Supernatural: All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 2

By Sylvia Bond

The Glory of Love is Both Beautiful And Hellish

I only watch this ep when I’m in the mood for something dark, because watching this episode is yet another example of things that are hard but deliciously angsty at the same time. And it’s not just that Sam dies, there is that, and it’s not just that Dean sells his soul, because he does that, or that both of those things are Hard to Watch. But also it’s the idea that this episode itself marks the crossroads in the boys’ lives where they make first of the decisions that take them down the road less travelled, where they begin their journey away from the relatively breezy land of saving people, hunting things and towards the Slough of Despond, like in Pilgrim’s Progress. Or maybe a more apt comparison would be to Dante’s Inferno, because Sam and Dean are about to travel down into the various circles of hell from which no man returns unscathed.

And yeah, it’s that deep and dark. Which is what makes it good, actually, because Show demonstrates that drama is more interesting when there are real repercussions for acts and no reset button that you can press just in time for the next episode. (Okay, there are, of necessity, some reset buttons because as Dean could tell you, everything that’s dead should stay dead. Except for Sammy!)

This ep begins where the last one left off, and that is with Dean standing vigil over Sam’s long-since-cooled corpse. It’s been days, and Sam looks white and blotchy and stiff, and really, really, really dead because Jake stabbed him. I wanted to take a moment to wax poetic about that scene, which I didn’t in the last review, but it deserves it. We learn in this ep that Jake cut right through Sam’s spine, which explains the boneless way that Sam tumbled to his knees.

Padalecki is about 6 feet four (maybe five!) inches tall. The way he handles his body as Sam falls is amazing. How do you practice something like this? There’s this wonderful overhead shot that gives us a bird’s eye perspective as Sam wavers on his feet, and then sways, and then his knees buckle, and down he goes. Not, as you might expect, like a redwood tree being felled, but instead like a fragile, perishable sapling, crumpling from the top down, sinking into the mud, just as Dean, slipping, falls to his knees to catch Sam.

And there Sam lingers in Dean’s arms, body lax, head lolling like he’s got absolutely no control over any part of him, his hair darker than the cedars of Lebanon as it curls against his pale face, the line of blood on his mouth the only color. The whole thing is so stark and perfect, it stands out in my head as this brilliant point where all aspects of the story come together and then blow apart. Big kisses to the Makeup People here, and to Padalecki, especially, for those long, dark lashes against those pale cheekbones of his.

In addition to that aspect, how beautiful Sam is in death, is the important thing here, which is the brotherly touching because it’s going to be a hellishly long time before we see its ilk again. Just like the innocence, the connection between the brothers has been severed just as easily as if Jake had taken his knife to it.

Next, in some abandoned house in Cold Oak, as Dean is surrounded by the detritus of his grief, not eating, but drinking straight from the bottle (which is a kind of Winchester first aid, you see), Bobby tells him its time to bury Sam. Or, in lieu of that, maybe they should burn his corpse. Dean, of course, likes neither of those options because only HE gets to say what happens to Sam. He’s Sam’s keeper; Sam is his job. And then, his face absolutely white, he kicks Bobby out.

There’s lots of goodness in this one scene, and all of it has to do with Dean, of course. For one, Dean is white faced, and white lipped, and deliciously scruffy from not shaving, and all of this is set off nicely by the purple flannel shirt (that only cost fifty cents at the thrift store, no doubt) that we’ve seen him wear in the past. (I love it that Show has the boys wearing the same clothes over and over, I love the continuity of it.)  For two, Bobby implores Dean to realize that Sam must be buried because there’s stuff happening and the world could end. Dean fiercely snaps out, “Well, then let it end!” He could give a flying rat’s behind about any of that because his Sammy is dead, and nothing else matters. That’s the depth of his love you see, and as tragic and ugly as the room and the situation are, it’s beautiful to behold because it’s a pure love, driven by an altruism that almost seems to give him wings and a halo right there.

