Supernatural 5.03 Free To Be You And Me

"People can change. There is reason for hope."

I tend to find myself in two minds about this episode. There are a lot of things I like about it, but as a whole I find it somewhat patchy and rather less than the sum of its parts.

As a device, the temporary separation of the brothers works well, both because it is important dramatically to further the ongoing storyline, and also because it allows us to experience the brothers as individuals for a while and to see how they interact with people outside of their claustrophobic little family of two. Although outside relationships have been explored in the show before, particularly last season as the divide between them grew, the circumstances of their mutually agreed separation make this a unique situation for the show and allows for some potentially fascinating character exploration.

Overall, I find that Sam's half of the story is handled rather more consistently than Dean's and therefore is easier to enjoy as a whole, being sombre and contemplative, as befits his situation right now. Dean's, on the other hand, swings quite wildly from serious drama to light-hearted comedy and focuses more on plot and humour than on exploration of how Dean is coping on his own and handling his estrangement from his brother, the character work being tucked in around the edges of the story. While on the one hand the tonal shifts in his story can in themselves be read as a study of Dean's turbulent emotions, on the other hand seeing him retreat into denial feels somewhat like a step backward in terms of maturity, which is a little disappointing, as this may be the only chance we ever get to see Dean truly discovering who he is as an individual.

On the whole, however, despite a few disappointments around tone and storyline, the episode works well as an exploration of the separate paths of Dean and Sam, achieving forward movement for the character arcs of both brothers, and also for Castiel.

Then

"You think I'll take one look at a demon and suddenly fall off the wagon, as if, after everything, I haven't learned my lesson," Sam defensively snapped at his brother after being tempted by what he believed to be demon blood. Unconvinced, Dean immediately asked if he had learned his lesson, and Sam reacted violently to this mistrust, well founded though it was.

Way, way back during his time at Stanford, Sam had a girlfriend named Jessica who was killed by the Yellow-Eyed Demon, Azazel.

Dean accused Sam of wanting a normal, apple-pie life, but Sam corrected that what he wanted was to be safe.

Zachariah claimed that Dean was destined to become the vessel of the Archangel Michael, but Dean refused to give his consent.

Castiel was killed by an archangel during the futile battle to prevent Lucifer from rising, but was then restored to life by an unknown agency he believed to be God.

Sam missed being able to save people like he used to, but Dean pointed out that he had been hopped up on demon blood at the time.

Castiel, believing Dean's plan to kill Lucifer himself to be foolish, decided to go on a quest to find God. Dean scoffed at this plan, and Castiel reacted with anger. "I killed two angels this week," he snarled. "I rebelled, and I did it, all of it, for you. And you failed."

Sam realised that he was in no shape to be hunting during the initial recovery from his demon blood addiction and suggested that he and Dean go their separate ways, and Dean agreed that this was probably the right thing to do.

Now

Great Plains Motel. Night

A topless Sam lies in bed – hey, and topless Sam comes complete with bonus tattoo continuity. Excellent!

Sam has his eyes squeezed tight shut, pretending to be asleep in hopes that if he pretends long enough it will become true. This strategy doesn't seem to be working out for him, however, so, with a sigh, he opens his eyes again and rolls over in bed seeking a more comfortable position…and finds himself face to face with a smiling Jessica.


"Hey, baby. I missed you," Jessica beams, while Sam tries not to hyperventilate with shock.

"Jessica," Sam finally manages to choke out. "I'm dreaming."

Jessica shrugs. "Or you're not. What's the difference? I'm here."

Sam gazes longingly at her. "I missed you so much," he says.

Sam should, of course, be extremely wary of dead loved ones paying visits to him in his sleep, since such devices have been used against the brothers in the past, and he knows full well that both demons and angels are able to manipulate dreams. He appears to be too busy being absolutely blown away by the sight of Jessica to be suspicious of her, however, and maybe has dreamt of her before, enough to suppose that this is just another in the same vein. Certainly he does not appear to suspect that anything could be amiss with this dream, instead taking it completely at face value, just another dream about his dead girlfriend, and treats her accordingly, being completely open and frank with her.

It is not until the very end of this episode that we learn the truth. Far from being merely a dream, or even another hallucination such as those Sam suffered while going through withdrawal from the demon blood, in fact this is a visitation by Lucifer, able to get inside Sam's head and use what he finds there against him, twisting the truth just enough to attempt to undermine his faltering confidence.


Jess takes Sam's hand, murmuring that she missed him, too, and she looks real and she feels real and so it is heartrending for Sam. Then she asks, "What are you doing, Sam?" and he wonders what she means. "Running away," she softly explains. "Haven't we been down this road before?"

So, if this is Lucifer drawing on the contents of Sam's own head and twisting it in an attempt to undermine him, does this suggest that Sam himself is partly afraid that all he is doing is running away? It must be so difficult to know what to do for the best, so hard to maintain his resolve when recent events have left him so uncertain of his own judgement. Lucifer is only too willing to use those doubts against him.

"No, it's different now," insists Sam, explaining, with sad, honest, resigned self-deprecation, "Last time I wanted to be normal. This time I know I'm a freak."

"Which is all a big ball of semantics," Jess dismisses. "You know that. Even at Stanford you knew. You knew there was something dark inside of you. Deep down, maybe, but you knew. Baby, that's what got me killed."

Sam's head whips around, eyes wide and horrified. "No," he protests.

"I was dead from the moment we said hello," Jessica calmly insists, and Sam indignantly, insistently denies it again.

The sad thing is, though, that it is partly true. Jessica didn't die because there was anything wrong with Sam himself, as 'she' claims here, but she did die because she was involved with him, because Azazel chose to use her against him. If they had never met, she would still be alive, and that is something Sam has had to live with ever since the night that she died…which makes his guilt an effective weapon for Lucifer to use against him. We have already seen him applying pressure to Nick, the man who became his vessel, by using his dead wife against him; it appears to be a consistent tactic of his.

"Don't you get it?" Jessica presses. "You can't run from yourself. Why are you running now?"

This is a very consistent theme in this episode, with various folk throughout the story suggesting to Sam that by taking time out he is running away. Each of those people has their own agenda – such as Lucifer's desire to undermine Sam's confidence and recovery – however the tone of the episode in general appears to support this claim, offering no counterbalancing argument in favour of Sam's course of action. Personally, I thought his decision to take some time out was extremely mature and responsible, and regret that other than Dean's agreement he appears to have no support to validate his decision.

"Why are you here, Jess?" Sam finally thinks to ask, visibly distressed by her claims. After all, he was already in deep emotional turmoil even before this unexpected midnight visitation – we know that even before viewing the events of the episode.

"Would you believe I'm actually trying to protect you?" she coyly smiles, and Sam asks from what. "You," she says. "Sooner or later the past is going to catch up to you, like it always does. You know what happens then? People die. Baby, the people closest to you die."

Sam looks sullen. "Well, don't worry, because I won't make that mistake again," he fiercely insists. It isn't entirely clear what mistake he is talking about, and since he currently feels contrite for many things there are more than a few to choose from. He could mean that he isn't making the mistake of hiding from his past but rather is attempting to face up to it, or he could mean that he hopes to avoid getting the people close to him killed by avoiding being close to anyone. Since he is currently in complete seclusion from his nearest and dearest, the latter is the most likely.

"Same song, different verse," Jess dismisses. "Things are never going to change with you. Never."


Sam fights back tears, nodding as if this statement holds a lot of truth for him, and when he looks up again, Jessica has vanished.

Titles

One week earlier

A fabulous musical montage set to Lynyrd Skynyrd's 'Simple Man' fills us in on how each of the brothers has been getting on since agreeing to go their separate ways after the events of Good God, Y'All. Completely dialogue-free, the cleverly constructed sequence provides artful juxtaposition between the dull, mundane life Sam has retreated into as he endeavours to come to terms with his recent past and the harsh, grim world Dean remains enmeshed in as he continues to hunt alone.

In Garber, Oklahoma, having hitched a ride, Sam arrives at the Great Plains Motel. He opens the trunk to get his bags out…


…while in Greeley, Pennsylvania, a be-suited Dean slams the trunk of the Impala, tucks a big-ass knife into his belt, hidden beneath the jacket, and heads on into the Taft Memorial Hospital.


At his motel in Oklahoma, Sam burns all his fake IDs in the sink. It is a symbolic gesture, cutting himself off from a lifestyle he believes to be dangerous – for him because he feels that he can't trust not to fall into temptation once more and therefore also for other people because he knows himself to be a potential danger to them. Having made the decision to take this time out, with no time limit set, he wants to make it a clean break – a typical Sam gesture aimed at ensuring that he maintains control over his situation. If he cannot trust himself not to fall back into temptation and cannot trust the justifications his subconscious provides him with to excuse giving into that temptation, then until such a time as he can be sure of himself he will remove himself from the vicinity of all temptation, which means complete seclusion from his former life as a hunter. Sam has been through a hell of a lot lately and has had no opportunity to assess and appraise what his life and circumstances have done to him – what he has done to himself. Taking this time out is his first step toward rediscovering who he really is and where he needs to go from here.

So, Sam burns all his fake IDs, as a symbolic gesture. Dean might not be best pleased when he has to set up a whole new cache for him, but it isn't as if it can't be done, so this isn't as permanent a gesture as it might seem on the face of it, but nonetheless important. Top of the pile is an ID for Pennsylvania State Police.

Meanwhile, in Pennsylvania, Dean holds up his matching Pennsylvania State Police badge as he introduces himself as Detective Bill Buckner and asks a doctor about his patients, "the ex-sanguinated ones."

In Oklahoma, Sam notices that Hoyt's Bar is advertising for a busboy. Next thing we know, he is working there: a nice, safe, normal job, menial labour that is far below his intellectual capacity but is nonetheless perfect for his situation. No doubt receiving his wage cash in hand, it allows him to remain well under the radar while paying for his accommodation since he can no longer rely on credit card fraud to pay his way, while the dull, monotonous routine of the job grants him the opportunity he needs for introspection and reflection, distraction-free.

Hoyt's Bar. The vampire show True Blood has a character called Hoyt, and it just so happens that, over in Pennsylvania, Dean has found himself a vampire to fight. "Eat it, Twilight," he grimly snarks, slamming it down onto the hood of the Impala and proceeding to saw its head off with that big-ass knife of his, grim and focused as arterial blood sprays grotesquely across his face.


Man, as monster-killings go, this one is gruesomely brutal, and as such highly reminiscent of Bloodlust – and not just because that case involved vampires, too. Then, too, Dean was in intense emotional pain and likewise in denial about it, channelling his anger and grief into the hunt and taking it out on whatever evil creatures he could find as the only target available to him.

Beheading is the only way to kill a vampire, which makes it an especially unpleasant creature to have to kill – it isn't something easily accomplished at a distance, but instead requires the hunter to get right up close and personal, a terrible kind of intimacy. This kind of butchery, perhaps more than any other form of hunting, must surely remind Dean of his time in hell, which is awful to contemplate.

It is also worth noting that a vampire is a creature that drinks blood and as a result is no longer human, which provides an awful kind of parallel with Sam's situation. Sam drank blood and bad things happened as a result, not least of which is that he may or may not be completely human any more. Dean doesn't get to vent his anger and despair over that, not now that Sam has expressed his contrition, so this vampire makes a good stand in.

Also – remember the days when vampires were so rare as to be considered completely extinct? Shows how much John knew!

Meanwhile in Oklahoma, Sam is doing some chopping of his own – chopping up lemons for the bar, wiping his forehead while he works.


In Pennsylvania, Dean wipes blood off his face having killed the vampire – and I sincerely hope that he is being very careful not to get any of that blood into his mouth!

We're apparently skipping back and fore in time just a little, for we next see a perfectly clean Dean opening the Impala's trunk.

Back in Oklahoma, Sam busies himself about his work, oblivious to everyone around him, seeking only anonymity – but his smoking hotness very swiftly attracts the attention of a pretty young barmaid he works with, and Show takes care to emphasise the fact that she has noticed him and likes what she sees.


While Sam washes down the bar in Oklahoma, back in Pennsylvania a once-more blood-splattered Dean mops vampire blood off the hood of the Impala.

Sometime later, a clean-again Dean drives along a darkened road, alone in the Impala, and Simple Man neatly flips diegetic onto the Impala's radio as we zoom in. He directs a pensive little glance sideways at the empty passenger seat where Sam should be, and then turns his eyes back upon the road, wistful and grim and focused.


If Sam making such a complete break with his past was pretty much what might have been expected of him, what we see of Dean in this montage is also pretty much as we might have expected from a Dean who now finds himself completely alone, exactly as he never wanted to be. With the hunt all he currently has left in his life, he is focused and driven, burying himself in his work and drawing grim satisfaction from at least being able to do his job effectively, however lonely it might be. Yet that wistful little glance at the empty passenger seat tells us loud and clear how much he misses his little brother, whether he would be willing to admit it at this stage or not.

The Impala zooms on through the night.

And that's the end of the musical montage, which works beautifully in conveying both the separation of the brothers and their continued connection at one and the same time.

Pennsylvania

Back at his motel in the wake of his vampire-killing escapades, Dean fetches a washcloth to sponge blood off his jacket in front of the mirror. And after t-shirted Sam at the bar, we now have t-shirted Dean – it is sadly rare to see such lack of layers on these boys. Layer-lite looks good on them both.

It has to be said, though, that just dabbing at the jacket like that is probably not going to get bloodstains out. I would advise soaking it for a while!

Dean is alone in the room when he looks down at the jacket as he works on it…but then as he looks back toward the mirror while wetting the cloth again, Castiel is now standing right behind him.


Dean startles, as usual. "Don't do that!" he snaps at the angel.

Standing right at Dean's shoulder, Castiel looks slightly bemused and also a little lost. "Hello, Dean," is all he says, as if he doesn't really know what else to say.

Dean turns around, practically nose-to-nose with the angel, he is standing so close. This habit Castiel has of getting right up into Dean's space and staring at him with such calm intensity is both creepy and unnerving and it is no wonder Dean finds it to uncomfortable. "Cas. We've talked about this," he says, with as much patience as he can muster. "Personal space."


Castiel nods and takes a couple of tiny steps backward. "My apologies."

Nifty little reference to an off-screen conversation there – interesting! So Dean has spoken to Castiel about personal space issues before but that conversation has not been heeded; the angel still stands too close and still stares intently, and although he will step away when asked, it does not stop him doing it again. He also continues to just pop up completely unannounced even though he has to know that this freaks Dean out, given how badly he startles every time. Way to never learn!

Dean rolls his eyes and carefully steps around the angel, setting some much needed distance between them. He takes his jacket over to the bed and stuffs it into a duffle despite the fact that a) there is no way he got all the blood out just by dabbing at it like that, and b) it is still damp. Honestly – men!

"How'd you find me? I thought I was flying below the angel radar?" Dean growls, hackles immediately up. He has come to consider Castiel a friend and an ally, albeit highly unpredictable on both counts, but that doesn't mean that the angel's unexpected appearance is either welcomed or especially desired, signalling some kind of trouble as it usually does.

"You are. Bobby told me where you were," Castiel explains. Heh, now that is a conversation I would have loved to have seen! Castiel peers around the room, puzzled. "Where's Sam?" he frowns.

So Castiel clearly doesn't know that Dean and Sam have gone their separate ways, which suggests that either it has been quite a while since he's been in touch with Dean or that the brothers have not been apart very long. Also, if he had to go to Bobby for Dean's location, it would imply that maybe both brothers have had their phones turned off, since we have already seen that the angel is able to communicate via cell phone, and if he wants Dean but can't get through, surely Sam would be the next most obvious person to call, rather than Bobby.

It strikes me, however, that if it could occur to Castiel that he can get to Dean via Bobby then it could occur to Zachariah, as well, which would not be good. It's a point worth pondering, even if Show never plays that angle.

"Me and Sam are taking separate vacations for a while," Dean vagues, pulling an over-shirt on, and I like that he stresses the temporary nature of this separation, although it kind of hits hard since we just saw Sam burning all his IDs, an action that suggested he was expecting to be out of action for quite some time. "So, d'you find God yet?" Dean changes the subject. "More importantly, can I have my damn necklace back, please?"

That necklace is important to Dean and he feels its loss keenly, probably all the more so with Sam gone. It symbolises their fraternal bond, and Dean's eagerness for Castiel to return it also implies just how much he misses his brother.

"No, I haven't found Him," Castiel admits – saying nothing about the necklace, let us note. "That's why I'm here. I need your help."


