Supernatural: Home

No Place Like It
by Sylvia Bond
Supernatural Episode Review, Season One – Episode Nine
“Home”

The concept behind the name of this episode is so evocative that to ask anyone what it means would provide you with so many interpretations, you’d be overwhelmed. For me, being a True Fan, I’m going to relate it to the Winchester boys, in spite of Normal Mailer, Dorothy (from Kansas), and the songwriting duo of Bishop and Payne. For Sam and Dean, home is more of an idea than an actual location, home is the place they can never go back to, home is a memory so far in the past that all that remains resides only in their hearts.

The episode teaser opens with a single woman moving into a large home. I presume she’s widowed or divorced, on account of her melancholy unpacking, but I’m distracted by wondering how she can afford such a huge home when she doesn’t even have a job yet. Was the settlement that big? Or are the house prices in Lawrence that low? Needless to say, this isn’t just any house she’s moved into, it’s the ex-residence of the Family Winchester, twenty-two years past, now peopled with a new little family, perhaps rats, and something that comes out of the closet on fire. I sympathize with the little girl in this family; she’s seeing her worst nightmares come true. But she’s got a good mom, who at least tries to placate her and actually puts a chair in front of the closet doors. And that’s some closet, I tell you. Double doors? How huge is it? How many sweaters did the Winchesters own? More importantly to me, though, is the fact that the mom finds a little box in the basement. Being curious (and maybe just a little foolish for saddling herself with such a big mortgage), she opens the box and finds pictures and mementos of the Family Winchester. I want to know: Whose box was it, and why did it get left behind? There are no answers for me. The plot surges forward.

After the teaser is when it gets good, at least for me. It gets worse for the boys right out of the box on account of Sam having one of his nightmares. Sam’s nightmares soon become the stuff of legend, iconic almost, but early on in Season One, they’re still an unknown, still cryptic and undecipherable, still a mystery, even to Sam. As for Dean, the fact that they might mean anything is nigh on impossible. But let’s start with Sam waking up, sweaty and shaking, dreaming of a woman screaming through an upstairs window. Sam is sweet here, on account of several things. First, those wide eyes popping open rivets me, and he’s so scared, he looks so young, I want to cuddle him. You will too when you see this. He’s also got that desperate look he gets when his sleep has been broken. Which happens a lot, but he’s not used to it yet. Second, and almost as important, he doesn’t wake Dean to be comforted. And Dean doesn’t awaken. Later in the series, Dean is so attuned to these nightmares and visions of Sam’s that he’s like a mother with a newborn, who could sleep through a freight train going through her living room, but awakens at the slightest sigh from her baby.

And Dean shouldn’t be disturbed. Not when he looks like this. He’s sleeping as he habitually does, which is face down, hands under the pillow, his fingers probably just touching that heavy, serrated-edged knife of his. Just in case. But more importantly, as any fangirl could tell you, he’s not wearing anything, as far as the eye can see. This being shown on a family channel, it’s not very far, but it’s far enough. Will you get a load of that arm? Deanskin is so very rare, I take what I can get, but the extra cherry on top here is the curve of muscle. Shoulders are so very sexy in a man, especially a pair like this guy’s got. (Which must come from all those graves he digs.)

Then it’s morning, and, lo, the dither starts. I’m frankly in love with the opening dither. It’s like a long dose of good morning sex on a Sunday when you don’t have anywhere to be. Sam is on the bed, with his shoes on, I note, part of me disapproving like a stern maiden aunt, the other part thinking, well, boys will be boys, and golly, he’s drawing a tree, isn’t that sweet? Really, he looks about fifteen here, scribbling away, ignoring his older brother. Yeah, that’s Dean, sitting by the window, drinking coffee (black, no cream), wearing what looks like a purple checked flannel shirt, which I’m sure he bought at a Salvation Army, because they’re the only place you can get shirts like that anymore. Fifty cents, you know. And Dean looks pale, like his sleep was broken, too, only he doesn’t know why. He’s busy surfing the web, looking for their next job, reading potential gigs aloud, all of which sound tasty and weird.

