When news of a suspicious rash of suicides reaches him, Secretly Evil Sammy decides that This Is Their Kind Of Thing, and he drags Deeply Dubious El Deano down to Springfield, where it soon becomes clear someone made the stupid mistake of summoning Veritas, the ancient goddess of truth. Now whenever anybody in the town wishes for a little honesty in their lives, they immediately get bombarded with the entirely candid opinions of family, friends, coworkers, and complete strangers to the point where the unfortunate recipients of these unvarnished sentiments have little choice but to off themselves, after which their corpses mysteriously vanish from the city's morgue.
Our Intrepid Heroes eventually realize that Veritas is masquerading as local investigative journalist Ashley Frank, and when they break into her house to slaughter The Goddess, they find out what's been happening to all those missing bodies: Veritas has a taste for human flesh, so her basement looks like Ed Gein's rec room. The Goddess herself soon enough deigns to make an appearance and -- after she smacks them around for a bit, natch -- the boys finally manage to impale her with a poker and a couple of hunting knives.
Of course, all of the above is only half the story, because what would an episode of Supernatural be without Matters Of Great Wangsty Import? After last week's wacky vampiric hijinks, Dreary El Deano's deeply distrustful of Secretly Evil Sammy, so when he himself gets infected with Veritas's truth mojo, he immediately puts Secretly Evil Sammy on the spot by demanding an explanation for Secretly Evil Sammy's near-fatal inaction outside The Black Rose. Secretly Evil Sammy claims he froze with fear at the most inopportune of moments, but this is eventually revealed to be a filthy LIE when Veritas herself realizes her mojo has no effect on Secretly Evil Sammy, because Secretly Evil Sammy is "not human." DUN! And in the end, Openly Evil Sammy admits he did, indeed, Come Back Wrong For The Thirty-Eighth Or Thirty-Ninth Time Since This Godforsaken Series Began, so Deeply Depressed El Deano smacks the pretty clean off Openly Evil Sammy's face. Oh, and Bendy Lisa told Dean to go blow because she can't handle his psychotic ass. And then Veritas got Dean to admit he's dead inside. Why doesn't he just end it all, already, and put us out of his misery?
Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter THEN! And as this week's THEN! does little more than detail last week's Twilight-themed atrocity while reminding us of the fact that Secretly Evil Sammy's Come Back Wrong For The Fifty-Eighth Or Fifty-Ninth Time Since This Godforsaken Series Began, I'll be skipping right ahead to the...
...Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter NOW! "He said he'd call, but he never did," a sprite-like Biggerson's waitress moans into her cell phone as the location card at the bottom of the screen informs us we've arrived in Calumet City, Illinois, for this evening's festivities, and you might want to make note of the suspicious-looking and filthy bandage the wee lady's got wrapped around her left wrist, as upon rewatch I believe it might indicate a certain preexisting predilection for self-destructive behaviors on her part. Which if it does, then: Pretty sneaky, show. In any event, the tiny lass -- "Jane," if her nametag's being honest about her identity -- continues to babble about her tedious relationship issues instead of, you know, doing her job until her stern-faced manager catches her eye to toss her A Look, at which point she concludes her babbling with, "I just need the truth, that's all!" before hanging up. The camera zooms in for an extreme close-up of her mouth at that last bit, by the way, and a tiny little sparkly flourish hits the soundtrack as she utters the sentence's central word, so we can tell some wacky supernatural hijinks are afoot during everything that follows. Just so you know.
Cut to the kitchen, where the wacky supernatural hijinks commence when the cook slides Jane her latest order before leaning across the warmer to emphasize, "I pity you." "I'm sorry?" Jane asks, the smile on her face faltering a bit. "You're sad and pathetic," the cook elaborates, "and I pity you." He then glances down at a bowl on the warmer and warns, "Stay away from the clam chowder -- I flavored it with my own...seasoning." Jane has the gall to look shocked and appalled by the cook's latter admission, like she's never dosed an obstreperous customer's appetizer with something foul herself in all her many years of waiting tables, then composes herself before sailing out to the dining room, where her stern-faced manager calls her aside to note, "You know that new girl, Misty? Way hotter than you." "'Scuse me?" Jane mewls, starting to get more than just a little unsettled by all the wacky supernatural hijinks erupting around her. "Basically, she's an eight," the manager blithely continues, blind to Jane's obvious distress, "and you're a three." Jane's face falls, but she manages to pull it together long enough to approach an elderly diner and ask, "Can I get you anything else?" "No, thank you," the proper and poshly toned woman replies before blurting out, "I ran over a homeless man once, and I never even stopped to see if he was alive!" And then the little girl sitting at the counter perks, "I hate mummy! I want to burn her in her sleep!" "I don't know what it is," the busboy immediately proceeds to confide, "but you just give me the creeps -- like, I get physically nauseous!" "You're pathetic!" someone else shouts. "Loser!" Jane hears from another corner of the floor. "Stupid!" "Nasty!" "You're a desperate, pathetic loser!" "You're gonna die alone!" By this point, Jane's skulked over to the manager's station and pulled the restaurant's revolver from its hiding place beneath the register. DUN!