It was like karaoke on legs. Never again.
Anyway.
We were cooking/eating for the first half, so were a little quiet. But mostly, we enjoyed this ep, despite some quibbles involving baseball bats.
Faith
Intro: Previously, on Supernatural...
The Male, from the kitchen: A whole lot of episodes bit.
Me: Shuddup!
I'd just like to say that I never get tired of seeing the Dean-gets-yoinked clip in the intro/credits. It's brilliant and funny and I love that it's all "eek, scary!" when it's Sam doing the yoinking. Honestly. Bwahaha.
Brothers: *arrive at the Misty Derelict house and pop the trunk*
The Male: Oh, I'd never noticed that before.
Me: What?
The Male: The false boot.
Me: You WHAT?
The Male: I'd wondered about that.
Me: OK, I have an excuse for being distracted whenever Dean's on screen, especially when he's getting his weapon on, but what's your excuse?
Brothers: *go in, law-enforcement style*
The Male: This is nice, a little in the middle of the res.
Me: mmm, boys with guns. I like boys with guns.
The Male: Even Flopsy McEmo?
Me: A gun makes any man more manly. Especially if he knows what he's doing with it. *gestures to screen* Exhibits A and B.
The Male: I really want one of them to shoot himself in the foot now.
Brothers: *turn on the closet with extreme intent*
Me: Not... the CLOSET!
The Male: Yes the closet.
Me: It's a boggart?
Brothers: *fling closet open to reveal... small children*
Us: Shoot them.
The Male: Freaky ass kids.
Me: They're totally evil.
Dean: *gets fried by proxy*
Me: Well SHIT. Your quarterback is toast.
Sam: Dean!
Me: SNAAAAAAAILS!
Snark obviously to cover my EXTREME GLEE at the situation. Desperate Sam makes my little black heart thrill.
Doctor: We can try to keep him comfortable...
Me: Ooh! Two worst words in the English language: palliative care.
Also, Sam in denial is a beautiful, beautiful thing. Almost as beautiful as frantic!Sam.
Dean: You better take care of that car, or I swear I'm going to haunt your ass.
So, who's writing that fic, then? *G*
It reminds me of this story my friend gil told me once, about the most dysfunctional D&D party he ever campaigned with, and how they were all getting totally Amberite on each other, and there was a point where it looked like gilmae's character was going to get left for dead. At which point he tugged the GM aside and said, "Dude, can I haunt them?" and the GM's evil eyes lit up.
Anyway.
Dean: What can I say? It's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story.
Me: He's being very stoic.
The Male: This is how a MAN suffers, Sammy.
Me: And pay no attention to the broken china on the floor.
Dean: I'm going to die. And you can't stop it.
Me: Them's fighting words!
Sam: Watch me.
Me: I LOVE THEM.
Dad's answering machine message: Blah blah blah, call my son Dean, he can help.
The Male: Hysterical laughter. Down the phone. Do it!
Me: Help this, motherfucker!
The Male: This should be good for some parental attention, right?
Me: Nah, they must face the gazebo alone.
Sam: What the hell are you doing here?
Dean: I checked myself out!
Me: And dude, I'm HOT!
Dean: I'm not going to die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot.
The Male: *sniggers in the kitchen*
Sam: This whole 'I laugh in the face of death' thing? It's crap. I can see right through it.
Dean: Yeah, whatever, dude.
Me: Significant brotherly dialogue, I heart thee.
Dean: I can't believe you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a tent.
Passerby: Reverend le Grange is a great man.
Dean: Yeah, that's nice.
Me: He's so awesome when he's grumpy and on the verge of death.
Pretty girl: *shows up*
The Male: She knows something.
Me: You're really wedded to this theory, aren't you?
Dean: I bet she can work in some mysterious ways.
Me: The grin on Sam's face! He's all, "I didn't need a faith healer, I just need a dozen pretty girls! Stat!"
Also, much with the wibble about Sam's pawing helpy hands and Dean's flailing get-off-me-ness. But that's a given, right?
Dean: *gets busted and pulled up on stage*
Me: I'm surprised he didn't land in the aisle two seconds later as Sam shoved him.
Dean: Maybe you should just pick someone else.
Me: And Sammy goes, "That's it bitch, I kill you myself."
