From the writers of the infamous "racist truck" episode comes this steaming pile of awfulness. The story starts as many in the past, with a friend reaching out to the Winchesters for help. They have no idea what the friend needs as they only received a text, but apparently it was enough to send them racing into the night. While the brothers are en route to the case, a beautiful Doberman Pinscher approaches Sam for a belly rub. She has a gem-stubbed collar, but no tags. As Sam turns to explain to Dean about why there's a dog in their motel room, she transforms into a lovely young black woman. The only sign that she is the dog is the collar still circling her throat. Her name is Portia, she explains, and she's the one who sent the text message asking for their help.
She also explains that she's not a shapeshifter, but a "familiar," which Dean somehow doesn't realize is the animal companion to a witch. It turns out their old friend James is a witch now, his interest in the supernatural having been piqued by his acquaintance with the Winchesters. Here's where things go horribly wrong: Portia is proud to "belong" to James and calls him her "master." Amazingly, nobody stopped to think, "Hey, maybe having this black woman in a dog collar calling a white guy her master isn't our best idea." Or maybe they did think that and then thought, "Oh well, let's do it anyway!"
Anyway, James has been plagued by horrible nightmares where he sees himself killing people with his bare hands. When the people turn up dead for real and James finds bloody clothes in his trash, he's convinced he's truly a killer. Sam investigates the precinct where James is a rising-star lieutenant, while Dean goes with Portia to a witch's club to find out if someone might be controlling James's actions with magic. Sam finds out that James's fellow cops are jealous of his rapid rise in the ranks, and Dean finds out the other witches are upset because James and Portia are romantically involved. This is taboo in the witch community, which is totally understandable. There's even a love scene between the two and while she's blessedly human at the time, it still pushes damned hard on the gag reflex.
One witch in particular is jealous -- someone James considered a friend. He wanted Portia for himself and framed James for the murders. They have a showdown at the club, which James wins with Portia's help. At the end, the two of them have to leave town seeing as how there's no real way to clear James's name. Portia sticks by him, because that's what good dogs and girlfriends do. Add in another round of Winchester angst, a dash of secrets and lies and you've got just about the worst episode ever. Grab your bleach, your booze, your flaming hot pokers and return for the full recap.
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THEN! Witches used some bad mojo to make a guy choke on razor blades. They got up to some other evil deeds, too, but I don't recognize the episodes. Dean expressed his distaste by cursing, "Friggin' witches!" A rancid and soiled Kevin Tran finally translated his half of the Word of God: Demon Chapter. For some reason, God wanted to make it really hard for someone to close the gates of Hell and thus created three trials that must be passed. The first step required the would-be closer to kill a hellhound and bathe in its blood. Dean was all het up to volunteer, because he felt sure it was a suicide mission and didn't want Sammy getting himself killed. Because the best laid schemes of mice and Winchesters often go awry, it was Sam who ended up killing the hellhound. "I can do this," said Sam. The issue seemed to be resolved, but because we're talking about Sam and Dean here, we're sure to witness many more scenes of pleading and arguing and hurt feelings.
NOW! Nighttime in St. Louis, Missouri. We descend into a dank, smoky alleyway, illuminated by a few pallid streetlamps and a hotel's neon sign. Nothing says "class" like hanging out your shingle in an alley between two dumpsters. A man and woman exit this budding Savoy, cuddled close together. "That was great," the man says. "I wanna give you a little something." He hands her some cash. It must be a tip, because working ladies know to get the money up front. Her customer walks away with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. Because this young lady has apparently never seen a TV show or movie of any kind, she heads further into the alley instead of making for the street. A car door opens and closes behind her. She gasps and looks around. The alley seems empty except for heaps of trash and festering puddles of filth. She turns again and suddenly there's a man standing right there. It's eternally baby-faced Christian Campbell. He shows her his police badge. "Guess it's not my night," the working lady sighs. "Guess not," Mr. Campbell agrees. She turns around and holds her hands behind her back. He cuffs her, then grabs her by the throat. His fingers dig in until there's a snapping sound. Blood sprays across his face.
He sits up in bed, breathing hard. Fuzzy images of the dying woman flash in his mind, gorier and more detailed than a moment before. A beautiful Doberman Pinscher looks up at him from the floor. Whimpering, the dog jumps up into bed and lies down next to him. Mr. Campbell absently strokes the dog's head and slowly eases back onto his pillows. The dog whimpers again and lies down across his belly.
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