Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter THEN! Once upon a time, there lived a magical orange yoga instructor named Bendy Lisa, who made her home in the faraway land of... wait a minute. Bendy Lisa? They're reminding us of Bendy Lisa? I thought she dumped Dean's emotionally abusive yet still-tantalizing ass, like, eight months ago, or something -- why are they bringing her back now? "Perhaps!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, who has an idea. "They intend to slaughter the unusually limber little creature this evening, hmmm?!" Oooh, good guess, Raoul. "Thanks!" But I'm afraid we've gotten horribly sidetracked already, and we're not even five seconds into tonight's episode. "Oh, my!" Oh, my, indeed. "Should we try starting this again!?" I'm game if you are. "Perfect!" Okay.
Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter THEN! Once upon a time, there lived a magical orange yoga instructor named Bendy Lisa, who made her home in the faraway land of Wherever The Hell Bendy Lisa Happens To Be At This Very Moment. As you'll no doubt recall, Bendy Lisa spent the better part of a year lovingly tending to Dreary El Deano's many psychic wounds in exchange for some high-quality cuddle time with Our Intrepid Hero until his abusive ass decided to smack her wee bastard of a son around one night, at which point she told him to hit the road. "And good for her!" shrieks Raoul. In other news, Capital-D Death shoved Slutty Sam's Hell-flayed soul back into his remarkably healthy frame while at the same time erecting what proved to be an especially shoddy wall between that soul and Darling Sammy's brain, or something like that, and when last we saw him, Darling Sammy had collapsed to the floor of an abandoned hovel, flailing about in the throes of a grand mal seizure as Death's shoddy wall collapsed to unleash all of the nasty memories it was meant to hold back. Whoops.
Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter NOW! As the NOW! slowly melts away on the screen, Dreary El Deano can be heard crying out in the darkness. "Sam?" he quavers, tears in his voice. "Sam?" Wimp. The camera gradually fades up to find Dean hovering above Sam's unconscious form over in Last Week's Hovel. The good news? Sam's seizures seem to have passed. The bad news? Sam seems to be dead. "Woe!" Fret not, friend of friends, for Darling Sammy is only mostly dead, evidently. "Whew!" Yep, Dean wrestles his mostly dead brother up by the latter's lapels, screams directly into his face for a couple of minutes, and that's all it takes for Darling Sammy's eyes to snap open. A tiny bit of hellfire flickers across Sam's pupils as he loudly draws in a great, big, gulping gasp of air, so that's probably not a good sign, but other than that, The Ginormotron seems to be okay. "We gotta get you the hell outta here!" Dean growls, and with that, he hauls Sam to his feet and drags him out of the frame.
The shot cross-fades to whisk us over to the nighttime façade of a building the just-arriving location card identifies as the "Great Falls Junior College." Deep within the bowels of one of the building's science labs, a tubby schlub of a janitor wheels his cart through a maze of dissecting tables under the seemingly unseeing eyes of a rather gruesome-looking anatomy dummy. The janitor slaps a wet mop down on the floor and starts sweeping it from side to side, unaware that the glass eyes of that gruesome-looking anatomy dummy are slowly swiveling around in their sockets to stare at him. DUN! The janitor pauses for a moment, pivoting to toss an uneasy glance over his shoulder, but as nothing seems amiss, he soon refocuses his attention on the task at hand. Unfortunately for our unobservant and soon-to-be-dead acquaintance, he completely failed to notice that the gruesome-looking anatomy dummy has disappeared. Dun-dun-DUN! And as the janitor leans forward to scour away at a particularly stubborn stain, three tiny beads of blood spatter down against the linoleum at his feet. "Whee!" Oh, it gets better, my scaly friend. "Hooray!" For when the camera returns to the janitor's face, we can see a lurid, oozing gash spread across the gent's forehead, apparently of its own accord. "Eeeeeeeeeeeee!" The blood begins to flow a bit more freely, dribbling down to obscure his brow, and when the janitor finally thinks to mutter, "What the hell?" the words stream forth from his mouth on a cloud of vapor, because the temperature's just dropped about forty degrees. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
The overhead fluorescents decide to join in on all the fun at this point, buzzing and blinking and flickering on and off until they finally cut out for good. The imperiled janitor, with half his face now coated in blood, hyperventilates and whips his entire body around when a sharp crashing noise erupts at the far end of the room. A tray of scalpels has tipped over onto the floor, and the imperiled janitor takes this as his cue to flee, flinging his mop to one side as he takes off through the dissecting tables, only to find himself running smack into... the now-animate gruesome-looking anatomy dummy! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" The camera discreetly cuts away to examine a nearby whiteboard as the janitor howls and wails and squalls and yelps until -- wait for it -- SPLAT! "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" A fresh gout of arterial spray paints a good portion of the whiteboard red, and by the time the camera returns to our unfortunate tubby friend, it finds the now-dead janitor sprawled on his back amid an ever-expanding pool of his own blood, a scalpel driven straight into the center of his neck.
Tinkle, Tinkle RAAAWWWR! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I take it we're enjoying ourselves thus far this evening? "We are indeed!" Excellent. Should I continue, then, or do you have anything else to add at this juncture? "Nothing at all! Please go on!" No problem.
The following morning finds Darling Sammy loitering against the Impala in an overcast parking lot somewhere loud, rubbing at his aching brain while Dreary El Deano fetches some Danish and a couple of coffees for them at a nearby "pasteries" cart. "How you feel?" Dean asks the instant he's returned to Sam's side. "Like I got hit by a planet," Sam sighs before wondering, "So, how long was I out, again?" "Two or three minutes," Dean replies, furrows of concern creasing his forehead. "Why, what'd it feel like to you?" "About a week," Sam admits, looking pained, "give or take." The two perch on Metallicar's hood, with Dean offering his brother a friendly ear should Sam wish to chat about what just happened to him, but Sam of course declines, insisting he's fine, so they naturally launch themselves into a two-minute-long debate regarding the stupidity of Sam's decision to remain in Bristol even after the town and its inhabitants started triggering black-and-white flashbacks in that poor little mangled mind of his. It's as tedious as that description makes it sound, though Dean does manage to get in a good line or two here and there, especially when Sam whines as follows with respect to his now-obscured Slutty past: "So, I'm just supposed to ignore it? I might have done who knows what, and you want me to just forget about it?" "You shove it down," Dean replies without hesitation, "and you let it come out in spurts of violence and alcoholism!" "Atta girl!" Raoul rather predictably shrieks, for as we all know, the dear dizzy lizard is quite the avid fan of both the brutality and the booze. "It's true! [Slurp!] Hee!"
In any event, once this evening's first round of angsting is done, Dean decides to lighten the mood by whipping out a newspaper to discuss their next possible case. "Janitor murdered in a college lab last night," he reads. "Doors were lo