Supernatural: Croatoan

Searching for Virginia Dare
by Sylvia Bond
Supernatural Episode Review – Season Two, Episode 9

“Croatoan”

This episode starts in my favorite way because Dean is looking rapturously good in that blue jacket of his and he’s got a gun in his hand. And he’s flirting with me because he’s going slow motion, so that I can concentrate on every last freckle, the curve of his lips, the sparkle in his eye. Only he’s not happy, even though he looks sexycool tapping the magazine of his gun against the heel of his hand to make sure the bullets are tamped in properly. No, he looks murderously mad, and he goes in and shoots this guy (we’ll call him Boy), who is tied to a chair.
Now, normally, Dean-o’s not the type to kill someone who’s helpless and tied to a chair, so I figure there’s a good reason because I believe in Dean. He shoots Boy dead, and then we discover, oh, it’s a dream. Or rather, since Sam is the one having it, oh, it’s a vision. A violent one that leaves Sam on the floor next to his scarlet covered bed. (What motel has scarlet counterpane like that, I ask you?) I love the moment when Dean comes in chomping on beef jerky with a six-pack tucked comfortably under his arm.

Where was he for so long while Sam was having his vision? And were he and Sam planning on having a night in while they down said six-pack? I’m sure there was a game on that Sam would pretend to watch. Then, as Sam and Dean hurtle down some blue highway, they dither, much to my joy and my delight. They dither about where they are going and why and it almost turns into an argument when they say, sequentially, “Fine,” “Fine,” and then, “Fine,” “Fine.” I love this bit. It’s what siblings say to each other, and each “fine” is code for another piece of the argument.

Another key element in this episode is the background music, done by Christopher Lennertz, who is a freaking GENIUS. Now, normally, I’m fully aware that Dean likes to listen to classic rock, and that Sam humors him in this, mostly because, as everyone knows, the driver (that’s Dean) picks the music and shotgun (that’s Sam) shuts his cakehole. And typically, eps usually are blaring with the strains of Meatloaf, Rush, Quiet Riot, and Queensryche. (Though none, oddly, from any song by Queen. They’re a classic band, they’re one of the best, this country LOVES Queen, so I’m like, what the hell, Show, what the hell?) This time around, the sad French horns and mournful cellos just slayed me.

Overall, this is a quirky ep with no visible threat from a MOW that runs or shambles or pops out of dark closets at either the boys or the camera lens. The scariest it gets is when neither Dean nor Sam’s cell phone gets any bars at all, which is when they try what is probably the only pay phone for MILES. When Dean tries it, he gets a busy signal, at which point he determines that the line is dead.

But the boy was born after cell phones were invented and never uses pay phones, otherwise he’d know that if the line was dead, then he wouldn’t have gotten any signal, busy or otherwise. (Dean has also missed out on the pleasure of ever talking to a real operator—let alone received any threatening calls from Miss Tomlin asking when they could expect payment.) The boys discuss the implications of dead phone lines (which, I’m sorry, is my experience EVERY time I try to use my cell phone), which Dean notes is the quickest way to massacre a town. Naturally, in his Deanish brain, massacre is the first idea he comes up with.

The good part about the trouble with the phones is that the boys can’t contact anyone they know. This alleviates my frustration that usually occurs when Ellen or Bobby is brought on as an unseen character with no lines whatsoever but who holds sway over the events of the ep. Sam is apt to say, “Well, Bobby thinks…” or “Ellen says…” and whatever Bobby thinks or Ellen says solves everything, leaving Sam and Dean with nothing to do but stand there their elbows akimbo and look devilishly and angelically handsome, respectively. (Not that this is hard on the eyes at all.) And while I love Bobby and Ellen and all the second stringers, I dislike the habit that Show started at some point where the boys’ first reaction is to reach out and ask someone, rather than figure it out by their own darling selves. Here, though, the boys are thoroughly ensconced in Nowheresville, USA, and because the phones don’t work, the computer has no connection to the Internet either, they are on their own.