Even as a Samgirl, I can see that this is Dean’s scene with his wonderful profile and sculpted jaw filmed in chiaroscuro as he gives his soliloquy over Sam’s dead body. He has deeply personal feelings to share, and it’s true to Dean’s character that the only way he can share them is when there is absolutely no one to hear him. He reveals interesting factoids about how old Sam was when he started asking why, why, why (five years old), and the fact that The Dad would take off for, and I quote, “days at a time,” which really puts weight on the scale on the side of the argument that The Dad left the boys alone far too long, far too young.

The fact that Dean wanted to keep Sam innocent, and how he feels Sam was his responsibility is in itself not knew, but he says it out loud here, and his voice cracks because he screwed it up. There’s a moment when he scrubs at his red-rimmed eyes and all of his emotions come bursting through his skin, because even for Dean, as strong as he is, some burdens are too heavy to bear. His voice is gravel-rough as he confesses that he feels that he always lets down people he loves, which is what gives so much life to the idea that Dean has no self worth whatsoever. I think he has self worth, in that he values his abilities and his contributions, but there’s a measurement there (set, perhaps, by The Dad) that he will never be good enough for. So, whether you feel that Dean thinks he has no self worth or little self worth, it all leads to Dean sacrificing himself.

Which is what he does, I knew it the second he was in the Impala, racing and kicking up dust and gravel under the tires. He drives to the nearest crossroads and buries the box to summon the crossroad’s demon to make a deal for Sam’s life. She shows up, and she messes with Dean in a scene that had my skin crawling. The camera swirling around the characters made it even more unsettling as Dean and the demon dither and discuss, but what got to me was the expression on Dean’s face. What Ackles does here is superb and restrained, underplayed, muscles tightening every time the demon comes close, and I could really get the sense of his loathing for her, and how she probably smelled like sulphur.

Of course, the demon’s sarcasm about fire sales gives the dialog a nice, nasty feel too, because all she wants is Dean’s soul, but she’s going to make it hard for him at the same time. At the final kiss to seal the Deal, in addition to the fact that the demon probably tastes bad, Dean looks like he wants to throw up because instead of the 10 years to share with his Sam, Dean only gets one, you see, so it’s a victory, but it’s bitter.

Back at the ranch, Sam’s beautiful sparkly green eyes snap open and he pops back to life and spends a delicious (for me) few minutes examining his back in the mirror, trying to figure out what hurts, and I guess it’s lucky that it’s a really, really looooong mirror, but even then, he can only see a bit of himself. And then Dean comes in.

You like reunion scenes? I do. Especially when they begin like this one. Dean’s eyes are glittering as he sees Sam and hugs him hard enough to squeeze the life out of him. Sam, in his little brother way, is disoriented and complains that Dean is hugging too hard, and that’s when the lies begin. And I don’t mean one or two little white lies. I mean big whoppers that start a trend that last for the next freaking two seasons. Two seasons, people! Two WHOLE seasons of Sam and Dean prevaricating and stooping to subterfuge and all kinds of dishonest shenanigans, which leads ultimately, as I have said, to a dearth of brotherly touching. So live it up while you can, kids.

Sam, you see, doesn’t let on that the YED showed him his nursery the night the demon showed up to feed baby Sam demon blood. Dean, for his part, tells Sam that Sam got “hurt bad” but that Bobby patched him up. I guess Sam didn’t see the horrible stain on the mattress that would indicate all of his spinal fluid had leaked right out of him. Dean, in big brother mode, enjoins him to rest, but Sam refuses to stop, not when Jake is on the loose and deserves to be killed. Which, as we see, is one of the starting points for Sam on his Road to Self Destruction, hell-bent, as it were, in his desire for justice and revenge.

(Gorgeous boy moment here. As they talk and eat cold pizza, Sam is beautifully filmed and it might be part camera angle, and part Padalecki looking up through his eyelashes, but it really is the most perfect angle for those artful, titled eyes of his, the perfect example of sloe-eyed grace. As for Dean? He’s a little less pale, but lit so well, it’s like reflected light from angel wings. Oh, c’mon! Have you seen this scene? Go watch it and tell me I’m not right!)

