For whatever reason, Richard Roman negotiates a deal with the temporarily ensnared Crowley that basically amounts to this: If Crowley agrees to sneakily provide Our Intrepid Heroes with a vial of ordinary demon blood -- thus rendering This Year's Unnecessarily Complicated Ultimate Weapon useless -- The Leviathans will grant the demonic horde full dominion over Canada in perpetuity. This is an asinine move on both of their parts for a number of reasons, so it's a good thing Crowley promptly goes behind Richard Roman's back the instant he's freed to screw the idiot Leviathan King over by providing Our Intrepid Heroes with a vial of his own super-potent demon blood, so there's that bit of this year's season finale all sorted.
Unfortunately, Our Intrepid Heroes must also still deal with My Batshit Baboo, who is totally useless, and Dead Bobby, who threatens to derail their slapped-together plan by barging into Leviathan World Headquarters on his own. The former issue never really does get resolved this evening, but the latter goes away when Darling Sammy somehow shows Dead Bobby the error of his ways, after which Dashing El Deano tearfully barbecues Dead Bobby's traveling flask, thereby at last sending Dead Bobby on to his just reward. So, you know, expect the grizzled old spectral coot to resurface sometime in November.
And in the end, with a minor assist from Demon Meg and a major assist from Crowley's army of minions, Our Intrepid Heroes manage to break into Leviathan World Headquarters, where Dashing El Deano spears Richard Roman through the neck with This Year's Unnecessarily Complex Ultimate Weapon. Of course, there's a problem: The force of the vanquish blasts both Dashing El Deano and My Sweet Baboo bodily into Purgatory, where they are immediately menaced by a pack of snarling, red-eyed beasties. DUN! Will Supernatural's prettiest cast members survive?
They will as long as this crap show is still on the air. Bet on it.
Rattle, Rattle WE DON'T GIVE A SHIT ANYMORE THEN! As expected, this season's final THEN! has been set to the overfamiliar strains of Kansas's "Wayward Son," and despite the angry promise I made on the forum boards, I did not, in fact, choke a bitch when this sequence originally aired last Friday -- partly because the only bitch available at the time just happened to be a certain dear old friend of the dragonly persuasion, but mainly because I was too bored to move. And why is that, I'm sure I hear you ask? Because over the course of the full two minutes of screentime this montage proceeds to chew up, the people responsible for the ungodly mess this show has become do little more than remind us of certain key events and characters from the last couple of episodes, which only serves to reinforce the sad idea I've been harboring that the majority of this season was little more than a complete waste of my time. Sigh. They do include a few entirely unnecessary vignettes from what ended up being my favorite episodes this year, so that's nice, but the rest of it? Whatever.
Rattle, Rattle STILL NOT GIVING A SHIT NOW! As has been its wont as of late, the NOW! creeps forward for a bit before dissolving into a blackness in which we linger for far too long until the camera finally fades up on the interior of Richard Roman's tackily-appointed office deep within SucroCorp's world headquarters in Seattle, which is exactly where we left off at the end of last week's installment. Crowley, temporarily fixed in place thanks to that massive Devil's Trap in the ceiling, slumps himself into a handy chair while his host quite generously pours them a couple of cocktails and, after a few preliminaries, the two settle in to chat. And chat. And chat and chat and chat and chat and chat, and long story short, Richard Roman proposes a deal: Should Crowley provide Our Intrepid Heroes with a vial of blood from "one sadly unimpressive demon in New Jersey," thereby rendering This Year's Unnecessarily Complicated Ultimate Weapon useless, The Leviathans will grant Crowley and his demonic horde free reign over Canada and its exceptionally polite inhabitants until the end of time. Crowley thinks that one over for a moment, then announces, "You have a deal." An incredibly stupid deal, but there you go. "I suppose you want it in writing?" Crowley asks. "I don't kiss on the mouth," Richard Roman smirks by way of reply, so Crowley magically whips a "standard rider" out of his jacket pocket and unfurls the massively lengthy scroll across the office's carpeting. "I do so like this part," Crowley teases as Richard Roman tosses a fairly irritated side-eye at all of the paperwork involved. "Don't you?" No comment. And with that, both of these extremely talkative gentlemen vanish into...