Episode Report Card
Demian: B | 5 USERS: A+
Oh, Hardy Boys, Do You Know What That's Worth?

Of course, there's already a problem: Before he blinked off on the television set, Castiel neglected to mention that the axis mundi can at any time assume additional forms related to that of its initial appearance, so when the boys fling open the Victorian's front door to exit, they find nothing but a densely thicketed forest at the foot of the Victorian's porch. The two-lane blacktop's transmogrified itself, you see, and it's up to Our Dead Heroes to figure out what it's become. Shockingly enough, it's Dimwitted Dead Deano who understands all of this first, and he wastes not an instant ransacking the Victorian's first floor in search of something -- anything -- road-like, and he finds what he's looking for in the downstairs closet: A brand-new

...the camera angle shifts, and as the little blue slot car spins around and around, the camera pulls back to reveal that Sam and Dean have found themselves in the upper bedroom of an entirely different house, this with bright sunlight streaming in through the open windows. Their outfits have changed as well, with Dead Darling Sammy trading in his dapper Thanksgiving threads for his usual schlumpy flannels, while Deceased El Deano's found himself clad in a too-tight teddy bear t-shirt that reads, "I WUV HUGZ." Hee. Dean glances around at the bedroom's cowboy-themed decor and realizes, "We're home!" just as Unburnt Mary's voice calls his name from the hall. Unburnt Mary pokes her head in the door and, beaming beatifically at her older son, wonders if Dean's hungry. Sam and Dean somehow manage to spook themselves into the first commercial break of the evening entirely without benefit of the METAL TEETH CHOMP!

The Winchester Bar And Grill. Down in the kitchen, Dean perches on a chair in the breakfast nook while Unburnt Mary -- or, you know, a reasonable facsimile thereof -- pours him a glass of milk before she cuts the crusts off his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "That's awfully wasteful, don't you think?!" It's like you read my mind, friend of friends. I've a sneaking suspicion Wee Dean was a spoiled little brat. "Positively hateful, I'm sure!" In any event, The Ginormomope sulks in a corner, cut off from the action because it's not, after all, his memory, and as he looms there, pouting, the telephone rings. Unburnt Mary crosses to answer and immediately launches into a fiercely whispered argument with the never-heard Sucky John on the other end of the line. Dean remembers the incident thusly: "Mom and Dad were fighting, and then he moved out for a couple of days." The Ginormomope is shocked -- shocked-- to learn that his late, lamented parents' marriage was not the neverending connubial idyll Sucky John always claimed it to be. "It wasn't perfect until after she died," Dean reluctantly admits, just as Unburnt Mary snarls a wounded, "Fine! Then don't!" into the phone before slamming it down. Dashing Dead Deano, by now in full-on Wee Dean mode, repeats what he did that long-ago summer afternoon, and rises from the breakfast nook to bow-leggedly toddle across the room and give his mother a hug. "It's okay," he tells her. "[Your Worthless Bastard Of A So-Called Husband] still loves you. I love you, too." "I'll never leave you," he promises, whimpering this last directly into her ear, and I realize I should be Deeply Touched by this exchange, but the actual Wee Dean was, like, three when this originally happened, so Deceased El Deano should have been whimpering that last directly into her kneecaps. Whatever. There's still twenty-five minutes of show time left, and I've got at least three thousand of these sentimental journeys to plow through before these dolts get anywhere near that Joshua person, so: Moving on! Unburnt Mary calls Would-Be Wee Dean her "little angel" and breaks the hug to fetch him some pie, giving The Ginormomope a chance to unleash his Super-Special Puppy-Dog Eyes Of Deeply Felt Fraternal Pity And Remorse as he sighs, "I just never realized how long you've been cleaning up [Our Worthless Bastard Of A So-Called Father's] messes." Needless to say, Dashing Dead Deano -- now most thoroughly out of Wee Dean mode, thank you very much -- doesn't go for that touchy-feely self-help fraternal pitying crap, bitch, and sharply suggests they hit the road. Or, you know, the axis mundi. Again: Whatever.

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