Supernatural: Salvation

The Dad and His Boys
by Sylvia Bond
Supernatural Episode Review, Season One – Episode 21
“Salvation”

This episode is the kind of episode you want to be prepared for, only there’s no way you can be. The first time I saw it, I had been watching Show from halfway through second season, so I knew who had died and how, but had only the vaguest understanding of why it was important. Luckily, I had the leisure to gird my loins and buy a bottle of red wine to watch this ep, because as one tough English teacher told me, “You’ll never get another chance to read A Clean, Well Lighted Place for the first time, so live it up.” I figured that this sentiment could apply to Show as well, so I was ready. Only not ready enough.

There’s basically three storylines in this episode. The first is about the Family Winchester, and oh, how I love seeing them together. When the three of them are in the same room, there’s such a jarring contrast between their bristling masculinity and the more subtle undertones of domesticity that the room creates. Granted, it’s just a motel room, but they move around it with such familiarity, that you know they’ve seen hundreds like it. Maybe thousands. Maybe more. They are in each other’s space, breathing each other’s breath, borrowing each other’s clothes, never asking for explanations or permission. Now that’s closeness.

This particular room is done in Early Crap with shades of Ugly, as indicated by the very natty orange bedspreads. John has blithely added to the ensemble by pinning up his pretty, pretty pictures of scary people, places, and things for visual aids as he, at last, imparts to his Boys everything that he knows about The Thing That Killed Mom. He says that signs about the demon showed up about a year ago, and Dean asks, “Is that when you took off?” The Dad says yes, and watch Dean as he flicks a glance at Sam as if to say, “See? I told you so!” (Sam never stopped being pissed at The Dad for taking off like that, but faithful Dean always knew there was a reason.)

As The Dad explains, he seems to be mostly talking to Sam, as if Sam is the one he needs to convince so that Sam will do it The Dad’s way. Dean, for his part, will follow orders, and The Dad knows this. (Take a look at the image of The Colt on top of The Dad’s notes. Besides the obvious symbology here, that the notes lead to The Colt, the notes themselves, in The Dad’s closely written style, tell a great deal about The Dad’s OCD about The Colt and his quest.)

Sam, naturally, gets all worked up, asking about infants being killed on their six-month birthdays. Two things here are really cool. First is the uber-parent-ness that emotes from John as he affirms, that yes, it was exactly Sam’s six-month birthday. As a non-parent, the significance of this particular milestone is lost on me. But it’s not lost on The Dad, and he’s never forgotten the date. (Well, and why should he, since that was the night his beloved Mary died.) I can so easily, at this moment, imagine him holding Baby Sammy, and rocking him to sleep. Singing a lullaby, which I’m sure he did very well, with that smoky voice of his. The second thing is Sam himself. He’s all splayed up against the sink, his very long legs going all the way to the floor, his head practically scraping the ceiling, looking so far removed from the baby they are all talking about, it’s not even funny.

True to Sam, though, he gets up and explodes that the whole thing is his fault. Then there’s shouting about what kind of problem it is, and whose problem it is (the fight is somewhat nonsensical), and then The Dad says, “Okay, that’s enough,” looking like he’s just about to get the paddle out and teach his boys some manners. Watch as Sam winces and pulls himself together. I might not be far wrong on this.

The boys take a road trip with the Dad to Salvation, Iowa, and I can imagine it must be ever so much fun trying to keep up with that black truck of his, like following a storm cloud or something. On the drive, The Dad pulls over. Any of you who have gone on a road trip with a dad know what that means. When he pulls over, YOU pull over. And it’s not because he’s asking for directions, cause Dads never do. Everyone gets out of their respective vehicles, are pelted with rain, and become soaked through within seconds.

