Supernatural: Dark Side of the Moon

Finally! A Practical Application for String Theory!
by Sylvia Bond
Supernatural Episode Review – Season 5, Episode 16
“Dark Side of the Moon”

I struggled this week with my enthusiasm for Show, on account of last week’s also-ran episode. And I was concerned about the direction Show seemed to be going, which was abroad-spectrum focus on secondary characters, with angels and demons living together, and less and less of Sam. Not that Show has to go exactly the way I want it, however, it should go the way it set up for itself. It should be true to itself, and to its fans. Of which I’m one.

So was this week worth my fealty and staying power? Yes, and then yes again. Plus, I can safely add that the boys look very pretty when dead. Which seems like an odd thing to say, except the boys have died quite a bit, and have gone to heaven quite a bit. Only this time, they get to remember that they were there, and we get to join them on their sojourn through the pearly gates, and their romp along the streets made of gold, and share their memories of the good times in their lives. Though, naturally, this being Show, the memories are made up of both the bitter and the sweet, all mixed together with Winchester angsty goodness.

Back to the boys looking pretty when they’re dead, okay?

The first scene opens, interior motel room, sometime. The camera scans over the empty beer cans. I count enough dented cans for at least three six packs of beer, which even for the Winchester boys is a lot, which makes me wonder what they were celebrating? Was it Sam’s successful detox perhaps? Given no other evidence, let’s say that’s what it was, but it really doesn’t matter because the important thing here is that the boys spent the evening drinking in their motel room, and probably were loosened up enough to talk to each other, and maybe come to terms with how different they are, and how they’re still brothers, and that the love is still there, in spite of it all. (And if the love is there, the trust can be worked on.) The entire scan of the camera lasts about a minute or so, and tells me much more than dialog ever could.

Then there’s the boys, waking up to shotguns being aimed at them. The shotguns are held by two men in balaclavas, except Dean recognizes them anyway, go Dean! They’re hunters who are pissed at the boys, and pretty much without warning, the one named Walt shoots my beloved Sam. He flies back, his beautifully pale skin spattered by crimson, and his hair spread across a white pillow much in the manner of a damsel in a fairy tale. He’s simply gorgeous in this shot (what’s not to love?), so thanks to the team for giving me this sigh-worthy visage.

One of the balaclava dudes (Walt) lets his friend (Roy) know that he’d best hurry up and kill Dean, and quickly too, because they’ve just shot Sam, and there’s no escaping Dean’s wrath. Dean backs this up with some hard looks and a “When I come back, I’m gonna be pissed,” threat, which, really, is quite perfect. And this is because it’s true. I can’t put it any more simply than that because the following axiom is eternal: mess with Sam and Dean’s the piper you’re going to have to pay. (A quick aside. The names of the guys in balaclavas are Roy and Walt, which just happen to be the first names of two brothers whose last name is Disney, which seems pretty clever, considering the theory about heaven that comes into play later.)

Anyway, back to the plot. Being a little smarter than your average bear, Walt blasts Dean right in the chest, and back he falls. But not to worry. This being Show, and Dean being Dean, the brothers are going straight to heaven.

The first memory is Dean’s. He wakes up in the Impala, (not dead and listening to strains of the quintessential Winchester tune “Knocking on Heaven’s Door.”) He finds Wee Sam (brilliantly played, as always, by Colin Ford) with a plastic milk carton full of fireworks. Then, in an empty field, Wee Sam asks Dean for a lighter, and Dean pulls out a lighter he’s not seen in many years. The Winchesters have always travelled out of their car and don’t have a home to call their own, let alone very many possessions, so it rather made my throat start to tighten to see Dean’s pleasure at this one small object.

And then the boys start lighting fireworks, setting them to glowing in the night sky, and shining on the smiles on the boys’ faces. This is followed by looks of brotherly adoration from Wee Sam, and a brotherly hug, and so much bittersweet goodness, my breath started to catch at the beauty of it. And, what’s more, I liked the idea of the Wee brothers having their own pleasures where they could, even without parental supervision. And then Wee Sam starts dancing around in slow motion, with Dean watching and grinning like a loon.

Now, normally, slow motion is hokey, and that much emo is usually overdone, but by god, I’m going to confess it right now. I love Hallmark commercials because they make me cry. I’m also terribly fond of those Liberty Mutual commercials, you know the ones where some guy picks up a kid’s doll, and then that woman pushes another man’s coffee cup away from the edge of the table, and another man sees that action, and helps a man up from where he’s slipped in the street in the pouring rain, and on it goes, making a huge circle of help, right back to the man with the kid’s doll. So watching this scene made me feel like that, all good and gooey and happy inside.

