The Slice Girls Supernatural
Aired on Friday, February 3, 2012, on The CW
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We sadly relive Bobby's shooting and death, then the disagreement between Sam and Dean over killing Amy. Frank tells Dean to quit hunting, and Dean sadly tells him that's not even an option because he can't walk out on his brother. Do what I did, advises Frank, be fine until the end of the week, make yourself smile, because that's your job, and do it again the next week, and do it right, with a sm...
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We sadly relive Bobby's shooting and death, then the disagreement between Sam and Dean over killing Amy. Frank tells Dean to quit hunting, and Dean sadly tells him that's not even an option because he can't walk out on his brother. Do what I did, advises Frank, be fine until the end of the week, make yourself smile, because that's your job, and do it again the next week, and do it right, with a smile, or don't do it.
NOW – In his apartment, a man sits down with a cup of coffee. Someone enters his apartment and he calls out to him: “Is that you?” But this invader is carrying a weapon. The man turns off the music and listens to hear better over the pouring rain and thunder outside, goes to close the window, returns to sit in front of his computer, listens to his own breathing. He's suddenly flung across his living room, against a painting, where he smashes into the glass and falls to the floor. Already covered in blood, his assailant stabs him, over and over, carving what looks like a weird cave painting of a man into his chest. The camera pans away to reveal his hands and feet have been severed.
Sam drives the Impala down a dark road and Dean awakens, groggy, from a nap and takes a drink from a flask. Is that Bobby's? asks Sam, I didn't know you kept that. Mine sprung a leak, claims Dean. Most people would just carry a photo for a memento, says Sam. Shut up, man, I'm HONORING the guy, insists Dean, this is grief therapy, kind of like you and your wild goose chase. Sam takes offense to that—four guys murdered in two weeks, hands and feet cut off? Some guy with a foot fetish run amok, thinks Dean. Grown men thrown so hard they went through walls, counters Sam, pushing a newspaper at Dean—did you even read the article? No, I was napping, says Dean. What else you got going on? asks Sam—Dick Roman's a dead end for now, you might as well. . . Save a few, yeah, finishes Dean, not all that interested.
Coroner's office – Dean quips to the coroner about the ten percent co-pay they get on all drugs—not just generic!--even though they have to work this late over the dead body of the latest victim wheeled out of his drawer. Sam interrupts this discussion to ask the vic's weight—190, and he was thrown against the wall so hard, the all buckled, hands and feet severed while he was still alive so he'd suffer more. All victims male, all carved with the same symbol. There was some DNA left behind when one vic was bitten, but the genetic markers match nothing the coroner has ever seen, nothing human. Leaving the building, Dean admits this could be in the general vicinity of the ballpark of their thing. Doesn't match anything human usually seals the deal for me, says Sam—I've never seen this symbol before--let's get a bite to eat, go back to the motel, haul out the laptop. Dean thinks that's a great idea, but he has a counter, go undercover, mingle amongst the locals, see what kind of clues bubble to the surface. You're going to a bar, says Sam, grinning. Wow, if you're going to oversimplify it, says Dean, who turns and takes off. Sam isn't happy.
In the Cobalt Room, which is much nicer than Dean's usual dive bars, he meets a pretty girl, who tells him of a date from hell. They agree dating is hell, but, as she says, what's the option, I don't see settling down anytime soon. That's something you don't hear every day, says Dean. What, are you afraid of the big commit? She teases. Not exactly, says Dean. They smile at each other. Nice suit, she says, guys don't dress that much—I like it. It's a conservative line of work, he says. What line is that? She asks. Investment banking, he answers. (Seriously, Dean??) Oh, God, she says, I hear the hours are ridic. Yeah, he agrees. There's money to be made, she says. A fortune a year, he agrees. (We are having many eye and lip close-ups in this scene, very hot.) She lifts her glass in a toast. May you have many more, she says. He clinks his glass to hers. Arigato, he says. You speak Japanese? She asks. Enough to get by, he says. Well, look at you, she says. Yeah, look at me, he agrees. You want to move this conversation elsewhere? She asks.
The music plays “All Night Long” as Dean's long dry spell finally comes to an end.. Interspersed between them stripping off each other's clothes and tumbling into bed, a man answers his door to what appears to be a pretty girl. When Dean's getting kissed, that poor guy is getting shoved against the wall hard enough to crack all his bones. Dean falls to the bed on his back, and we once again see the beloved protection tat on his left shoulder. Clad only in black panties and bra, she leaps on top of him. They clasp hands, she leans down to kiss him, and they roll so Dean is on top. The poor guy having a lot less fun rolls over, already tattooed with the strange symbol in his chest, and as Dean and the stranger make love, the poor, hapless man is getting his hands and feet cut off, in agony because he is still alive to feel every hack of the knife. As the woman sits on Dean taking him deep inside her, we see the man, his eyes wide open in horror, the bloody symbol fresh and gory in his chest, then Dean, his eyes wide in passion, staring up at her, then the man, hands and feet gone in pools of blood, all interspersed in a hideous contrast of death and life. Post orgasm, Dean takes a deep breath of satisfaction. “All night long!” finishes the music.
Heading for the scene of the crime, Sam tells his brother, “You look like crap.” Dean admits he feels like crap, but recommends the Cobalt Room, I do think I'm getting too old for this, Dean says. Sam wasn't able to figure out the symbol and says they're going to need an expert. Our expert is dead, Dean reminds him. (Oh, Bobby!) The brothers show their FMI badgers and gain entrance to the blood-spattered crime scene. Nice decor, very early slaughterhouse, quips Dean.. The same cop they saw the other day introduces them to Charlene Penn, case lead, who tells them there was no forced entry, thrown across the room, made to suffer. Hands and feet cut off. Sam symbol on the best, notes Sam. Whoever the killer is, the guy's a monster, says the male cop. Dean notes this guy is just like the first three, early 30's, decent looking. Fairly successful, no known enemies, adds the cop. Noticing a young man being questioned by a cop outside the door, Sam intervenes. The kid explains he was a friend of Jerry's. Sam asks if he knows anyone who would want to harm Jerry. Nicest guy in the world, the other guy says, although his wife wasn't very happy with him—a few nights ago, Jerry had a one-night fling, Ann found out, took off.--but she would never do anything like this . Of course, Sam agrees, and thanks him. Sam relays the conversation to Dean. They don't think it's the wife. Dean feels his pocket—shoot, I left Bobby's flash at Lydia's—my work-out partner from last night, now I've got to go get it. Not only do you have her name, you're actually going to call her? Sam marvels. Bite me, invites Dean. How sweet, she gave you her number, notes Sam. They always give me their number, brags Dean. When Dean calls, however, Lydia denies seeing the flask and doesn't even sound that eager to hear from him. She says if she does see it, she'll call. I gotta go, just real busy at the moment. She abruptly hangs up. Sam finds this amusing.