Turns out, Meg is back, and she’s slicing through their friends. The first to go is Pastor Jim, who reside(d) in Blue Earth, Minnesota, a place with such an evocative name that I instantly want to go there every time I hear it. (St. Cloud, MN, is another one of those. I hear you can take a bus there.) The Dad tells his boys what they need to do (which is check the records of babies born in the last six months), and of course Sam starts asking questions. To which The Dad replies, with a snap, “We check ‘em all, you got any better ideas?” (“Smartass.” Even when The Dad doesn’t say it, he does.) At the end of the scene, Dean turns to The Dad as if to ask how he is doing. The Dad is doing terrible, of course, but what I thought was interesting is it seems that Dean is more aware than Sam, or anyone, that The Dad still a human being and has feelings. That’s how close a connection Dean and The Dad have.

Once in Salvation, the Winchesters separate to do research, which doesn’t sound sexy, but it is. We never get to see what The Dad does for research, which is a shame. There’s just a quick flash of him pulling out a paramedic badge and that’s it. I feel gypped. Dean finds a pretty little miss to drool over and flash his police badge to, giving that “I wish I didn’t have to work this gig face,” as he so often does when confronted with an offer such as the brunette behind the counter gives him. But, you know, Dean, he never skiffs off work early to go play. He’s a dutiful boy and he’s on the job till the overseer says it’s quitting time. Mostly we get to see Sam doing research, up to his very tall armpits in birth records, writing notes in his careful hand for all the babies who are going to be six months that very night.

Sam on his own is a lot like a lost child, with his schoolbag and his tan jacket that keeps slipping off his shoulders in the rain. Then he has a vision, which looks like a very bad migraine, but alas, there is no one there to comfort him. But instead of falling prey to his own misery, Sam pays attention to the vision, and figures out that the woman and her baby who are in danger live near the railroad tracks. Out comes his map, and off he goes. I like to imagine that he RAN the whole way, following the line of the tracks, stopping to check his bearings every so often, to pull his jacket up yet again, and then kept on going, regardless of how bad he feels. Sam’s like that, you see. He might whine about the food, or bitch at Dean for no particular reason, but on his own, like he is here, he matures about 10 years, and looks for help from no one. (I notice how badly Sam needs a haircut here. I hope he never gets one.)

The next bit, where Sam finds the house and chats up Victim Baby and Baby’s Mom always makes me anxious. I mean, I know that Sam is not a baby snatcher or something. But SHE doesn’t know that. Yet, as he comes skipping up to her, that enchanting smile in place, she doesn’t even flinch. He asks personal questions about her and her baby that would have any mother of a six-month old running off or at the very least backing away. I’ve had several conversations about my unease and my sureness that this could never happen in real life. In my experience, new mothers will kill you with their eyes if you even thought about hurting their baby, and they would never let a stranger get this near.

So I was almost convinced by the following ideas. First, that Sam can make himself so unprepossessing that he could charm the panties off a nun, and she would never even blink. I’ve seen happen a time or two, Sam being harmless and charming, not a nun taking her panties off, so I could kind of buy this. The second was that in small towns, mothers are less suspicious of strangers, and of COURSE would let 6 feet four of tall, dark, and dangerously handsome get within grabbing distance of their newborn. In spite of this logical thinking, I am still left uneasy. But maybe that was the plan all along?

Sam returns to the motel, rubbing his face in a way that makes me FEEL his pain (and it also looks like he’s got a brain tumor growing), and tries to explain about the visions. How they always come true, yadda, yadda, yadda. (Dean’s position on the bed echoes The Dad’s, like he’s a little mini-me or something.) What I love about it is The Dad’s dubiousness over the whole matter, as if he’s thinking it preposterous that any son of HIS could have visions. Other people’s sons, maybe, but not his. (Dean, I think, has had the same reaction. As in, “Not MY Sammy!”)