Off they go to Bobby’s, and there’s some fun dialog there, where Sam thanks Bobby for patching him up, and then, silently Bobby says, “What the hell?” to Dean, and Dean says, “Don’t ask,” just as plainly as if it had been said aloud. Bobby sends Sam to start looking at some undefined research, and gets Dean to help him bring some books in from his truck.

Thus followeth the famous scene in the junkyard, where Bobby confronts Dean with what he’s done, and Dean, looking as pale as iced paper, tries to foist him off by giving him the Good Answer. Which is that since The Dad brought him back, he’s not really supposed to be here anyway, so what’s the harm? When Bobby calls him on that, Dean gives a Better Answer, and that is that now his life could mean something now that he’s saved Sam. Bobby responds with the ever famous “is that how little you value yourself” line. At which point Dean delivers the Real (and my favorite) Answer, and that is, “I couldn’t let him die, he’s my brother.” Now, that’s love for you. But is it love for Sam, or the fact that Dean doesn’t want to be alone? Fans are still debating this one.

Here’s what I think. Dean, I feel, could never live without Sam, where as Sam could go on without Dean. (A ragged, walking wreck, of course, but he could manage.) There’s something terrible and beautiful about a love like that because it is rather selfish of Dean to insist that in a year, Sam will be asked to stand by and watch Dean die. No welching on the deal is permitted, full stop. I think that generally Sam is the more selfish one, self aware, meeting his own needs, but here, Dean takes first prize in asking Sam to do make that sacrifice so that Dean won’t ever be without his Sam.

What I also like in this scene is how close Dean allows Bobby to get to him, in spite of the fact that Bobby’s yelling and carrying on. Dean even lets Bobby grab him and shake him like a rag doll, and I do mean lets him, because Dean could probably slam Bobby to the ground at any moment, but he doesn’t. Dean usually doesn’t let people get that close to him unless he means to kill them, but here, I think he wants someone to know what he did and to understand how deep it goes, how wonderful it is that he could save Sam, but what the sacrifice will cost him.

Up from somewhere in the junkyard, Ellen appears, and in an out-of-character moment, Dean pulls her close and hugs her. Say what? Last I knew, Dean wanted to be as far away from her (and Jo) as possible, but I guess having the world maybe coming to an end does things to people. Anyway, they all go in the house and Magical Bobby unveils the story that Samuel Colt built a Devil’s Trap in south-central Wyoming to keep the demons in. That the YED is planning to let them out (using Jake) is a vague warning in the distance, at least for our stalwart pack of hunters.

There’s tons of good closeups and interesting camera angles that show off Dean’s glowy skin and Sam’s sloe eyes, too, which is a feast for my eyes. Meanwhile, Jake gets to tangle with the YED and ends up doing exactly what the YED wants, and who doesn’t? The YED’s got a marvelous way with words, because instead of talking in stilted, formal language, the YED uses street jargon and sarcasm and just keeps throwing it at Jake until he gives in. (Fredric Lehne plays the YED perfectly and him, along with Meg, played by Nicki Aycox, are my two very most favorite demons on Show.)

Then there’s the showdown at the Cowboy Cemetery (which must surely also contain at least a few Pioneers and Cattlemen), Dean and Sam et al hide behind tombstones to wait for Jake. Jake’s going to use the Colt (the magical Colt that Samuel Colt made oh, so many years ago) as a key to unlock the Gate to Hell. Here’s the fun part. The second Jake sees Sam he says, “You’re dead, I killed you.” When Sam looks dubious, Jake says, “I cut clean through your spinal cord,” which tells us exactly how and why Sam died. (Instead of making us wonder if it was it a punctured lung or something, so thank you for that, Show.) What follows from these comments are some wonderful expressions on Sam’s face that go from stalwart (I’m going to kill Jake now) to dubious (what the hell did Dean do?) to fiercesome (I’m going to REALLY kill Jake now). It’s at this point that Sam learns the truth; what Dean tells him later only confirms it for him.