Stuff comes out of this ep like worms out of the ground, tidbits of information that leave me wanting to snatch up a piece of paper and a pen so I can take notes. For example, Sam and Dean interrogate this guy on a front porch about the location of Boy who Sam saw in his vision. We learn, through this interrogation of this guy (I call him Sarge) that The Dad was part of Echo-2/1 company, which I don’t think is a lie, mostly because of the bright and shiny way with which Dean says it. (Because I’m such a geek, I went and looked it up. There is an Echo 2/1 company, and they were recently active in the Gulf War. They are now part of the 31st Marine Expeditionary Unit, and their job is, as I understand it, to provide troops for amphibious and maritime special ops at night. I wonder what they think of having an imaginary character as a former member of their ranks?)

Then Sam bumps into a telephone pole that has the word “Croatoan” carved into it, and the ep is off and skipping. I’ll admit, continuing on with my self-admitted geekness, that I know all about Croatoan. The first time I heard about it was in a book I read in elementary school called Virginia Dare: Mystery Girl. It was part of the Childhood of Famous Americans; I read as many of the series as I could get hold of because yeah, I was that kind of kid.  My other favorites were Squanto: Young Indian Hunter and Sacagawea: American Pathfinder because I was WAY into American Indians for a good long while there.

Of course Sam knows all about Croatoan, and I’ll wager he also read Virginia Dare: Mystery Girl, because, yeah, he was that kind of kid, too. He probably read Meriwether Lewis: Boy Explorer and Thomas Edison: Young Inventor, as well, just to have something to read that was not about Latin, demon hunting, and how to keep your gunpowder dry in wet weather. As Sam goes into full geekout mode telling Dean all about it, Dean’s looking at younger brother somewhat askance. It’s always been obvious that the brothers had different childhoods, and remember those good old fashioned school days, each in their unique way, and that’s so obvious during this bit.

At first, Dean has no interest in Roanoke, lost colonies, or mysterious disappearances, regardless of how Sam’s mouth waters while he talks. Instead, Dean’s eyes look glazed (as they often do when Sam dithers on by himself), and finally Sam snaps at Dean, asking him whether he ever paid attention in school. I mean like, Sam, do you even KNOW your brother at all? Of course he never did! Dean’s response creates full on fangirl bliss as he rolls his eyes in a vague way and bumbles out historical clichés like the shot heard round the world and how bills become laws, etc. And herein lies one of the eps most hysterical moments, and I really have to hand it to the writers for finding a way for this gem of a remark from Sam: “Dean, that’s not school! That’s Schoolhouse ROCK.”

Their investigation leads them to a house in the woods, where an unhappy (formerly happy, one presumes) family is involved in nefarious acts. Daddy guy and the brother dude have the mom lady tied up and are forcing blood to blood contact on her. Enter Dean and Sam in rescue mode, where they shoot the daddy guy, untie the mom lady, and the brother dude gets away. They take the mom lady to the clinic, and Dean totes the body of the dead daddy guy, which doesn’t make sense because Sam is actually, um, taller, and could manage the dead weight better. Or maybe they do it that way because Sam is better with a wailing woman.

Once at the clinic, where they have the doctor gal doing blood tests, Dean takes Sam to task for being a bleeding heart and not shooting the brother dude when he had a clean shot. His eyes are like cold stones as he takes Sam down a peg, he doesn’t care that Sam feels that the brother dude was “just a kid,” the job comes first before any bleeding heart stuff. I like this little scene because Dean appears to be, at this moment, a younger version of The Dad, taking the stance that The Job comes before everything, especially chick flick emotion such as Sam often expresses. (Plus there’s a shout out to The Shining. Don’t feel bad if you didn’t get the Sidewinder reference, I almost didn’t.)