The scene is a powerful one in that as they are trapped in this grotty overly-orange motel room, all three of their personalities come into play. The Dad is bossy, Sam asks why, why, why, and Dean’s tries to keep them from killing each other. There’s close-ups of faces and mouths, and as The Dad and Sam plant themselves on their backsides, Dean scrambles around like a referee, to stave off the argument that it looks like is about to ensue, doing his Switzerland Dance, which is the one where he translates from The Dad-speak to Sam-speak and back again. He is reasonable. He is low-key. He stands between them. And now he is a target, because The Dad snaps at Dean, “When were you going to tell me?” Like, hello? It’s Sammy having visions, it’s Sammy who’s telling him this. So why is he yelling at Dean? Because the whole durn thing is Dean’s fault, apparently. Dean pulls out his “we tried to call you” card, which earns him a stern look and a “I’m not real crazy about this new tone of yours,” comment from The Dad. (And a vague feeling for me that if Dean keeps this up, the belt is going to wale tonight. I mean, if this is a new tone, what did the old tone sound like?) But it turns out that Dean is right, which shocks everyone, not least of which is myself.

The Dad then stands up and starts talking in such a heartbreaking way, it’s almost too much. He doesn’t want any of this, he says. He wants Sam to go to school, he wants Dean to have a home. He wants Mary alive. At which point his voice cracks, and the mantear shows up. What’s stunning is that The Dad is so dad-like, I didn’t see this coming. Dads don’t cry, right? I mean they don’t. Their voices don’t crack like this, they don’t start coming apart in front of their kids. Okay, maybe you had one of those dads that did, one of those dads who expressed emotion and communicated openly about every last little thing. But this dad, The Dad, does not, and so the vulnerability comes at a price that I’m not quite able to pay. I have to have more wine, otherwise, I can’t deal with it. (This whole scene has imbedded itself so hard in my memory, that I can recite it chapter and verse, red wine or no.)

Then the phone rings. It’s Meg, with her marvelous “d’s” that turn into “t’s, and her “t’s” that turn into “s’s” because she doesn’t know a stop from a flap, but that’s okay, it sure does make her interesting to listen to. Sam is the one who answers the phone, and The Dad sure is good at reading body language, because he’s right there the second Sam glances up, his hands in fists in his pockets, and he WANTS the phone. As in now. Sam knows better than to disobey, so it’s The Dad who is the lucky one who gets the bad news about Caleb. (And also gets to listen to him gasping for his last breath. Nice, huh?)

Meg tells The Dad to surrender The Colt or more of his friends will die. It’s a horrible prospect because from the sounds of it John has alienated most of his friends, so he doesn’t have very many left. But that’s a little unkind, because I know what’s killing him is the fact that MORE people might die on his behalf. And John’s such a rescuer that I don’t think he can bear for anyone to do for him what he’s willing to do for a stranger. Somehow, I think, this is who his Boys learned it from.

But The Dad’s got a plan, which Sam figures out in about two heartbeats. Not that Sam’s surprised or shocked, even, that The Dad is going to use a fake colt to give to Meg. But instead he’s upset that The Dad is going to go off, sacrifice whatever body parts need sacrificing, and leave his Boys the joy of finally killing The Thing That Killed Mom. (Sam figures this out so fast, it shows me just how alike he and The Dad are. And frankly, if The Dad says “you boys,” one more time in that low, velvety voice of his, I’m going to throw myself at his feet and beg to have his babies. Seriously. Must he do that?) Anyway, Sam is not happy, but that’s just the way the episode is going.

The Family Winchester meet on a back road besides some railroad tracks for the gun exchange. This is an interesting scene in a lot of ways. To begin with, could they have found a muddier, more isolated back road? I hardly think so, but the intent must be to imply a feeling of loneliness and the filth of having to deal with demons and suchlike. Besides, and more importantly, mud makes the Impala look good. The other thing is the fact that it was Dean who was sent off to go antiquing for a look-alike Colt (the idea of Dean going antiquing just CRACKS me up!), while Sam got to hang around with The Dad. Given that The Dad and his baby boy are always at loggerheads, I sure would like to have been a fly on the inside of that black truck. To be able to listen to the desultory conversation as they drove along, stopped for coffee at a diner somewhere, and waited for Dean. I somehow doubt that they had anything as tame to talk about as the standard, “How was your day, dear?” conversation. In my head, I imagine it went along the lines of “pass the sugar” (which can roughly mean, “Must you breathe so loudly?”) to “flag the gal for more, please,” (which can mean, “Do you really love Dean better than me?”)