Only Sam’s not listening. He says he is, but he’s not. Uh-oh. Better not do that Sam, big brother’s talking. This irritates Dean to the point where he calls Sam “pal,” which is not often part of Dean’s nomenclature for Sam. Usually it’s Sam, or Sammy, or SAM, each of which has its own distinct meaning, depending on how Dean says it, whether he whispers or shouts or grits it out between his teeth. Then Sam announces where they need to go next, and this is where the dither gets intense. Not like it does, for example, after the drama has built and some difficult situation has come to a head near the end of the episode. Instead, it hits the high note right out of the box, like the high A in Nessun Dorma, especially when Pavarotti sings it. Dean, of course, wants to know why, wants to know what Sam is doing, like he can’t bear to have Sam make a move without Dean right at his side. Sam doesn’t (or can’t) come right out and tell him. Dean persists, and pulls the big brother card, that they aren’t going anywhere till he knows why. So Sam tells him.

It’s a big reveal, and an emotional one. Sam tells Dean about the nightmares, about how he had one about Jessica on the ceiling, burning up, etc. etc., and how all his nightmares come true. I love to watch Dean’s reaction here, because for all the weird and funky supernatural stuff he’s dealt with since the age of four, he certainly seems shocked here to find out that little brother might be, uh, psychic. I guess Dean might be a little prejudiced in that, sure, it’s okay for Sally to be haunted, or Billy to be possessed, or Mike’s truck to take off on its own and run people off the road, but a Winchester? No, no, my friend, Winchesters are clean. They save people from that sort of thing, but they never, you know, never have anything like that going on. (Except for the thing about The Mom.)

Then it gets worse for Dean, even though it was Sam who woke up from the nightmare. Sam tells him that there’s a family living in their old house and that they’re in danger. They need to go help those poor people, he says. (Note that they sit knee to knee, with Sam reaching for his brother, rather like he’s perfectly aware that that sort of closeness will mean that Dean won’t be able to refuse him.) Can’t take my eyes off of Dean now, for all Sam’s so cute when he’s intense like that. The undercurrent to Sam’s high note of panic, is countered by Dean’s low intense cello of terror. He can’t go home, he doesn’t want to go home, and he freaks out about it. Wide eyed, oh my LORD he’s got the hugest eyes here. Huge. Green. Damp. His mouth wibbles. He’s white as a sheet. And you can just imagine, or at least I can, that his whole body is breaking out in a sweat, because the one person he can’t ever refuse (has never refused) is now asking him to do the one thing he said he’d never do. But he’s going to do it, you know that he is. He can’t say no to Sam. Never could. (And Sam, for his part, looks up at Dean throughout the entire scene, even though he’s a lot taller than his brother.)

So they go to the house. A place where Sam has never been, but where something happened that has directed the course of his entire life. I’m talking about The Mom dying on the ceiling when he was six months old, the story of which is like a coda to every single conversation between the brothers. As in, “I think I’ll have bagels for breakfast, and you know Mom died on the ceiling.” Not that I mean to mock, I love the boys too much for that, but this particular part of their history follows them everywhere. Interestingly enough, when they get to house, Dean starts to lie, and Sam breaks in with the truth, using the fact that they used to live there (along with his best “trust me, I’m sweet” expression), to get into the house. You can see the woman, Jenny, hesitating, but she lets them in. (She mentions the pictures she found, and I’m thinking that she’ll give them the box in this scene. But she doesn’t.)

What strikes me most about the scene in the house is each boy’s reaction to being there. Sam, being only six months old when he was last there, has no specific memory, not even a ghost of one, so he follows the woman in, nonchalantly, not knowing where they’re going or how to get there. I’m sure he’s got feelings about the place, having heard tell of it his entire life, but no actual memories. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that he doesn’t care, just that he’s unaffected. At least in comparison to what I imagine is going on in Dean’s head. His stomach. His heart. By the expression on his face, he’s all butterflies and sweat, because he was four when he was last there, running out of that house (which was on fire), with Sammy in his arms, charged with the terrible task of getting baby brother out of there. There are ghosts here for Dean, not least of which is himself. (And he remembers the way to the kitchen, you can feel it.)