We cut back to Lydia, who appears to be nine months pregnant!
Lydia is giving birth amongst a group of woman. The midwife is urging her to breathe, “take control, Lydia, as in all things”. Only candles light the room, and the atmosphere is very creepy. One final push, the pain is an honor, the woman says. Lydia gives birth, and the baby is handed into her arms. What will we call her? Lydia asks. Emma, she is told. The baby has a large birthmark on her head. “Next,” calls the midwife.
The brothers consult with the head of Anthropology at a local college. Fascinating, the professor declares, truly, and rather accomplished draftsmanship. If you can get past the fact that it was carved into a guy's body, says Dean. Prof. Morrison, we were hoping you could tell us what the symbol means, says Sam. The professor COULD, but he's looking for “suitable remuneration” in order to do so. The respect of a grateful nation, says Sam grandly. And a good word with the IRS adds Dean. Ah, says Morrison, well, it appears quite ancient. That narrows it down, says Sam, shooting an exasperated look at Sam. Something to do with worship, an obscure script, says the professor, this will require some research. Sam and Dean stand. We'll see you tomorrow, says Sam. Tomorrow?--I've spent entire sabbaticals on a project like this! He objects. We've a serial killer on our hands, Dean reminds him. Your government needs you, adds Sam. My housekeeper needs a Green Card, Morrison says. Leaving his office, Dean asks his brother, Good God, where did you find this guy? Supposed to be a top expert in his field, says Sam. When his field includes things that go bump in the night, he's gonna be worth the breath we just wasted, says Dean. What are we supposed to do, spin our wheels? asks Sam. This is us, spinning our wheels, says Dean, exasperated. I want to call him too, says Sam, but Bobby's not here, so we're settling. Yeah, we sure are, agrees Dean, checking his watch. Damn it, why hasn't she called? Who, Lydia? Sam asks—what, some girl's actually dumping you the morning after? I think you're enjoying this a little more than you need to, Dean says, screw it, I'm goin' over there and getting' the flask.
Don, she greets him at the door. Dean, he corrects—I guess you didn't get my messages. I did, she says, I've been busy. She found his flask, which was so beat up, she almost tossed it. The guy it belonged to was very beat up, too, Dean explains, but I was very close to him and I'd hate to lose it. I'll get it for you, she says. He follows her into the house, asking how she's been, other than “busy.” He catches sight of the baby in the crib and realizes why she's been so busy—babysitting. No, she says. YOURS? He says. Uh huh, she says. You didn't tell me you had a little girl, he says, walking over to the crib. There's a lot of things we didn't tell each other, she says wryly. She introduces him to Emma. Your first? He asks. Yes, she answers, playing with her necklace. I hear they grow like weeds, he says. You have no idea, Lydia says. Dean answers the phone—Sam, who wants to know, where are you, it's the flask, not the Holy Grail. I'm a people person, engaging in some social skills, says Dean, get anything out of Orson? No, and would you get back here, we're due at the crime lab, says Sam, irritated. Dean hears the little girl ask, “Who is that?” and Lydia answer, “Don't ask, we'll discuss it later.” Sam is still talking to him on the cell, but Dean says, I'll call you later and hangs up.
Same coroner reports to only Sam that they have another guy weighing 200 pounds thrown so hard against a wall he's got plaster lodged in his skull. Charlene asks what triggered the Feds' involvement in this case—I always think you boys have bigger fish to fry. The similarity to the other cold cases? Asks the Coroner—same killer cross state lines, they bring you guys in. That's exactly right, says Sam, grateful for the explanation. Whatever, says Charlene coldly, you're going to have to wrap this up, your case isn't the only one we're working on. She leaves. You get used to her, the Coroner says. I didn't bring the cold case files with me, says Sam, is there a chance you have a copy. The Coroner does. Sam notices a receipt from the Cobalt Room. Lookin' to hook up? the Coroner asks, it's a pretty good place to go. I've heard, says Sam. Vic #2 was there, the Coroner says, and according to his security guard, he hooked up with a hot girl, two days later, he's an obituary. Same with Jerry price, notes Sam. There are a couple of others in there, points out the Coroner. Same thing in Chicago, says Sam. Flings, busted up marriages, says the Coroner, all just before they got offed. Thanks, says Sam, looking like he has had an epiphany.
Dean watches from his Oregon-plated car SMD 5B2 (I miss the Impala!) as two women show up at Lydia's house. “Is Lydia ready?” they ask. Sam calls, berating Dean for not showing up. Hearing where his brother is, Sam accuses him of being obsessed. I've been eating at the buffet of strange all afternoon, reports Dean. Meaning what? Asks Sam. I'll tell you as soon as I know, replies Dean, but something ain't right. Or you're obsessed, says Sam. Shut up, I'm serious, Dean insists. Okay, back up, says Sam, ready to listen, but Dean isn't ready to spill, and asks what's up on Sam's end. Sam reports about the identical murder in Chicago, and again in Miami two years before that—all the victims were young, successful, oh, and at least some of them hooked up at the same bar Dean had—the Cobalt Room, so Dean dodged a bullet. Watching Lydia's door open across the street, Dean says he's gotta go and hurriedly hangs up.
Lydia calls to her daughter to hurry up, and we see a MUCH older little girl, at least five or six, exit the house. Lydia kneels in front of the child, pushes back her golden hair, tells her to be a good girl and “Make us proud.” “I will, Mama,” promises Emma, going along with the two women who came for her. She gives her mother a longing look over her shoulder as she's led to the car .“Bye, Em,” says Lydia, stoic, but clearly finding the separation hard. Dean watches it all through binoculars. I hate when this happens, says Dean, following the departing car. He follows them to a gray building, and they go inside.