Dean: No disrespect, but I'm not exactly a believer.
Reverend: You will be, son, you will be.
Me: aaaaaah it's Yoda!
Dean: *falls to his knees*
Me: I need to learn this trick.
Oh, wait, I do know this trick. It's called "I have the bottle of vodka and all ye who want shots shall kneel before me". We used to play it every birthday.
Carry on.
Sam: *pounces on Dean* Say something.
Me: Holy fuck?
Ugly eldritch guy: *looms behind the Reverend*
Me: Holy fuck.
Sam: Why can't we just move on?
Dean: Because I can't shake this feeling, that's why!
Sam: What feeling?
Me: This feeling like I'm about to break into song.
Sam's little headshake when Dean's all belligerent in his face. HEE! It's all, "Well, I wanted my brother back, and now here he is." And relieved and annoyed and amused and... yeah. Awesome.
Dean: Just trying to make sense of what happened.
Sue-Ann: A miracle's what happened!
Me: She's evil.
Sue-Ann: *smarms*
Me: Shoot the bitch.
Dean: What did you see in my heart?
The Male: Fatty build-up. You gotta stop eating those fried breakfasts.
Guy: Yeah, the clock just stopped at 4:17.
Sam: That the same time Marshall died?
Guy: How'd you know?
Me: It's in the script.
Dean: Layla, what's wrong?
The Male: Well, Eric Clapton wrote this song, and ever since...
Layla's mom: It's a brain tumour. It's inoperable. In six months, the doctors say...
Me: I might stop emoting to the skyline?
Layla's mom: Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?
Me: Cos he's hotter.
The Male: True.
Me: I mean, she's hot, but he's hotter.
The Male: Well, she's not hot enough to know something, is she? Just hot enough to have something in her head.
Me: Modification to the theory?
OK, I'd just like to point out that their motel room? Is enormous. It's, like, the size of our flat. I kept going, "Where they hell ARE they?" because there's, like a full kitchen and three rooms and, just... the fuck? It's probably even got a bathtub. Motherfuckers.
Sam: I'm sorry.
Dean: Sorry about what?
Me: Sorry that I started angsting before you got here. Just couldn't help it.
Dean: You never should have brought me here... Now some guy is dead because of me.
Me: And Dean catches up on the angst.
Sam: I didn't know.
Me: But Sam makes a last-minute comeback.
Righteous guiters: *kick in*
Me: *hysterical laughter of musical irony*
The Male: *air guitars*
Dean: There's only one thing that can give and take life like that.
The Male: God?
Dean: So Roy's using black magic to bind the reaper?
Sam: If he is, he's... riding the whirlwind.
Me: Too much exposure to Dean's music, Sam.
The Male: That's the lightning. Ride the lightning.
Me: Excuse me, James Hetfield.
Dean: OK, then we stop Roy.
Sam: How?
Dean: You know how.
Me: Newspaper his door.
The Male: Tie his shoelaces together.
Me: Captain Planet?
Sam: OK, if Roy's using some sort of black spell on the reaper we have to figure out what it is. And how to break it.
The Male: That's, like, six millions times more complicated.
Me: Yeah, I say we kill the fucker.
The Male: And one of these days they should probably figure out that it's the wife.
Me: Give 'em time. It took us a good thirty seconds, after all.
Righteous Ire Boy: Roy le Grange is a fraud, he's no healer.
Dean: Amen, brother.
Sam: You keep up the good work.
Me: *mirth!*
Reverend: *is helped to the church by his bible-carrying wife*
The Male: It's in the Bible.
Me: Well, it's not like the Rev can read it.
The Male: And we've all done that, haven't we? Ripped out the middle of the bible to insert, y'know, porn.
Me: Says the man who swears on the King James for work.
Sam: *snoops on bookcases, gets all Poirot with the dust, pulls out a book*
The Male: Yes, but BEHIND that book...?
Sam: *looks behind the book*
Me: Is a bottle of gin!
Sam: *pulls out little Tome of Black Magic, compleat with woodcuts*
The Male: Who'da thunk it!
Me: Now we need Johnny Depp and that ninja wire-fighting devil chick from Ninth Gate.
The Male: Nah, this is stupid enough already.
Sam: But you can't let Roy heal anyone, alright?
Me: Can I shoot him yet?