The Q and A reveals, even to mild ghost hunters like myself, that the flickering lights, the rats that aren’t rats, and the thing in the little girl’s closet are all manifestations of a malevolent spirit. I know this even before the next scene, where Sam and Dean burst out of the house onto the sidewalk, arguing, which is like a dither turned up to high. Sam is SURE of what’s going on, and that they need to do something. (“These people are in danger, DEAN!”) Dean is not so sure. He’s resistant, though you know it’s not because he doesn’t care. Sam’s pushing, and Dean doesn’t like to be pushed, but more on account of the fact that the case is taking shape around their old house and their old life that is getting to him. (Note that they are still sans box.)

How much is it getting to him? Very, very much. Which we find out in the very next scene, which takes place at a gas station. Where the boys dither over the roof of the Impala, a scene so quintessential that it should be copyrighted, a visual tag by which you could identify them in silhouette. Dean starts talking like this is an ordinary job, which would be the best way to look at it. He tells Sam about that night, to kind of get them going, letting Sam know that it was Dean who carried him out of the fire, a fact which hitherto, Sam did not know. How would that affect you, to find something like this out?

I wonder this, but then, Dean, he starts claming up, his throat working to swallow whatever emotions are working their way forth, and he distracts me. (When he does this sort of thing, when he’s worked up like this, it makes me want to tuck a small kiss to the spot where his throat joins his jaw, as if that would soothe him. As if anything could.) With his eyebrows quirking down in that way that they have, Dean says he’s got to go to the bathroom. Dean does this a lot, to exit stage right, either to check something out on his own, or, in this case, to make a phone call without Sam knowing. (Sam never pees, you know. But he does throw up.) But not just any phone call, fangirls know this one as THE phone call. It’s to The Dad. Dean leaves a message, you see. A rather important message, a message that he has to leave because The Dad is not picking up his phone. A message that The Dad NEVER returns. A fact that reverberates all the way up to the present day.

Is it just that The Dad picks up when he feels like it? Or is it that he’s just too durn busy to be bothered? I don’t know. And certainly Dean doesn’t either, and I can’t tell you that he actually thinks that The Dad doesn’t care, but maybe he does think it. Even if only for a moment. He certainly comes apart here, showing us that famous crack in the armor, the chink in Dean’s psyche through which comes pouring all the pain and fear and angst, pitched high enough and steep enough to match, even exceed, Sam’s. You know Sam. He’s emo boy, he’s got pain, he’s got so much pain he could loan you some and never feel the lack. But he’s going to be okay, because he lets the pain out, through drama and shouting and tears, and all that talking. I don’t worry about him on that front, but Dean? Oh man. He bottles it up so hard, always, never letting any out. But it shows up here. It’s twisted of me to like it, my eyes narrow as I focus in on his beautiful suffering, but no one does it like Dean. His eyes water up like someone punched him in the gut, hard, and his freckles stand out as his skin goes white. (All of this in ONE shot, thanks to Ackles’ brilliant control over his tear ducts.) Dean’s terrified and mixed up and messed up, and then his voice cracks as he says, to The Dad that is NOT there, “I don’t know what to do.” Picture this tableau: Grown man, standing behind a gas station, needing The Dad and coming up empty handed. There’s almost nothing sadder.

Between this and the next bit is what I like to call the Plumbing Scene. Basically the house attacks the plumber who comes to take care of the clogged sink. You only need to know a few things here. Evil clapping monkey. The plumber’s hand. And the sink disposer that goes on at just the wrong time. There’s going to be a lawsuit. Enough said.