Jake forces everyone to put down their guns by the threat of making Ellen holding her gun to her own head, and then he moves to jam the Colt into the crypt door, which swings open and shows us the mouth to hell. All kinds of blackness and badness swooshes out, and in a moment of laxity, Jake turns his back on Sam. Uh-oh, bad move, Jake, my dear, because Sam shoots and shoots and shoots, putting a whole lot of bullets into Jake.

And then he circles around, and in spite of Jake’s begging, in one of my favorite bits, Sam shoots him yet again three more times. Artistic spots of blood, minute in size but ginormous in their significance, dapple Sam’s sweet face. They represent what is to come, you see, and trace the line over which Sam has just crossed, and that is into Revenge and Destruction and Darkness and down that Slippery Slope into Evile. Of course, when I first saw this ep at the at the end of Season 2, I didn’t know all of what was to come, but even at the time, I could see the symbolism there; it’s first blood for Sam, not as if he’s never killed before, but never before like this, out of malice aforethought and without mercy and it marks him forever and ever, amen.

There is a flurry of activity as Ellen, and Bobby, and Sam try to shut the door, but the second that Sam sees the YED fling Dean into a tombstone, he’s off and running, only to be tossed against a large, tall tree that is almost as solid as he is. The YED takes the Colt from Dean and pins him into place against the stone as the blood slides down Dean’s face in a graphic red slash, so well done by the Makeup People (again!) who know, somehow, that even though it’s a tad twisted, this is what I like to see.

Then the YED has tons to say to Dean as he crows about Dean making the Deal to save Sam, and, most notably, he plants the Seed of Doubt. (Yes, the Random Acts of Capitalization are necessary for Emphasis!) The YED asks, “How certain are you that what you brought back is 100% pure Sam?” Which of course sets Dean to wondering and becomes part and parcel of the Path of Lies, because Dean never actually comes out and tells Sam about his doubts or asks him about what it was like to be dead. (But then, Sam’s alive so of course Dean can’t open up to him anymore.)

Then. THEN, guess who crawls out of hell? Why, it’s THE DAD! Did you ever think about it? I guess I didn’t, which is terrible of me, really, considering how much I love The Dad. But he’s been in hell all this time, and now he’s out to bear wrestle the YED to a standstill (as only The Dad could) so that Dean can take the Colt and aim and fire and not miss. Dean never misses, but he really not misses now, if you know what I mean, and the path of the bullet is a moment of artistry because the camera angle is at the tip of the bullet as it’s travelling away from the barrel of the gun in way cool slow motion, transporting the whole moment into the surreal. The triumphant look on Dean’s face is a thing of joy.

As the YED sparks into oblivion, the demon wind blows a sulphur-fragranced breeze through the tender locks of Sam’s hair, and in a moment it’s over and The Dad stands ghostly (thanks to CGI mastery) among his boys once more. For Dean he’s got a shoulder pat and a nod, but poor Sam only gets a nod and no pat whatsoever, but I think this has always been the way between them. It was nice to see that they had a chance to say their real Goodbyes, made even more beautiful by tears. Yes, you heard it here first, I think it’s the only time that both boys cry at the same time, except for the time that they burned The Dad’s corpse. Sam is, typically, a mess, with tears oozing from his eyes wax-thick and coating his face. As for Dean the beauty of it is that they don’t slip down his cheeks, but instead glitter like crystals in his eyes, contrasting with the blood still lining his forehead. I always appreciate that the Makeup People understand that the boys cry very differently.

Then comes the Conversation between the brothers. At first Sam’s causal and coming across as very young in his disbelief that The Dad really climbed out of hell (was there any doubt that he could?), and that it’s all come down to this, their whole lives, and now it’s over. He’s really quite sweet, almost, and pure, and there’s a light shining from his eyes in his admiration for Dean, to whom he (rightly) gives all the credit. Dean, of course, gives a lot of the credit back to Sam, and then comes the moment where Sam confronts Dean with the truth of it, that Jake killed him, that he died.

