With the vampire now decapitated, the soundtrack ramps down to the point where we're serenaded solely by The Single Plaintive Horn Heralding The Increasing Psychic Anguish Of Our Lonely Heroes as Sam gapes, completely horrified, and Dean just looks spent, and maybe more than a little dead-eyed. Evil Gordon, on the other hand, is chuckling loudly in the background, offering to buy the boys a drink to celebrate such a magnificent kill. Sam glares at Evil Gordon for the briefest of moments before anxiously staring his brother down. With blood trickling down his face, Dean stares back, a hint of defiance pushing through the blankness, until they're all gobbled up by the METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Bar Of The
Rednecks Hearty Rural Folk Of Montana. The camera swings around Gordon, Dean, and Sam as a waitress delivers a couple of shots to their table. Gordon and Dean jocularly toast each other with the just-arrived shots while Sam slouches in his chair in a state of supreme snittiness. A state of supreme snittiness entirely unrelieved by any amount of healing booze, if that untouched beer in front of him is anything to go by. "Lighten up a little, Sammy!" Gordo grins. "He's the only one who gets to call me that," Sam sniffs, nodding curtly in Dean's direction. The fan fiction arising from that one line promises to be gruesome. Evil Gordon tries to good-naturedly needle Sam into having a bit of fun, but Sam huffily rebuffs him with, "Decapitations aren't my idea of a good time, I guess." After a little more of this, Sam pushes himself out of his seat to return to their motel. Dean, knowing that Sammy's being Sammy, passes a tired hand across his face before tossing his brother the keys to the Impala with a joking, "Remind me to beat that buzzkill out of you later, all right?" Sam just snatches the keys out of the air with one hand and glooms his way out of there. Dean blows this off in favor of challenging Evil Gordo to a game of quarters for the next round. Mmmm. Booze.
Meanwhile, over at the Adobe Court Motel, Sam bangs Metallicar's door shut and lopes into their room, where he removes his jacket -- the better for the audience to admire The Shoulders of The Padalecki -- before pointedly hanging the car keys on a small decorative cactus on the night stand.
Back at The Bar Of The
Rednecks Hearty Rural Folk Of Montana, Dean's sharing perhaps his most trenchant war story with Evil Gordon. It is, I am forced to admit, a speech riddled with so many horrendous clichÃ©s that I'll be skipping past it in favor of giving you its central point: Dean realized at the tender age of sixteen that the hunter's life was the one for him, and that's pretty much it. It does, however, offer Dean a nice enough segue to ask Evil Gordon how he, himself, got started in the business. Evil Gordon's long story short -- because I don't want to spend any more time on the character than I absolutely have to -- amounts to Evil Gordon finding his beloved sister being ravished by a vampire one night in the family's home. Evil Gordon put up what he now knows to be weak resistance to the attack, was knocked out, and awoke the next morning to find his sister gone. Because he couldn't tell anyone else in the family what he saw, he ran away and self-trained in the art of tracking and killing vampires. Eventually, he got quite good at it, and here we are. Yawn. And then they segue into yet another heartfelt discussion regarding Daddy Shut Up's untimely demise at the hands of The Ceiling Demon, the vital part of which is this: "Can't talk about this to Sammy," Dean admits with a too-casual smile and half-laugh that scarcely distract from his bravado's cracking veneer. "You know, I gotta keep my game face on, but, uh, the truth is, I'm not handling it very well." WE KNOW. Get back to shooting monsters in the face with rock salt, for Christ's sake! Dean ignores me in favor of continuing, "I feel like I have this..." "...hole inside you?" Evil Gordo finishes for him. "And it just gets bigger and bigger and darker and darker?" Dean looks up at him as if Gordon's the first person ever to understand him. Which, you know, BULLSHIT, because SAM, but Dean's supposed to be half in the bag at this moment, so I'll let it slide. For now. Evil Gordon lays some Bizarro World pop-psychology on Dean's fine ass, blathering on about how Dean's deep pit of emptiness will only make him better at the business he's chosen for himself, or whatever, and that "it's not a crime to need your job," and Evil Gordon needs to SHUT UP. Now.