"With what? The God-hunt? I'm not interested," Dean snorts, still fussing with his collar and cuffs. I like that he continues to go about his business throughout this scene, making a bit of a subtle point that Castiel has disturbed him and he isn't about to just drop everything because the angel has shown up.

I really enjoy this scene between Dean and Castiel, the way the two of them dance around one another, Dean adversarial and Castiel defensive, neither entirely sure where he stands with the other and yet tied to one another by circumstance. Dean remains resolute in his conviction that Castiel's search for God is a fool's errand – a point we and he will return to later – but is less aggressive about it than in Good God, Y'All, more mindful of Castiel's feelings on the subject, while Castiel is trying hard to maintain his poise but beginning to flounder visibly, cut off from all that is familiar as he is.

"It's not God, it's someone else," says Castiel and Dean regards him thoughtfully before asking who. "The archangel. The one who killed me," Castiel explains, crossing the room to get right up in Dean's face again. It's as if he can't help himself, somehow needs the proximity, like a comfort blanket.

Dean's eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"

"His name is Raphael," Castiel continues.

Dean processes this. "You were wasted by a teenage mutant ninja angel?" he disbelieves.

Hee!

The snarky pop culture reference flies right over Castiel's head, so he ignores it completely. "I've heard whispers that he is walking the earth," he earnestly explains, his solemn expression not so much as flickering. "This is a rare opportunity."

"For what? Revenge?" Dean automatically assumes, and it is interesting that he would assume this, since vengeance is not traditionally considered an especially angelic attitude – but then again, Dean knows enough about angels by now to know that they are capable of remarkably human emotions, even if those emotions are intellectual rather than physical. Plus, of course, the angels of the old testament were the agents of God's wrath more often than not. Dean has a bad history with people seeking revenge, and after everything he has been through with his father and brother it is no wonder that he should react badly to the prospect of more of the same. He is beyond tired of vengeance and what it can lead to.


"Information," Castiel firmly corrects, keeping both eyes fixed on Dean's, standing that bit too close yet again.

Dean snorts and steps away to get a bit of distance between them once more, goes back over to the sink to gather up the stuff he left there. "So, what, you think if you find this dude, he's just going to spill God's address?"

"Yes," Castiel fervently declares, now standing with his back to Dean, full of bravado – deliberately so. He wants to sound confident and assured, just like he used to, because he wants to convince both Dean and himself that he knows what he is doing and is therefore able to take a firm lead. "Because we are going to trap him and interrogate him."

Dean turns a hard, shocked stare upon the angel's back, and we remember what happened the last time an angel – Castiel – asked him to interrogate someone, how badly that worked out. "You're serious about this?" he disbelieves, and Castiel now turns to face him but says nothing, so Dean presses further, and this time it is he who steps closer. "So, what? I'm Thelma and you're Louise, and we're just going to hold hands and sail off this cliff together?"

Attempting to take on an archangel is tantamount to suicide, in effect. After all, this particular archangel has already killed Castiel once, and the power and might of archangels in general has been emphasised ever since they were first mentioned on the show. Whether they actually live up to that hype in person remains to be seen!

Castiel narrows his eyes, not understanding the reference, and Dean sighs and rolls his eyes since his carefully crafted point is thus completely wasted. He steps around Castiel to continue messing about with his duffel. "Give me one good reason why I should do this."

"Because you're Michael's vessel," Castiel offers. "And no angel will dare harm you."

Castiel is no doubt trying to be reassuring with this assurance that helping him out will not place Dean in any danger. He wants to come across as a good, strong leader who knows what he is doing, probably as much in hopes of settling his own nerves as of allaying any fears on Dean's part. However, although it may seem only logical and persuasive to Castiel, taking this line is a miscalculation on his part. Dean is already less than entirely comfortable dealing with the resurrected angel, high-handed, enigmatic and infuriating as he tends to be. A self-serving argument such as this only serves to deepen his reservations and suspicion, implying as it does that Castiel merely wants to make use of Dean, like a tool, a role he is fiercely resistant to playing for any angel, even one he has come to consider an ally.

"Oh, so I'm your bullet shield," Dean fiercely objects, turning back to the angel in indignation at the prospect of being used in this way.

Seeing that he has miscalculated and only succeeded in antagonising the one ally that he has, Castiel capitulates. He drops his façade of confident assurance and allows his intense vulnerability to shine through. "I need your help," he urgently explains, maintaining intense eye contact. "Because you are the only one who will help me. Please."


After millennia of service to heaven and constant communion with his angelic brothers, despite all his efforts to at least give the appearance of confidence, drive and purpose, Castiel is now very alone and very afraid and way, way out of his depth, clinging tightly to Dean as the sole anchor that he has in this bleak and uncertain landscape. Loneliness is as alien to him as self-determination, and by allowing Dean to see that loneliness and uncertainty, open and honest and pleading, he succeeds in winning the human over where no amount of apparently logical reasoning could ever have hoped to budge him from his anti-God stance.

Dean is a natural caretaker and a plea like that, one friend to another – one lonely soul to another – is something that he cannot help but respond to. He looks into the angel's eyes, sees there his fear and apprehension, lost and alone as he is, and does not hesitate to concede at once. Dean might not want to believe in God, but he will never be able to refuse a sincere request for help from anyone, least of all a friend and ally. "All right. Fine. Where is he?" he asks.

"Maine. Let's go," says a very relieved Castiel, lifting his hand toward Dean's forehead, intending to just whisk the two of them there on the spot, with no further discussion and no permission sought for the translocation.

"Whoa, whoa," Dean instantly protests, ducking away before the angel can touch him, and Castiel is irritated, wonders what is wrong now. "Last time you zapped me someplace I didn't poop for a week," Dean gruffs, and Castiel looks vaguely confused. "We're driving," Dean insists, in conclusion.


On the one hand the poop remark is clearly intended as light comic relief of the cruder variety – something Show is tending toward rather too often of late. On the other hand, however, deeper meaning can be extracted from Dean's objection to Castiel's automatic intent to simply teleport them both wherever they need to go, taking Dean's agreement to help him as permission to take whatever action he deems necessary on both of their behalves to achieve his goal. True teamwork, with all the full and frank communication and cooperation inherent in that principle – is something else that is alien to Castiel.

Dean's objection to being teleported all over the country at the whim of an angel demonstrates his determination to remain in control of his own life, body and destiny. He might have come to trust Castiel as a friend and ally in this war, but he has had other beings taking advantage and pushing him around, doing whatever the hell they want to him and with him far too many times already in both his life and death – Castiel included, having carved those Enochian sigils into Dean's ribcage without asking permission first, for example, and for Dean that was still only a matter of mere days or possibly weeks ago. It was a necessary precaution, perhaps, but just another example of thoughtless angelic high-handedness. Being relocated from one place to another without as much as a by-your-leave must be intensely unnerving, to say the least. By insisting on driving instead of allowing Castiel to teleport him at the angel's own whim, Dean is exerting a little much needed control over his situation. There is a reason Dean always prefers to drive.

Of course, Dean is also being extremely practical, since if Castiel simply zaps him wherever the angel thinks they need to be, leaving all Dean's gear behind – not to mention his car – without any actual plan agreed upon, they are likely to find themselves distinctly lacking in resources when they reach their destination. Taking the time to plan and prepare in advance is something Castiel really needs to get used to.

Hoyt's Bar, Oklahoma

While Sam busily collects empties to be washed, barmaid Lindsey – who apparently has no work of her own to be getting on with right now – is wasting time tossing darts at the board. No customers in need of serving right now, evidently. "Hey, Keith. Do you play?" she flirtatiously calls across to Sam.

Keith? Honestly, Sam!

Sam looks ever so slightly surprised that someone is actually talking to him, but plays it very cool and very normal as he nonchalantly replies, "That depends. What are we playing for?" World peace, Lindsey chirpily suggests, and Sam snorts. "Oh, is that all?"


Lindsey chuckles. "Can I ask you something? You finished that crossword puzzle in the kitchen?"

A little bemused, Sam agrees that he did, but doesn't see why she is so interested.

"The New York Times Saturday crossword," Lindsey stresses, handing him the darts, and Sam tries to dissemble that he didn't know what it was. Lindsey makes her point. "You blow into town last week, you don't talk to anybody, you're obviously highly educated…you're like this –"

"Riddle wrapped inside an enigma wrapped inside a taco?" Sam suggests, cutely self-deprecating.

Amused, Lindsey nods. "Here's what we play for: when I win, you buy me dinner and tell me your life story."

Sam is so not going to be telling anyone his life story any time ever, much less some girl in a bar where he is trying to be normal and anonymous. He isn't about to tell her that, though. "Sounds fair," he agrees – and proceeds to put three darts more or less right into the bull's-eye.

Yeah, it's easy enough to agree to a deal like that when you know you aren't going to have to cough up.

Lindsey is impressed. "Very mysterio-so," she purrs. "I like it."

The relationship between Sam and Lindsey is nicely played through this episode, with Sam's efforts at avoiding all meaningful human interaction consistently and increasingly thwarted by the barmaid's interest in him, which starts out from her admiration of his physique seen in the opening musical montage and is deepened by his reclusive attitude and air of mystery, which make of him a puzzle she would dearly love to solve. Although Sam's determination to isolate himself is deep-seated, having believed since season one that he is dangerous to anyone who gets close to him, with everything that has happened to him since then only confirming that belief, total isolation was never going to be possible for him. The gradual, reluctant bond he forms with Lindsey demonstrates how much he needs meaningful human interaction to help him heal, whether he likes it or not.

Sam's attention is caught by a news article on the wide-screen TV behind the bar; the report announces devastating hail storms in a nearby town that were followed by lightning strikes that triggered a fire currently consuming more than 20 acres along the Route 17 corridor, with the whole town on standby for mandatory evacuation.


The old dude behind the bar switches the TV off, muttering, "Is it me, or does it seem like the end of the world?"

Knowing damn well that it might actually really be the end of the world, Lucifer being free to bring the Apocalypse and all, Sam keeps his mouth shut but looks troubled.

Waterville, Maine

Having arrived at their destination, after a rather longer journey than Castiel had initially planned, the angel and a be-suited Dean get out of the Impala, Dean asking why exactly they are here…despite the fact that they should have had plenty of time to discuss the whys and whats in depth en route.

"A deputy sheriff laid eyes on the archangel," Castiel explains.

"And he still has eyes?" Dean disbelieves. "All right. What's the plan?"

Castiel flaps his hands in a helpless gesture and tries to think. "We'll…" he flounders, so far out of his depth he can't even see shore. This is his investigation and therefore Dean is letting him take point, so he wants to appear decisive and assured, but he is totally out of his experience and comfort zone here. "We'll tell the officer that he witnessed an angel of the lord," he proposes, bravado and uncertainty mingling in posture and tone. "Then the officer will tell us where the angel is."


Dean rolls his eyes sceptically. "You're serious? You're going to walk in there and tell him the truth?"

Castiel is confused. "Why not?" he rather hopelessly asks, floundering more than ever, because he absolutely does not know what to do and remains too severely disconnected from the social norms of humanity to understand how best to conduct an investigation of this nature, without heavenly resources to call upon.

Up till now Dean has been content to sit back and allow Castiel to take the lead, since this is his investigation and Dean is merely here to lend support. With Castiel so very obviously out of his element and struggling, however, Dean now smoothly steps up and takes over. "Because," he explains, digging a couple of ID's out of a pocket, glancing at the first before tucking it into Castiel's inside pocket and then stowing the second away in his own. "We're humans. And when humans want something, really, really bad – we lie."

You have to wonder whose picture was in the fake ID Dean gave Castiel, since there is absolutely no reason why he should have one prepared specially for the angel. The most logical assumption would be that it was merely one that was vague enough to pass if not inspected closely, although that seems a decidedly dodgy tactic to employ when interviewing law enforcement officers.


With IDs sorted, Dean fastens the top button of Castiel's shirt and straightens his tie for him. It is a fabulously nurturing, big brother gesture, completely unconscious – an automatic reflex more than anything else, reminding us loud and clear just what a mother hen Dean can be. He is a natural caretaker. Castiel asked for his help, allowed Dean to see his vulnerability, and now that it is obvious just how badly that help is needed, stepping up to take care of the rookie and guide him through the investigative process comes naturally to Dean.

Meekly submitting to Dean's ministrations, Castiel tries to understand. "Why?"


"Because. That's how you become president," Dean declares, rather than get into a pointless debate regarding just why the truth will not work in this situation. Stepping back to run a critical eye over his handiwork and deciding that it will have to do, he leads the way over to the nearby sheriff's station.

Glancing quizzically down at his now slightly smarter, but still rumpled outfit, Castiel remains confused.

Sheriff's station

Dean swiftly locates Deputy Framingham, the man who witnessed the archangel, and whips out his badge to briskly introduce himself as Alonzo Mosley and his partner as Eddie Moscone…but there he strikes the first snag in the operation since, unlike Sam, who knows exactly how to behave in these situations, Castiel is completely clueless. Instead of showing his badge, he just stands there staring at the deputy, who waits with bemused expectancy.

Given an almost subtle verbal nudge from Dean, Castiel finally takes the hint and pulls his badge out to show the deputy, while Dean offers a reassuring smile, trying to pretend that there is nothing out of the ordinary here.

Except that Castiel is holding the badge upside down.


The smile drops off Dean's face, replaced by exasperation, as he smoothly takes the badge off the clueless angel and hands it back the right way up, telling the bemused deputy that his partner is new and swiftly glossing over the awkwardness by asking if they can ask him a few questions – with Castiel examining his badge with some puzzlement all the while.

Heh. This whole sequence is comedy gold, the comedic timing of the actors absolutely perfect.

It is worth noting that for all his mother hen routine outside, Dean hasn't actually explained to Castiel what to do, evidently expecting the angel to be able to follow his lead rather more smoothly than he does. He is too used to working with Sam, who knows these routines inside out – to working with humans in general, who tend to have at least a vague idea of how other humans work. He should know the angel well enough by now, though, to know that he needs slightly more instruction.

Also – hang on. The badge Castiel is holding actually does contain a picture of the angel himself. That makes no sense at all. If Dean had time before arriving here to go to all the trouble of having a badge made up, then the scene outside makes no sense, since they would have had to agree in advance what the plan was in order to arrange to get the badge made. There is absolutely no reason at all for Dean to randomly have an FBI badge made up for Castiel and carry it around with him just in case the angel might need it some day, not to mention that he is hardly likely to have been able to get the picture for it without Castiel's knowledge. It makes no sense at all!

Framingham leads the way into his office, explaining that they will need to talk at his right ear, since his hearing is blown to hell in the left. This information gives Dean his in, and he smoothly asks if that happened recently. Framingham confirms that it did, at a gas station, then frowns, "That's why you're here, isn't it?"

Not having expected it to be quite this easy, Dean is slightly taken aback, but hastily picks up the cue to confirm that yes, it is, and then asks the man to run them through what happened.

Framingham explains that a call came in reporting a disturbance at the pump-and-go out on Route 4. Dean asks what kind of disturbance, and the man sighs. "Would not have believed it if I had not seen it myself. We're talking a riot. Full scale."


Focusing intently, Dean asks how many. Framingham estimates maybe 30 or 40. "In all out kill or be killed combat."

"Any idea what set them off?" Dean frowns.

"It's angels and demons probably," Castiel asides to Dean before the deputy can respond to the question. Seeing that Framingham looks surprised to hear this, he conversationally and oh-so earnestly explains, "They're skirmishing all over the globe."

Heh, the look on Dean's face is priceless, while Framingham, naturally enough, is beginning to regard Castiel with some concern. "Come again? What did he say?" the deputy frowns.

"Nothing." "Demons." Dean and Castiel speak over the top of each other, the one attempting damage limitation, and the other earnest in his desire to clarify his point. Each tries again, again speaking over the top of one another.

"Demons, you know," Dean finally says through gritted teeth, as dismissively as he can manage, while offering the universal gesture for downing a pint or two and adding, "Drink. Adultery. We all have our demons, Walt. Right?"

"I guess," agrees the puzzled deputy, while Castiel still perches on the edge of his seat looking confused by all this subterfuge.

"Anyway," Dean firmly changes the subject. "What happened next?"


"Freaking explosion, that's what," Framingham replies. "They said it was one of those underground gas tanks, but…I don't think so. […] It wasn't your usual fireball. It was, um…"

"Pure white," Castiel offers. Framingham agrees that yes, it was, and while Dean and Castiel exchange meaningful glances, both understanding the implications perfectly, the deputy adds that the gas station was levelled and everyone was killed, that it was just horrible.