The gun exchange is filmed looking down at the top of John’s head, focusing on his hands as he caresses both guns. This kind of camera angle is not used very often, probably because the perspective it takes, which is straight down, is harder to consider, seeing as how we normally see each other at eye level. So my hat’s off to the camera guy, or whoever it was who decided on this angle, cause it’s way cool. At the end of the gun exchange is the long goodbye. This scene kills me each and every time I see it. (More wine, anyone? Mine’s a merlot.)

First, there is Dean telling The Dad that if things go south, he should just get the hell out. It took me several watchings to translate this into regular English from the highly complicated Winchester-speak. Dean’s not just saying goodbye, you know. He’s saying, “I love you very much, Dad.” (Since I don’t have a certificate in Winchester-speak, this is a rough translation only.) The Dad, in his turn, nods. He says, “The same goes for you,” but what he’s really saying is, “I love you too, son.”

Then it’s Sam’s turn. Oh, he IS worked up, the poor boy, and I think he is destroying himself from the inside out with thoughts of never seeing The Dad again. Sam says, “We’ll see you soon, Dad.” Which I think means, “Please let me tell you how sorry I am for everything that’s gone wrong between us, for every harsh word I said to you and all the times I didn’t listen. I’m sorry that I went away to college like that and hurt you, and I wish more than anything that this was all over and we were all safe and well and that we could spend some time together, as father and son.” (Sam, as you know, is never at a loss for words.) The Dad then says, “I’ll see you later.” (Which I take to mean, “I’ll see you later,” because The Dad never gets overly mushy. Even when he wants to.)

The second storyline happens when the boys sit in the Impala and wait outside the Holt house. They’ve been highly trained in waiting, as I’ve often noticed, and if they’ve been there since The Dad left for Lincoln, then they’ve been sitting there for hours. Their butts must be sore. And yet they wait, with the patience of saints. Talking and not talking, saying a whole lot with the leaning and the looking. I’m really struck by the waiting, I think. And by their desire to protect and serve, as they sit and wait like a couple of cops who are right out of donuts. The sleep deprivation alone would be enough make me miserable, let alone worrying about how to convince someone to get out of their house, because, as you know, the whole gas leak excuse has never worked for them. Even so, it must feel rather comfortable to be sitting together as they are, as they so often have done.

But Sam, you know, he’s not one to let the opportunity of a trapped audience go by, so he begins to talk. And not in Winchester-speak either, no, he’s speaking plain English, letting all those troublesome emotions come spilling out right into Dean’s lap. About how much he appreciates (and therefore loves) Dean, how Dean was always there for him, yadda, yadda, yadda. It’s the “before we die together in battle” speech.

Dean’s reaction is typical Dean, but no less satisfying for that. He’s like “no way,” and “shut up,” saying, Dean style, I love you back. But no one is dying on Dean’s watch, that much is certain. Especially not Sammy! (Not MY Sammy!) Dean is particularly lovely here, and I don’t know if it’s the lighting or what, but his skin looks particularly supple and moist, and his lips are the color of the darker raspberries that you can get midseason. Yum!

Then the rescue begins. What I love about it is the realism. Sure, Dean can pick a lock faster than most people can pick their nose, but waiting inside is The Victim’s Dad, and he’s got a baseball bat. No, he’s not going to let either of the Winchesters near his wife or his baby, and that’s just facts. He can see Sam’s got a gun, but he can only go after one of them at a time, with desperation and a flash of fire in his eyes, the anger of a true father protecting his family. I just love that. Only he’s no match for Dean, who easily wrestles him to the wall, trying to explain that he’s there to help. When has that ever worked? Never, that’s when. When that doesn’t work, he knocks the dad out, and carries him off over one manly shoulder.