Roy: Layla, come up here, child.
Dean: Oh man.
Me: *black-hearted laughter* The mother's going to take out a hit on him.
Dean: *pleads*
Layla: *dithers*
Me: OMG, if she listens to the guy she's known two seconds...
Layla: I'm sorry. *goes up*
Me: Thank Christ. I mean, I know she's blonde, but there are LIMITS.
Sam: *is busy trying to save shrieking Righteous Ire Boy*
The Male: Run into the tent. That would be awesome.
Dean: *grabs Sue-Ann*
Reaper: *hesitates*
Me: I'm having a moment of doubt... possibly about this make-up job.
Sue-Ann: The Lord will deal with him as he sees fit.
Me: Dean's cactus.
Also, every time they say "Roy", I hear "Rory", and I go to a strange Gilmore Girls land where Rory's a faith healer and... yeah. It's weird. I wish they'd stop.
Sherriff-boy: We catch you round here again, we'll put the fear of God into you, you understand?
Dean (smirking): Yes sir. Fear of God. Got it.
Me: I find it amazing that Dean has not been a victim of police brutality before now.
Dean: He's not a healer.
Layla: He healed you!
Me: Yeah, well, you got me on a technicality there.
Layla: I wish you luck, I really do.
Dean: Same to you. *sotto voce* You deserve it a lot more than me.
Me: And Dean makes a surprise charge to the front of the angst-pack!
Sam: I found this hidden in their library. It's ancient, written by a priest who went darkside...
Me: *misses the next minute in hysterical mirth*
Sam: You gotta build a black altar, with seriously dark stuff: bones, human blood...
Me: New Kids on the Block tapes.
The Male: Bunny suits.
Sam: To go that far, a preacher's wife... Black magic, murder. Evil.
Me: Great, so we can kill HER, right? RIGHT?
Dean: You know, if Roy had picked Layla instead of me, she'd be healed right now...
Me: He's increasing his lead.
Sam: What are you going to go, let somebody else die to save her?
Camera: *focuses on Dean*
Me: Wow. No one's catching him. He's basically doing an angst victory lap now.
I was practically holding my breath on this, worried that this stupid info-dumping show was going to put its foot in the middle of the wonderful puddle of subtle angst it had created, and tell us that Dean knew that he was tonight's target (when it was perfectly obvious already), or somehow otherwise fuck it up. And it didn't. IT DIDN'T! And there was much rejoicing in the black temple of Dee's heart.
Brothers: *look into the tent to see a whole buncha people*
Us (in unison): I thought he said a private session.
Dean: Hey, you wanna put that fear of God in me?
Sherriff-boys: *go for him*
Me: *dies laughing* Could that have sounded MORE indecent? *sprawls on couch* Oh officer, use the handcuffs!
The Male: So he's going to let them chase him a bit and then turn around and beat seven kinds of shit out of them, right? RIGHT? I mean, this is Dean. Look at his skill-set!
Me: I'm looking, baby.
Sam: *looks over the railing, sees basement door things with light behind*
The Male: Now, VAULT over the railing and go smashing through!
Me: And break both your legs on the stairs.
The Male: Chuck Norris wouldn't hesitate!
Sherriff-boys: *are very very quiet; they're hunting Dean*
Dog: *is not*
Camera: *loses one of the sherriff-boys for a shot*
The Male: Hey, where's your buddy gone?
Camera: *pans back to other sherriff-boy*
The Male: Goddamn, Dean. Missed your chance.
Me: That would've been awesome.
The Male: Hell yeah.
Dean: *peers down from top of campervan*
Me: No one up here but us chickens.
Sam: *finds the black altar, complete with candles and baubles and--
The Male: Picture of Dean.
--relics and incense and--
The Male: Hey! Picture of Dean!
--bones and ash--
The Male: Earth to Sam! Hello!
--and a picture of Dean with a bloody cross drawn over his face.
The Male: THANK YOU!
Sue-Ann: I gave your brother life and I can take it away.
OK, so, my friend Jojo has this awesome story about his father saying, "I made you, I can unmake you!" He has an awesome mad Orkadian family.
Anyway.
Sam: *tips over the altar*
Me: Something vexes thee?
The Male: Sam smash!
Sue-Ann: ...and your brother is wicked.