Then the scene goes away, and the Soap Angel comes on the radio of the Impala to tell Dean how to find Sam, which is always a good thing, because even if this is heaven, Little Brother cannot be allowed to wander around on his own. The other thing I liked was that the Soap Angel told Dean that his “light” (how he sees the way he should go) was a two-lane asphalt road, rather than a “light” or a river.” Plus I realized that what I was going to get was a slew of these types of scenes, memories and bits of the Winchester’s early life, and I knew I was in for a treat.

Post-fireworks, Dean drives off in the Impala, through the night, along a two-lane blacktop road. Overhead, is a full moon, and a sky full of stars. Which, as you know, is impossible, even if it is very pretty. But since this is heaven, since this is Dean’s heaven, the full moon is big enough and close enough to touch, all silver and blazing with moon dust. And around it, the stars sparkle white against the black and dark purple, like diamonds against velvet. This for Dean is a perfect night, this for Dean is perfection, and such a simple perfection it is, something that money and power cannot buy, and so right for Dean’s character, that he would choose this. Oh Dean, be it ever thus.

Onward Dean goes, to discover Sam playing Happy Family, sharing Thanksgiving Dinner with people who are not his kin. That’s one of Sam’s good memories, how at the age of 11 he managed to wrangle an invitation to his little girlfriend’s house. Apparently for the Winchesters, Thanksgiving was usually a bucket of extra crispy with The Dad passing out on the couch after drinking too much. (I really loved that detail, I can tell you.) And that’s a kind of Thanksgiving memory too, which I’m sure far too many people share some version of, but wouldn’t it be nicer to go to a Rockwell-esque gathering like Sam does?

Enter Dean to rescue Sam. Amidst the Happy Family, Dean looks all tough in his leather jacket, only Sam doesn’t need rescuing, and the scene goes a little wonky, because Sam is backlit while Dean’s face is in the clear light. I’d be thinking that the Lighting Guys hate me, only they gave me such a pretty Sam in the opening scene, so I’m willing to give them another chance.

I liked watching the brothers discuss the situation and try to figure out how they got into heaven, especially the part where Sam wonders more for himself than for Dean. (On account of how he started the apocalypse and all.) And then, how Dean reassures Sam that he “thought he was doing the right thing,” which explains, at least in part, how Dean is so readily able to forgive Sam for all his, um, goofs. In spite of any misgivings the brothers might have about being where they are, the fact that they’re talking about “remember when” and sharing the good times? That’s a good sign for the relationship between them.

When the lights start flickering in a creepy way, the boys work together to figure out how to contact the Soap Angel. Who promptly tells them that Zach is after them and that they must find Joshua, who is an angel who can talk to God, which the boys really need to do right about now.

The Soap Angel tells them also that they have to follow the road to find the Garden, which is where Joshua is. Sam stands passively by (which is not a good use of Padalecki’s talents!) while Dean finds the model race track in the closet, and when he bends down to play with it, the boys end up in their old home in Lawrence. The house in Lawrence, incidentally, appears several times in this ep, giving it the air of a way station through which supernatural ley lines pass, allowing pilgrims to get where they are going. This leads the boys into another scene, and it just gets darling and sweet and angsty from there.

Dean is dressed in a shirt emblazoned with a teddy bear and an “I wuv hugz” logo. Sam promptly makes fun of him, which tells me, just as promptly, that the brothers are in full brother mode. (Sam is dressed as himself, which is not sore on the eyes, no, not at all. Plus his hair is going every which way, which I take as a salute and acknowledgement to all Samhair fans everywhere.) Not only that, the camera pulls back to reveal that the boys are in Dean’s room back in Lawrence, which means Dean’s about four-ish (an innocent and pre-ceiling fire four) in this scenario. And not only is the room an answer to a long-held wish of mine to actually see Dean’s room since we got to see Sam’s on more than one occasion, it is a wealth of personal details

On the wall is a watercolor painting, done by Dean, at some point, and properly framed (instead of merely being tacked to the fridge). There’s a race car on the nightstand, and a dump truck with a little guitar in it, there’s clean pjs draped over the chair (the shirt has a blue star on it), and a little desk for Wee Dean to some day do his homework, there’s a coat rack with a puppet and a windbreaker, and a rain slicker, and a fireman’s hat, and a football helmet, and on and on and on, all giving evidence that Dean was highly indulged as a child. And whyever not, being as cute as he is? And was?