Sam flies up the stairs, where The Baby’s Mom is confronting the demon (the YED you hear tell about). There’s screaming and stuff, and Sam, after coming face to face with his worst childhood nightmare, misses the demon at point blank range, wrestles the mom the heck out of there, leaving Dean to grab the baby just as the crib goes up in flames. Once outside, the dad is in a lather trying to protect his family, though he’s still outnumbered, and he only calms down when Sam gives The Baby to his wife, and he has them both in his arms. Everything else can go to hell, his family is safe. Now that’s a dad you’d want to have around. What’s also interesting is the mom herself. She’s standing between her husband, who is ready to kill with his bare hands, and Sam, who has a gun. It’s not an easy situation, and yet, this little slip of a thing, in her thin nightie and bare feet, brings everything to a halt with only her voice. Now that’s a powerful woman!

Sam spots the demon in the window, just as the nursery is engulfed in flames. Sam, like The Dad (and Dean, come to think of it), is quite comfortable making bold sacrifices not on his own behalf, so he starts sprinting into the flaming house to get the thing. Dean holds him back. (“It’s burning, it’s suicide!” “I don’t care!” “Well I DO!”) Now, this whole loads of meaning behind it, seeing as how Dean first pulled Sam from a burning building when Sam was six months old and Dean was four. Then, it happened again, when St. Jess was on the ceiling and Dean pulled Sam from the room. Now again we see it, and I’m beginning to feel there’s a pattern here. And isn’t there some old legend that says if you save a man, he belongs to you? Well, Sam well and truly belongs to Dean at this point, I’d say. (As if he didn’t already.)

The last storyline is dedicated to The Dad hunting, which is a joy and a delight to my heart. So often we see The Dad through his son’s eyes, with all that that implies, giving us a picture of a man of power, of authority, of smarts, and of cunning. Not the nicest man, or a dad who always answers his phone, but a father in the truest sense, filling his role to the best of his ability, and being, always, the man in charge. This is how my idea of who The Dad is was first developed, through his sons. Now, in this episode, I get to see The Dad hunting, on his own.

Here, The Dad arrives at the factory, in that black truck of his with its huge tires. (Most men have huge tires just for show, to prove their manhood, or to compensate or some dumb thing. Not The Dad. He needs those tires, to get him in and out of bad situations.) Instantly he does recon and checks his supplies. He looks rangy and long legged (which Sam takes after), and dark and dangerous, like a young Oliver Reed. As he climbs a ladder, you can see why he dresses the way he does. Never mind that I like them scruffy, the boots are sturdy enough to take the thin, metal rungs, his jeans are second hand from the Salvation Army (only fifty cents!), and the jacket and shirt are rugged enough to take the rusty sides of the old cistern as he slinks around it. Any or all of these items have no sentimental value and can be replaced at a moment’s notice. I, being a sentimental female (as opposed to the other kind), have affinities to certain items of clothing, and find myself hard pressed to throw anything out, even if it is stained. Oh, to be a Winchester, and understand the real purpose of clothes.

One of my favorite scenes (besides all of them) is watching The Dad prep the water in the cistern. He opens the lid and recites the Latin to turn ordinary water into holy water. From memory, mind you. Then he tosses the rosary in. Someone in the camera crew had had a good breakfast and vitamins that day, because they figured out how freaking COOL it would look to have the camera and some good lighting at the bottom of the cistern so I could see as John drops the rosary it in the water, and watch it curl around itself as it plummets into the depths. Heck, maybe it was mirrors, but the effect sure was good.

Quite soon after that, The Dad meets up with Meg. This is a bit I love. She says she’s surprised to see him because she was looking forward to killing off his other friends. (She calls him John and pronounces it “Chon.” I LOVE her accent!) He says, in the most gravelly and sarcastic voice you have ever heard, “Sorry to disappoint.” I’ve often wondered at the lack of a first person pronoun in this statement, and love to repeat it in my deepest voice when someone tells me I’ve come up short. I think it expresses a lack of concern on my part, and here, on John’s part, because he sure as heckfire doesn’t care that she’s disappointed.