Dean, now having given us a healthy dose of emo, and Sam now go to talk to one of The Dad’s old work buddies, Mr. Guenther, with whom The Dad shared an interest in a garage. The man has mostly good things to say about John, and we get a nice litany of memories from 22 years ago. That The Dad was a stubborn bastard, that he hated to loose, that he loved Mary, and doted on his kids. This makes Sam and Dean happy to hear, but unfortunately, the man also has more negative things to say about The Dad, which makes Sam and Dean unhappy. Guenther says that The Dad turned strange, that he started doing and thinking weird things, reading old books, going to see a palm reader. This lovely scene gives us pure canon about The Dad, so I like it, even though it makes the boys upset. They can see that the friend thinks that not only does The Dad have several screws unbolted, they are long gone and lost.

Interestingly, there are two outtakes of this scene in the extras section on the DVD. Now, normally I don’t mention outtakes because I figure there was a reason they weren’t in the finished version of the ep, and whether it was due to time constraints, pacing, or whatever, the finished ep is canon and that’s the end of it. But this time, I think one of the outtakes should have been included because there’s a dark little bit where Guenther admits that things got so bad he almost called Social Services. Note the almost part here. Sam, yeah, he looks shocked, and maybe because he’s surprised to find out that the family looked so dysfunctional to an outsider. But Dean? He’s about ready to blow a gasket. He asks, “Now, why would you want to do a thing like that?” Guenther tries to explain, but as the camera pans back, Dean’s got that look on his face, his lips a thin line, eyes like black chips. He’d just as soon take this guy’s block off for even thinking of calling, in spite of the fact that the phone call was never made. In Dean’s mind, Guenther never was and forever more never will be a friend of The Dad’s. Man, you just don’t MESS with how Dean feels about The Dad. Just don’t.

The boys check out all the palm readers and psychics in town. Dean stands by the car, and Sam opens the phone book and starts reading. You ever hear someone say, oh that actor is so good, they could read from a phone book and make it sound interesting? I have, and here I get to see that in action. All Padalecki does is read two names from a phone book, but it’s mesmerizing and funny at the same time. I’m thinking it’s that rich voice of his, and the quirky tone he uses as he reads. Names like El Divino and The Mysterious Mr. Fordinski. It’s only a thirty-second scene, but it’s delightful, due, I think to Padalecki’s awareness of what he’s doing, and how it will add texture not only to his character (that’s Sam), but to the plot in general. Finally he gets to Missouri Mosley, and Dean stops him to focus on what The Dad said about going to Missouri to find the truth. (She’s a person not a state, see.)

They go to see her, transfixed by every word she has to say. She knows right off who they are, and tells them about how she helped The Dad to see what was in the dark. She’s a psychic, a palm reader, counselor, and all round helpful lady, and that’s a good thing. What I don’t like about her is how she treats Dean. Sam she likes, she’s gentle with him. But Dean, she threatens to whack with a spoon. She says that he was a goofy looking kid. Sam thinks it’s funny, but I don’t.

Then the three of them, Sam, Dean, and Missouri, pay a visit to the Winchester Mystery house, oh, wait, that’s in California. Anyway, the convince Jenny to let them in and wander around. (Missouri hits Dean in the back of the head and then says that he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. Why? He just doesn’t deserve this!) They wander upstairs, and as they go into Sairie’s room, Missouri starts going on about how all the energy is centered there. Sam asks why, because that’s what he does, and she says, “Because, Sam, this used to be your nursery.” This gives me the creeps every single time, makes me shiver because Sam’s eyes track to the ceiling like he can’t help himself. This isn’t just any ceiling, it’s THE ceiling. The ceiling where The Mom burned to death. Sam is now face to face with his oldest story, the biggest chunk of history he knows about his sweet little life. Dean barely looks up, but since he remembers the heat and the fire, he doesn’t need any refreshers on the subject. Or, seeing as how he can barely bear to talk about The Mom, he can’t even look at the spot where she died.