"Then I see this one guy," he wonderingly continues. "Kneeling there – real focused, like. Not a damn scratch on him."

Dean asks if he knows the man and he nods that it was Donny Finneman, a mechanic at the garage there. "And let me guess, he just, uh, vanished into thin air?" Dean offers.

Framingham gives him a fabulously scathing wtf look. "Uh, no, Kolshak. He's down at St Pete's."

Delighted to have this information, Castiel turns to Dean and meaningfully repeats. "St Pete's."

"Thank you." Having got that already, Dean just barely refrains from rolling his eyes. Hee!

St Pete's

Some time later, Dean and Castiel stand in a hallway in St Peter's hospital, gazing through the window of a private ward at what is left of Donny Finneman. Physically, there isn't a scratch on him, that much is true, but mentally? The man is a vegetable, slumped in a wheelchair staring vacantly into space and drooling.


"I take it that's not Raphael any more," Dean assumes, and Castiel confirms that indeed this is merely an empty vessel. Empty in more ways than one, by the looks of him – the lights are on, but there is no one home. Dean stares uncomfortably at the man. "So, is this what I'm looking at if Michael jumps my bones?" he asks, already knowing that it is.

"No, not at all," Castiel gravely replies. "Michael is much more powerful. It'll be far worse for you."

As if Dean needed any more reasons to keep saying no!

Dean said 'if'. Castiel said 'will'. It is interesting to ponder this difference in perspective. To Dean, the future remains wide open, with nothing set in stone. He will become Michael's vessel if he gives his consent, but if he continues to refuse it will never happen. Castiel, on the other hand, is an angel, and it has already been more than demonstrated that if angels believe in anything it is the immutability of prophecy. Castiel has chosen to fight on Dean's side, but still his baseline is that the future is set in stone and all of their efforts are only really delaying the inevitable. The only person who can change what is foretold is God, which is why finding his heavenly Father is so important to him.

Just how and why Raphael's unfortunate host came to be left in such a condition is also worth pondering. From what we have seen of them, angels very rarely leave their vessel once they have taken it – certainly Castiel only left his by force and when he came back to Jimmy he stated very clearly that it was forever. So why has Raphael abandoned his host now, we must wonder? And if the archangel has any intention of returning to him, shouldn't he be guarded? After all, when Castiel was forced out of his host, Jimmy immediately became a magnet for demons anxious to interrogate him for information regarding angelic plans. Even with Lucifer free and the Apocalypse already underway, surely the same should be expected for Raphael's host, and since it has been made clear that each angel only has one compatible host (however implausible that caveat might be) surely the archangel should be a little more careful of his!

It is also worth noting that when Castiel was forced out of Jimmy's body, the man appeared to have suffered no incapacity as a result of his possession whatsoever – in fact, all damage suffered by his body during his possession had been miraculously healed. Castiel's explanation that the damage to the host increases according to the power of the angel isn't terribly convincing, since surely if a low-level angel like Castiel is able to sustain and heal his host body, the mighty archangels should be even more capable of preserving the integrity of their vessels rather than destroying them utterly.

One last point regarding this scene. Back at the sheriff's station, with Castiel floundering so far out of his depth, Dean effortlessly stepped up and took charge to guide him through the process of acquiring the information they needed. Now that that stage of the investigation is over, however, Dean has immediately stepped back once more, allowing Castiel to resume the lead role. This is Castiel's case, after all.

Oklahoma. Motel

Sam browses the Worldwide Archive Library on his laptop. He highlights a portion of the Book of Revelation, in Latin, and then, looking troubled, picks up his cellphone.


The first number he scrolls to in his impressively crowded address book, predictably enough, is Dean's (212 555-0113, incidentally – he's had a few numbers since the last time we were told it). Habit. Wishful thinking.

It is too soon, however. The brothers have agreed that they both need time and space away from one another and it is too soon to start compromising that principle. They each need to heal and rediscover themselves before they can reconnect with each other.

Sam furrows his brow at his brother's name for a long moment before thinking better of it and scrolling back up to Bobby (605 555-0172, for anyone keeping score). He dials.

Singer's Auto Salvage

Sitting disconsolately in his wheelchair, alone in a darkened room, Bobby answers the phone and greets Sam.


Hang on. Bobby is home from hospital already? I know that the precise nature of his injury has never been disclosed and that it remains unclear just how much time has passed since it occurred, but from the context of the episode it seems certain that it has not been long at all. It certainly seems far too soon for him to already be back at home trying to cope on his own. You would think that there would need to be a lengthy period of rehabilitation – not to mention time for renovations to adapt his house to the wheelchair!

"Hey, Bobby. How you doing?" Sam softly asks.

"Well, I ain't running any marathons," Bobby cynically snarks, and then sighs. "But I'll live. Where are you?"

Sam explains that he is in Garber, Oklahoma, and has found a town up the road showing some Revelation omens. "Listen to this: 'upon his rising there shall be hail and fire mixed with blood'."

"Well ain't that delightful," Bobby grumbles. Sam agrees, explaining that they've already got hail and fire, so he's guessing blood can't be too far behind. "O-kay," Bobby drawls, and a long pause follows, before Sam asks what's up. "Is there a reason you're calling?" Bobby pointedly asks.

Sam flounders for a moment, unsure what to say. "Dean didn't tell you?" he stammers at last.


From this exchange it becomes clear that as part of his complete break Sam has severed contact with Bobby as well as Dean – without even calling first to explain what he is doing. Although the breaking off of contact was pretty much to be expected, given Sam's determination to seclude himself completely from his former life, it is disappointing to hear that he has not paid his surrogate father the courtesy of keeping him informed, but instead has simply cut him out without a word of explanation. That's old-school Sam behaviour, there – reminiscent of John – and a sign that he still hasn't really learned the lessons of past mistakes. He remains so focused on his own issues and his own needs that the needs of others pass him by completely. No doubt he couldn't face having that conversation with Bobby, since it took all he had to get through the one with Dean; he wants to get better and has focused his entire being on achieving that goal. It clearly hasn't occurred to him, however, that Bobby has needs too, that the man who loves him like a son and has supported him through thick and thin is currently facing his greatest ever personal crisis, and maybe needs the support and comfort of regular communication – certainly deserves better than to be completely cut out without so much as a word of explanation or even goodbye. Sam isn't always terribly good at juggling his own needs with those of the people around him and has never been good at compromise.

"He told me," Bobby says, in measured tones that betray just what he thinks of Sam's little time out.

"Well, so I just thought…you might want to find out who's in the area, put a man on this," Sam hesitantly suggests. Because Bobby knows everyone, and even if he isn't able to actively hunt himself, he is probably better placed than anyone else to act as a coordinator for other hunters.

I love Sam for not being able to close his eyes to what he has discovered, in spite of his absolute resolution to remove himself completely from the hunting environment. He believes with all his heart that he is doing the right thing, but he cannot ignore the fact that the Apocalypse is unfolding all around him and that lives are in danger as a result. Having seen these Apocalyptic signs right on his doorstep, he can't now pretend not to have seen them and leave innocent lives in danger. If he cannot allow himself to take steps to deal with what he has found himself, then another solution must be found, and this is it: making sure that the information is relayed to someone who is better placed than Sam is to deal with it – and by 'better placed' I am not talking about geography.

"Okay," Bobby drawls. "Let me see if I can think of the best hunter who might be in the immediate vicinity…oh, that'd be you."

Geography, however, is at the forefront of Bobby's passive aggressive attempt at guilt-tripping Sam back into the active service that Bobby himself is now incapable of. 'You're there, you're capable, what's stopping you?' is the gist of his argument.

It hurts to see Bobby's bitter depression, and it is easy to understand why he would resent Sam's decision to take a sabbatical from his hunting career. The Apocalypse is afoot and Bobby is absolutely itching to get back out there and do whatever he can to help preserve human life amid the angel-demon crossfire, but instead he has been benched by his disability. With his removal from active service having been been forced upon him against his will, it is only natural that he should be indignant to see a healthy young man like Sam choosing to step back from hunting just when his support in anti-Apocalyptic efforts is most needed. Moreover, Sam has chosen not to explain his decision to Bobby – chose not to inform him of it at all, in fact, so all Bobby knows is whatever Dean has told him, second-hand information.


As a man who claims to love Sam like a son and has seen with his own eyes the effect the demon blood addiction has had on him, Bobby should be more sympathetic. But as a fallible human being mired deep in depression over a newly acquired physical disability, his resentful reaction is understandable, and it hurts to see it.

Bobby does have something of a point. The planet doesn't stop turning just because one individual has got himself into trouble, and a lot of people manage to juggle recovery with going to work. Generally speaking, though, those people tend to have gone through some kind of rehabilitation before attempting to return to the workplace, which is what Sam is attempting right now. Sam's decision to withdraw from active service was not an easy one, and in the short term it does leave the hunters of America a man down, but it was nonetheless a very mature and wise decision, since he is a potential liability as things stand, whereas a full recovery will make him a lot more effective in the long-term. It is just that Bobby is in no frame of mind to recognise that. Still, however resentful he may feel of Sam's retreat, he is nonetheless treating him with a lot more respect in this conversation than he did the depressed and shell-shocked Dean in Lucifer Rising.

Sam heaves a big, sad sigh, remaining resolute in his determination not to get involved even with a case he found himself that is right on his doorstep, fearing that until such a time as he is satisfied with his own recovery, it is not safe for him to risk venturing anywhere near potential temptation. "I can't, Bobby. I'm sitting this one out."

"Sam –" Bobby begins to argue.

"I've got to go," Sam hurriedly interrupts. ""I'm so sorry."

"Hold on, Sam," Bobby protests, but Sam has already hung up. The bitter and deeply depressed Bobby flings his phone to the floor…although that is possibly a very bad move, since he will now have trouble retrieving it should anyone else call!

Poor Bobby.

Back in Garber, Oklahoma, Sam looks equally troubled, worrying at a thumbnail as he tries to decide whether or not he is doing the right thing.


Maine

Dean appears to have found himself another abandoned house to squat in, and drifts through it to the erstwhile lounge while leafing through John's journal, blatantly alone in the house. He sets the open journal down on a table near the front window…and then looks up to see that Castiel is now standing in a doorway that was empty just a second earlier, a rather ancient looking clay jug in his hand and an inscrutable expression on his face as he stares randomly off into a corner of the room.


But hey, at least he is obeying orders by not materialising three inches from Dean's face!

"Where've you been?" Dean immediately snaps.

Evidently Castiel is every bit as bad as Sam was last season for taking off without so much as a word of explanation. So much for teamwork. Castiel was the one who asked Dean to work with him on this investigation and, having agreed to help, Dean deserves to be paid the courtesy of being kept informed. He has had more than his fill of being kept on a need-to-know basis by the people he works with, with their general assumption being that he doesn't need to know anything.

"Jerusalem," Castiel intones, offering no more explanation for his errand than that.

"Oh, how was it?" snips the highly irritated Dean.

"Arid," Castiel concisely replies, placing the jug on the table and sitting on a handy nearby chair. Eyeing the jug sceptically, Dean asks what it is, and at last Castiel actually offers a snippet of information, although still not enough to actually be of any use. "It's oil. It's very special. Very rare."


"Great, we gonna trap Raphael with a nice vinaigrette?" Dean impatiently snarks.

"No," Castiel unhelpfully says.

Dean is exasperated. "So, this ritual of yours, when has it got to go down?" he presses. It's like pulling teeth, trying to get Castiel to communicate.

"Sunrise," says Castiel, who has apparently lost the ability to put together a complete sentence.

Dean processes. "Tell me something. You keep saying we're going to trap this guy, but isn't that a bit like trapping a hurricane with a butterfly net?"

"No, it's harder," intones Castiel, staring vaguely off into space.

"Do we have any chance of surviving this?" Dean asks, straight out. I like that he says 'we', emphasising that they are meant to be working as a team and are in this together, although it is worth remembering that Castiel has already assured him of his safety, believing that the archangel would not dare harm Michael's vessel.

Castiel looks him in the eye. "You do," he tiredly says. The implication is clear: he has no such expectations for himself, and doesn't really seem to care, either. He wants to do this. He's tired, he's got nothing left, his faith is faltering – getting himself killed trying to trap an archangel is hardly going to help the war effort or get him any closer to God, but he's past caring.

"So…odds are you're a dead man tomorrow," Dean concludes, somewhat blown away by the enormity of this plan, and Castiel agrees that he believes this to be the most likely outcome.


Dean doesn't really seem to know how to react – but he doesn't argue, let us note. He doesn't try to talk Castiel out of the plan, doesn't protest that it is foolhardy and reckless, or that, as I just mentioned, Castiel getting himself killed trying to trap an archangel won't get them any nearer either to God or to an end of the Apocalypse. Maybe he doesn't think it is his place to argue, not being entirely comfortable with his enigmatic angelic ally still, despite the undeniable bond that has formed between them. Maybe he is acknowledging Castiel's right to choose his own course of action, however suicidal, or the likelihood that even this lousy plan is the best chance they have yet hit upon of stopping the Apocalypse. Maybe he just feels that having promised his support he has to follow through come what may. Or maybe his lack of reaction has more to do with serving the direction the plot has been forced to follow. It is very hard to say.

"Wow," he murmurs. "Well, last night on earth. What are your plans?"

"I just thought I'd sit here quietly," says Castiel, sombre and contemplative, maybe because just sitting there quietly is all he can think to do – or maybe because it would simply never have occurred to him that he could do anything else with the time.

Dean lets his eyes wander over the dilapidated décor of the derelict house. It isn't the most ideal venue for anyone's last night of life. "Dude, come on – anything?" he wheedles. "Hmm? Booze, women…?"

…and this is the point at which this storyline effects a tonal shift so abrupt it almost gives me whiplash, dragging both characters out of character over the remainder of this scene and their next together, all for the sake of a cheap and unnecessary joke that does a disservice to both and is entirely out of keeping with the general tone of the episode. It makes sense that Dean would want his companion to have a good 'last' night before going into a potentially suicidal face-off with the archangel, but the way it is written is awkward in the extreme, twisting the situation to force the characters into a scenario the writers wanted to exploit for so-called humour, rather than flowing naturally to a more appropriate resolution.

Castiel flicks embarrassed side eyes in Dean's direction – and thus he is immediately out of character. Castiel is an angel, and it has been established that angels are basically sexless. Anna said as much when listing her reasons for wanting to become human. There is no reason whatsoever for Castiel to become embarrassed at the mention of women and sex, like an inexperienced teenager. He might be borrowing a human body, but he is not himself human. Physical relations are meaningless to a creature that is incorporeal and eternal and whose emotions are intellectual rather than physiological.

Reading between the lines of this self-conscious reaction, Dean is astounded. "You have been with a woman before? Right? Or an angel, at least?" he disbelieves. Castiel fidgets uncomfortably, and Dean is amused. "Do you mean to tell me you've never been up there doing a little cloud-seeding?"

Oh, come on, Show. Dean himself has made a point of how asexual angels are, so why would he even bring this up? Sex is not a function of angels and Dean knows it! This whole conversation is merely a clumsy attempt at setting up the sight gag to come, compromising the integrity of both character and established mythology in the process.

"I've never had occasion, okay," Castiel stiffly states. Never had occasion for what? Why would any angel ever 'have occasion' for sex? It has already been established that sex is not an angelic function, so implying now that it can be directly contradicts established mythology, purely for the sake of poking fun at Castiel's character. Anna found human intimacy fascinating, sure, but had to become human to experience it; merely possessing the body of a human is completely different. Castiel should be utterly indifferent and say, 'no, Dean. I'm an angel. I don't work like that'. This scenario is ridiculous and cheapens the whole episode, which has up till now managed to combine strong character work with humour that was both in keeping and flowed naturally from the situation.


Dean cannot believe what he is hearing. "All right," he decides, grabbing his coat. "There are two things I know for certain. One, Bert and Ernie are gay. Two, you are not going to die a virgin. Not on my watch. Let's go."