In their motel room, Sam is arguing that the child Dean saw is probably just Lydia's other daughter. No, just the one, insists Dean, but the night I was with her, she didn't have any—I was at her place, she didn't have any playpens, blankets, no rubber ducks. . . Right, says Sam, like you were really focused on that kind of thing. Hey, dude, that's the FIRST thing you notice, says Dean, red flags. He reaches into the fridge for some beers, continuing--then all of a sudden, boom—baby. The one you thought talked, says Sam. Oh, it talked, says Dean, and not baby talk, either. Now you know so much about child development, says Sam. I know enough to know they don't say 'hey Mom, who's that guy?' says Dean—cut to Lydia's hand on this kid who's calling her 'Mommy' over these two women, but this is not a baby, no, this kid has got to be five—and same name—Emma. You know, George Foreman named all his sons George, Sam reminds him. Are you deliberately messing with me? Dean demands—I know weird—there is no non-weird explanation for this!--this morning, Emma was a baby, by sunset, she was Hannah Montana!--early years. Sam's phone rings—the Professor. I'm sure he'll crack this wide open, says Dean sarcastically. Sam shushes him.
A line-up of pretty young girls is being given what looks like cookies to eat, which leave a bloodstain behind, from a paper-lined tray. Each takes one and consumes it with milk. The brunette who heads up this gruesome organization says: “On this special night, you join an exceptional family. You are ready to take your places alongside us and learn our traditions. This is a tribute to the one who created and protects us. We hunt for her. We kill for her. And now we consume that kill as a symbol of unity with those that have completed their blood missions and furthered the life of the tribe. Go ahead, Emma, she instructs the latest addition, you need to eat. Emma takes the grotesque thing into her mouth and downs it with milk, not even bothering to chew first.
The Professor tells Sam and Dean that identifying this scroll was no day at the beach, lesser scholars would have crumbled. Professor. . .symbol? Sam reminds him. Yeah—ancient regional, very difficult to identify, says the Prof, but I managed to find a match, it's associated with the Greek Pantheon, the temple of the Goddess Harmonia. According to myth, the coupling of the Goddess Harmonia and Areas, the God of War, produced the Amazons. Like Wonder Woman? Dean asks. No, like a tribe of warriors, explains the Professor, they actually existed, in the comic books, they're just silly perversions. The symbol, I believe originated with the Amazons, pictographs meant to pay homage to Harmonia, occult talismans, if you will, an exclusively female culture, no use for men whatsoever, except for procreation. All the vics were male, says Sam. So you said, the Prof says, with this symbol carved in their chests. And their hands and feet cut off,, says Sam. Now THAT is interesting, says the Prof. Caught our attention, says Dean darkly. Soon as they were impregnated, they killed the male, first cutting off certain body parts, explains the Prof. Sam and Dean exchange a look.
Charlene is on the phone with the dark-haired woman from the mysterious “academy” Emma is attending. I couldn't check their ID's, she says, because everything they have is fake. I've been digging for hours, and one thing's for sure, they ain't FBI. They're after us, is what they are—remember that cross-country murder spree those brother went on a couple of months ago? She pulls up police files of Sam and Dean. That barely scratches the surface—they're thugs, vigilantes, but look, we've dealt with hunters like this before. Well, says the dark-haired woman, the one is already scheduled to be taken care of, we'll simply add the other to the agenda.
Dean searches through Bobby's dusty boxes of books, annoyed that he didn't have a system. He DID have a system, insists Sam, it was set up like his brain. Dean takes a hit from Bobby's flask. Sam, at the computer, has found a side to the Amazon women the Professor didn't even mention. Because he didn't believe in them, which is a real handicap when you're trying to deal with them, says Dean testily. Right, says Sam, apparently there was this long war, leaving the population decimated, so they made a bargain with Harmonia to replenish their ranks and make them stronger. Dean feels that thrown grown men through walls certainly qualifies as stronger. Harmonia made them more than human; she made them monsters. (Uh oh!) So do you kill them like humans, or is there some kind of trick? Dean asks, Didn't say, no idea, I guess it could go either way, Sam says, and hesitantly adds, the lore says they reproduced quickly, as in, after mating, they gave birth after 36 hours. As Dean thinks that over, Sam goes on, babies grew incredibly fast, then the aging process became normal, which is one way to make an army, I guess—the mating cycle is, every two years; they send out women of child-bearing age. Which lines up, says Dean, because this happens every couple of years in every town, right? Sam nods—And we know for sure some of the vics hooked up with strange women days before being killed Amazon-style. Hooked up in the same bar I met Lydia, right? Dean asks, already knowing the answer. Yeah, says Sam. And suddenly, says Dean, growing more agitated, she's got a little baby in fruitfly time; that baby turns into a little girl just as fast. Wow, says Sam, so maybe you're a. . . Don't say it, pleads Dean. Look, if that kid's yours, begins Sam. I said don't say it, Dean reminds him. Fine, I won't, says Sam, but Dean. . .dude, seriously, a one night stand, you're just gonna roll the dice, you don't even. . . Of course not! What do you think, I'm brain-dead? Accidents happen—if one even did, which I don't think. . .(Dean's face here is hilarious, as he contemplates his eager sperm going around or punching through any barrier to march up to and penetrate that egg no matter what and his pride in such a conquest),no, you know what,?-- stop, we're not even going to talk about this anymore because my skin's startin' to crawl. Dean says. All right, agrees Sam, but if it's true, if it happened,. I know, says Dean, swigging from Bobby's flask, I'll hang onto my hands and feet.