Dean rumbles off in the Impala to do some recon, and comes across an empty car with bloodied seats. Quickly after that, he encounters a roadblock with some Deliverance type folks (including the brother dude), who won’t let Dean pass. (Not without a password!) One of the folks with a rifle wants Dean to step out of the car so they can have a little chat. Dean says, “You’re a handsome devil, but I don’t swing that way.” Dean, Dean, Dean. You KEEP saying that, but what exactly does it mean? One of these days we’re going to find out which way you DO swing and then you’ll be sorry. Either that, or very, very glad.

Dean manages to shriek off in the car, a nice stunt, and runs into Sarge. The standoff is fun to watch, both men are ready to shoot each other but don’t want to. It gets even funnier when Sarge tells Dean he had to kill his neighbor, Mr. Rogers. Dean asks, “You actually have a neighbor named Mr. Rogers?” Then, without missing a beat, Sarge says, “Not any more.” (Bada bing!) On top of which, Sarge gets to ride in the Impala! I envy him this. If I ever…no, WHEN I win a billion dollars, I’m going to get me a ’67 Impala and find some kids in shop class who want to rebuild it to spec for me. THEN I’m going to park it in my driveway and sit in it. Then I’m going to go on a cross-country road trip the likes of which you have never seen. Outside of Show, of course.

Meanwhile, Sam is stuck in the clinic, casting concerned eyes at the corpse of the daddy guy. Then when the mom lady attacks, he whacks her with the fire extinguisher because he’s learned his lesson about being a bleeding heart. At least he’s learned his lesson for this ep, but I have a strong gun feeling that a guy who knows all about Virginia Dare: Mystery Girl will have to keep learning it, either till hell freezes over or he goes darkside. (Besides, he’s so earnestly cute as he struggles with this particular issue: to kill or not to kill.)

Dean comes back to the clinic and Sam finally gets around to pouring over The Dad’s journal. When he brings it up to Dean, I’m pleased on two counts. First, that The Dad has become part of the ep without any assistance from me. Not that I’m not always happy to bring this marvelous character into my reviews because I am. But I like it when Sam and/or Dean bring it up themselves, because for however much I like to think that The Dad is constantly in their thoughts, it’s made all the more better when the boys validate this through dialog. (And, as well, any mention of The Dad and I’m apt to wail that they killed him off too soon, too soon, and mutter, John, we hardly knew ye to anyone who will listen.)

Second, I’m pleased on account of The Dad’s theory about Croatoan. Legend has it that the colony of Roanoke disappeared, and either they got absorbed or killed by nearby Indian tribes. Perhaps they wandered aimlessly off in search of the nearest Ye Olde Coffee Shoppe, whatever. There’s an overarching 400 years or more of history to attest to the fact that the colony vanished in mysterious but was most assuredly a normal, earthly manner. The Dad, however, tosses all of this out the window and without a single nod to any generally accepted “lore” that had been unearthed, ascribes the entire disaster to the YED messing around with his pet virus. You have to love a man with enough chutzpah to overthrow current carbon dating methods, satellite imagery, anthropological digs, DNA testing, preserved letters and ephemera, the History Channel, the Discovery Channel, TLC, National Geographic Magazine, AND The Smithsonian – all to theorize that the devil did it.

Then comes one of my favorite scenes. Everyone is at the clinic, there’s been much dither about the virus, and Sarge announces that the mom lady needs to be offed because she’s only going to become like them. Sarge and Dean both pull out their guns because they’re willing to do the hard thing. Then, as everyone’s hesitating, Dean steps up to the plate and shoots her dead. What does this take out of him? I always imagine that it hardens him to do this, that a little piece of him dies each time, but that he’s willing to do so for the sake of humanity. While this might sound rather esoteric for someone like Dean the Hunter, you have to remember that the surface you see is only a façade. Inside beats a human heart that must become inured to the killing in order to save.