Me: Wicked cool! And wicked hot! He's a conundrum like that.
Dean: *looks up as the lights start going out*
The Male: Run into the tent!
The Reaper: *shows up*
The Male: Towards the tent!
Me: Towards the light!
Commercial break: *happens*
Me: Or, towards the commercial break.
Sue-Ann: *praying Prayers of Ev0L in close-up*
The Male: Baseball bat. Stage right. WHACK.
Everyone on their knees exchange of vital energy: *continues*
Dean: *indulges in REALLY COOL milky eye effects*
Sue-Ann: *still praying in close-up*
The Male: BASEBALL BAT.
Sam: *enters, stage right, grabs cross, and breaks it*
The Male (sulkily): Baseball bat.
Reaper: *shows up*
Me: He's coming for ya!
Reaper: *smiles creepy smile of creepy*
Me: AWESOME.
Reaper: *cups hands over Sue-Ann's ear*
Me: Can you hear the ocean?
The Male: Is this some laboured Into-the-West thing?
Me: Could be.
Sue-Ann: *twitches and dies*
The Male: Woulda been better with a baseball bat. Get all Tonya Harding, yo.
Dean: *stares into space*
Sam: What is it?
Me: Just contemplating my gold medal in angst.
Sam: *opens door to reveal Layla*
Me: Hi, I'm going to die in two months and I want to get laid.
Sam: I'm gonna grab a soda.
The Male: And then try to molest me in the parking lot.
Layla: *strokes the side of Dean's face*
The Male: Aah, aah, she's touching my head! Get it away!
Dean: I'm not much of a praying type, but... I'm going to pray for you.
Me: UGH! *considers revoking his gold medal*
OK, but apart from that last line, which I just... yeah, I object to on many grounds but will let stand. Apart from that, that was a pretty damn awesome episode. Usual compliment of "that conversation just did what?" dialogue that delivers plot points without reference to the normal physics of conversation or logic, but some damn fine character work, a fun plot, good abuse of props and a solid gold chunk of Dean-angst. Seriously, that was just... I bow down and offer tribute.
And the moral of this week's story is: this show would be about sixteen times more black and violent if the Male and I were writing it.
Anyway.
We were cooking/eating for the first half, so were a little quiet. But mostly, we enjoyed this ep, despite some quibbles involving baseball bats.
Faith
Intro: Previously, on Supernatural...
The Male, from the kitchen: A whole lot of episodes bit.
Me: Shuddup!
I'd just like to say that I never get tired of seeing the Dean-gets-yoinked clip in the intro/credits. It's brilliant and funny and I love that it's all "eek, scary!" when it's Sam doing the yoinking. Honestly. Bwahaha.
Brothers: *arrive at the Misty Derelict house and pop the trunk*
The Male: Oh, I'd never noticed that before.
Me: What?
The Male: The false boot.
Me: You WHAT?
The Male: I'd wondered about that.
Me: OK, I have an excuse for being distracted whenever Dean's on screen, especially when he's getting his weapon on, but what's your excuse?
Brothers: *go in, law-enforcement style*
The Male: This is nice, a little in the middle of the res.
Me: mmm, boys with guns. I like boys with guns.
The Male: Even Flopsy McEmo?
Me: A gun makes any man more manly. Especially if he knows what he's doing with it. *gestures to screen* Exhibits A and B.
The Male: I really want one of them to shoot himself in the foot now.
Brothers: *turn on the closet with extreme intent*
Me: Not... the CLOSET!
The Male: Yes the closet.
Me: It's a boggart?
Brothers: *fling closet open to reveal... small children*
Us: Shoot them.
The Male: Freaky ass kids.
Me: They're totally evil.
Dean: *gets fried by proxy*
Me: Well SHIT. Your quarterback is toast.
Sam: Dean!
Me: SNAAAAAAAILS!
Snark obviously to cover my EXTREME GLEE at the situation. Desperate Sam makes my little black heart thrill.
Doctor: We can try to keep him comfortable...
Me: Ooh! Two worst words in the English language: palliative care.
Also, Sam in denial is a beautiful, beautiful thing. Almost as beautiful as frantic!Sam.
Dean: You better take care of that car, or I swear I'm going to haunt your ass.