The dark-haired maven of the girls school (?) stands before the group, praising them for their progress. You're absorbing the traditions of our mothers, she says, and you are close to fulfilling your tribal destiny and taking your place alongside your sisters. Today you are a warrior. She burns a brand into the upper wrist of the first girl. To her credit, she only grimaces. Though you may walk among others, your heart is only with the tribe. Soon, you will take the final glorious step into adulthood, today, you will learn how to endure your pain—and how to inflict it. She reaches Emma, who really reacts to the pain of the brand. Fight it, Emma, the older woman commands, as with all you do, courage is everything. Bobby's books and papers are spread out on one of their beds in the motel room. Going through Bobby's files is like dumpster diving, declares Dean. Tell me about it, says Sam—it makes sense why the Amazon women want to hook up with decent-looking, successful guys. Picky about the gene pool? Dean suggests. So, what was Lydia doing with you? Sam teases. She may or may not have thought I was a rich investment banker, says Dean, taking another hit from Bobby's flask. Sam throws his hands up in the air, an I-give-up gesture. Sam, these papers just moved—I didn't touch 'em, says Dean. Sam opens the desk drawer and pulls out the ghost-meter. The red lights are going crazy. BOBBY? Power lines outside the window and a breeze, points out Sam. Do you feel a breeze? Dean demands. It doesn't matter, the readings are useless, insists Sam. (Oh, they both want it to be Bobby's spits DESPERATELY!) Hey, maybe, says Dean shaking the flask at his brother. We burned him, Dean, Sam reminds him. So what, says Dean. So what are you suggesting? Sam asks. I dunno, what're you? Dean asks. Concentrate on something else, Sam tells him. Why? Dean asks. Because it's NOT Bobby! Sam shouts. Could be, Dean says. No it couldn't be! Sam retorts. Why not? Dean counters. Because we want it to be! Sam returns. They turn to the page on top. Maybe it's useful, says Dean. It's in a PILE of maybe it's useful, points out Sam angrily--it’s in Greek, nobody reads Greek. Except Greeks, says Dean, oh, and Bobby. And Professor Morrison, remembers Sam, who starts to leave. Really? Dean says. Stay here, keep the door locked, don't go anywhere, orders Sam—I MEAN it. Fine, says Dean,
Seeing Sam enter his office, the Prof is all, you've GOT to be kidding me, and the FBI isn't paying me enough for this! (If only he knew, tee hee!) Sam promises to sweeten the deal--”We'll remove your wiretap.” (Sam, you sly government dog, you!)
Dean is tapping away at the laptop when someone knocks at the door. He opens the door to a young woman. “Hi, you don't know me, but my name is Emma,” she says. “I need your help. I think I'm in trouble and you're the only person I can trust.” “Why?” asks Dean through clenched teeth. “Because you're my father,” she says. “How did you find me?” demands Dean. “They've been watching you, ever since Mom got pregnant,” she says. “If you're such a prisoner, would you mind telling me how you escaped,” he says. “I waited until light out,” explains Emma, “the women who watch over us change shifts a little after 10.” “Uh uh”, says Dean, “and you left because?” “They stick you in there,” she says, “and you trust them, “it's all you know, and you don't question what they want you to do—terrible things.--and that's why I had to leave. They tortured me.” She holds up her arm to show the brand on her wrist. “They told me I had to endure pain so I could be strong like them, but I don't wanna be like them!” “Okay,” says Dean, inviting her in, closing and locking the door after her, “have a seat.” She has a suitcase with her. “Let's assume you're not like them—yet,,” says Dean, “what do you want me to do.” “Get me away from here,” she says, “you're a good man—my mother told me that.” “I seriously doubt she said that,” smirks Dean, “and if you knew me, you would seriously doubt it's true.” “They told me you're a hunter,” says Emma, “so maybe you'll understand about me—maybe you can protect me, just long enough so I can get away.--then I'll leave you alone. I know you don't want me.” “Let's not go there, okay,” says Dean, “this isn't a matter of. . . “ you get this isn't a normal situation, right?” “How would I know?” she asks shrilly--”three days ago, I wasn't even alive! Now here I am—my mother threw me into that PLACE! And my father. . .well. . .you get this is my last chance to have anything normal, ever, right?” (How close is this conversation to the one he had with Sam on the eve he left for Stanford, I wonder?)
Morrison declares the paper Sam has handed him as fascinating—handmade, a cellulose sort of like papyrus, which explains its durability—where did Sam get it? Crazy, drunk old genius, answers Sam, who is impatient, to know what it SAYS. They always have the good stuff, agrees the Professor. It's in Greek, says Morrison. I knew that, says Sam. Not a common dialect, says the Prof—my God, what is it with you and Amazons? Professor, it's important, says Sam, losing his patience. At 11:30 at night, it had better be, the Prof says. He says it repeats all the usual lore they knew before, but it's not the women who do the killing; instead, a ritual of initiation requires that the child born of the mating process must kill her own father. (OH NO!) . “What?” says Sam.
“You look exhausted,” says Dean. “And starving,” says Emma, “it's been a tough Sweet 16.. So you believe me?” Dean nods. “You'll help me?” she asks. “If you really want help,” he says.
Sam is rushing back to Dean when he runs into Charlene at the police station. “You're here late,” she notes. “Could we talk in the morning?” he asks. She grabs him by the throat. “What's your hurry—Sam--Sam Winchester?” she asks. He spots the telltale tattoo on her wrist. “Let's see—I could run you in for impersonating a Federal agent. She tosses him viciously down the stairs, into the stairwell, and heads down to finish him off with a long, sharp knife—but Sam pulls out his gun and fires at her, efficiently felling her. Unfortunately, his cell phone has been too damaged to warn Dean.
“What happens when they find you missing?” Dean asks his daughter. “They may have already found out,” she says, “and they'll hunt me down—look, I know this is gonna be hard, but if I'm going to do it, I have to do it now.” He opens the fridge door and looks inside. “I got cheese and a leftover burrito,” he offers. “It doesn't make a difference,” Emma says, rising from the bed with a wicked looking, daddy-knife in her hand. Dean instantly slams the fridge door closed and rounds on her, gun pointed directly at her. “You were askin' if I believed you,” he says.
Sam is on the road,, running red lights, driving around slower drivers.
“I was told you'd be a challenge,” says Emma. “And I figured you'd chat me up,” counters Dean, “try to catch me off-guard—almost worked, I was expecting your mother.”
Sam blasts through another red light.
“It's not her place, I have to kill you,” says Emma. “Is that what they told you?” asks Dean. “It's what I am,” she says. “Then I should just kill you right now,” asserts Dean. “Sure, but you coulda done that 30 seconds ago,” she says.