Okay. I can rationalise the scene, to a point. Dean comes across mostly as if he is subconsciously trying to humanise Castiel. He is missing Sam, Castiel is rather a poor replacement, and so he instinctively tries to find a level on which he can relate better to this bizarre and otherworldly new companion with whom his life has become so entangled. Struck as he is by the bleakness of Castiel's expectations, another reminder of the grim outlook of this Apocalypse for them all, he wants to do something utterly normal and human and stupid to try to forget about all their woes. Meanwhile, Castiel, as mentioned earlier, is clinging to Dean as his life raft in a stormy sea. He has rebelled against heaven and what it stands for, is lost and confused in the absence of God, and is searching for alternate guidance by which to pick his way through the troubled times in which he finds himself. He finds humans perplexing and wishes to understand them better. So far so understandable, however while this rationalisation makes some sense of Dean's sudden desire to see his companion get laid, Castiel's self-conscious reaction remains entirely out of keeping.

This storyline leaves a sour taste in my mouth all around. Besides all the issues of character and mythology inconsistency already noted, between this and the story of secretary Nancy in Jus in Bello, continually defined by her virginity alone, the impression is given that the writers of this show really have a bee in their bonnet about virginity in general, seeing it as a fundamentally bad thing, something that any virgin of age should be embarrassed about and rectify at the earliest opportunity, whether appropriate or not. And I dislike that they are again expressing this outlook through Dean's character. I mean, I get that he loves sex and thinks that everyone should have it and enjoy it, but this is taking it too far. It makes no character sense at all that he would even raise the subject with an angel, knowing them to be basically asexual – still less that he would raise it with Castiel, whose ascetic personality he knows so well.

Oklahoma

Sam is busily working away at the bar when three random rednecks wander in and greet him. "Hey, Sam."

Since he has established himself in his new life as 'Keith', Sam twitches and keeps his back turned, as if he hopes they will conveniently disappear if he doesn't acknowledge them – or at the very least that no one will realise they are talking to him. But it is too late, for as they call him again, more sharply for having been ignored, Lindsey turns curious eyes toward him. "Sam? What happened to Keith?"

As Sam reluctantly turns, the Lead Redneck looks chagrined, realising that he has blown his fellow hunter's cover. Sam feigns ignorance, but Lindsey is too sharp to be deterred, repeating that the other man called him Sam, which is not the name she knows him by.

Yeah. You'd expect hunters to be a little stealthier than to just shout Sam's name out across the bar. However much they do or don't know about the sabbatical he is taking from active service, they should all understand the principle of working undercover!

"Yeah. Uh…Sam's my middle name," Sam flounders, as awful at dissembling when put on the spot as ever.

Lindsey laughs out loud. "Keith Sam? Man, I'm sorry."

Lead Redneck absolutely does not have a name, at least not one that is spoken on-screen. So, since he has a fairly important role to play in this episode, let us call him Ronnie. Ronnie Redneck.

Ronnie Redneck tries to help dig Sam out of that hole. "Well, actually, it's Samuel," he offers. "So it's not quite as dumb as it sounds."


Accepting this, just about, Lindsey asks if they are all friends, and one of the other hunters cheerfully explains that they were hunting buddies with his dad, adding that "Samuel, here, is quite the hunter himself."

Yeah, funny how they greet and talk to Sam as if they know one another well, when we have never seen or heard of them before – and know only too well how little contact the Winchester boys have had with the wider hunting community over the last four seasons. Also, they really don't look old enough to be John's peers.

The hunters don't ask about Dean's whereabouts, incidentally, so clearly weren't expecting to find him with Sam, as would normally be the case. I wonder what Bobby told them about the brothers' separation.

"Wow," Lindsey drawls, unimpressed. "You kill deer and things?"

"Yeah, and things," Ronnie Redneck smiles, while Sam squirms.

Desperate to escape this conversation, Sam suggests that he get the men some drinks, and they are only too happy to agree to this suggestion.

As Sam brings the beers over and joins the men at their table, Ronnie Redneck apologises for busting him, but Sam brushes it off and asks what's up. Ronnie Redneck obligingly gets down to business, explaining that Bobby called them and that Sam was right, there's a major demon party going on. Sam wonders why, what they are up to – he might be taking a sabbatical, but his hunting instincts remain as sharp as ever, as does his intellectual curiosity. The other hunters explain that they don't know yet, adding that Bobby told them Sam was "off limits." Clearly deeply suspicious of this statement, they ask if it is true.

Sam fidgets, but tries to act nonchalant as he admits that it is right.

"That's fine in theory, and all," says Ronnie Redneck. "But we could really use all hands on deck, here."

The man does raise a pertinent issue: does a soldier have the right to take time out in the middle of a war of this magnitude? Maybe, maybe not – but we are way, way past the days when soldiers were executed for the 'crime' of being incapacitated by shell shock, thank goodness. There is an enormous difference between chickening out and thus leaving your comrades in the lurch and taking a leave of absence to recuperate from a condition that renders you incapable of effectively carrying out your duty.

However, these hunters don't know the full story behind Sam's retirement from active service, of course. All they know is that he looks perfectly fit and healthy and is offering no valid explanation for his refusal to help save lives right on his doorstep.

Sam is torn. "I know you could," he admits. "But I can't. I'm sorry."


The hunters want to know why not, exasperated that a highly skilled hunter with no visible incapacity should refuse to help out on a dangerous case like this, with the Apocalypse unfolding around them and all.

Sam fidgets some more, unable to tell the truth without incriminating himself. "It's personal," he hedges.

"Look, Sam, no offence," Ronnie Redneck presses. "But what baggage is so heavy it can't be stowed away for the freaking Apocalypse?"

Again, the man makes a good point – but again he has no idea. Sometimes a man's baggage really is that heavy and if it isn't dealt with it will break him. But then again, Dean's baggage was that heavy too, last season, and he was not allowed time or space to recover. Instead he was yelled at, berated and demeaned every time he stumbled beneath the weight of his trauma. Why should Sam be treated any differently?

Sometimes this show sends out uncomfortable messages.

Sam doesn't know what to say. He knows that these men need his help – heck, every hunter out there needs his help, his brother included. But he has made a decision to remove himself from all possible temptation until he gets his head straight again; this is his version of rehab and he is determined to stick with the programme, at least until he is a little surer of himself. He begins to offer the same weak excuses again, but the hunters are not impressed, although they can see that he is not going to change his mind however much pressure they apply.

Disappointed and frustrated, the hunters head on out again, grouchily declaring that there will be more demons for them in that case, although not so annoyed that they can't jovially insist that the drinks are on Sam when they get back – a deal he gladly agrees to, relieved that they are going to handle the case without pressuring him any further.

"So." Lindsey appears at Sam's side again, absolutely not about to let him off the hook. "Your parents were drunk when they named you and you shoot Bambi."

Sam looks very tired. "It's a long story," he attempts to dismiss, but Lindsey is having none of it.


"That is it," she declares, in tones that will brook no dissent. "Enough with the kung-fu, wandering the earth thing. I'm going to buy you dinner and we're going to talk."

Sam flounders, torn between being polite to someone he feels drawn to and who has taken an interest in him, and sticking to his resolve not to get involved with anyone in any way ever again. "Lindsey, I can't," he flails.

"No, the only way to avoid bloodshed is to say yes," Lindsey perkily insists.

Maine. Strip club

Dean has brought Castiel to a brothel in his determination to get the angel laid. I really dislike this scene. If Dean had simply taken Castiel out to a bar and bought him his first ever drink, tried to set him up with some girl they met there, that would have made a lot more sense to me. It would have been in character and could have led both to an entertaining scenario and to meaningful conversation between the two characters as they bonded over a drink. It would have been about human interaction, rather than merely the physical act of sex and how to achieve it as quickly and anonymously as possible. Bringing the angel to an actual brothel for the sole purpose of paying someone, anyone, to have cheap, meaningless sex with him takes the premise of 'getting the virgin angel laid' way too far, and I find it extremely tacky. The scene even has that wacky, jaunty music Show always employs when they want to make it absolutely clear that we are supposed to find something funny. The tone is completely out of keeping with the rest of the episode. I loathe it.

So. Dean is drinking beer and looking thoroughly amused. Castiel, sitting opposite, looks absolutely petrified. Dean urges him to relax.


"This is a den of iniquity," Castiel hisses. "I should not be here."

"Dude, you full on rebelled against heaven," Dean cheerfully protests. "Iniquity is one of the perks."

One of the girls wanders over, wearing a skimpy white negligee and a big smile, and homes in on Castiel as her potential client exactly as if she'd been primed in advance. This kind of open, brazen prostitution was presented as a neon sign that something was wrong in Sin City, yet here indulging in a hooker is presented as little different than having a pint after work, and I find that repellent. I expect so much more from the show than this. It isn't funny. It is sleazy and tasteless. This show is meant to be a drama, not a third-rate so-called comedy revolving around sex and toilet gags. It is possible for a drama to be light-hearted and humorous without being vulgar and juvenile, but unfortunately Supernatural does not always recognise that distinction.

The prostitute asks Castiel's name. Castiel cringes and cowers and can't take his eyes off her body, like a hormone-ridden 12 year old who has never seen a half-naked woman before. Highly amused, Dean introduces his friend as Cas. The prostitute announces herself as Chastity. Castiel keeps staring, supping frantically at his beer as if in search of fortitude.

You know, I'm not actually sure that beer should have any effect on an angel. Again, that body isn't actually his, he is merely borrowing it – the body and the angel are two separate things. It has been demonstrated that angels don't need food or drink, as they are able to sustain their host bodies mystically, and it has also been established that damage inflicted upon the host bodies does not affect the angel within and can be miraculously healed within moments. Therefore it stands to reason that they should also be unable to become intoxicated – the chemical effect that alcohol has on the host body should have no impact on the angel whatsoever, however much it may or may not comfort Castiel to attempt to indulge.

Dean is hugely entertained by the girl's 'name', declaring it kismet. "Well, he likes you and you like him, so…dayenu!" he enthuses.

Chastity takes Castiel's hand to lead him away, but then Dean thinks of something and jumps up to thrust a handful of notes into the angel's hand, cautioning him to say no to any requests for a credit card and to stick to the basics rather than 'ordering off the menu'. "Go get her, tiger. Don't make me push you."


Castiel meekly follows Chastity off into the private rooms, and Dean is left to admire the view back in the bar, scantily-clad women everywhere.

There are many reasons why I dislike this scene so much. It exists purely to provide cheap, meaningless so-called comic relief, compromising the integrity of character and mythology to achieve this. It is entirely superficial, with no redemptive substance whatsoever, wasting valuable screen time that could have been better spent on a quiet moment of honest and open bonding between the characters, developing them as individuals and building on the tentative relationship that has established between them. The scene smacks of a group of male nerds locked away in a basement together, giggling over the mental image of an angel in a brothel like a bunch of schoolboys and caring more about finding a way to set up that crude, one-off joke than about plausibility or characterisation, and frankly I expect more from the writers of this show than that.

The actors do their best with the material, but both have been written out of character to force them into this scenario, and even the best acting in the world cannot change that. As already stated, Castiel's deer-in-headlights demeanour does not ring true for me in the slightest. It makes no sense in terms of what he is: an incorporeal being that is not defined in terms of either physicality or sexuality; and it makes no sense in terms of who he is: an intense and high-minded individual who might be intrigued by human impulses but does not share them. Cowering in a corner like this, sweaty and afraid at the sight of a scantily-clad woman, embarrassed to confess his 'virginity' and gulping at alcohol to steady his nerves…it just isn't Castiel. The Castiel we have known for more than a season now might blink at his surroundings in some confusion as he attempts to go along with Dean's idea in the spirit of exploring this strange friendship they have struck up, or he might protest being brought here with righteous indignation, or he might simply remain oblivious – but what he would not do is behave like this.

It is possible that this is a clumsy attempt at 'humanising' the 'alien' character, but aside from how poorly characterised the effort is, it is a tired and well-worn trope in television already and I have no interest in seeing Castiel taken down that road, especially if only for comic effect. Castiel's ethereal, otherworldly nature is one of his most fascinating characteristics, providing as it does such a strong contrast with Dean's very physical, earthy character, and I should hate to lose that. He doesn't need to become more human, because he isn't human; that is the whole point of the character. It would be far more interesting to watch him becoming a wiser version of who and what he already is, and that is a process this scenario does nothing whatsoever to promote.

It is equally out of character for Dean to bring his angelic companion to a brothel and pay someone to have sex with him. I can appreciate him wanting to take his friend's mind off the prospect of maybe dying at dawn, but the notion of bringing him to a brothel to achieve that…it is just flat out wrong. Yes, Dean loves sex. Yes, Dean feels strongly that sex is something that everyone should experience and enjoy at least once in their life, if not as often as possible. Yes, Dean loves to ogle women and will flirt with anything in a skirt. But there is a very big 'but' attached to all that, even aside from the fact that Dean has not actually seemed all that interested in sex at all lately anyway, heavily weighed down by his trauma as he has been, not to mention preoccupied by the Apocalypse. It has been established that Dean does not pay for sex; he was offended by the mere suggestion that he might in Sin City. Why, then, would he be so keen to pay for someone else to have sex? Because it is the quickest way to get the job done, skipping the whole 'getting to know you' stage, and because the physical act of having sex is the only thing that matters? Please.

Paying for sex makes it a business transaction. It is all about the physical act of intercourse, cold and impersonal, rather than being in any way meaningful. For Dean, on the other hand, sex has always been about taking pleasure in forming a connection with another human being, however brief. He enjoys the flirting as much as he does the actual sex because he loves women for who they are, not merely for what he can get from them. The beauty of that intimacy, earned through the entire wooing process rather than merely the end product of getting his leg over, is why he believes that everyone should experience it at least once – the sex coming about because the two individuals have mutually agreed that they like one another enough to have sex, rather than being bought. That kind of intimacy is exactly what would not be achieved in circumstances like this. Castiel and Chastity barely even exchanged names before heading out to the back room to get physical. No flirting, no foreplay, no affection of any kind and no connection, merely a grubby little business transaction.

That simply isn't how Dean operates. He is a ladies man, not a sleaze. Presenting him here as someone who knows all the ins and outs of dealing with a prostitute (no credit card, don't order off the menu) as if it is something he does all the time is grossly out of character, and presents him in an extremely negative and seedy light. Not to mention that practically forcing someone to do something they clearly do not want to do, as Dean does with the nervous and deeply unwilling Castiel here, is equally out of character. Leaving aside the issue of angelic sexlessness for a moment, the Dean I have known for the past four seasons would have taken his friend to a bar and maybe tried to set him up with a girl they met there, delivering a lesson in human interaction (and flirting) in the process; he would not bring him to a brothel and physically shove him into the arms of someone he has paid to have sex with him.

Bottom line, this scenario is out of character for both Dean and Castiel, inconsistent with angelic mythology as previously established on this show, a lot seedier than I ever wanted to see regular character behave on this show, and completely unnecessary, wasting valuable screen time on a cheap, one-off joke that isn't funny, time that would have been better spent on character and/or plot development. I really, really loathe it.

A short while later, Dean is enjoying a drink with a pretty girl – and that is a lot more in character for Dean, to buy the girl a drink and sit flirting with her, rather than simply pay her to have sex with him.

Suddenly a scream rings out and Dean sprints to the back rooms to see what is wrong. He finds Chastity screeching at Castiel to get away from her and leave her alone. She then stomps away, yelling at Dean, too, for good measure. Bewildered, Dean turns to Castiel for an explanation, wondering what the hell he did…heh, and the way he spreads his hands in incomprehension is highly reminiscent of the character Jensen Ackles played in Dark Angel, which distracts me for a moment. That is an Alec gesture rather than a Dean gesture!


Castiel frowns, equally confused, and says that he doesn't know what he did to upset the girl. "I just looked at her in the eyes and told her it wasn't her fault that her father, Gene, ran off," he puzzles. "It was because he hated his job at the post office."

From what I have read, a number of viewers were confused by this exchange, wondering why the prostitute would be so insecure as to react so badly to the mere mention of her father. I would like, therefore, to point out for the record that it wasn't the mention of her father that freaked her out – it was having a complete stranger knowing her life history that she understandably found deeply unnerving! Castiel saw a soul in pain and attempted to reach out, which is far more in character for him than his nervous behaviour in the bar. He never has grasped that the whole reading minds thing is intensely creepy to humans, however. Dean has got used to it now, but he still doesn't like it, and Dean understands who and what Castiel is – an advantage 'Chastity' did not have. No wonder she was so freaked.

Instead of pointing out that humans in general tend to be deeply discomfited when people go around randomly reading their minds, Dean rolls his eyes and groans, "Oh no, man. This whole industry runs on absent fathers. It's the natural order."

