ANY-way, back in The Hatefully Dull Room Of Demonically Boring Detox, Sweaty Stupid Sammy stares into the sun for too long, so his dead mother pops up beside him to whack him upside the head with an old copy of Reader's Digest. "You'll ruin your eyes!" Burnt Mary yells. "And why the hell did you hallucinate me with a foot-wide gash through my torso? Something you want to tell me, baby boy? Some thanks I get after sacrificing my immortal soul to save your dumb ass! And on Mother's Day, no less! Oh, how sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!" Well, except for the part where absolutely none of that happens at all, because this episode's gotten so boring that I'm the sweaty stupid idiot who's hallucinating things, including, apparently, the sunlight Crazy Sammy was just staring into, because hasn't it been nighttime topside for the last four scenes? Or are you trying to tell me Bobby's got a goddamned arc lamp on the top of his panic room? Well? Which is it, show? WHICH IS IT? "Demian!" WHAT? "I apologize for the interruption, I'm sure, but don't you think you might be overreacting just a teensy little bit?!" CHOKE ON YOUR FLAGON AND DIE, RAOUL. "Well!" Oh, I'm sorry, my scaly friend, really. It's just that there are thirty-two minutes of actual episode content left, and I don't...I can't...it's so...AAUAUAUUAUAUUAAAAAGH. "Take a break! [Slurp!]" That's...actually a pretty good idea. Thanks, friend of friends! "Don't mention it!"
There. That's better. And where was I? Oh, yes: While it's good to see Samantha Smith on this show again, the circumstances surrounding her character's return are so mind-crushingly torturous and hateful, I'll be skimming through the scene that follows to extract the relevant bits, shall I? "Wonderful idea!" Excellent. So, Stupid Sammy's next hallucinatory visitor is his dearly departed mother, whom he's managed to conjure on or about Mother's Day with a foot-wide gash through her torso -- and the less said about that, the better, because I haven't got all night, here -- and she opens the encounter by shaking her head a bit and stating, "You look just awful." Heh. Sam's face falls at this, and he invites her to let him have it, but Hallucinatory Burnt Mary surprises everyone by agreeing with the choices Our Intrepid Dumbass has made over the course of the season. Yep, she assures him that he's brave and practical and doing the right thing, and that she's never been more proud of him in all her unnatural afterlife. Stupid Sammy's all, "Buh?" so this figment of his subconscious perches on the cot and invites him to sit next to her so she might better explain herself. Or, you know, better explain himself to himself. Whatever. "Your brother doesn't understand," Hallucinatory Burnt Mary claims. "I was raised a hunter, from a very long line, and we understand that there are going to be hard choices, and we do what we have to, to get the job done." "Yes, our family is cursed," Stupid Sammy's subconscious admits to itself, "but you have the power to turn it into a gift." "You can use it against them," his subconscious continues, "for justice," and this is a psychotic break, right? He's clearly gone completely insane, and now the voices in his head are telling him to kill, right? Right? Am I right? "I think you're right! [Slurp!]" Then why the hell did they drag us through all of that addiction crap? If Darling Sammy's actually just a darling psychopath, then...oh, to hell with it. Let's just get through the rest of this scene, okay? "Wise decision!" Thanks, Raoul. In times of trouble, I know I can always count on you. "Don't mention it! [Slurp!]"
So, long story short, Psychotic Sammy tells himself that Dean can never understand him, because Dean is weak and "in over his head," and if that's not Psychotic Sammy's subconscious taking a cheap shot at Dean's stumpy little bow-legged ass, I'll eat Raoul's drinks cart. "Hey!" And finally, after giving himself a comforting little hug -- albeit a comforting little hug that's also somewhat sticky, given the coagulated blood smeared across Hallucinatory Burnt Mary's trademark white nightgown at the moment -- Psychotic Sammy's subconscious sends Hallucinatory Burnt Mary back into the recesses of his freakish Cro-Magnon skull until it needs her again for another insane pep-talk.
Meanwhile, out on the darkened grounds of Bobby's Emporium, Dean's stumpy little bow-legged ass paces around through the wrecked cars until My Sweet Baboo silently and suddenly appears at the far end of the yard in that delightfully unsettling way of his. "It's about time!" Dean rasps, for he'd apparently been bellowing at the night sky for two and a half hours, and his pipes are a little rusty. "He should have a flagon!" Thanks for the sage advice, Raoul, but I think Bobby's got the booze situation covered up there in the lush coastal rainforests of central South Dakota. "Oh, I am such a silly sometimes! You are correct!" Good. May I continue? "By all means! [Slurp!]" So, Dean's pissed, not only because he's been screaming at nothing like a madman for the better part of the evening, but also because of the crap Castiel pulled "back in Illinois." You know, the crap where My Sweet Baboo had something of great import to impart upon Dashing El Deano, but bailed at the last instant to go get "ass-reamed in Heaven," as Our Intrepid Hero so eloquently puts it, and jealous much, Dean? Castiel wisely chooses not to rise to the bait, and instead stares Dean dead in the eye for a moment with a silent plea for understanding before turning to scan the junkyard for possible Heavenly eavesdroppers. "Get to the reason you really called me," My Sweet Baboo gruffly suggests, putting on a bit of a show for those who might be listening in. "It's about [your gigantic psychopath of a brother], right?" "Can he do it?" Dean asks, referring of course to Sam offing Lilith, should Dean here allow the insane Ginormotron to resume the latter's crazy corpse-sucking ways. "Possibly," Castiel allows, "but consuming the amount of blood it would take to kill Lilith would change your brother forever." "Most likely," Castiel continues, his tone infuriatingly level even as his eyes positively brim with sympathy for Dean, "he would become the next creature you would feel compelled to kill." While Dean absorbs this rotten news, My Sweet Baboo reminds him, "There's no reason this would have to come to pass," for as you'll recall, the angels believe Dashing El Deano's the one to stop The Apocalypse, not Psychotic Sammy. "The only question for us," Castiel notes, returning to stand in front of his charge, "is whether you're willing to accept it." Dean attempts to pin down the terms of the impending deal with, "If I do this, [my enormous sweaty freakshow of an insane brother] doesn't have to?" Castiel pulls a typical dodge by replying, "If it gives you comfort to see it that way." Uh oh. Dean rolls his eyes at this and seethes, "You're a dick these days," before stomping off a few paces away, and it's always so sad when the boyfriends fight like this, isn't it? "[Sniff!] It is! [Slurp!]"
In any event, despite Dean's reservations about the whole wretched plan, he's in, because he's a moron, because he didn't learn the lessons his damned, doomed family's last fifteen or sixteen deals with supernatural entities should have taught him, and My Sweet Baboo starts in with the recitation of the vows by asking, "Do you give yourself over wholly to the service of God and His angels?" Dean shakes his head in disbelief at the ritual, but calls out, "Yeah, exactly," over his shoulder. This, of course, isn't good enough for Castiel, who orders, "Say it." At this, Dean turns back around to see if his boyfriend's actually serious with that bullshit, and the