Sam pulls up in front of the motel and races upstairs. “It's weirdly hard, isn't it?” she asks--”it is for me.” “Knock it off,” he orders. “How could it not be?” she asks--”you're my father. “HEY!--we're not gonna do that.” says Dean. “It's true,” taunts Emma, “I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. So now someone has to kill someone.” Outside the door, in agony, Sam looks in and listens. “You know what?” asks Emma--”so far, my childhood has been kinda disappointing. “You haven't killed anybody yet, Emma,” Dean reminds her--”right now, I won't go after you.” “I can't—I don't have a choice,” she says archly. Sam bursts in; Emma is caught between her father and her uncle, both with guns trained on her. “Please don't let him hurt me,” she pleads, Daddy's little girl for the first time since she walked in the room. Without a word, Sam shoots her in the heart. She falls to the floor, dead. Sam looks at Dean, defiant.
The brothers go to what Dean calls the “mother ship,” but it's empty, all occupants gone.
Sam is at the wheel of the car, driving very fast. “You know what, I don't like it either,” says Dean, “I wanted to torch 'em just as much as you—but hey, next time they surface, we'll be ready—if we live that long.” When Sam doesn't respond, Dean says, “Fine, just sit there and be pissed.” “What did you say to me?” demands Sam--”when I was the one who choked, what did you say to me about Amy? YOU KILL THE MONSTER!” “I was GOING to!” says Dean. “The hell you were!” says Sam--”you think I'm an idiot?” “You think I am?” demands Dean. “You were gonna let her walk!” cries Sam. “No I wasn't, that's ridiculous!” says Dean. “Look, man, she was not yours, not really,” says Sam, more calm. “Actually, she was, really,” says Dean, smiling, “she just also happened to be a crazy, man-killing monster, but, hey.” “Bobby was right,” says Sam, “your head's not in it, man, when Cas died, you were wobbly, but now. . ..” “Now what, you're dealin' with this so perfect?” asks Dean--”newsflash, pal, you're just as screwed-up as I am!--you're just. . .bigger.” Sam looks at him like he's crazy. “WHAT?” he asks. “I don't know,” says Dean. “Tonight almost got you killed,” points out Sam, “I don't care how you deal, I really, really don't, but don't get killed..” “I'll do what I can,” promises Dean. “What's that supposed to mean?” asks Sam. “It means I'll do what I can,” says Dean, “you can shut up about it.”
They both shut up, and the music is sad, and this episode is sad and we REALLY need a light-hearted episode, and soon, writers, please?.
I thought this episode was a good mystery, with a neat twist—the daughters were doing the killing. No wonder that one man opened the door and was so happy to see the person—we thought it was his lover, but it was his daughter, and he was happy to see her, not realizing she was there to murder him. Very gruesome scenes in this ep, what with the severed hands and feet and the nasty carving in the chest. This is one daughter who doesn't deserve to have Daddy dance at her wedding, which he couldn't do even if he lived, what with the no feet and all. I know, not really funny, right? Neither was this episode. It was just a downer on too many levels for me. It made me miss Bobby more than ever, what with that dopey professor who isn't a hunter and never will be (I did recognize him from Buffy as the mayor who ascended and became a lethal serpent at her graduation). I grew as impatient with him as the brothers did, and didn't consider him much except for a very poor man's Bobby.
I was hoping that WAS his spirit guiding them to the fact that it was the daughter, not the mother, that did the killing, since it was a very important and urgent thing for Sam to know to save Dean, since Dean wasn't rushing to save himself. Was he going to let Emma kill him? Did he feel anything for her? Was he supposed to? I sure didn't. She didn't seem much like him, although she did have killer lips and eyes—and was a killer. Hmm, maybe she was more like Dean than I wanted to admit. I cheered when Sam shot her right between the boobs because Dean was talking too damn much!
Did I like this episode? I’m not sure. I heard the premise (I wasn't as spoiler free as usual) and my first reaction was, not a Madison clone episode! It didn't turn out to be that at all. Madison was so nice, I was sorry to see her die; I was cheering for Sam to get home and put a bullet into nasty Emma. She sure could turn on the baby talk good, though. I LOVED “Heart.” I give that a 10, this only a 6. This had a smattering of the little coven-type group in “Malleus Mallificarum” (I liked the blond who went after Sam and the dark-haired gal was kinda cool, too, but what made them think knives were more effective than guns, silly women)? And all that bloody mess! read less
NOW – In his apartment, a man sits down with a cup of coffee. Someone enters his apartment and he calls out to him: “Is that you?” But this invader is carrying a weapon. The man turns off the music and listens to hear better over the pouring rain and thunder outside, goes to close the window, returns to sit in front of his computer, listens to his own breathing. He's suddenly flung across his living room, against a painting, where he smashes into the glass and falls to the floor. Already covered in blood, his assailant stabs him, over and over, carving what looks like a weird cave painting of a man into his chest. The camera pans away to reveal his hands and feet have been severed.
Sam drives the Impala down a dark road and Dean awakens, groggy, from a nap and takes a drink from a flask. Is that Bobby's? asks Sam, I didn't know you kept that. Mine sprung a leak, claims Dean. Most people would just carry a photo for a memento, says Sam. Shut up, man, I'm HONORING the guy, insists Dean, this is grief therapy, kind of like you and your wild goose chase. Sam takes offense to that—four guys murdered in two weeks, hands and feet cut off? Some guy with a foot fetish run amok, thinks Dean. Grown men thrown so hard they went through walls, counters Sam, pushing a newspaper at Dean—did you even read the article? No, I was napping, says Dean. What else you got going on? asks Sam—Dick Roman's a dead end for now, you might as well. . . Save a few, yeah, finishes Dean, not all that interested.