When night falls over the little town that’s dying, it rather reminded me of the scene where some of the survivors are holing up in Night of the Living Dead. (It’s more like that than the Omega Man, which Dean references, but I’m going to let that go, seeing as I find Dean spouting pop culture references unbelievably cute.) Everyone is freaked and the boys weapon up. There’s a lovely little tidbit as Sam unsheathes a knife, and it’s not a little knife. It’s a Crocodile Dundee sized knife, and Sam looks at it rather like a man might his lover; for all his apathy towards guns and his dislike of killing, I always associate knives with Sam’s love for them. (This might be in part based on original promo pictures that show Sam holding a lovely curved cycle knife, the likes of which we’ve never seen to this very day.)

Sam doesn’t have problems handling weapons that don’t have projectiles. He, instead, seems to like crowbars, baseball bats, discarded bits of pipe (brass and otherwise), and whatnot, anything he can swing and put the full power of his broad shoulders behind. I think that this is because Sam dislikes the idea of warfare being disconnected from being human; if you’re going to kill something, it is more honorable (and perhaps noble) to feel that death up close and personal. Otherwise, if it’s depersonalized, it becomes a whole lot easier to lay waste to a town (like the YED is doing), and then you, the person who’s doing that, become dehumanized. You become like them: e-VILE.

Except this whole little theory rather tumbles to the ground when Sam spots several dozen bottles of potassium chloride and with a twinkle in his beautiful green eyes, suggests that they start making home made Molotov cocktails so they can throw them at people. In entereth Boy, who is related to the dead mom lady, the even deader dad guy, and the recently shot-at-but-not-killed brother dude. Boy is all scratched and concerned; he wants his mommy. What happens after that question is short, but oh, so good. Because it reveals that Dean realizes that what he did (kill the mom lady) has repercussions, but, being Dean, he makes a joke, and he doesn’t tell Boy anything. “Awkward,” he says to Sam, rolling his eyes as if this whole thing were just a spot of bother and not anything to worry about.

Sarge tells doc woman to give Boy the once over. When it’s discovered that he has a cut, they suspect him and tie him up. After which follows a hallway dither, which are always very good, since Sam and Dean usually talk in acidic whispers and argue about what The Dad would want them to do, and who gets to shot what weapon first. In this particular conversation, Dean allows that he wants to shoot to kill before Boy “hulks” out.

I’m with Dean on this one. Like I said, I trust him, I trust his instincts. They’re always good, they’ve always served him well. Dean says something about it not being easy, and then Sam says, “We’re SUPPOSED to struggle with this, etc.” In Sam’s mind, the whole thing was planned by some outside observer who’ll take notes and then hand out prizes for the best struggler. I get where Sam’s coming from, his idea is that it’s good to think these things through, and normally I’d agree. But when it’s a blood virus that can turn you into a killer? I’d say get out the shotgun and get ever’ one o’ them e-VILE sonsofbitches.

Dean agrees. He LOCKS Sam in a room and goes to kill Boy. Boy is crying and sobbing and Dean gets out the gun (his beloved pearl-handled 1911 Taurus), undoes the safety, and pulls back the trigger, just like in the vision. But, he doesn’t kill Boy. Later, Sam and Dean are making homemade bombs and four hours passes. Doc gal wants to untie boy, and Dean demurs to Sam who gives the nod to proceed. And then, while they’re building bombs, Sam say, you know I’m going to ask you why. Dean says, in his best Willie Loomis voice, “Yeah, I know.” Sam says, why’d you do it. Dean intones, “We need more alcohol.” And while I’m thinking that as usual Dean sometimes needs those old devil spirits to get into a “meaningful” conversation with his little brother, I think that this time around, he means for the homemade bombs.