Missouri continues to be mean to Dean, making fun of his EMF. And I’m like, why is she abusive? What purpose does that serve? It’s not like Dean’s got such a terrific sense of self-worth to begin with, so this is not helping, and I wish she’d stop. Anyway, in spite of that, I do like her description of the evil that visited the house years before leaving a wound, and that sometimes wounds get infected. In order to clean the wound, she and the boys send Jenny and the kids to the movies and make little herb bags that they plan to shove into the walls to drive the darkness out. Dean is adorable, tasting a bit of the herb mixture, making that face. (The boys don’t take the box while Jenny’s gone or even look for it. They’re like that, I guess, not stealing from people they know. Although, since the box is rightfully theirs, it wouldn’t be stealing. Would it? I’m obsessed with this box. It isn’t healthy.)

And then it gets fun. They each take a floor. Missouri is in the basement and gets attacked by a dresser. Dean is in the kitchen and gets attacked by knives. And Sam? He’s ripe for it. He’s upstairs, on his knees, ignoring his surroundings, and I’m not saying he deserves it, but he kind of does for not paying more attention. The lamp cord unplugs itself, and slithers across the floor to launch itself at Sam, wrapping around Sam’s neck. He goes DOWN, choking and sweating and it’s like he was made for this or something. Otherwise, why does it keep happening? No one gets choked as often, or as well, as Sam, so much so that in fandom it’s known as limpage and is revered in its own Live Journal community.

Just in time to save the day, Dean comes dashing in to manfully struggle with the cord, releasing his brother. Both are gasping and sweating, and Sam falls into Dean’s arms for a very sweet brotherly cuddle. I love it when they’re like this, hands all over each other, personal boundaries be damned. But, then, in a life and death situation such as this, it’s to be expected. And then enjoyed.

The house is now a mess, and naturally, Missouri insists that Dean will clean it up and this makes my blood boil. He shouldn’t have to do this on his own, because Sam can wield a mop just as well, you know! In spite of the seemingly happy ending, there’s still eight minutes of the ep to go, so I know there’s something else going down. Sam does too, because he makes Dean stay up in the car to watch the house, just in case. Watch it till dawn one presumes, though both boys must be exhausted. Dean tips his head back, to prove how tired he is, lengthening the lovely line of his throat. It’s such a provocative gesture to me, this slice of Deanskin, and the rarity and brevity of it create desire in many a fangirl, not just me, I’m sure.

Inside, all hell breaks loose, of course, and Dean and Sam rush in to help. Dean gets Jenny out and directs Sam to get the kids. As Sam grabs Ritchie, I’m wondering why they divvied up the task like that, but when Sam gets to Sairie’s room, I know why. The blazing figure is now standing in the room and Sam must get around it to grab the girl. This he does, and runs down the stairs (easily, I note, even though this is before Padalecki started really working out), then, he puts both kids down and tells the little girl to take her brother outside and not to look back. Naturally I’m reminded of the bit where The Dad tells Dean pretty much the same thing. Show does a delightful job of letting Sam BE The Dad, in a way, just for one moment. Maybe as a way to foreshadow how much Sam will become like The Dad in later episodes. You know. Stubborn, dark-haired, revenge-driven, and UNBELIEVABLY handsome. Then, the second he lets go of the kids, the house grabs him.

Sairie runs out with her little brother in tow and tells Dean what has happened, and Dean grabs his shotgun and an axe (to gasps from the neighbors across the street), and chops his way through that front door, which has slammed shut. It’s Dean’s worst nightmare: Something Has Sammy! The thing that grabbed Sam throws him about the house like so much dirty laundry, slamming Sam into all kinds of hard things. Sam suffers well and lands hard, and it looks like it hurts. Then Dean arrives (ta da!) ready to shoot at the flaming creature that is coming at his brother, only Sam stops him because he knows who it is. Who is it? Do you know? I didn’t, but that’s because I’m too mesmerized by the lovely image of Sam pinned to the wall.