Coroner's office – Dean quips to the coroner about the ten percent co-pay they get on all drugs—not just generic!--even though they have to work this late over the dead body of the latest victim wheeled out of his drawer. Sam interrupts this discussion to ask the vic's weight—190, and he was thrown against the wall so hard, the all buckled, hands and feet severed while he was still alive so he'd suffer more. All victims male, all carved with the same symbol. There was some DNA left behind when one vic was bitten, but the genetic markers match nothing the coroner has ever seen, nothing human. Leaving the building, Dean admits this could be in the general vicinity of the ballpark of their thing. Doesn't match anything human usually seals the deal for me, says Sam—I've never seen this symbol before--let's get a bite to eat, go back to the motel, haul out the laptop. Dean thinks that's a great idea, but he has a counter, go undercover, mingle amongst the locals, see what kind of clues bubble to the surface. You're going to a bar, says Sam, grinning. Wow, if you're going to oversimplify it, says Dean, who turns and takes off. Sam isn't happy.
In the Cobalt Room, which is much nicer than Dean's usual dive bars, he meets a pretty girl, who tells him of a date from hell. They agree dating is hell, but, as she says, what's the option, I don't see settling down anytime soon. That's something you don't hear every day, says Dean. What, are you afraid of the big commit? She teases. Not exactly, says Dean. They smile at each other. Nice suit, she says, guys don't dress that much—I like it. It's a conservative line of work, he says. What line is that? She asks. Investment banking, he answers. (Seriously, Dean??) Oh, God, she says, I hear the hours are ridic. Yeah, he agrees. There's money to be made, she says. A fortune a year, he agrees. (We are having many eye and lip close-ups in this scene, very hot.) She lifts her glass in a toast. May you have many more, she says. He clinks his glass to hers. Arigato, he says. You speak Japanese? She asks. Enough to get by, he says. Well, look at you, she says. Yeah, look at me, he agrees. You want to move this conversation elsewhere? She asks.
The music plays “All Night Long” as Dean's long dry spell finally comes to an end.. Interspersed between them stripping off each other's clothes and tumbling into bed, a man answers his door to what appears to be a pretty girl. When Dean's getting kissed, that poor guy is getting shoved against the wall hard enough to crack all his bones. Dean falls to the bed on his back, and we once again see the beloved protection tat on his left shoulder. Clad only in black panties and bra, she leaps on top of him. They clasp hands, she leans down to kiss him, and they roll so Dean is on top. The poor guy having a lot less fun rolls over, already tattooed with the strange symbol in his chest, and as Dean and the stranger make love, the poor, hapless man is getting his hands and feet cut off, in agony because he is still alive to feel every hack of the knife. As the woman sits on Dean taking him deep inside her, we see the man, his eyes wide open in horror, the bloody symbol fresh and gory in his chest, then Dean, his eyes wide in passion, staring up at her, then the man, hands and feet gone in pools of blood, all interspersed in a hideous contrast of death and life. Post orgasm, Dean takes a deep breath of satisfaction. “All night long!” finishes the music.
Heading for the scene of the crime, Sam tells his brother, “You look like crap.” Dean admits he feels like crap, but recommends the Cobalt Room, I do think I'm getting too old for this, Dean says. Sam wasn't able to figure out the symbol and says they're going to need an expert. Our expert is dead, Dean reminds him. (Oh, Bobby!) The brothers show their FMI badgers and gain entrance to the blood-spattered crime scene. Nice decor, very early slaughterhouse, quips Dean.. The same cop they saw the other day introduces them to Charlene Penn, case lead, who tells them there was no forced entry, thrown across the room, made to suffer. Hands and feet cut off. Sam symbol on the best, notes Sam. Whoever the killer is, the guy's a monster, says the male cop. Dean notes this guy is just like the first three, early 30's, decent looking. Fairly successful, no known enemies, adds the cop. Noticing a young man being questioned by a cop outside the door, Sam intervenes. The kid explains he was a friend of Jerry's. Sam asks if he knows anyone who would want to harm Jerry. Nicest guy in the world, the other guy says, although his wife wasn't very happy with him—a few nights ago, Jerry had a one-night fling, Ann found out, took off.--but she would never do anything like this . Of course, Sam agrees, and thanks him. Sam relays the conversation to Dean. They don't think it's the wife. Dean feels his pocket—shoot, I left Bobby's flash at Lydia's—my work-out partner from last night, now I've got to go get it. Not only do you have her name, you're actually going to call her? Sam marvels. Bite me, invites Dean. How sweet, she gave you her number, notes Sam. They always give me their number, brags Dean. When Dean calls, however, Lydia denies seeing the flask and doesn't even sound that eager to hear from him. She says if she does see it, she'll call. I gotta go, just real busy at the moment. She abruptly hangs up. Sam finds this amusing.
We cut back to Lydia, who appears to be nine months pregnant!
Lydia is giving birth amongst a group of woman. The midwife is urging her to breathe, “take control, Lydia, as in all things”. Only candles light the room, and the atmosphere is very creepy. One final push, the pain is an honor, the woman says. Lydia gives birth, and the baby is handed into her arms. What will we call her? Lydia asks. Emma, she is told. The baby has a large birthmark on her head. “Next,” calls the midwife.
The brothers consult with the head of Anthropology at a local college. Fascinating, the professor declares, truly, and rather accomplished draftsmanship. If you can get past the fact that it was carved into a guy's body, says Dean. Prof. Morrison, we were hoping you could tell us what the symbol means, says Sam. The professor COULD, but he's looking for “suitable remuneration” in order to do so. The respect of a grateful nation, says Sam grandly. And a good word with the IRS adds Dean. Ah, says Morrison, well, it appears quite ancient. That narrows it down, says Sam, shooting an exasperated look at Sam. Something to do with worship, an obscure script, says the professor, this will require some research. Sam and Dean stand. We'll see you tomorrow, says Sam. Tomorrow?--I've spent entire sabbaticals on a project like this! He objects. We've a serial killer on our hands, Dean reminds him. Your government needs you, adds Sam. My housekeeper needs a Green Card, Morrison says. Leaving his office, Dean asks his brother, Good God, where did you find this guy? Supposed to be a top expert in his field, says Sam. When his field includes things that go bump in the night, he's gonna be worth the breath we just wasted, says Dean. What are we supposed to do, spin our wheels? asks Sam. This is us, spinning our wheels, says Dean, exasperated. I want to call him too, says Sam, but Bobby's not here, so we're settling. Yeah, we sure are, agrees Dean, checking his watch. Damn it, why hasn't she called? Who, Lydia? Sam asks—what, some girl's actually dumping you the morning after? I think you're enjoying this a little more than you need to, Dean says, screw it, I'm goin' over there and getting' the flask.