Seriously, Show? On top of all the character inconsistencies already perpetrated by this scenario, not to mention the vulgarity of it, now the poor taste is compounded by this casual claim that the sex industry 'runs on absent fathers' and that it is okay to take advantage of this? And the message we are supposed to take from this is that paying to have sex with someone you know to be damaged is better than remaining a virgin? I despise this scenario and everything it both says and implies.

Seeing a couple of beefy bouncers come to see what is going on, Dean hustles Castiel out the back way.

Outside

As Dean and Castiel make their way out into an alley alongside the club, Dean is pretty much falling about laughing.

Castiel is perplexed – and I love his body language here, studying Dean closely in a vain attempt to understand. But he isn't human. He can't understand. "What's so funny?" he wants to know.

Dean throws a companiable arm around Castiel's shoulder as he struggles to stop laughing and get his breathing back under control.


"Oh, nothing," he dismisses, guiding the angel back to the Impala. "It's been a long time since I've laughed that hard." Pausing at the driver's door, his amusement fades as a hint of bleakness creeps back into his eyes. "It's been more than a long time," he realises. "Years."

It is good to see Dean laughing so hard, since we rarely if ever get to see such merriment from him these days. There is an edge of hysteria to that laughter, however – a huge amount of pent-up emotion finding an outlet as the sheer ridiculousness of both the immediate situation and his life in general suddenly hits him hard – an angel and an angel's prospective vessel, both of them hunted by heaven and hell alike, running away from a pair of human meatheads because the angel insulted a hooker. Sometimes you simply have to laugh. It's either that or cry.

As for his claim that he hasn't laughed that hard in years…it makes me think with great sorrow of those decades that he spent in hell. There have been fun times since he got back, but they have been few and far between and no doubt drowned out by all the bad memories currently so fresh and raw. It is hardly surprising that he is struggling to see past all the bad things that have happened to him lately in order to remember the precious few good moments. He needed this, needed a really good belly laugh to remind him that it is still possible to have fun in spite of everything.

The set up for that laugh, however, was horribly forced and thus the joke falls flat for me. I maintain that it would have been far more in character – not to mention far better taste – for Dean to have simply taken Castiel out for a drink and tried to set him up with a girl they met at the bar. A jealous boyfriend and his buddies could then have run them out of the bar, thus ending in exactly the same outcome without having to twist the characters into such an unnecessarily crude and implausible scenario.

Oklahoma. Diner

Lindsey has been as good as her word, taking Sam out someplace for dinner, the better to grill him regarding his mysterious past.

"So…you going to tell me who those guys back there really were?" she asks by way of opening salvo. "And don't say hunting buddies," she adds, seeing the words not so much drift across Sam's face as clearly as if he had spoken them.

What I like about Lindsey is that she isn't just being randomly nosy just for the sake of being nosy. Her physical attraction to Sam was made clear from the start, and she has since come to regard him as a mystery that she hopes to solve, sure, but there is more to it than that. Having been observing him for a while now, it is clear that she has recognised him as a soul in pain and that sets off alarm bells for her. She is intelligent and empathetic and wants to at least try to help him somehow, which she can't do without understanding the source of his pain.

Sam snorts, and visibly searches for an edited version of the truth that might be acceptable to her, or at least not sound too crazy.


"We used to be in the same business together," he offers at length, and Lindsey immediately asks what business. Sam opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, completely unable to come up with a suitably plausible lie on the spur of the moment, and then ducks the question completely, not even trying to hide the evasion. "How's your salad?"

Lindsey glances down at her salad, and then back at Sam with a knowing and highly amused smirk. "Witness protection, right?" she guesses, leaning toward him confidentially. "You're Mafia?"

Sam just about manages not to laugh out loud as he assures her that he is not Mafia.

Lindsey rolls her eyes and backs off. "Okay, I get it. I don't mean to pry. My bad."

Having had the pressure thus removed, giving him a little breathing space, Sam relents a little. He is drawn to Lindsey in spite of all his best intentions. Confident and independent, she is the kind of woman Sam has always been attracted to and represents the kind of human normality that he desires so much. Moreover, Sam does need an outlet, needs to be able to talk to someone about what he is going through and why. As an outsider, completely neutral and unbiased, yet also someone who cares enough to be willing to listen, Lindsey offers the best chance he is likely to get to unburden himself a little.

Plus, Lindsey has inadvertently fallen into a pattern that we have seen with Sam and Dean many times: if Sam needs to talk something through, he might resist initial offers to hear him out, but nearly always then backtracks and opens up once the door has been cracked for him to do so.

However, translating his experience into terms Lindsey might understand, or at least that won't freak her out, is not the easiest task in the world, of course. Sam wrestles with himself for a moment, trying to find the right words.

"I used to be in business with my brother," he says, honestly enough. "Truth is I was pretty good at the job. But…I made some mistakes. You know – I did some stuff I'm not so proud of. And…people got hurt. A lot of people."


This is hard for Sam to say, but he makes himself say it anyway – no self pity, just a simple, honest statement of fact: this happened and it was my bad. It is good, healthy progress. It has been a long, long time since we saw Sam genuinely opening up to anyone.

It is worth mentioning that this statement here, that Sam used to be in business with his brother, is the only time in the episode – aside from his scrolling to Dean's number earlier – that he refers to his brother at all. He places no emphasis on Dean as one of the people that he hurt, or as someone who was especially hurt, or as any kind of priority at all. It is right that Sam is focused on fixing his own problems first, to get himself into a fit state of mind for true atonement, and would be right for him to prioritise the apocalypse (if he were working toward that end at all). But it would also be nice to be given a sense that repairing his relationship with his brother is also one of his goals, and something he understands he will have to work hard at after the way he behaved toward Dean last season.

Lindsey sips her water as she regards his downcast face for a moment, weighing up what he has told her and drawing her own conclusions

"What was your poison?" she quietly asks, and Sam is confused by the question. "Come on," she coaxes. "You were hooked on something, I know the look." Sam still seems reluctant to take his confession that far, so she pulls a small AA medallion out of a pocket and shows him. "Three years sober," she says with mingled pride and regret – pride that she has remained sober for so long and regret that it has been necessary.


Sam is startled by this admission. "You work in a bar," he points out.

"So do you," Lindsey laughs, and she makes a good point, since she doesn't know that Sam's problem was not alcohol related – and most drugs, too, can be acquired in and around bars.

Since Sam can't exactly clarify that point, he merely snorts.

"Look…'Keith'," Lindsey offers, making air quotes around the name she knows to be suspect. "I don't know you, and I'm the last person to be giving advice, but I do know that no one has ever done anything so bad that they can't be forgiven – that they can't change."

This is good advice, words that Sam desperately needs to hear, living as he is with the burden of the entire Apocalypse on his shoulders – whether rightly or wrongly, he holds himself responsible for it and the guilt is crippling. As an outsider unaware of the full details of his guilt, Lindsey is ideally placed to offer him generic words of hope, a life jacket of potential forgiveness for him to cling to in stormy seas. Equally, the unexpected parallel that Lindsey, as a recovered alcoholic, provides to his situation offers him the beginnings of much-needed hope for recovery from his own addiction, which was something we saw him struggling with in Good God, Y'All, especially with War's mocking words ringing in his ears.

The temptation that Sam experienced in Good God, Y'All, confronted by what he believed to be demon blood for the first time since renouncing it, was so overwhelming that it sent him fleeing into this self-imposed isolation, convinced that his continued craving for the sensations instilled by the blood rendered him a threat to anyone and everyone around him. The notion of rehabilitation remains a good one, but there needs to be a target built into it, a goal to work toward. Without that it is merely running away from the problem, as Sam has been accused.


So far Sam has been floundering a little. Having taken the first step of removing himself from the situation in which his problem arose in order to take a long, hard look at himself, he does not seem to have looked or planned any further ahead than that. Just how much self-reflection has taken place since he installed himself at Hoyt's Bar is anyone's guess, since for all the introspection of his scenes in this episode we haven't been given much in the way of insight into his thought processes to understand what progress, if any, he has made. What Lindsey is showing him in this scene is the target he now needs to start building toward, the hope that by taking responsibility for his problem and making an active choice to change he can eventually achieve some kind of peace with which to return to his normal life. The inner strength that she demonstrates, and her ability to master her temptation even while surrounded by it on a daily basis, presents Sam with an enormously positive example to aspire toward. It offers him a new perspective on his situation, and hopefully can instil in him the confidence he needs to believe in his ability to achieve the recovery he desires.

It isn't going to be easy, and Lindsey certainly is not saying that it is. Recovering from an addiction of any kind is tremendously difficult. It requires daily exertion of will over temptation, some days harder than others, each day a victory in and of itself, but it can be done, with each of those daily victories building on the last. The example Lindsey offers here says that Sam should be proud of how far he has already come in the scant few days or weeks since he last drank demon blood, and that it is possible for him to build on the strength he has already demonstrated and continue to use it in his ongoing struggle to find inner peace.

St Peter's Hospital. Maine

Perky comedy music signals that we have shifted away from Sam's sombre, contemplative story back to the wacky antics of Dean and Castiel once more, despite the fact that this scene really does not really match the tone of that music at all.

Lurking outside Donny Finneman's room, Dean admires a passing nurse, and then when she is out of sight quickly ducks inside the room and closes the blinds for privacy.

Castiel is already in position, carefully pushing Donny's wheelchair into the centre of the room. He then picks up his jug of oil and pours it in a wide circle onto the floor around the wheelchair, explaining, "When the oil burns, no angel can touch or pass through the flames or he dies."


"Okay. So we catch him in a steel cage of holy fire," Dean notes. "But, uh – one question. How the hell do we get him here?"

"There's…well, almost an open phone line," says Castiel, placing the empty jug down on the windowsill. "Between a vessel and his angel. One just has to know how to dial."

That's an interesting emphasis that Castiel uses there, 'a vessel and his angel', giving possession to the vessel. Angels in general on this show tend not to see it in quite that light – they would term it rather as an angel and his vessel, since they see the vessel as theirs by right rather than the other way around. Castiel has been hanging out with humans a lot lately, with Dean in particular, and it is changing the way that he thinks.

Leaning in close to Donny's ear, Castiel intones a long and guttural chant that pretty much sounds like a long string of random syllables, which he tops off with a viciously hissed, "I'm here, Raphael. Come and get me, you little bastard."


Man, there is an awful lot of hatred crammed in there. Castiel claimed earlier that this was not about vengeance, but although he may have wanted to believe that was true, it is pretty clear that it was not – I'm not sure that Castiel himself understands how much his anger and fear are informing his decision-making processes, self-determination being so very new to him. He has offered no compelling argument whatsoever as to why this particular archangel should have any more idea of God's current location than anyone else, and without such evidence this action is foolhardy in the extreme, the risks far outweighing any faint hope of possible benefits.

Whether Castiel realises it or not, his decision to pursue Raphael in the faint hope of wresting useful information from him is very much based on the prospect of attaining some kind of revenge, rather than on logic – revenge for far more than Castiel's execution at Raphael's hands, for that matter. Castiel feels that his people betrayed him. They manipulated him, lied to him, abused his trust and obedience, led him astray from the path of righteousness, pressured him into aiding and abetting a strategy he knew to be abhorrent, punished him when he first contemplated disobedience and then had him killed when he finally stood up for what he believed to be right. As a result he finds himself cast loose from everything he has known and believed in for his millennia-long existence, alone and very afraid, without the first clue how best to proceed now that the decision is his alone to make. No, Castiel has a lot of rage bubbling away beneath the surface and it is not a sensation he has ever really had to deal with before.

We have never heard Castiel swear before, and as well as being a sign of the intensity of his anger, it perhaps also stands as a symbol of how his involvement with Dean is influencing him – that he is subconsciously replacing the morals of heaven, which he now sees as suspect, with the more questionable moral standard of his new ally, who he now sees as having considerably more integrity.

Throughout this little archangel-summoning spiel, Dean watches Castiel closely with thoughtful appraisal and a dash of concern. This is not a side of Castiel that Dean has experienced often, although he has seen it before – has had a taste of that anger directed at him, even, on the occasions when Castiel verbally smacked him down for disrespect. The angel has a temper and can be intensely unpredictable, and after their wacky shenanigans earlier Dean has abruptly been reminded of those facts. And he is also, no doubt, anticipating just about anything that might happen around about now, with the archangel having been summoned and Castiel not expecting to survive the process and all.

"Just out of curiosity, what is the average customer wait time to speak to an archangel?" Dean snarks to mask his discomfort. Heh! It is both flippant and a serious question – how long do they have before the archangel might reasonably be expected to show up?

"Be ready," cautions Castiel, lighting a match and dropping it, setting his circle of oil alight, surrounding and trapping the helpless and unresponsive Donny.


Okay, so the circle of flame is very impressive and all – but shouldn't it set off the hospital's fire alarm and sprinkler system?

Castiel stands and stares into the flames. Nearby, Dean watches and frets. He promised his support and is giving it, but he is deeply concerned and rightly so.

Street. Night

Some unspecified time later, the Impala pulls up outside the derelict house Dean has found to squat in; through the windows, we see that he has left the lights on ready to come home to.

Evidently the whole Raphael-summoning excursion to the hospital was a complete bust. The archangel never showed. I hope they remembered to extinguish the fire before they left.

Inside

As Dean leads the way back into the house, Castiel suddenly calls out a warning and pushes ahead of him – and at that moment the house lights up, intense blue-white bolts of electricity streaming into and around the wrecked body of Donny Finneman, which stands in the middle of the lounge, slowly straightening up. The streams of electricity arc and dance through the air, forming the shape of a pair of wings anchored to the man's upper back, until at length all the lights and electrical outlets in the house explode and the house is suddenly plunged into darkness.


Dean and Castiel stare at the man in some alarm as he solemnly greets Castiel by name. Castiel doesn't quite manage to keep his voice from shaking somewhat as he likewise greets the archangel. "Raphael."

"I thought you were supposed to be impressive," snarks Dean as the dynamic duo cautiously step into the room. "All you do is black out the room?"

"And the eastern seaboard," Raphael intones, and, okay, that is slightly more impressive. Also? Man, he has a deep voice!

Dean promptly peers out of the window as if he thinks he can see this mammoth blackout from there.

Thunder and lightning begin to crash as an almighty storm blows up out of nowhere, another demonstration of the archangel's might. Raphael turns his attention back upon Castiel. "It is a testament to my unending mercy that I don't smite you here and now," he impassively menaces.

This is why Castiel was so afraid of the plan he had resolved upon. This is the archangel who killed him, and it is free to do whatever the hell it wishes, rather than being trapped as he had hoped. It is an intensely dangerous moment.

"Or maybe you're full of crap," growls Dean as he carefully begins to move across the room, determinedly and deliberately calling the archangel's attention back upon himself and away from Castiel. "Maybe you're afraid that God will bring Cas back to life again, and smite you, you candy-ass skirt." The archangel stares at him, dispassionate, and Dean raises a hand and offers an insolent little wave. "By the way, hi – I'm Dean."


"I know who you are," Raphael calmly declares, not even paying Dean the courtesy of looking him in the eye, and Dean is discomfited to hear this. "And now thanks to him I know where you are," the archangel adds with grim satisfaction.

"You won't kill him," Castiel protests, appalled by the implied threat, because he had genuinely believed that Dean's status as Michael's vessel would protect him, had promised that he would be safe. "You wouldn't dare," he insists, but the fear in his eyes belies his bravado.

"But I will take him to Michael," Raphael smirks, and whether this prospect had occurred to either of them beforehand or not, hearing it spoken aloud is chilling, confirming that Dean is in every bit as much danger here as Castiel is, albeit a different kind: a fate potentially far worse than death. Castiel's confidence in Dean's safety was a miscalculation.

Dean's dread at the mere thought of being spirited away by the archangel is clear, but he too manages to maintain his bravado, as he steps over to the fireplace to extract a beer from a cooler. "Well, that sounds terrifying," he mocks. "It does. "But, uh, I hate to tell you, I'm not going anywhere with you."

Pulling the top off the beer bottle, he actually manages to turn his back on the archangel to take a swig, a demonstration of his stated nonchalance – and also a very bold move, turning his back on such a dangerous opponent. But with his eyes averted, his fear is plain – he is terrified. Archangels are fierce and absolute, heaven's most terrifying weapon, Castiel once told him. This particular archangel has already killed Castiel once and could easily do so again. He could drag Dean off to parts unknown in the blink of an eye and no one would ever find him again, leaving him entirely at the mercy of angels such as Zachariah, who has already demonstrated the lengths he is prepared to go to in order to force Dean to say yes to Michael, and this time there would be no possibility of rescue or escape. Having endured decades of unimaginable torture in hell, he knows only too well where his breaking points lie, yet also knows only too well the enormity what is at stake if he broke on this occasion – not to mention that he has just seen what lies in store for him, personally, if he allows an archangel to possess him. All in all, terrified is probably too mild a word to use, in fact!