[nms:CW Supernatural, 2,0]

But lo, the fiery figure turns into The Mom, in a whoosh. She makes an entrance, wearing a virginal white nightgown (what, was it immaculate conception both times?), with her angelic blonde hair streaming over her shoulders. Both boys are transfixed, and as they should be. She’s a powerful figure, coming closer to them, the embodiment of their reason for hunting (or at the very least, their reason for starting to hunt). She smiles at Dean and says his name, and he looks like he’s memorizing her and remembering her with his eyes. Then she goes for Sam. Sam who, at this point, must be so overwhelmed that not a single coherent thought is forming in his brain. (Which as you know is pretty unusual.) She says his name, and then she says, “I’m sorry.” He says, for what, because Sam always needs to know why, why, why. He’s a lovely quivering mess, with tears sparkling like diamonds in the corners of his eyes, and his mouth going all wibbly, and then she turns away to confront the evil thing that has hold of Sam. She tells it to get out of her house and to let go of her son, and then she ignites and goes up in a stream of flames. Sam is released. And now it’s truly over.

Now, only now for some reason, Jenny gives the box she found to Dean. Dean looks at the pictures with some surprise, and there are cute ones there, him holding Sam, etc. I’m glad she finally gave them the box. I was worried about it. My questions about it from earlier still apply, though at this point, though how or why it was forgotten will remain a mystery to me, possibly forever. But I think it belonged to The Dad, and here’s why I think so. When Jenny first opens it in the teaser, there’s a card or a little booklet on top that says, “Dad” in big, blocky, red letters. I can conclude, based on the hand lettering and bright colors, that it was a gift from a small child. Perhaps for a birthday or the ever-regal Father’s Day. Seeing as how the only child in the house at the time who could hold a crayon was four year-old Dean, I’m certain that he is the one who made it. And the reason the Dad kept it. The Dad, I’m sure, wasn’t overly sentimental (being a former Marine and all), even before The Mom’s untimely demise. So this is further proof, as if I needed any, that The Dad doted on his boys.

Sam is sitting on the steps with Missouri, looking at a yard where he never got to play, asking why, why, why. Missouri tells Sam that The Mom died to save her boys, of course. What I love about this scene is her gesture, she reaches out, intent on petting him, or touching him, wanting to give comfort, but at the last minute, she draws away. Perhaps knowing that Sam is beyond comfort at this point. I think he’d rather have The Mom around a bit more, even if she is a ghost.

The boys, in their sexy black Impala, with those blood red taillights, drive off. In the rain. They don’t look back. For the Winchesters, there’s no place like home. But, then, maybe that’s a good thing, and besides, if they’re in the Impala, and they’re with each other, then they already are home. But Missouri gets to go home, and I’m like, who cares, because while I realize she was a big help, she was a tad abusive towards Dean for my taste. And who do you think is waiting in her sitting room when she gets there? The Dad, of course. (Stubborn, dark-haired, revenge-driven, and UNBELIEVABLY handsome.) He’s all pale and drawn, playing with his wedding ring, his eyes smoky and dark. She wants to know why he wouldn’t see his boys. He says he wants to, oh, yes, how he wants to. But not until he knows the truth. And then the scene snaps to black. I scream at the TV: The truth about WHAT?? Oh wait, I need to use my indoor voice.

Sylvia Bond is a ten-year technical writing veteran with too many degrees under her belt to count. She lives in Colorado, but does not ski, preferring instead to spend her money and time at the annual Great American Beer Festival, taking road trips across the United States, and reading historical fiction from the comfort of her fluffy green arm chair. She has been involved in fandom since 1993 and been writing fanfic since approximately 1993. What she finds most amazing about fandom (besides the open heartedness of fans and the sheer amount of creativity) is how visible fandom has become. “In my day,” she says, “we had to hide behind P.O. boxes to get fanfic. But nowadays, people wear t-shirts that shout their affiliation and share their shiny toys on the internet.” It’s a wonderful world.

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