Presently Nurse chick needs Sam’s help, and this little slip of a girl manages to lock Sam in the room with her. At first I thought, well, she’s coming on to him and heck, she’s got GOOD taste. Then she slams him on his backside (and a lovely one it is!) and proceeds to mess him up good. She slices him open, slices herself, and voila, blood-to-blood contact is made. In a beautiful little scene, Dean slams down the door, and shoots nurse chick in the back, but it’s too late. Our lovely boy has been infected with the YED’s pet virus and is bound to go crazy and start wreaking havoc upon the little society in the clinic.

The themes of this ep (and there must be a theme, even if there isn’t, because we English majors like it like that. In fact, we could find a theme in a pile of rat poo if we wanted, you know, just to satisfy that inner ache) are the ideas of love, loyalty, and devotion, which, as any fangirl could tell you, is woven into the entire history of Supernatural, the way gold and lapis lazuli are woven into the raiments of angels. When nurse chick infects Sam, the ep arrives at what an English major would call a crucial turning point, and with smatterings of selflessness, the themes can be found in a number of different scenes.

The first is the moment when Sam, on the floor with the dead nurse chick on top of him, reaches out to Dean with his casted hand. Not only is this brotherly and tender enough for the most loyal of Samgirls, it speaks to Sam’s vulnerability, especially when Sarge reminds Dean that Sam is infected and Dean’s not supposed to touch him. (Dean not touch Sam? That’s like telling bears not to do their business in the woods or insisting that Shirley Temple not look adorable as she tap dances her way into the collective heart of a nation.)

The second is where Sarge decides they need to shoot Sammy, just like they shot the mom lady. Oh, HO! Watch Dean’s face as he puts on his Angry Eyes and the threats fly. Now, you know that I’m on Dean’s side here, if anyone tries to hurt Sam, it is at their peril. AT THEIR PERIL. But why is the Sarge’s first impulse to shoot Sam? Why don’t they just tie him up like they did Boy? I mean, it IS Thursday after all, and Sam’s been tied up before so it really isn’t that farfetched of an idea. I think it’s to give Dean the opportunity to say some VERY cool lines, like “Nobody shoots my brother,” and “The first person to try it will be dead before they hit the floor.”

The third is when Dean tosses Sarge the keys to the Impala. The KEYS to the IMPALA. The Impala is loaded with everything Dean and Sam know, have, own, made, keep, and need, and it just boggles the mind with as much love Dean has for that car, his baby, his best GIRL, he hands it over just like that. And never mind that Sarge has his own vehicle, or that the cache of goodies in the Impala’s trunk are likely to raise Sarge’s eyebrows once he gets beyond the state line. Never mind any of the realistic implications, this is the ultimate sacrifice, the kind you hear about in old Roman legends: Here is my sword, my shield, now leave me in peace on this hillside to die.

Then, last, but not least, is the locking of the door. It happens a lot in this ep, with the satisfying, metallic turn and hard click known only to a certain type of deadbolt. Dean casts one long glance on the departing figures through the little narrow window, and that’s it. He’s not looking back, he could give a rat’s hind end what happens out there; he’s finished with the world, and it’s just him and Sam now. Sam begs him, frustration rising with every second, to leave. He wants Dean to leave behind a gun so he can end it; he wants Dean to go and live his life. Dean refuses to do so and sits down to wait it out with his beloved Sam.

This particular scene always seems longer than it actually is, on account of the depth of meaning, and the way it swings the ep towards inner emotion and away from all those dumb infected idiots outside. (They’re just zombies, and as you know, I don’t find zombies very interesting.) Here, Sam cries more beautifully than he should do, given that his face is streaked with messy tears and his upper lip glistens with snot. If he were a three year old, I’d be turning away, wondering where the child’s mother was with that damned tissue. But, seeing as it’s my Sammy Sam Sam, I want to do something to fix it. (After, of course, watching him cry for a little bit more—because when Sam cries, it’s so damn REAL that I just want to cry with him, which is very cathartic and messy and lovely. And don’t just take my word for it, ask any fangirl, she’ll tell you: Sam cries good.) But even my wanting to do exactly as he wants, which is to get Dean the hell out of there, I can’t.