So, who's writing that fic, then? *G*
It reminds me of this story my friend gil told me once, about the most dysfunctional D&D party he ever campaigned with, and how they were all getting totally Amberite on each other, and there was a point where it looked like gilmae's character was going to get left for dead. At which point he tugged the GM aside and said, "Dude, can I haunt them?" and the GM's evil eyes lit up.
Anyway.
Dean: What can I say? It's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story.
Me: He's being very stoic.
The Male: This is how a MAN suffers, Sammy.
Me: And pay no attention to the broken china on the floor.
Dean: I'm going to die. And you can't stop it.
Me: Them's fighting words!
Sam: Watch me.
Me: I LOVE THEM.
Dad's answering machine message: Blah blah blah, call my son Dean, he can help.
The Male: Hysterical laughter. Down the phone. Do it!
Me: Help this, motherfucker!
The Male: This should be good for some parental attention, right?
Me: Nah, they must face the gazebo alone.
Sam: What the hell are you doing here?
Dean: I checked myself out!
Me: And dude, I'm HOT!
Dean: I'm not going to die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot.
The Male: *sniggers in the kitchen*
Sam: This whole 'I laugh in the face of death' thing? It's crap. I can see right through it.
Dean: Yeah, whatever, dude.
Me: Significant brotherly dialogue, I heart thee.
Dean: I can't believe you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a tent.
Passerby: Reverend le Grange is a great man.
Dean: Yeah, that's nice.
Me: He's so awesome when he's grumpy and on the verge of death.
Pretty girl: *shows up*
The Male: She knows something.
Me: You're really wedded to this theory, aren't you?
Dean: I bet she can work in some mysterious ways.
Me: The grin on Sam's face! He's all, "I didn't need a faith healer, I just need a dozen pretty girls! Stat!"
Also, much with the wibble about Sam's pawing helpy hands and Dean's flailing get-off-me-ness. But that's a given, right?
Dean: *gets busted and pulled up on stage*
Me: I'm surprised he didn't land in the aisle two seconds later as Sam shoved him.
Dean: Maybe you should just pick someone else.
Me: And Sammy goes, "That's it bitch, I kill you myself."
Dean: No disrespect, but I'm not exactly a believer.
Reverend: You will be, son, you will be.
Me: aaaaaah it's Yoda!
Dean: *falls to his knees*
Me: I need to learn this trick.
Oh, wait, I do know this trick. It's called "I have the bottle of vodka and all ye who want shots shall kneel before me". We used to play it every birthday.
Carry on.
Sam: *pounces on Dean* Say something.
Me: Holy fuck?
Ugly eldritch guy: *looms behind the Reverend*
Me: Holy fuck.
Sam: Why can't we just move on?
Dean: Because I can't shake this feeling, that's why!
Sam: What feeling?
Me: This feeling like I'm about to break into song.
Sam's little headshake when Dean's all belligerent in his face. HEE! It's all, "Well, I wanted my brother back, and now here he is." And relieved and annoyed and amused and... yeah. Awesome.
Dean: Just trying to make sense of what happened.
Sue-Ann: A miracle's what happened!
Me: She's evil.
Sue-Ann: *smarms*
Me: Shoot the bitch.
Dean: What did you see in my heart?
The Male: Fatty build-up. You gotta stop eating those fried breakfasts.
Guy: Yeah, the clock just stopped at 4:17.
Sam: That the same time Marshall died?
Guy: How'd you know?
Me: It's in the script.
Dean: Layla, what's wrong?
The Male: Well, Eric Clapton wrote this song, and ever since...
Layla's mom: It's a brain tumour. It's inoperable. In six months, the doctors say...
Me: I might stop emoting to the skyline?
Layla's mom: Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?
Me: Cos he's hotter.
The Male: True.
Me: I mean, she's hot, but he's hotter.
The Male: Well, she's not hot enough to know something, is she? Just hot enough to have something in her head.
Me: Modification to the theory?
OK, I'd just like to point out that their motel room? Is enormous. It's, like, the size of our flat. I kept going, "Where they hell ARE they?" because there's, like a full kitchen and three rooms and, just... the fuck? It's probably even got a bathtub. Motherfuckers.
Sam: I'm sorry.
Dean: Sorry about what?
Me: Sorry that I started angsting before you got here. Just couldn't help it.