Not only that, but The Mom, dressed in a pretty spring dress and looking fairly Madonna-like, comes to the door to ask if Wee Dean would like a pb&j? And, back in the kitchen, this she makes him, with Dean looking pretty adorable while he watches, because for Dean, it’s quite symbolic when his mom makes him a sandwich. (Which she tends to do it every single time Dean goes “home.”)

And not only does she cut off the crusts, but she pours him a glass of milk. This ritual is one of the most powerful expressions of love that I know of. Plus, everyone who drinks milk knows this: milk that your mom pours for you tastes better than if you’d poured it for yourself. It just does, even though no one really knows why. Sam looks on, practically drooling, not just for a bite of the pb&j, but for everything the scene represents: the mother-love he never, ever, ever experienced. (See what I mean about these scenes being both bitter and sweet?)

Then The Mom is on the phone with The Dad, and it comes to light that they are arguing, and that The Dad moved out of the house for a few days. (It’s interesting to think of what John wanted and what Mary was supposed to “think about,” a choice which she refuses because of Sam and Dean. But I suppose we will never know.) Dean does his usual and empathic comforting of The Mom, which he does very well, even if he was only four at the time. (He’s such a good hugger, that boy.) In addition to that, the dialog between Sam and Dean is significant.

First, Sam comments about how he always thought relationship between The Mom and The Dad was perfect; Dean replies that it was only perfect after she died. Which speaks to the pedestal that John put Mary on, which echoes with the implications and of how much work it must have been to keep her there. Not that she wasn’t great, okay? But you can’t put people on pedestals for very long before it starts becoming very difficult and arduous to keep them there.

Then, after Dean hugs The Mom, Sam makes a comment about Dean having started early in cleaning up The Dad’s messes. To which Dean replies with that look in his eyes, the one he tends to get when he wants to defend The Dad and be stoutfast in his loyalty, but really can’t find the words to make it 100% true. He always looks so vulnerable when he looks like that.

See what I mean about this episode being chock full of Winchestery goodness? This ep is everywhere you want to be.

While looking for another clue to get them to Joshua, the boys stumble upon one of Sam’s memories. Yeah, finally! The memory takes place in a run-down cabin or motel room or whatever. Straight away, Sam has an introspective grin on his handsome face; it only takes him 30 seconds or less to figure out where they are. It’s Flagstaff, and there are empty pizza boxes and a Golden named Bones, and Sam looks pretty happy with his blissful memories of living off of Funyuns and Mr. Pibb.

But the memory is of the bittersweet variety, because apparently, Sam ran away for a few weeks, probably because he couldn’t stand being a Winchester a second longer. Trouble is, Sam ran away on Dean’s watch, and when The Dad came home, Dean had to pay for it. Naturally, Sam is sorry, and it’s interesting to see how different their perspective of the same memory is. Ever have a conversation with a sibling where you finally, after about 20 years, discuss what happened back then? It’s a shocking feeling to find out that your point of view isn’t the only one and is probably skewed by time.

The boys carry on and are shot right into a memory all fans know as “The Night Sam Left For Stanford.” Oddly enough, the boys stand outside the house and we don’t actually get to see the argument between Sam and The Dad, which is the one where The Dad told Sam that if he left he shouldn’t bother coming back. We still don’t know who Sam told first, or whether Dean actually drove Sam to the bus stop or not, and whether he gave him any money, or even a hug goodbye. (Canon won’t tell us, but fans seem to have a consensus that that Sam took the bus, rather than hitched, to Stanford.) Sadly, this is one of Sam’s happiest memories, yet he lacks any accoutrement such as Dean had. There are no toys, no cute shirt, not even a bus ticket and a duffle bag to round out the scene.

And while, yes, I am whining about that, I’m also whining about the lack of an appearance of Jeffrey Dean Morgan as The Dad, though it isn’t for purely selfish reasons. It is because this scene, mentioned time and again thorough Show’s run, is significant in the Winchester history timeline in oh, so many ways. Thusly, it deserves to be shown, rather than merely told, as it is here. And it’s not just that this is because it’s Sam’s memory given short shrift, this event was huge and pivotal in the Winchester’s lives, with surely as much, if not more, impact than a small boy getting a pb&j sandwich made especially for him.