And that’s because Dean won’t go. Dean’s not budging from that room, not now or ever, and you can’t make him go, no way, daddy-o. Not only is he not leaving Sammy to die alone, he’s tired. But not so tired that he can’t make this amazing little speech about it: “I’m tired, Sam. I’m tired of this job. This life. This weight on my shoulders man, I’m tired of it.” And it’s not about The Dad either, it’s about something else that Dean never gets a chance to say because the stupid doctor lady interrupts them to announce that everyone in the whole town is missing! Just like at Roanoke, rah, rah, sis boom bah.

I really want to smack her silly for her stinky timing—so I’ll appease myself by pointing out that Ackles really rocks in scenes like this. Yeah, he’s good in the action scenes, and he’s really good in the funny scenes, but give him something to say that reveals the heart and soul of Dean’s character, and my jaw drops like he’s just sprouted wings or something. I’m amazed at his ability to transmit emotion through just a little wibble of his mouth, or the solemnity of his chin tucked to his chest, or the way he looks up through his eyebrows like a little kid who wants to make sure he’s not in trouble. He’s the man of a thousand expressions, and those are just the ones we’ve seen thus far.

Nominally, I’d say that this episode was about Dean saving Sam, that, in fact, Dean represents the thousandth man of the Rudyard Kipling poem. He’s the guy who will not only be your friend (or in this case, Sam’s friend) like the other nine hundred and ninety-nine dudes, but he will follow you to the gallows-foot and after. Here, it’s really obvious, if Sam dies, so does older brother. Willingly, almost, embracing death, because a life without Sam is no life at all. If I were to write a paper about this ep using all the aforementioned bits, I’d get an A for sure. (And English majors LIVE for A’s on their papers. In fact, we’ve been known to frame them.) It’s pretty straightforward, given the directness of Dean’s speech and the sad French horn in the background.

But. If I wanted that little “+” sign next to the big, red A, I’d have to go a step further and say that if Dean is willing to die with Sam, Sam is the one who saves Dean from becoming a stone cold killer. I’d cleverly point out the fact that Dean, by this time, is well on his way to it. That he killed the dad guy very easily, and ripped Sam a new one for not killing the brother dude when he had him clean in his sights. I’d point out that in particular Dean’s killing of the mom lady was cold to the max, and then we’d get to the part where Dean’s going to reenact Sam’s vision from earlier. He’s going to march in there and shoot Boy, right between the eye, but I’d explain how Sam goes all Jiminy Cricket on Dean (using sophisticated deconstructionist terms here instead of Disney ones) as he demands to know what’s wrong with Dean.

I’d attempt not to wax poetic how gorgeously powerful it was that Dean was able to toss Sam off the way a horse does a fly and then lock his brother in with one of those meaningful deadbolt clicks. Instead, I’d focus on the moment where Dean does NOT shoot Boy, but instead mutters a naughty swear word, and marches out of the room where Boy is tied without another word. Then I’d talk about after, when Sam and Dean are assembling homemade bombs (perhaps adding in some Jungian analysis about putting something together in order to take something else apart), and Sam asks Dean why. Now, an ordinary paper would sum it up here, because the little voice that is Sam in Dean’s head stopped him from killing an innocent human being. But my paper would then go into how Sam should KNOW why, without having to ask. But I’ll bet Sam asks why just so he can hear it from Dean’s own lips, that Dean didn’t shoot Boy because he wanted to be the better man, like Sam is.