Don, she greets him at the door. Dean, he corrects—I guess you didn't get my messages. I did, she says, I've been busy. She found his flask, which was so beat up, she almost tossed it. The guy it belonged to was very beat up, too, Dean explains, but I was very close to him and I'd hate to lose it. I'll get it for you, she says. He follows her into the house, asking how she's been, other than “busy.” He catches sight of the baby in the crib and realizes why she's been so busy—babysitting. No, she says. YOURS? He says. Uh huh, she says. You didn't tell me you had a little girl, he says, walking over to the crib. There's a lot of things we didn't tell each other, she says wryly. She introduces him to Emma. Your first? He asks. Yes, she answers, playing with her necklace. I hear they grow like weeds, he says. You have no idea, Lydia says. Dean answers the phone—Sam, who wants to know, where are you, it's the flask, not the Holy Grail. I'm a people person, engaging in some social skills, says Dean, get anything out of Orson? No, and would you get back here, we're due at the crime lab, says Sam, irritated. Dean hears the little girl ask, “Who is that?” and Lydia answer, “Don't ask, we'll discuss it later.” Sam is still talking to him on the cell, but Dean says, I'll call you later and hangs up.
Same coroner reports to only Sam that they have another guy weighing 200 pounds thrown so hard against a wall he's got plaster lodged in his skull. Charlene asks what triggered the Feds' involvement in this case—I always think you boys have bigger fish to fry. The similarity to the other cold cases? Asks the Coroner—same killer cross state lines, they bring you guys in. That's exactly right, says Sam, grateful for the explanation. Whatever, says Charlene coldly, you're going to have to wrap this up, your case isn't the only one we're working on. She leaves. You get used to her, the Coroner says. I didn't bring the cold case files with me, says Sam, is there a chance you have a copy. The Coroner does. Sam notices a receipt from the Cobalt Room. Lookin' to hook up? the Coroner asks, it's a pretty good place to go. I've heard, says Sam. Vic #2 was there, the Coroner says, and according to his security guard, he hooked up with a hot girl, two days later, he's an obituary. Same with Jerry price, notes Sam. There are a couple of others in there, points out the Coroner. Same thing in Chicago, says Sam. Flings, busted up marriages, says the Coroner, all just before they got offed. Thanks, says Sam, looking like he has had an epiphany.
Dean watches from his Oregon-plated car SMD 5B2 (I miss the Impala!) as two women show up at Lydia's house. “Is Lydia ready?” they ask. Sam calls, berating Dean for not showing up. Hearing where his brother is, Sam accuses him of being obsessed. I've been eating at the buffet of strange all afternoon, reports Dean. Meaning what? Asks Sam. I'll tell you as soon as I know, replies Dean, but something ain't right. Or you're obsessed, says Sam. Shut up, I'm serious, Dean insists. Okay, back up, says Sam, ready to listen, but Dean isn't ready to spill, and asks what's up on Sam's end. Sam reports about the identical murder in Chicago, and again in Miami two years before that—all the victims were young, successful, oh, and at least some of them hooked up at the same bar Dean had—the Cobalt Room, so Dean dodged a bullet. Watching Lydia's door open across the street, Dean says he's gotta go and hurriedly hangs up.
Lydia calls to her daughter to hurry up, and we see a MUCH older little girl, at least five or six, exit the house. Lydia kneels in front of the child, pushes back her golden hair, tells her to be a good girl and “Make us proud.” “I will, Mama,” promises Emma, going along with the two women who came for her. She gives her mother a longing look over her shoulder as she's led to the car .“Bye, Em,” says Lydia, stoic, but clearly finding the separation hard. Dean watches it all through binoculars. I hate when this happens, says Dean, following the departing car. He follows them to a gray building, and they go inside.
In their motel room, Sam is arguing that the child Dean saw is probably just Lydia's other daughter. No, just the one, insists Dean, but the night I was with her, she didn't have any—I was at her place, she didn't have any playpens, blankets, no rubber ducks. . . Right, says Sam, like you were really focused on that kind of thing. Hey, dude, that's the FIRST thing you notice, says Dean, red flags. He reaches into the fridge for some beers, continuing--then all of a sudden, boom—baby. The one you thought talked, says Sam. Oh, it talked, says Dean, and not baby talk, either. Now you know so much about child development, says Sam. I know enough to know they don't say 'hey Mom, who's that guy?' says Dean—cut to Lydia's hand on this kid who's calling her 'Mommy' over these two women, but this is not a baby, no, this kid has got to be five—and same name—Emma. You know, George Foreman named all his sons George, Sam reminds him. Are you deliberately messing with me? Dean demands—I know weird—there is no non-weird explanation for this!--this morning, Emma was a baby, by sunset, she was Hannah Montana!--early years. Sam's phone rings—the Professor. I'm sure he'll crack this wide open, says Dean sarcastically. Sam shushes him.
A line-up of pretty young girls is being given what looks like cookies to eat, which leave a bloodstain behind, from a paper-lined tray. Each takes one and consumes it with milk. The brunette who heads up this gruesome organization says: “On this special night, you join an exceptional family. You are ready to take your places alongside us and learn our traditions. This is a tribute to the one who created and protects us. We hunt for her. We kill for her. And now we consume that kill as a symbol of unity with those that have completed their blood missions and furthered the life of the tribe. Go ahead, Emma, she instructs the latest addition, you need to eat. Emma takes the grotesque thing into her mouth and downs it with milk, not even bothering to chew first.
The Professor tells Sam and Dean that identifying this scroll was no day at the beach, lesser scholars would have crumbled. Professor. . .symbol? Sam reminds him. Yeah—ancient regional, very difficult to identify, says the Prof, but I managed to find a match, it's associated with the Greek Pantheon, the temple of the Goddess Harmonia. According to myth, the coupling of the Goddess Harmonia and Areas, the God of War, produced the Amazons. Like Wonder Woman? Dean asks. No, like a tribe of warriors, explains the Professor, they actually existed, in the comic books, they're just silly perversions. The symbol, I believe originated with the Amazons, pictographs meant to pay homage to Harmonia, occult talismans, if you will, an exclusively female culture, no use for men whatsoever, except for procreation. All the vics were male, says Sam. So you said, the Prof says, with this symbol carved in their chests. And their hands and feet cut off,, says Sam. Now THAT is interesting, says the Prof. Caught our attention, says Dean darkly. Soon as they were impregnated, they killed the male, first cutting off certain body parts, explains the Prof. Sam and Dean exchange a look.