Although, truthfully, even with the telling rather than showing, the conversation in the street is pretty interesting. Firstly, because Sam pretends not to remember where they are, even though it doesn’t take Dean long to figure it out. (Dean refers to it as one of the worst nights of his life. Aw, Dean.)

And secondly, because Dean finally notices that all of Sam’s memories have to do with him being on his own, rather than being with his family. Dean accuses Sam of not being connected, and then Sam explains, with heartbreaking clarity (and his forehead all scrunched up in that adorable way it gets when he feels bad), that he doesn’t have any memories like Dean does, of a mom making a pb&j for him, nothing like that, and thusly, has no sense of family like Dean does. In spite of the sadness throughout the dialog here, I felt this was the closest the brothers have been in some time. (And of course, as any True Fan could tell you, they are each other’s family, regardless of whether they are in proximity to each other.)

Zachariah is hot on the boys’ trail, and is chasing them, and while Running Boys is a delicious flavor indeed, I sense they are in peril. Just a little peril, mind you, but luckily Sam and Dean are rescued by a mysterious superhero with a mask and a cape. This superhero leads the boys back to a place that looks oddly like The Roadhouse used to. And, tad a! The superhero turns out to be Ash! You remember Ash, don’t you? Ash is the guy who used to sleep out his drunken state on the pool table, who was too smart even for his own good, and who is, with all due respect to Sam and Dean, my own true love.

Ash is in full form in heaven, living it up with his mullet hair and his earring and his sleeveless black t-shirt, shotgunning beer. Using the analogy of Disneyland, Ash also explains to the boys about how heaven is made up of individual heavens, like the different lands at Disneyland, which kind of makes sense when you think about it. Because your heaven is made up of what you think is heaven. And if everyone else’s is too, then, logically, by definition, you’d have all these heavens. (Winchesterland! Oh, my GOD, can you imagine the rides that land would have? There’d be an Impala ride and a shooting gallery, and a haunted house to beat the band…but I digress.)

Anyway, in Ash’s theory, all the heavens are connected by the Magic Kingdom (the Garden), although Ash is quick to point out that most people inhabit their heavens alone, but a few people share. Special cases, he explains, using a fist-bumping gesture, like soulmates. Soulmates are the only ones who can share their heaven.

Cue quick non-looking (and delicious) looks between Sam and Dean, while Ash goes blithely on. (Or perhaps not so blithely. Ash is not so dumb as he is tactful.)

Let’s talk about soulmates for a minute, shall we? The general definition of soulmate is “a person with whom one has a feeling of deep and natural affinity, love, intimacy, sexuality, spirituality, and/or compatibility.” (Thank you Wikipedia. And if you need more info, just google “soulmate” and be prepared to be overwhelmed by the response.)

So what does this mean, exactly? It means that Sam and Dean are SOULMATES! It can mean anything you want it to mean, but deep, way deep down, it means that they are destined to be together forever, joined with love and devotion and fealty and trust and happiness and joy. And maybe a few hugs now and then, a couple of chuffs to the back of the head, some wall-slamming, and more nights of drinking a few sixes together until they pass out on their beds in a haze of blissful relaxation.

And if that image isn’t enough for you, then think about this. They’re soulmates sharing the same heaven, right? It means that no matter what the angels or the demons try to do, they will never, ever, ever, ever, EVER be able to separate Sam and Dean on earth, so there. The angels and demons might as well just give it up now, except that would deny me my fannish joy in watching the boys running and jumping and leaping and shooting, and all the other marvelously boyish things they will need to do to finally avert their particular destinies of being meatsuits for Mike and Lucky.

Most people have to stay in their own heavens. But of course, Ash has figured a way around that. He’s spent his time having White Russians with Einstein, and tuning his computer to translate what the angels are saying into plain English.

Enter Pamela, the blind psychic, who is on a visit from her heaven to see Ash and the boys. Ash and Sam work the computer to find a shortcut to the Garden, and I about split a gut when Ash calmly announced that he’d finally, finally figured out a practical application for string theory. (Please marry me, Ash, I’ll be good to you. With a brain like that, can you imagine our kids?)