But Dean’s already a better man, on account of he does the hardest things, dives into the messiest psychological warfare situations you could ever imagine (killing both a MOM and a DAD, for crying out loud – you don’t think that doesn’t do something to a guy? Especially a guy like Dean who has lost BOTH?). Sam’s always going on about having a clear conscience and struggling with moral ambiguity, and that’s all very well and good. But it seems to me while Sam looks at the problem as a mental exercise, Dean is already (and has been for quite some time) wading up to his hips (his yummy, yummy hips) in blood and sacrifice. He doesn’t have time to flip open his opera glasses to watch the fat lady singing. He’s got to go down there and whack off her head before she finishes that stupid song, all in the name of self-sacrifice, whether it means saving a single, mute child or the entire of humanity. Now, go look that up in your Funk and Wagnall’s, Sammy. (I think I just lost that “+” on my paper, in fact, the prof wants me to come down to his office for a little chat on account of I somehow forget to remember that the characters I’m writing about are not real.)

But back to the part where the doc gal interrupted the beautiful brother moment to show the boys that outside there is no one for miles. The town is deserted, Croatoan strikes again. Hours later, it is determined that Sam is clean, he dodged the bullet. But the mom lady’s blood is clean too; if they’d kept her tied up, she’d be no longer infected so maybe Dean killed her for nothing, and how sad is that? Sam has no clue, and Dean thinks this is the one that got away. I have the feeling that Show intended to pick up this storyline at some later date, but due to the proclivities of TV and the demands of the One Eyed Teat, they were unable to.

One really cool scene is where Sarge and Boy pack up Sarge’s yellow truck for destinations unknown. Now while I didn’t think the scene or the pairing had enough muscle for a spin-off, I got the feeling that the two of them would make an interesting story, perhaps enough for a cameo in a later episode. Because imagine it, these two could have become hunters in Show’s definition of the term, and it would have given me great comfort to think of them out there, doing their thing, (say it with me now) saving people, hunting things.

Only it turns out that, as Sarge pulls over to ostensively to let Boy pee by the roadside, that Boy is possessed by a demon. (Dean was RIGHT!) He uses Sarge’s blood to make a silver cup phone call (which, unlike a cell phone, uses a server that NEVER goes down and always gives you enough bars) to the YED. Boy reports in that Sam passed the test. Not the test I was talking about earlier of course, the one about struggling with moral issues, no. This test was about being immune to scary demon virus. So Sam is, and the virus exists, Boy still exists somewhere, scaring the locals or something, but we’ve not heard about it from that day to this.

At the end of the ep, we get a lovely pastoral setting, by a river somewhere, presumably in the wilds of Michigan, and Sam and Dean are drinking a beer as the sun goes down. Lit brilliantly by natural light, this is Show’s way of teasing me with what I normally do not have, and that is enough light to count every lash, every freckle, the curve of each jaw and adorable mouth. (It also shows me that, really, the boys are wearing very few layers and that all along I’ve been able to see neck, and skin, and perhaps the sexiest bone of all, the clavicle!) Dean won’t talk about what he was about to say in the cabin romance portion of this ep. Sam says he’ll keep asking till Dean talks and you just know that he means it.

Dean avoids the question. In a totally cute way, he announces his desire to go to the Grand Canyon. For as many times as they’ve crossed the country, he says, they’ve never been and he wants to go. (He’s also willing to go to Tijuana or Hollywood for a chance at Lindsey Lohan, ha ha.) But that image stays with me: Sam and Dean at the Grand Canyon, which is the biggest hole in the world and, according to the book Death in the Canyon, as well as pretty much any sign and placard you come across, can KILL you. With one wrong misstep, one liter too little of water, not enough food, snakebite, falling rocks, or wild mule, you can die. Trust Dean to want to go there. (Actually, the Grand Canyon is quite nice. I went just last summer and had a marvelous time.)

Sam says, quite lovingly, “Whatever weight you’re carrying, let me help.” Then, after saying that he promised he wouldn’t tell, Dean reveals that The Dad DID tell Dean something about Sam before he died. Then, just as he’s about to SPIT it OUT, the ep ends and goes into black screen. Show interrupts the most interesting conversation EVER known to fandom. Oh, Show, why do you treat me so?

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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