Dean: You never should have brought me here... Now some guy is dead because of me.
Me: And Dean catches up on the angst.
Sam: I didn't know.
Me: But Sam makes a last-minute comeback.
Righteous guiters: *kick in*
Me: *hysterical laughter of musical irony*
The Male: *air guitars*
Dean: There's only one thing that can give and take life like that.
The Male: God?
Dean: So Roy's using black magic to bind the reaper?
Sam: If he is, he's... riding the whirlwind.
Me: Too much exposure to Dean's music, Sam.
The Male: That's the lightning. Ride the lightning.
Me: Excuse me, James Hetfield.
Dean: OK, then we stop Roy.
Sam: How?
Dean: You know how.
Me: Newspaper his door.
The Male: Tie his shoelaces together.
Me: Captain Planet?
Sam: OK, if Roy's using some sort of black spell on the reaper we have to figure out what it is. And how to break it.
The Male: That's, like, six millions times more complicated.
Me: Yeah, I say we kill the fucker.
The Male: And one of these days they should probably figure out that it's the wife.
Me: Give 'em time. It took us a good thirty seconds, after all.
Righteous Ire Boy: Roy le Grange is a fraud, he's no healer.
Dean: Amen, brother.
Sam: You keep up the good work.
Me: *mirth!*
Reverend: *is helped to the church by his bible-carrying wife*
The Male: It's in the Bible.
Me: Well, it's not like the Rev can read it.
The Male: And we've all done that, haven't we? Ripped out the middle of the bible to insert, y'know, porn.
Me: Says the man who swears on the King James for work.
Sam: *snoops on bookcases, gets all Poirot with the dust, pulls out a book*
The Male: Yes, but BEHIND that book...?
Sam: *looks behind the book*
Me: Is a bottle of gin!
Sam: *pulls out little Tome of Black Magic, compleat with woodcuts*
The Male: Who'da thunk it!
Me: Now we need Johnny Depp and that ninja wire-fighting devil chick from Ninth Gate.
The Male: Nah, this is stupid enough already.
Sam: But you can't let Roy heal anyone, alright?
Me: Can I shoot him yet?
Roy: Layla, come up here, child.
Dean: Oh man.
Me: *black-hearted laughter* The mother's going to take out a hit on him.
Dean: *pleads*
Layla: *dithers*
Me: OMG, if she listens to the guy she's known two seconds...
Layla: I'm sorry. *goes up*
Me: Thank Christ. I mean, I know she's blonde, but there are LIMITS.
Sam: *is busy trying to save shrieking Righteous Ire Boy*
The Male: Run into the tent. That would be awesome.
Dean: *grabs Sue-Ann*
Reaper: *hesitates*
Me: I'm having a moment of doubt... possibly about this make-up job.
Sue-Ann: The Lord will deal with him as he sees fit.
Me: Dean's cactus.
Also, every time they say "Roy", I hear "Rory", and I go to a strange Gilmore Girls land where Rory's a faith healer and... yeah. It's weird. I wish they'd stop.
Sherriff-boy: We catch you round here again, we'll put the fear of God into you, you understand?
Dean (smirking): Yes sir. Fear of God. Got it.
Me: I find it amazing that Dean has not been a victim of police brutality before now.
Dean: He's not a healer.
Layla: He healed you!
Me: Yeah, well, you got me on a technicality there.
Layla: I wish you luck, I really do.
Dean: Same to you. *sotto voce* You deserve it a lot more than me.
Me: And Dean makes a surprise charge to the front of the angst-pack!
Sam: I found this hidden in their library. It's ancient, written by a priest who went darkside...
Me: *misses the next minute in hysterical mirth*
Sam: You gotta build a black altar, with seriously dark stuff: bones, human blood...
Me: New Kids on the Block tapes.
The Male: Bunny suits.
Sam: To go that far, a preacher's wife... Black magic, murder. Evil.
Me: Great, so we can kill HER, right? RIGHT?
Dean: You know, if Roy had picked Layla instead of me, she'd be healed right now...
Me: He's increasing his lead.
Sam: What are you going to go, let somebody else die to save her?
Camera: *focuses on Dean*
Me: Wow. No one's catching him. He's basically doing an angst victory lap now.