Pamela wastes her time trying to convince Dean that he should say yes to A.A. Mike. I got the feeling, as I do every now and then, that both Dean and Sam are going to say yes, and they might as well do it sooner rather than later. Have I bought a bill of goods? You tell me, because that’s how the finale to this storyarc has to go down. You can’t build it up this much and not have a showdown between Mike and Lucky whilst wearing the boys as shields. Moreover, I thought it was interesting that for all Pamela’s admiration of Sam’s ass in a previous ep, it is Dean she kisses goodbye. After which she announces it was as delicious as she thought it would be. So, no kiss for Sammy AGAIN? (Although Dean’s smirk was very cute.)

Back the boys go to the house in Lawrence, only this time Zach is there to torment Sam and Dean with images of kissing The Mom and mocking their pain, and generally being a big, fat, bald jerk, which the actor who plays him does wonderfully well. Again all the focus seems to be on Dean, for some reason, though I guess I should be grateful this time around on account of Sam doesn’t get punched in the stomach. And the guilt that Dean absorbs from The Faux Mom’s diatribe is neverending; the boy just simply can’t walk away from it, even though none of it is his fault.

Luckily, to save the day, the Angel Joshua arrives to tell Zach off and to pull the boys into another memory, this time in the botanical gardens in Cleveland. Joshua’s got a lot to say to the boys, stuff like welcome to Cleveland, and you’re on your own, neither of which anyone ever wants to hear. Yep, that’s what he tells them when they say they want to talk to God. God knows everything they want to tell him anyway, being omniscient and all that, problem is, he’s not willing to give them answers and directions or anything. According to Joshua (and God), it’s still Team Free Will around these parts, and nothing’s going to change that.

As if that weren’t enough, he’s even got more acerbic things to say, to the boys. “God saved you already,” Joshua says to Dean. And to Sam, “He granted you salvation in heaven, and after everything you’ve done, too.” (Well, Sam’s the Prodigal Son, after all, right? But the look on Sam’s face is heartbreaking. When is someone going to punish and then forgive this boy so he can go on with his life without this heavy burden of guilt?)

Joshua’s parting gift is that the boys get to return to their skanky, beer can-littered motel room with their memories of their recent visit to heaven intact. What do you think that will buy them? It buys them time. It buys them awareness. It buys them some platitudes about living in the moment, but it also gives them knowledge about the future, and that there is a heaven. Will it be enough to save them, and make them strong for the coming battle? Only Show knows for sure.

Everyone’s in the room, even the Soap Angel, who is despondent about not being able to talk to God. Angry, he tosses the super special amulet back to Dean, saying he doesn’t want it any more. And Dean? He doesn’t want it any more either, because he’s lost his faith utterly and completely. And then he throws it away.

Which leaves Sam (nattily dressed in a thin wale brown corduroy shirt with pearl buttons), who seems to know, somehow, that this is the exact wrongest moment to loose faith. Except that Sam hasn’t. Because while Dean has always put all of his faith into a father figure, be it God or The Dad, Sam has always put his faith in Dean. So Dean can loose his faith, but Sam, if he has Dean, will always have his. And since we know they’re soul mates forever’n’ever, Sam will always have that. And perhaps, with enough time and hugs and chuffs to the back of the head and wall slamming and whatever else you can think of, Sam can share his faith with Dean, and the boys will beat this stupid destiny thing. When Dean wonders how they’re going to find a way to beat this thing (stopping the apocalypse), Sam says stoutly, “You and me, we’ll find it.”

I sure hope Sam rescues the necklace from the trash can. Because he’s not just going to be rescuing the necklace, you see. He’s going to be rescuing Dean as well. Throughout their history together, when one brother is weak and stumbles, the other brother picks that one up and carries him for a spell. And then when he gets tired, the process is reversed. And Dean is well and truly at the end of his rope. You can see it in his face and the weariness of his gestures. His perpetual five o’clock shadow is sexy as hell, but it also means that Dean’s too tired to shave, and thus too damn tired to care about much else. But Sam’s been doing a lot of the Rescuing of The Dean lately, I feel fairly comfortable he’s got lots of practice and is up to the task.

Oh, if you couldn’t tell, I loved this episode. Loved it, loved it, loved it. It was extremely watchable, and in fact, I never had 40 minutes and three seconds go by SO fast. It gave me Winchester facts that I had not heretofore known and made several fannish theories canon. It had the brothers talking, really talking, and, I could watch this over several times and not get tired of it. You could say, in a way, that this ep has renewed my faith in Show.

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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