The lighting changes and Sam’s face is stark, his skin is the color of ivory and he’s beautiful and fierce, except for the fact that his nose has gone all red because he’s about to cry because he KNOWS the truth. Dean tries to lie, but he’s a terrible liar and the truth comes out. Ah, me, this is a beautiful scene, especially at the point where Dean’s voice breaks when he begs Sam not to get mad at him. It’s then that Sam promises revenge as he says, “You’re my big brother, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” Which moves him even further down the road to his own destruction, his sad, fated self-destruction.

Bobby and Ellen sashay up and Bobby imparts the amazingly bad news that there are demons on the loose, and gosh how many? Surprisingly (or maybe not so surprisingly, considering what happens in subsequent seasons) it’s Sam who is able to come up with a head count, that there’s a hundred, maybe two hundred out there. What, does Sam have special X-ray vision and could count the swirling, glowing figures as they waltzed out of the hellmouth? Nevertheless, I liked the look of him in this scene, his eyes bright as he puts his thinking cap on, as the tendrils of Samhair sweep around his temples in the demon wind. Damn, that boy is beautiful! (As is Dean, with his grin of delight that they must start hunting demons!)

The very last scene harkens back to the end of The Pilot in Season One. Sam and Dean stand at the trunk of the Impala. The Impala Cam gives us a view of Dean putting the Colt in the armory, with Sam standing by looking a tad dubious and somehow still sweet, willing to follow Dean anywhere, until, of course, it’s obvious that he must lead. And then Dean slams the trunk shut and we get the relatively upbeat strains of Boston’s “Don’t Look Back.”

Season 2 has a special place in my heart as, next to Season 1, it contains classic Winchester goodness and brotherly closeness and touching and whumpage and limpage and Samhair, all rolled together in one lovely mess. Season 3, I hate to admit it, can’t even begin to compare, though it’s not really Season 3’s fault that it got smacked with the double whammy of the writer’s strike (which I completely supported) or the not at all vague feeling that I had that the TBTB in their corporate suits decided to mess things up by adding boobage and too many characters who were, regardless of their gender, NOT Sam and Dean. Thankfully, by Season 4, Show had the sense to realize the error of its ways.

I only watch this episode when I want to get deep inside of the Winchester world, because the first time I watched it, I was completely dismayed that Dean would go as far as he did. Of course, it being Sam at risk, what else could Dean do? Still, over the summer that followed, I found myself troubled by Dean’s choice, because his reasons behind it revealed the darker side of Dean, the scrabbling, selfish, scared side. At the same time, I had to admire that he’s still willing to take that terrifying final step of actually going to hell, even though you can see that he truly believes Sam (or really wants to believe) when Sam says that he will find a way out for Dean.

Throughout Season 3, Sam repeats this mantra, giving Dean, at turns hope and hopelessness. Trouble is, Sam’s idea of getting the job done is to make one bad choice after another, as he consorts with demons and develops an ego that tells him that his might makes right, and really, Dean ought to step down now and let Sam do the rescuing. Never really realizing that the best rescue efforts, the most successful rescue efforts, come when the rescue is mutual, which neither boy seems to know at this point.

I’m not here to tell you which brother’s love is more pure, because that would be like trying to prove which is more beautiful, sunrise or sunset. It depends on what you need, and in time the boys will work out a balance and figure that out. In the meantime, I pity them their struggles and their floundering attempts amidst the demonic and angelic battle that they are unknowingly marching into. They don’t know what’s coming, and I wish I could help them, I do. But they’re on that side of the screen, in their universe, and I’m here, on this side, in mine. Like I said, I only watch this episode when I want to go deep. Where it’s dark and quiet, and you have to move carefully to guard that flickering light of hope.

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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