I was practically holding my breath on this, worried that this stupid info-dumping show was going to put its foot in the middle of the wonderful puddle of subtle angst it had created, and tell us that Dean knew that he was tonight's target (when it was perfectly obvious already), or somehow otherwise fuck it up. And it didn't. IT DIDN'T! And there was much rejoicing in the black temple of Dee's heart.
Brothers: *look into the tent to see a whole buncha people*
Us (in unison): I thought he said a private session.
Dean: Hey, you wanna put that fear of God in me?
Sherriff-boys: *go for him*
Me: *dies laughing* Could that have sounded MORE indecent? *sprawls on couch* Oh officer, use the handcuffs!
The Male: So he's going to let them chase him a bit and then turn around and beat seven kinds of shit out of them, right? RIGHT? I mean, this is Dean. Look at his skill-set!
Me: I'm looking, baby.
Sam: *looks over the railing, sees basement door things with light behind*
The Male: Now, VAULT over the railing and go smashing through!
Me: And break both your legs on the stairs.
The Male: Chuck Norris wouldn't hesitate!
Sherriff-boys: *are very very quiet; they're hunting Dean*
Dog: *is not*
Camera: *loses one of the sherriff-boys for a shot*
The Male: Hey, where's your buddy gone?
Camera: *pans back to other sherriff-boy*
The Male: Goddamn, Dean. Missed your chance.
Me: That would've been awesome.
The Male: Hell yeah.
Dean: *peers down from top of campervan*
Me: No one up here but us chickens.
Sam: *finds the black altar, complete with candles and baubles and--
The Male: Picture of Dean.
--relics and incense and--
The Male: Hey! Picture of Dean!
--bones and ash--
The Male: Earth to Sam! Hello!
--and a picture of Dean with a bloody cross drawn over his face.
The Male: THANK YOU!
Sue-Ann: I gave your brother life and I can take it away.
OK, so, my friend Jojo has this awesome story about his father saying, "I made you, I can unmake you!" He has an awesome mad Orkadian family.
Anyway.
Sam: *tips over the altar*
Me: Something vexes thee?
The Male: Sam smash!
Sue-Ann: ...and your brother is wicked.
Me: Wicked cool! And wicked hot! He's a conundrum like that.
Dean: *looks up as the lights start going out*
The Male: Run into the tent!
The Reaper: *shows up*
The Male: Towards the tent!
Me: Towards the light!
Commercial break: *happens*
Me: Or, towards the commercial break.
Sue-Ann: *praying Prayers of Ev0L in close-up*
The Male: Baseball bat. Stage right. WHACK.
Everyone on their knees exchange of vital energy: *continues*
Dean: *indulges in REALLY COOL milky eye effects*
Sue-Ann: *still praying in close-up*
The Male: BASEBALL BAT.
Sam: *enters, stage right, grabs cross, and breaks it*
The Male (sulkily): Baseball bat.
Reaper: *shows up*
Me: He's coming for ya!
Reaper: *smiles creepy smile of creepy*
Me: AWESOME.
Reaper: *cups hands over Sue-Ann's ear*
Me: Can you hear the ocean?
The Male: Is this some laboured Into-the-West thing?
Me: Could be.
Sue-Ann: *twitches and dies*
The Male: Woulda been better with a baseball bat. Get all Tonya Harding, yo.
Dean: *stares into space*
Sam: What is it?
Me: Just contemplating my gold medal in angst.
Sam: *opens door to reveal Layla*
Me: Hi, I'm going to die in two months and I want to get laid.
Sam: I'm gonna grab a soda.
The Male: And then try to molest me in the parking lot.
Layla: *strokes the side of Dean's face*
The Male: Aah, aah, she's touching my head! Get it away!
Dean: I'm not much of a praying type, but... I'm going to pray for you.
Me: UGH! *considers revoking his gold medal*
OK, but apart from that last line, which I just... yeah, I object to on many grounds but will let stand. Apart from that, that was a pretty damn awesome episode. Usual compliment of "that conversation just did what?" dialogue that delivers plot points without reference to the normal physics of conversation or logic, but some damn fine character work, a fun plot, good abuse of props and a solid gold chunk of Dean-angst. Seriously, that was just... I bow down and offer tribute.
And the moral of this week's story is: this show would be about sixteen times more black and violent if the Male and I were writing it.