"Surely you remember Zachariah giving you stomach cancer," Raphael taunts, and, with his back still turned to the archangel, Dean's eyes are bleak. He remembers, all right, and it is a painful memory, although doubtless far from the most painful experience he has endured.

Dean forces himself to turn back around and face the archangel, plastering a big, fake smile on his face, as he blusters, "Yeah, that was hilarious." Terrified is too mild a word to use, and yet he is absolutely not prepared to back down, or even to allow Raphael to see his fear.


"Yes, well, he doesn't have anything close to my imagination," Raphael menaces, stepping toward Dean, who somehow manages to resolutely hold his ground, despite being potentially just seconds away from yet another angelic abduction, because luring the archangel into a very particular spot in the room is all part of a very dangerous plan that Dean and Castiel have cooked up…

"Oh yeah," Dean snips, tense and afraid but also determined, still very deliberately keeping the archangel's attention focused on himself all the while, but shooting measured and appraising little side eyes toward Castiel on the other side of the room, ignored by the archangel, checking that he is ready. "I bet you didn't imagine one thing. […] We knew you were coming, you stupid son of a bitch."

With that, Raphael having been so carefully lured into the exact right spot by Dean, yet again using himself as bait, Castiel – so completely disregarded by the archangel – whips out a lighter, ignites it and drops it…onto a pre-laid circle of oil, which bursts into flame.

The hurricane has been successfully trapped in that butterfly net after all: the archangel is contained. Hurrah for careful contingency planning!


The storm continues to rage outside, as Raphael is filled with stone-cold fury at having been tricked and trapped, turning his wrathful gaze upon a wide-eyed Dean, who protests, "Don't look at me, it was his idea."

Thus dropped right in it – as if Raphael couldn't have guessed anyway – Castiel glares at Dean, and then both refocus their attention upon the captive archangel. "Where is he?" Castiel demands.

"God?" Raphael intones. "Didn't you hear? He's dead, Castiel. Dead."

Castiel and Dean exchange confused and dismayed frowns.


Oklahoma. Bar

Sam is alone clearing up the bar after closing when Ronnie Redneck comes in.

Presumably some time has passed since Sam's dinner date with Lindsey, then – sufficient time for at least another night at work, sufficient time for Ronnie Redneck and the other hunters to investigate the demonic omens Sam discovered. Since the events Dean and Castiel's investigation into Raphael seem to be taking place within the space of no more than 24 hours at most, clearly the stories of the two brothers in this episode are not running concurrently. Although they are being shown to us side by side, their respective scenes are not, in fact, taking place on the same day at all.

Ronnie Redneck shuffles hesitantly into the bar with the air of a man in deep shock, battered and bruised and bloody. "Is there something you want to tell me, Sam?" he quietly asks.

"What? No," Sam immediately denies, eyeing the man's dishevelled form with some alarm.

"You sure about that?" Ronnie Redneck presses.

"I don't under–" Now that the man is closer, Sam can see his bloodstained features more clearly and grows concerned. "Jeez. Are you okay? Where are Reggie and Steve?"


Right, so Reggie and Steve are given names, despite the fact that neither one says more than two lines in the episode, but Ronnie Redneck, who has a fairly large role to play, remains nameless.

"Oh, Steve's good," Ronnie Redneck mutters, still far, far too calm – the calm that comes before the storm. "He's, uh – his guts are laying roadside outside the Five and Dime." Sam understands and is deeply dismayed at the thought that a fellow hunter lost his life investigating a case Sam had referred to him, immediately says how sorry he is, but Ronnie Redneck is not interested in condolences. "Sorry don't cut it, Sam," he snaps, and Sam isn't sure what the man wants him to say. Ronnie Redneck knows a good place for him to begin: "The truth!"

Sam blinks at him in utter incomprehension.

"Okay, fine," says Ronnie Redneck. "Let me give you some of my own, then. We go into town, we catch ourselves a demon, we get jumped by ten more. Steve bought it."

"I'm sorry," Sam sincerely repeats. It could have been him and Dean, in different circumstances – every hunter faces the prospect of bloody death, just about every day of his or her life. But Sam referred this case to these hunters rather than investigate it himself. They asked for his help and he refused because he was afraid to face demons again so soon into his recovery. He isn't responsible for what happened to them, but that won't make him feel any better about it – and won't stop them blaming him, either.

"Saying it twice don't make it so, Sam," Ronnie Redneck angrily dismisses. "You see, this demon, he told us things – crazy things, things about you, Sam."

"Demons lie," Sam is quick to snap, fearing the worst, but the worst thing is that Sam's defensiveness here is also a lie, because he knows enough to know that in this case the demon will have been telling the truth, that truth being more damaging than any lie. He is right to be afraid and right to try to defend himself, right to try to conceal a truth that will be impossible to explain or for any outsider to understand, but it is still nonetheless a lie.


"Yeah?" Ronnie Redneck disbelieves. "I'm going to ask you one last time. The truth. Now!"

Before Sam can say anything either in confession or continued denial, the door opens again and Redneck Reggie comes to join his comrade – dragging a terrified Lindsey at knifepoint!

Sam is shocked and alarmed, as well he should be. These hunters have now crossed a very important line. Up until now they have seemed reasonable enough men, dedicated to what they do, unhappy at Sam's refusal to help but willing to give him his space when he insisted, but they have now crossed that line – over and over on this show, the average hunter keeps being portrayed as borderline sociopathic, just as Bela once accused. These ones have been sorely pressed, sure, having just been through a deeply traumatic experience and seeing their friend killed, but still. Whether they realise it or not, what Sam did last season is not so different from their actions here. It is such a fine line to balance and so easy to fall astray.

Maine. Squat

"But there's no other explanation," Raphael solemnly intones in support of his belief that God is dead. "He's gone for good."

"You're lying," Castiel spits.


"Am I? Do you remember the twentieth century?" Raphael calmly counters. "Think the twenty-first is going any better? You think God would have let any of that happen, if he were alive?"

This has become a regular theme on this show, this assumption that God's role in the universe is to step in to clean up the mess his creation has made of itself and to impose peace and order externally. The only real way to achieve that, however, would be to remove everyone's free will, because for as long as even a single individual retains that free will, there will always be the danger that they will make a bad choice and that others will be hurt as a result. With free will comes great responsibility, whether each individual understands and accepts that or not.

It is interesting to recall that season four of Angel (among others, of course) played on much the same theme, demonstrating that the kind of peace that resulted from the removal of mankind's free will was abhorrent, and stating that every individual has the right to their own mind and choices, even if those choices are bad ones. I suspect that Supernatural's take on the theme will eventually play out to much the same conclusion.

Dean gathers his bravado around him. "Oh, yeah? Well then, who invented the Chinese basket trick?" he sneers.

"Careful. That's my father you're talking about, boy," menaces Raphael.

"Yeah, who would be so proud to know that his sons started the frigging Apocalypse," growls Dean, too angry to be intimidated any longer.


"Who ran off and disappeared," Raphael argues. "Who left no instructions and a world to run."

Dean lifts an eyebrow, scathing. "So daddy ran off and disappeared – didn't happen to work for the post office, did he?"

Meh, thanks for that anvil to the head, Show. So damaged people sometimes result from households with absentee parents, do they? I never would have guessed. So, clearly, this is what the brothel scene was meant to convey, some kind of clumsy parallel and commentary on absent parents and damaged offspring. It makes for a poor analogy, however – Dean's own history works much better, and could have been utilised as far more effective a parallel. After all, he was left in a similar position many times, with John absent and Dean left to care for his younger sibling, not always knowing where his father was or when he might return. Unlike the angels, however, and aside from one childish slip-up, Dean always honoured his responsibility rather than abrogate it, however much of a strain it placed on him to have to constantly care for his brother. If that comparison had been played out in it would have strengthened this episode significantly, as well as building in development of the damaged Dean-Sam relationship, which in fact is barely touched on for either brother in the episode.

"This is funny to you?" Raphael chides. "You're living in a Godless universe." He looks genuinely distraught at the thought of it, far more convincing a conveyance of angelic despair at their Father's absenteeism than Zachariah's empty posturing. The actor does an excellent job.

"And?" Dean snips. "What, you and the other kids just decided to throw an Apocalypse while he's gone?"


Now that's a neat parallel, casting the angels as rowdy, rebellious teenagers getting a taste of freedom and throwing a wild party because they don't know how else to handle it.

"We're tired," says Raphael, very simply, and his genuine weariness is palpable, lending him a vulnerability and pathos that we never see in the manipulative Zachariah. "We just want it to be over. We just want Paradise."

He looks to Castiel as he speaks, and they share a long look of understanding. They may find themselves on opposite sides now, but they remain brother angels, sharing much the same experience during their millennia long existence of duty and obedience.

What no one has ever really explained, however, is exactly how the carnage of this Apocalypse is supposed to lead to paradise!

"So, what? God dies and makes you the boss and you think you can do whatever you want?" Dean fumes, outraged.


"Yes!" Raphael passionately declares. "And whatever we want, we get!"

With that, the windows blow in, showering Dean and Castiel with glass, and they duck defensively as the full force of the storm hits them.

Oklahoma. Bar

"Just take it easy, okay," Sam tensely cautions, seeing Lindsey being held hostage at knifepoint. "Put the knife down."


Ronnie Redneck nods for Reggie to comply, and he does, laying the knife down on the bar, but keeping a firm hold on Lindsey, maintaining the upper hand.

With the danger to Lindsey less immediate, Sam concedes. "It's true. What the demons said – it's all true," he quietly confirms, not even needing to hear exactly what the demons did say, because he can guess.

"Keep going," Ronnie Redneck harshly presses.

"Why?" Sam objects. "You going to hate me any less? Am I going to hate myself any less? What do you want?"

While Lindsey frowns at Sam in terrified confusion, Ronnie Redneck snarls, "I want to hear you say it."

Sam's lip curls, self-loathing written all over his face as he finally manages to spit the words out. "I did it. I started the Apocalypse."


It remains as true as it always has been that Sam merely broke the final Seal and that there were 65 before it, all of which contributed to the start of the Apocalypse, but Ronnie and Reggie here are not going to care for such technicalities any more than Sam himself does. It is clear that Sam remains fixated on the breaking of that final Seal as the symbol of his catastrophic failure, taking full responsibility for the Apocalypse it triggered onto his own shoulders and unable to see past his overwhelming guilt.

What is also clear is that until now the full story of how the Apocalypse came about has remained a closely guarded secret. Thanks to the demon encountered by Ronnie Redneck and his companions, however, the truth is now out. Sam's confession will without a doubt be reported back to the rest of the hunting community in full – and this coming after Gordon Walker had already sowed such seeds of doubt about Sam's humanity back in seasons two and three. It'll be very interesting to see how the hunting world reacts to this news, allied as it is with his demon blood addiction and psychic powers. Having missed the variety provided by interaction with the ever-paranoid hunting community since Gordon's demise, I look forward to seeing how this one plays out.

This turn of events also really makes me long to see Ellen and Jo again, to see their reaction as the news reaches them, which it surely will – especially coming in the wake of Good God, Y'All, when they saw both brothers for the first time in years. Ellen specifically asked Sam what was wrong with him and Dean, and he prevaricated, avoided confessing the full truth. Surely she won't take kindly to being lied to and kept out of the loop.

Maine. Squat

"If God is dead," a drenched Castiel bellows above the storm. "Why have I returned? Who brought me back?"


"Did it ever occur to you that maybe Lucifer raised you?" Raphael calmly proposes, and Castiel is devastated at the mere suggestion, denying it at once, while Dean shoots anxious side eyes at him. "Think about it," Raphael presses. "He needs all the rebellious angels he can find. You know it adds up."

No, I'm not so sure that it does add up. It sounds plausible on the surface, but when you stop to weigh up the logistics of Lucifer being the one to raise Castiel, the theory soon develops holes. As a counter-theory to Castiel's belief that God raised him it more than serves its purpose, however: Raphael, in his anger and despair, wishes to hurt his brother angel by tearing down his faith, and this claim is calculated to do just that.

Castiel has heard enough and turns to Dean. "Let's go."

Right, so really, this whole escapade was every bit as much of a fool's errand as Dean initially said it would be. They have learned nothing new at all and have succeeded only in making an even bigger enemy of Raphael than he already was. That said, however, I'm sure it has been as intensely satisfying for Castiel to have trapped the archangel as it was devastating to hear what he had to say.

"Castiel!" Raphael shouts. "I am warning you. Do not leave me here. I will find you."

Well, they can hardly let him go, since that steel cage of holy fire is the only protection they have against him! Still, with the storm raging so hard, I am sure that the rain driving in through the broken window will extinguish the flames soon enough.

"Maybe one day. But today you're my little bitch," Castiel growls before stalking out of the house without looking back.

He really has been hanging out with Dean too long – such language! It would have been unthinkable when we first met him. I really wish, however, that the two of them would give up the growly voice competition they seem to have going on – it hurts to listen to them straining their voices like that!

"What he said," the drenched Dean scoffs at Raphael before following Castiel out of the house, and it has to be said: Dean is usually much better at coming up with quippy rejoinders than that!


Oklahoma. Bar

Ronnie Redneck holds up a vial filled with blood, and Sam begins to panic. "What is that?" he frets, although he already knows the answer.

"What do you think it is?" Ronnie Redneck snarls. "It's go-juice, Sammy-boy."

"Get it away from me!" Sam flails, as if merely being in the same room as demon blood is going to compromise his recovery. It won't, of course. It would take active measures for that to happen, the blood itself is completely passive, but he is reacting to the extreme circumstances in which he finds himself rather than thinking rationally.


"Away from you?" Ronnie Redneck takes a step toward him, holding up the vial. "No, this is for you. Hell, if that demon wasn't right as rain. Down the hatch, son."

"You're insane," Sam furiously snarls.

"Look, here's what's going to happen," Ronnie Redneck insists, while Reggie handcuffs Lindsey to the bar. Two against one. "You're going to drink this, hulk out, and you're going to kill every one of those demon scum that killed my best friend. Or she dies."

He really, really does not understand how Sam's blood habit works, although he does seem to grasp the basics: that ingesting demon blood gave Sam the power to kill demons. The complexities of what is involved pass him by completely, however. He doesn't care what the blood does to Sam – and from his point of view why should he, since it is something that Sam has already chosen to do to himself, with devastating consequences. He doesn't care that Sam is trying hard to recover and put the blood habit behind him now, to atone for what he has done, since from his point of view the damage has already been done and nothing that happens now could possibly make it any worse.

Threatening an innocent crosses the line, makes this man as bad as Sam ever was – yet equally his intentions are as good, albeit murky, as Sam's ever were. He wants to avenge his dead friend and kill demons before they can harm anyone else, since that town is full of them and he was unable to take them on himself. If he were in anything approaching a rational state of mind he might find it possible to find common ground with Sam, might recognise how easy it is to cross that line without even realising it. He is not in a rational state of mind, however.

"You wouldn't do that," Sam protests, while Lindsey stares at him in terror, not understanding what is going on.


"It's funny how watching your best friend die changes that," Ronnie Redneck shrugs, while Reggie advances on Sam, who backs away. "Come on – you know you want it, Sam. Just reach out and take it."

Sam's eyes fix on the vial of blood, desperate, because he does want it, he really, really does, but he knows that he cannot go there again, the price for that power is too high.

Sam admitted his temptation in the last episode. He does want it. But he made a decision, and Sam is nothing if not single-minded when he sets his sights on a goal. He is determined not to give into this. He brought himself off into seclusion because he was afraid that he would fail, but now that he is being tested he is also being shown how strong it is possible for him to be.

But then, rather horrifically, the decision is taken out of Sam's hands as Reggie charges and tackles him to the ground, Ronnie Redneck swift to weigh in as well. Since they are two to Sam's one, and since Sam always did suck at hand-to-hand anyway, they swiftly overpower him. Reggie gets him in a headlock and clamps a hand on his jaw, forcing his mouth open, and Ronnie Redneck pops the vial and pours the blood into Sam's mouth, which Reggie quickly clamps shut again and holds for a few seconds.