She tries complimenting him, saying that now she knows where his boys get their good looks, and I’m like, DUH. Then she repeats the oft-used bad guy insult when she says, “But I thought you’d be taller.” (On account of his reputation, you see. And I’m like, who’s been talking about The Dad? Do ALL the demons know who he is? Or has she been talking to other hunters? Inquiring minds are dying to know!) Also what’s fun here is to watch him deal with this demon. He barely moves a muscle as he lies about the gun and holds his ground. He’s not unafraid, but he knows what he’s dealing with here, and it shows. It also adds to the realism that you can almost see him sweat.

The gun is shown to be fake when Meg’s fellow demon uses it to shoot her. She’s all up in arms, and then John says, “I guess you’re lucky the gun wasn’t real.” This makes me laugh, no matter how bad a day I’ve had, on account of The Dad’s rippling sarcasm and that smile that says to the demons, that’ll teach you! Then The Dad runs off. He’s not running away, mind, he’s the fox leading the chickens out of the coop and into the fire. He’s leading them right into the underbelly of the boiler rooms, where he cuts them off when he turns open the tap to the cistern and lets the holy water spill all over the place. (Meg says, “Real cute, John.” Only it comes out, “Real-eh cute-eh, Chon.”) The demons can’t go any further, and The Dad now has a way out. Watch him as he smiles, using all his teeth. It’s not a nice smile, or a gentle one. It’s almost like he could use those teeth to rip the demons a new one if they got too close.

Alas, The Dad’s break for freedom is short lived. The demons have already put flat tires on the black truck, and as The Dad is taking out his cell phone (who is he going to call?), the demons knock it out of his hands and then smash him up against the wall like a bug. The demons walk out of what looks like red fire, but is really only way cool lighting. It’s all over for The Dad, he’s in their hands now, and it looks like it’s going to get darker before it gets lighter. He grits his teeth and hollers, leading me to conclude that no one suffers as well as The Dad, unless it’s his Boys.

The last scene takes place back at the motel, which is just as grotty and ugly as it ever was. Sam is moody and angsty, while Dean is on the phone, trying to get The Dad to answer, which of course he can’t do because The Dad is a little busy at the moment being tortured by demons. More importantly, this scene has all the best elements of any brotherly interaction, because it’s painful to watch, reveals more than it probably should, and involves wall slamming, which, as you probably know, is the surest indication that one or both of the brothers has been pushed beyond his usual boundaries into emo-land, from which there is never any safe return. Dean brings on Sam’s ire by saying that if finding the demon means that Sam is willing to sacrifice his life to end it all, then Dean hopes they never find it. And then, to add fuel to the fire, he reminds Sam that both The Mom and St. Jess are gone and they are never coming back.

Ahhhh, wall-slamming, I love it so. And Sam is just huge as he does this, smacking Dean up against the early-ugly fake wood paneling, and he’s close enough to either kill or kiss. But it’s Dean’s speech that has me all worked up, when, through very tight lips, he tells Sam, “The three of us, it’s all we have. It’s all I have.” You know Dean. He never reveals more than he absolutely has to, and that he does so here tells me how upset he is over The Dad being missing, and the fact that Sam would just as soon throw himself into the pit as go on with any of this. Sam wants it over. But Dean? He never wants it to end, in spite of the fact that his life is the most messed up and dark thing I’ve ever seen.

Sam, hearing what his brother is not saying, thumps Dean on the chest and backs off. And when I say thumps, I mean it; Sam’s hand is HUGE on Dean’s chest, and loud, and I’m wondering, when did Sam get so tall and powerful and almost overwhelming? While I’m dwelling on the enormity of Sam’s hands, the phone rings. It’s Meg. Again. She’s nasty as usual, and tells Dean that the Winchester boys messed up. Dean knows right away that she’s got The Dad. Listen to his voice as he asks, “Where is he?” It’s like listening to glass breaking. She tells him that they’re never going to see The Dad again. And then?

Everything fades to black. And I see a little message that says: To be continued…. How cruel is that? I only have half a bottle of wine left. I recork it. I put it aside. And prepare to watch the next installment. For which I will not be ready.

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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