Man, it is horrible to watch: a violation, brutal and disturbing.

Finally satisfied that their work here is done, the two hunters drop Sam and retreat to a wary distance to await the results of their handiwork.

I am not entirely sure what they are expecting. If they believe that Sam will 'hulk out', as they put it, do they really believe that they will be able to control him, that he will just meekly fall into line and follow their orders? Their desire for him to kill demons suggests that they still believe themselves to be on the same side in this Apocalypse, despite what from the outside must appear to be very contradictory evidence indeed, but their actions aren't really entirely logical.

Face smeared with blood, Sam slowly catches his wind and struggles back to his feet once more, mouth still firmly clamped shut.

"There. Was that really so bad?" Ronnie Redneck breathlessly taunts.

Sam spits the mouthful of demon blood back in his face. Well done, Sam! It is a hugely important, defining moment for him, as his rage over what these men have done to him outweighs his desire for the blood, and results in this instinctive rejection of both the blood they have tried to force on him and all that it stands for.

In Good God, Y'All, Sam never got the chance to find out if he might be strong enough to resist temptation, being interrupted before he had the chance to make that decision either to indulge in what appeared to be demon blood or to walk away. This, therefore, is the first opportunity he has had since giving up the habit to demonstrate to himself that he does not have to remain helplessly in thrall to his temptation, but that he can, in fact, be stronger than he has ever realised he could be. I am proud of him for it.

With the element of surprise on his side now – not to mention righteous wrath – Sam makes short work of kicking both Ronnie Redneck and Reggie's asses for them, his rage bubbling over as he drags Ronnie Redneck back off the ground after felling him, slams him against the bar and snatches up the knife to press against the man's neck.


The violence is reminiscent of Sam's assault on Dean in When The Levee Breaks: taking the fight too far when he has already more than made his point, losing control of himself and wallowing in violence for the heady rush of power it affords him. This is what he was talking about at the end of Good God, Y'All. The problem is me, how far I'll go, he said. There's something in me, scares the hell out of me. Equally, the knife in his hand and blood streaked across his face remind us of his loss of control in The Rapture, which led him to betray the secret of his blood habit to his horrified brother. This was another side of his reasoning for removing himself from the field of play: he is still teetering on the edge, and it isn't because of the blood. Sam's inner darkness has been brought to the fore by the circumstances he has lived through in recent years, and he is just beginning to realise that it is something he needs to deal with before it consumes him. He caught a glimpse of it in Good God, Y'All, he admitted at the end of that episode, and it scared him. He catches another glimpse here, and it clearly unnerves him once again.


With blood smeared across his face and wild, untamed fury in his eyes, Sam looks totally out of control – and Lindsey is terrified. It is her horrified reaction that clears the red mist from his eyes before he takes it too far and kills the man. Aware that she is watching, Sam is able to pull himself back from the brink. He shoves Ronnie Redneck over to Reggie and orders the two of them to leave. Gathering their bravado, they warn that they will be back, but Sam furiously spits that obviously he won't be here any more by then.

Poor Lindsey – I really hope that this trauma doesn't upset her equilibrium too much! Her influence over Sam here, as much as her wise words earlier, stands as another important lesson for Sam that he may or may not recognise just yet, and that is the importance of support and community in his recovery, as opposed to the isolation he sought. No man can be an island. While mired in his self-imposed seclusion, all Sam could do was brood, trapped inside his own head, whereas as soon as he opened up to Lindsey and allowed himself to confide in her a little he was immediately offered a new perspective on his situation, words of strength and support providing a light at the end of the very dark tunnel in which he finds himself. Equally, her mere presence here, in the midst of this horrific situation, as terrible as it has been for her, provided Sam with the balance he needed to regain control over himself before he went too far.

It was no coincidence that Sam's fall from grace began while he was alone in the world, at a time when, with his brother in hell and having chosen to cut himself off from Bobby, he no longer had any human influence to act as his conscience and keep him grounded. It was the tragedy of last season that once Dean had been restored to life, circumstances continued to divide the brothers, preventing their relationship from regaining the strength it had once had. It is to be hoped that if they can succeed in rebuilding it anew this season, it might once again become the source of strength for them both that it once was, which exactly what Sam needs to help him achieve the recovery he is working toward. He might feel right now that it is something that he has to do on his own, that maybe he does not deserve help or sympathy, but he needs the grounding influence of his brother's support anyway – and Dean equally needs his. Repairing his relationship with Dean could prove crucial to Sam's continued recovery, the support that he needs in his ongoing struggles, whether he yet recognises that or not.


If the events of this episode prove anything to Sam, it is that no matter how desirable it might be to take time for a full and complete rehabilitation programme, completely divorced from the strains of his normal life, it is not going to be possible for him. He cannot bring himself to ignore the signs of the Apocalypse unfolding all around, which means that he cannot sever all contact with the hunting world, which means that he is always going to be vulnerable, which means that innocent lives will always be at risk one way or another. Since part of his reasoning for taking this sabbatical was that he was dangerous, the evidence suggests that since taking this time out has not ensured the protection of others as much as he thought it would, it could be considered counter-productive to continue this course of action.

The reasoning behind Sam taking this time out remains sound. He needs to get his head straight if he wants to be effective in anti-Apocalyptic efforts, and he certainly does not want to be a hindrance. However, given that first Bobby and then the hunters – not to mention that vision of Jessica – have all heavily implied that Sam's decision to retire from hunting to focus on his personal problems amounts to little more than running away, the overall message of this episode would seem to be that Sam has to become Lindsey. He needs to become the equivalent of an alcoholic working in a bar, surrounded by daily temptation yet strong enough to resist – has to pick up his weapons and start hunting again, allow himself to come face to face with temptation and find the strength within himself to resist it, because fighting the Apocalypse is more important than taking time to deal with his personal issues.

The trouble with that comparison is that Lindsey has had three years sober, time and space to build up her strength and determination to reach this point – and without anything like the pressure of a full-scale Apocalypse on her shoulders. Sam might have made a breakthrough here but has only been clean for a couple of weeks at most, and is struggling with overwhelming, catastrophic guilt and shame as well as his addiction. It hardly seems fair to expect such superhuman feats of emotional endurance from him…but then again, it also wasn't fair that Dean was expected to simply shrug off his hell trauma last season because it was inconvenient to the war effort. At times this show appears to send out something of an uncomfortable message that Real Men do not suffer from emotional baggage, but instead are able to instantly repress, no matter how awful, and can achieve the impossible regardless. It isn't the healthiest message ever, however expedient in terms of progressing seasonal arcs without spending too long getting bogged down by the emotional trauma of the characters.

Still, only time will tell how the character arcs play out over the season as a whole.

For now, Sam has made a breakthrough where his demon blood addiction is concerned, and that is excellent progress, but we have not yet seen him even begin to deal with his many other problems. His guilt and self-loathing over triggering the Apocalypse remain all-consuming and he is clearly not yet ready to let himself off the hook by acknowledging that his is only a part share in that responsibility. It makes no difference to Sam that others played their part, because that does not change the fact of his own poor choices, which he is determined to fully own. Equally, we have yet to see Sam facing up to the more personal cost of his actions last season, such as the damage inflicted on his relationship with his brother, or acknowledge that this is a consequence that exists separate to the blood addiction and Apocalypse and must therefore be dealt with separately, because fixing the one does not automatically fix the other. We also have yet to see Sam making any attempt to deal with the numerous issues that led him to make that series of extremely poor choices last season in the first place, in order to ensure that he never finds himself in that position again. He really does have a long way to go still.

Bottom line: Sam has a hell of a lot to deal with this season, and only time will tell if he is allowed to deal with all, or indeed any, of those issues.

Road. Impala. Night

Having left Raphael trapped in his steel cage of holy fire for the duration, Dean and Castiel make good their escape in the Impala – Dean driving, of course, with Castiel brooding in the passenger seat.

Dean flicks concerned side eyes toward the angel, understanding how hard the confrontation with Raphael must have hit him. "Man, you okay?" he gruffly asks.

This is so much like the opening salvo of many conversations Dean has had with Sam in the past – with John, as well, for that matter. He is such a caretaker. He sees someone he cares about in pain and automatically seeks to do something about it, gently opening the door for them to unburden themselves by confessing their woes.

Castiel says nothing, being an even tougher nut to crack than Sam at his absolute broodiest. He doesn't need to explain the source of his angst, however, as Dean is already well aware of how hard Raphael's harsh words will have hit the angel, and therefore it no longer matters that Dean himself rejected the idea of God so angrily, because soothing his friend's distress is now more important.


"Look, I'll be the first to tell you that this little crusade of yours is nuts," Dean offers. "But…I do know a little something about missing fathers."

"What do you mean?" Castiel grates out, not taking his eyes off the road ahead.

Of course, Castiel should know what Dean means, since he is surely well aware of his history, but being so sunk in gloom he clearly does not make the connection between Dean's past experience of an absentee father and his own situation, with God seemingly having vanished without trace.

"I mean, there were times when I was looking for my Dad when all logic said that he was dead," Dean admits, and it almost hurts to remember how well he hid that fear back in season one, always keeping his game face firmly in place for Sam's sake. "But I knew, in my heart, that he was still alive. Who cares what some ninja turtle says, Cas – what do you believe?"


Castiel thinks about this for a moment, still staring straight ahead. "I believe he's out there," he states at length.

"Good," Dean encourages. "Then go find him."

Dean does not believe in God – at least, he does not want to believe in God. He has said so many times. Yet the moment he sees Castiel's faith flagging, he immediately, instinctively seeks to bolster it, in exactly the same way as he has delivered similar pep talks to bolster Sam's faith in the past. He doesn't have to share either Sam's faith or Castiel's faith to understand how important it is to them both, or to be able to support them when they are struggling. Fighting on despite being frightened and alone and unhappy is something Dean knows only too well how to do, and that experience translates across onto just about any situation, whatever the fine detail, is something he can use to lend strength to others in that position.

Dean is a natural caretaker, and that fact bears repeating. He is a man who needs to be needed, always has been and maybe always will be. Having Castiel with him and so needy in this episode gave him someone to look after again, went at least some way toward filling that gap in his life. It was no coincidence that he visibly brightened as soon as he started working with the angel, having been so grimly focused during the vampire hunt we saw at the beginning of the episode, reminding us how intensely Dean relishes companionship. For the duration of this abortive investigation, then, Dean and Castiel have each been able to give the other something that he needed, since in this instance what they each needed was pretty much the same thing: they both simply needed for someone to be there, a companion – to not be alone, if only for a little while.

A permanent partnership really is not on offer, however, and the words 'then go' make that clear. This was a one-off arrangement. Dean is not offering to join Castiel on his God hunt indefinitely and nor does he expect (or desire) the angel to stay on the road with him. They remain allies, but are following very different paths. For the time being at least Dean's future lies alone, and he knows it.

Castiel turns and regards him intently. "What about you?" he asks, his turn to be concerned and offer an opportunity to confide, because Castiel knows how much Dean has always hated being alone, whether he is currently willing to admit it or not.


It is Dean's turn to keep his eyes firmly forward. "What about me?" he shrugs. "I don't know. Honestly? I'm good. I can't believe I'm saying that, but I am – I'm really good."

Yeah, sure. He just can't look the angel in the eyes when he says it.

"Even without your brother?" Castiel quietly pushes.

The mere mention of Sam hits a raw nerve. Dean steels his resolve. "Especially without my brother," he fiercely insists, because Sam isn't here and Dean agreed to that, and so is determined to convince himself that he prefers it that way. "I mean, I spent so much time worrying about the son of a bitch," he unhappily recalls. "I mean, I've had more fun with you in the past 24 hours than I've had with Sam in years. And you're not that much fun. It's funny, you know. I've been so chained to my family, but now that I'm alone – hell, I'm happy."

Castiel is sitting right there alongside him, yet Dean still defines himself as alone. As much as he has clearly enjoyed spending this time with Castiel, the course of their adventure together mostly served to highlight that, as partners go, the angel really is not ideal: perplexing at best, high-handed and autocratic at worst. Although Dean is able to work with Castiel and enjoy his company, the angel's severely limited understanding of human emotions and reactions, not to mention humour, combined with his autonomous habits and aloof, enigmatic demeanour, mean that he simply would not work out as a partner for Dean long term.

It is human companionship that Dean really needs and craves, someone who understands the intricacies of the hunt as well as he does and whom he can trust to watch his back, someone he can play off without effort and relate to on both a personal and professional level – his brother, in fact. He wants his brother, but right now he cannot be with his brother, and although he is trying very hard to convince himself that he is okay with that fact, claims to be happy and content, his tone is anything but happy and his smile never touches his eyes, speaking volumes for his bitterness and resignation – that after everything he and Sam have been through together, he has ended up alone after all.

He glances back at the angel, who has been looking decidedly unconvinced during this speech – but Castiel has vanished.

Left as alone as he just claimed to be happy being, Dean turns weary and decidedly unhappy eyes back upon the road.


Now, there is truth in Dean's claim that he is content with his solitude, there is no doubt about it, and I think that surprises even him. All his life Dean has feared solitude, defining it in his mind as equivalent to failure, because being alone meant he was unable to fulfil his responsibility to protect and preserve his family, which meant that he had failed, and he has fought tooth and nail to prevent that – even sacrificing his own life and soul to hell rather than live with the consequences of such failure. He has been bearing that ever-increasing burden of responsibility for most of his life, and at times it has been cripplingly heavy to bear, almost impossibly so.

This is the first time since we have known Dean that we have seen him alone by choice. On all previous occasions the solitude has been forced on him, either by his father or brother making the decision to leave him or by some supernatural agency dividing them. This time, though, although the suggestion came from Sam in the first instance, the separation was something that they mutually agreed to, and although it was a matter of deep sorrow and regret on both sides, there was peace in their parting. Equally, and importantly, this is the first time we have seen Dean free of the burden of responsibility he has always carried, the first time he and Sam have been truly in sync on that point, with Dean stepping back at the same time that Sam stepped up to take responsibility for himself. For the first time in years, Dean is not weighed down by constant worry about his brother. The worst has already happened in more ways than one and they are still standing, moving on – Sam has pulled back from the brink and is taking active steps toward healing and atoning, thus easing Dean's mind regarding his moral status, and is not actively hunting at the moment, thus easing Dean's mind regarding his physical safety. For the first time in years he has only his own guilt and fears to deal with, instead of bearing Sam's as well. After 26 years of devoted care and attention, the sheer relief of not having to look after his brother any more must surely be immense, while the sense of freedom accompanying that release must be almost intoxicating.

Being free of the enormous amount of baggage that currently accompanies his brother and their damaged relationship has allowed Dean to discover for the first time in his life that being alone does not have to mean torment and misery. It has allowed him to rediscover his ability to find joy in the moment, in the tiniest of things, his ability to focus on the here and now rather than being weighed down by the past and oppressed by thoughts of the future – his ability to have fun and to laugh, and to allow that to heal him, if only a little.

Yet at one and the same time, Dean's claim to be entirely content with his current lot in life is an exaggeration, both for Castiel's sake – letting the angel off the hook so that he could take off on his own mission without worrying about Dean – and for Dean's own sake, trying to convince himself that he is content to maintain this new status quo of solitude for as long as necessary.

Being alone is exactly what Dean has never wanted for himself; it is how he has spent most of his life fighting not to end up. And yet here he is, after all those years of striving, alone anyway – and more or less by his own choice, at that, but a choice that was made as a result of painful circumstance rather than any personal ambition. As a consequence, the Dean that we have seen in this episode has been off-balance, revelling in his freedom at the same time as resenting it, struggling to establish just who he is without his family around to define himself by, somewhat bitter toward the universe in general for placing him in this position, and yet fiercely determined to convince himself that this is a good thing, that he wants to embrace this life alone.

Dean's story in this episode has been the story of a deeply lonely man trying hard to make the best of his situation and pretending to be completely okay with it. Dean always was the king of denial. He misses Sam intensely, but given the givens is no more ready to admit that than he is to face up to how bitterly disappointed he is with his brother and how angry he is about what Sam has done. In some ways it is a little disappointing to see him taking a step back behind his old defence mechanisms as he does here, having seen him mature so much recently, but then again after everything he has been through a little slipping and sliding along the way is only to be expected, really. He and Sam both have a hell of a lot of healing to do, and that is something that neither one can help the other with at this stage, each of them too battered and bruised to have any hope of repairing the damage to the other. That is what this time apart is all about, breathing space for each of them to begin his healing process before finding their way back together once more.

Oklahoma. Great Plains Motel. Night

Sam is properly asleep this time, wearing a t-shirt instead of topless – maybe his previous late night visit made him wary of nudity! He startles awake upon hearing Jessica's voice calling his name, and sure enough, she is lying alongside him on the bed, with her back turned to him.

It is apparent, not least from the switch from topless to clothed, that this is not a case of two visitations in one night, but rather separate visitations on separate nights. Presumably both this and the dream from the teaser are meant to have taken place after the incident at the bar, although the sequence of events is not entirely clear. Why would Sam hang around for so long after such an encounter, knowing that Ronnie and Reggie are likely to send still more hunters after him?

This time Sam does not hesitate or question for a moment, just reaches over to kiss Jessica, and she turns to him with a smile. "So, this is your life now?" she gently asks, stroking his face. "Think you can just live forever with your head buried in the sand?"


Throughout these dream encounters, Jessica's tone and actions are tender and loving, while her words are anything but, designed to passive aggressively undermine Sam's faltering confidence.

Sam sighs. "I love you, Jess," he assures her. She has been dead for more than four years now, and he has had other women since, but Jessica holds a place in his heart that will never be usurped. He resolutely turns his back on her to continue, "God knows how much I miss you, too. But you're wrong. People can change. There is reason for hope."


It is so good to see that Sam has taken something positive from his brief acquaintance with Lindsey in spite of everything that happened, that he hasn't allowed those hunters to beat him down and ruin all his hard work. He understands, perhaps, both that they are unaware of the full story and that their actions were fuelled by grief. He has been there himself.

No one has ever done anything so bad that they can't be forgiven – that they can't change, Lindsey told Sam earlier. That was before witnessing his confession and the brutality he is capable of, and we did not get to see what happened between them in the aftermath, but what is clear is that Sam has retained that message of hope she instilled in him, suggesting that she did not reject him outright, in spite of it all. Equally, the mere fact of having resisted the temptation to swallow the demon blood that had been forced upon him has clearly bolstered Sam's self-belief. Although he has found neither peace nor safety in his brief seclusion, he has found hope, and it is a precious thing indeed, allowing him also to at least begin to trust in himself once more.

That hope and self-belief were very timely in their arrival, standing Sam in good stead now, as Lucifer attempts to use Jessica to undermine his confidence and instil the kind of despair that might render him vulnerable to the fallen angel's advances. It is a clever strategy on Lucifer's part, taking advantage of Sam's guilt and grief and despair over his inner darkness and the apparent inevitability of his supposedly evil fate in an attempt to convince him that resistance is futile, the kind of subtle psychological manipulation that is far more menacing than any outright show of evil would be. It is to Sam's credit, therefore, that in the face of this emotional knife-twisting he is able to maintain hope for the future and reject the fatalism advocated by this vision of his dead lover – and that he does so before being made aware that the vision was sent by Lucifer in a deliberate attempt to manipulate him.

Jessica strokes Sam's hair and he leans longingly into the touch, but again her words belie the tender gesture. "No, Sam," she murmurs. "There isn't."

Behind him, her face begins to crumble away, morphing into something else – and moment later it is no longer Jessica sitting on the bed with him but Lucifer, in the body of his vessel Nick.


Yikes! Thanks to Castiel's Enochian sigils carved into their rib cages, Lucifer should not be able to find either brother, so it is alarming in the extreme to see him breaking through into Sam's dreams already.

"How can you be so sure?" Sam asks, still with his back turned, still unaware of just who he is really talking to.

"Because you freed me," says Lucifer, and Sam whirls around in panic upon hearing the wrong voice, and then leaps off the bed and across the room in alarm. "That's right," Lucifer nods. "You know who I am."

Yes, indeed Sam does. He is Lucifer.


"You are a hard one to find, Sam," Lucifer mildly chides. "Harder than most humans. I don't suppose you'd tell me where you are?"

So Lucifer is able to sneak into Sam's dreams and manipulate them, but can't locate him physically. That is interesting. When I first watched the episode, before the Lucifer reveal, I wondered if perhaps Sam was hallucinating again for some reason, and I still wonder if perhaps the demon blood forced into his mouth earlier made him slightly more vulnerable for a while, in spite of his spitting it out, if maybe that is the reason Lucifer has been able to break through into his dreams now. It certainly isn't something he has managed again at the time of writing.

"What do you want with me?" Sam seethes. Always these evil things keep seeking him out, always his destiny seems interwoven with evil, and he is desperate to both escape and repudiate that fate.

"Thanks to you, I walk the earth," Lucifer declares, and Sam's lip curls, tears in his eyes.

Once again, responsibility for Lucifer's release is placed upon Sam's shoulders. There were 66 Seals in total, but that final Seal was the trigger and thus the main focus of attention. Moreover, it is a soft target, an easy way for Lucifer to take a shot at Sam, playing on his guilt to undermine his resolve.

"I want to give you a gift," Lucifer declares, reminding us that Ruby said that Sam would be rewarded. "I want to give you everything."

"I don't want anything from you!" Sam furiously spits, desperate to deny any connection between the fallen angel and himself.


A long pause follows, and then Lucifer sighs. "I'm so sorry, Sam. I really am. But Nick here is just an improvisation. Plan B. He can barely contain me without spontaneously combusting."

"What are you talking about?" Sam gasps, horrified, because he can already guess.

"Why do you think you were in that chapel?" Lucifer asks, standing up to approach, and Sam backs away nervously, barely able to breathe he is so appalled.

I'm fairly certain Sam thought he was in that chapel to kill Lilith. Until now he has not had any reason to believe that there could have been any other purpose beyond that.

"You're the one, Sam," Lucifer announces. "You're my vessel. My true vessel."

Wait…what? So angels can have more than one vessel after all? I am growing increasingly frustrated by the ever-changing rules regarding angelic possession, the mythology of which is barely a season old and yet already fraying at the seams, as each iteration tends to contradict what we already knew rather than adding new layers to our understanding. First it seemed that any suitably special person who consented and was convenient would do. Then we learned that each angel was matched to a very particular individual and only that individual (or perhaps another in their bloodline) would do. But now we are told that actually angels can take alternate hosts, after all – a reserve, as it were.

The notion of Sam being Lucifer's vessel comes as no surprise, and the symmetry of it alongside Dean's status as Michael's vessel is suitably epic, yet the logic behind the concept is vague, to say the least, generating not inconsiderable friction with previously established rules. It has been established that a specific blood marker of some kind is what marks certain individuals out as potential angelic hosts. Now, a certain degree of cause-and-effect can be argued in Sam's case, if the demon blood he ingested as an infant was what created his status as Lucifer's putative host, a kind of genetic mutation that was forced upon him. Although this theory sits uncomfortably alongside what we know of other angelic vessels, who were all apparently born with that potential inherent in their blood, it does not directly contradict that theory and works fairly well within the mythology of the show and what we know of Azazel's careful planning. The notion that this makes Sam the only possible vessel for Lucifer does contradict previously established fact, however, as we know that there are others out there who were also infused with Azazel's demon blood. Sam's generation might have been wiped out, while the most recent might perhaps be too young to be truly useful to the fallen angel, but we have no way of knowing how many other generations Azazel visited, since this storyline is beset with internal contradictions already.

The exact reason behind Dean's position as Michael's vessel, meanwhile, remains entirely unclear, as initial statements that his status as the first Seal was what rendered him uniquely important to the war effort directly contradict later mythology around the blood-borne nature of vesseldom. He is either Michael's vessel because he broke the first Seal in hell or because of something in his blood, both cannot be true, while the notion of his having inherited the blood link is simply too much of a coincidence to be remotely plausible. The mythology is fast becoming convoluted and contradictory in the extreme, with the rules constantly shifting and nothing making clear, consistent sense. This new twist, with the reveal that angels are able to find alternative vessels if the most suitable one is unavailable adds yet another layer of complication to an already overblown and contrived mythology, and I am really beginning to struggle with the scale of coincidence we are being asked to swallow of late. Some clarity and consistency would be gratefully received!

Taking this new information at face value, I can't help wondering why Michael can't simply to and find his reserve vessel, since Dean is so unwilling. He could then use that backup to go after Lucifer and his reserve, Nick, and leave the Winchesters out of the fight completely. It might not be ideal but it would be better than just sitting around hoping for Dean to give in, surely. Moreover, it still makes little sense to me that either Michael or Lucifer would need a human host in the first place. Michael doesn't need to interact with humanity to fight Lucifer, surely, and it was the need to safely interact with humanity that was originally presented to us as the reason for angels taking vessels in the first place. In fact, based on angelic attitudes in general, I can't see Michael being all that concerned about human casualties anyway – and Lucifer certainly should not be!

On top of all that, more than anything I do not want to see Dean and Sam duking it out as Michael and Lucifer, however epic that battle might be. I want them to end this season and this Apocalypse as themselves, Dean and Sam, reunited and reconciled and at one another's side, working as a team to fend off all comers, in keeping with the central message of the show, which has always been that the humans are the heroes of the story. It is vital that both brothers preserve their integrity and humanity, however outmatched they might be, rather than merely becoming passive tools in a battle conducted by higher powers. They have been used and then discarded as collateral damage too many times already. However, since the Michael and Lucifer cards are being laid out on the table so very early in the season, I fully anticipate many a twist in the tail still to come and can't see the story coming to that end.

I would really like to know what Kripke's original plan for the Apocalypse was, since the idea of adding angels to the show's universe was not devised until the hiatus between seasons three and four.

"No," Sam chokes out in horror.


But Lucifer nods impassively and insists, "Yes."

Sam keeps shaking his head in mute denial, and then rediscovers his tongue, tears now beginning to spill. "No. No, that'll never happen."

"I'm sorry, but it will," Lucifer insists, again stepping toward Sam, who again jerks away from him, so that the two of them end up circling one another. "I will find you. And when I do, you will let me in. I'm sure of it."

Sam realises something, remembering Dean's confrontation with Zachariah. "You need my consent."

"Of course. I am an angel," Lucifer shrugs, as if it should be obvious.

Sam rallies, clutching at this loophole as the only hope he has – if Dean could be strong enough to refuse Michael, then Sam can be strong enough to refuse Lucifer, he is beyond determined. "I will kill myself before letting you in," he snarls.

Lucifer rolls his eyes. "And I'll just bring you back."


Eh, once upon a time death was a real barrier to continued animation on this show. Not so much any more!

Sam is more horrified than ever at the implication that there is simply no way out for him, that he will inevitably be worn down in time. If he thought that resisting the temptation of demon blood was going to be a permanent ongoing strain, how much more exhausting must be the thought of continually fighting off Lucifer's advances if he continues to make such insidious midnight visits?

But he and Dean are now effectively in the same boat, each of them desired by an angel to serve as his vessel and each of them determined to resist no matter how much pressure is applied. In theory, at least, they should be able to support one another – if only they can get past their devastating recent history and restore their relationship. The importance of community has already been demonstrated in this episode, with Lindsey's support bolstering Sam at a time when he was floundering, unable to find his way forward having taken that first step toward recovery. Already Lucifer is using his isolation against him, reinforcing it with the claim that everyone close to him will inevitably suffer and die, which is one of Sam's most deep-seated fears. Lindsey has taught Sam to hope, but that hope will be hard to sustain while he remains alone. Every man has his breaking point, and Lucifer is already working on Sam in search of his.

Sam may not have realised it yet, but the conclusion that must be drawn from his experience in this episode is that he cannot safely maintain his seclusion, but must rather return to the fray sooner rather than later – not because his retreat was cowardly in any way, as has been insinuated by his fellow hunters, but because Lucifer is simply not going to allow him the time and space he needs to complete his rehabilitation. Under those circumstances, securing and maintaining a support structure is going to be vital to sustaining his resolve, as is renewed determination to fight the good fight no matter what.

"Sam, my heart breaks for you," Lucifer mourns. "The weight on your shoulders, what you've done, what you still have to do – it is more than anyone could bear. If there was some other way…but there isn't. I will never lie to you. I will never trick you. But you will say yes to me."

I will never lie to you, I will never trick you, Lucifer claims – but just because he says so does not make it true. He has already lied to and tricked Sam, first by pretending to be Jessica and then by promising him a reward that he is not going to get, since being an angel's vessel is certainly no gift, more like torture. Misrepresentation counts as a falsehood.

"You're wrong," Sam tearfully insists.

"I'm not," Lucifer firmly counters. "I think I know you better than you know yourself."

This is Lucifer: a persistent, logical, compassionate whisper in Sam's ear, calmly insisting that his capitulation is inevitable, that it is in his very nature and nothing he can do can change that, no matter how hard he tries to resist. It is a carefully devised counsel of despair, wearing away at his resolve, offering absolution in the form of predestination and promising surcease in the act of submission.

It is much the same strategy that Ruby employed to such impressive effect, in fact, and however vulnerable Sam might be, that past experience should hopefully stand him in good stead. If he learned anything from what happened with Ruby it was to beware such manipulations, however plausible they sound, however much they feed into what he secretly believes about himself. If he can draw on that memory to sustain his resolve, if he can repair his relationship with his brother sufficiently to lean upon it as a strength – if he can bring himself to admit that he needs that support, understands that there is no shame in either needing or accepting help once in a while – then he stands a chance. No matter how many angels repeat their central doctrine of inevitability and predestination, for as long as the brothers maintain their resolve and keep saying no, free will wins. Sam can choose to say no. He just needs to believe that he can.

Sam is distraught. "Why me?"

"Because it had to be you, Sam," says Lucifer. "It always had to be you."

Um, no – there were and are other special children. Did they all come from potential host stock? I can't see it, somehow.

Devastated, Sam takes a moment to rally his nerves to come back fighting – but when he looks up again, Lucifer has vanished. Sam is left alone with his horror and distress.


Overall, despite a few flaws in conception and execution, this was a solid episode that succeeds in its design of portraying the brothers in parallel as they walk their separate paths and take their first faltering steps toward healing. Their respective storylines were clearly designed with great symmetry in mind, starting with that lovely musical montage at the beginning and continuing from there through the isolation in which each brother started the episode, through the friendships either forged or developed in the course of the episode, with each brother reaching out to another soul in search of the companionship and connection he needed…only for each of them to end the episode alone once more, Dean miserable and Sam frightened.

Free To Be You And Me is the title of this episode, and it has been interesting to watch the irony of that statement play out as the storylines unfolded. By choosing to part company and go their separate ways, Sam and Dean were each supposedly free to truly be themselves, released from the constraints of duty and responsibility toward one another. Yet neither was able to truly find the freedom he expected. Sam sought freedom from the hunting life, returning to a long-held desire for normality for very different reasons than in the past, only to find that he could not escape. He was unable to truly be himself in the new life he sought to establish, since telling the truth about himself was impossible, while the Apocalypse and sins of his past were quick to catch up with him, and Lucifer would have him believe that his destiny to lose himself entirely and serve as Satan's vessel is inevitable. Dean, meanwhile, would have us believe that his newfound freedom from the burden of duty he has borne for so much of his life is something that he relishes, that being responsible for nothing and no one but himself is a relief to him. Yet he was quick to take on responsibility once more when Castiel asked him for help, effortlessly supporting and guiding his angelic companion through their investigation, his natural need to take care of others surging to the fore when presented with a friend in need, while, like Sam, he found himself unable to confess his true feelings when asked, instead retreating behind old defence mechanisms such as denial that he had previously appeared to put behind him.

Moreover, if the angels on either side of the Apocalypse are to be believed, each brother is destined to give up his individual identity and autonomy completely in order to become someone else, Dean by becoming Michael's vessel and Sam by becoming Lucifer's. Yet if they truly are 'free to be you and me', then this fate is not inevitable after all, but remains something that they can avoid by continuing to choose to say no, every minute of every day for as long as it takes.

What is the overall message of this episode, then? If the brothers have found that they cannot truly be themselves while apart, the message must surely be that in order to truly be themselves they need to be together, leaning on one another for strength and fortitude . While that kind of co-dependency is something I had hoped to see them grow past, wanting to see them come back together because it is something that they want rather than something that they need, their circumstances are admittedly unique and extreme, and while their past co-dependency was decidedly unhealthy it was at least as much a strength as a weakness. If they can find a way to reclaim that strength without also restoring the weakness, if they can find a way to avoid repeating their mistakes of the past, if they can learn to trust one another again and avoid falling back into negative behavioural patterns of the past – if they can allow their mutual love for one another to take precedence over the pain they have caused each other…then maybe they stand a chance.


November 2009


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