Charlene is on the phone with the dark-haired woman from the mysterious “academy” Emma is attending. I couldn't check their ID's, she says, because everything they have is fake. I've been digging for hours, and one thing's for sure, they ain't FBI. They're after us, is what they are—remember that cross-country murder spree those brother went on a couple of months ago? She pulls up police files of Sam and Dean. That barely scratches the surface—they're thugs, vigilantes, but look, we've dealt with hunters like this before. Well, says the dark-haired woman, the one is already scheduled to be taken care of, we'll simply add the other to the agenda.
Dean searches through Bobby's dusty boxes of books, annoyed that he didn't have a system. He DID have a system, insists Sam, it was set up like his brain. Dean takes a hit from Bobby's flask. Sam, at the computer, has found a side to the Amazon women the Professor didn't even mention. Because he didn't believe in them, which is a real handicap when you're trying to deal with them, says Dean testily. Right, says Sam, apparently there was this long war, leaving the population decimated, so they made a bargain with Harmonia to replenish their ranks and make them stronger. Dean feels that thrown grown men through walls certainly qualifies as stronger. Harmonia made them more than human; she made them monsters. (Uh oh!) So do you kill them like humans, or is there some kind of trick? Dean asks, Didn't say, no idea, I guess it could go either way, Sam says, and hesitantly adds, the lore says they reproduced quickly, as in, after mating, they gave birth after 36 hours. As Dean thinks that over, Sam goes on, babies grew incredibly fast, then the aging process became normal, which is one way to make an army, I guess—the mating cycle is, every two years; they send out women of child-bearing age. Which lines up, says Dean, because this happens every couple of years in every town, right? Sam nods—And we know for sure some of the vics hooked up with strange women days before being killed Amazon-style. Hooked up in the same bar I met Lydia, right? Dean asks, already knowing the answer. Yeah, says Sam. And suddenly, says Dean, growing more agitated, she's got a little baby in fruitfly time; that baby turns into a little girl just as fast. Wow, says Sam, so maybe you're a. . . Don't say it, pleads Dean. Look, if that kid's yours, begins Sam. I said don't say it, Dean reminds him. Fine, I won't, says Sam, but Dean. . .dude, seriously, a one night stand, you're just gonna roll the dice, you don't even. . . Of course not! What do you think, I'm brain-dead? Accidents happen—if one even did, which I don't think. . .(Dean's face here is hilarious, as he contemplates his eager sperm going around or punching through any barrier to march up to and penetrate that egg no matter what and his pride in such a conquest),no, you know what,?-- stop, we're not even going to talk about this anymore because my skin's startin' to crawl. Dean says. All right, agrees Sam, but if it's true, if it happened,. I know, says Dean, swigging from Bobby's flask, I'll hang onto my hands and feet.
The dark-haired maven of the girls school (?) stands before the group, praising them for their progress. You're absorbing the traditions of our mothers, she says, and you are close to fulfilling your tribal destiny and taking your place alongside your sisters. Today you are a warrior. She burns a brand into the upper wrist of the first girl. To her credit, she only grimaces. Though you may walk among others, your heart is only with the tribe. Soon, you will take the final glorious step into adulthood, today, you will learn how to endure your pain—and how to inflict it. She reaches Emma, who really reacts to the pain of the brand. Fight it, Emma, the older woman commands, as with all you do, courage is everything. Bobby's books and papers are spread out on one of their beds in the motel room. Going through Bobby's files is like dumpster diving, declares Dean. Tell me about it, says Sam—it makes sense why the Amazon women want to hook up with decent-looking, successful guys. Picky about the gene pool? Dean suggests. So, what was Lydia doing with you? Sam teases. She may or may not have thought I was a rich investment banker, says Dean, taking another hit from Bobby's flask. Sam throws his hands up in the air, an I-give-up gesture. Sam, these papers just moved—I didn't touch 'em, says Dean. Sam opens the desk drawer and pulls out the ghost-meter. The red lights are going crazy. BOBBY? Power lines outside the window and a breeze, points out Sam. Do you feel a breeze? Dean demands. It doesn't matter, the readings are useless, insists Sam. (Oh, they both want it to be Bobby's spits DESPERATELY!) Hey, maybe, says Dean shaking the flask at his brother. We burned him, Dean, Sam reminds him. So what, says Dean. So what are you suggesting? Sam asks. I dunno, what're you? Dean asks. Concentrate on something else, Sam tells him. Why? Dean asks. Because it's NOT Bobby! Sam shouts. Could be, Dean says. No it couldn't be! Sam retorts. Why not? Dean counters. Because we want it to be! Sam returns. They turn to the page on top. Maybe it's useful, says Dean. It's in a PILE of maybe it's useful, points out Sam angrily--it’s in Greek, nobody reads Greek. Except Greeks, says Dean, oh, and Bobby. And Professor Morrison, remembers Sam, who starts to leave. Really? Dean says. Stay here, keep the door locked, don't go anywhere, orders Sam—I MEAN it. Fine, says Dean,
Seeing Sam enter his office, the Prof is all, you've GOT to be kidding me, and the FBI isn't paying me enough for this! (If only he knew, tee hee!) Sam promises to sweeten the deal--”We'll remove your wiretap.” (Sam, you sly government dog, you!)
Dean is tapping away at the laptop when someone knocks at the door. He opens the door to a young woman. “Hi, you don't know me, but my name is Emma,” she says. “I need your help. I think I'm in trouble and you're the only person I can trust.” “Why?” asks Dean through clenched teeth. “Because you're my father,” she says. “How did you find me?” demands Dean. “They've been watching you, ever since Mom got pregnant,” she says. “If you're such a prisoner, would you mind telling me how you escaped,” he says. “I waited until light out,” explains Emma, “the women who watch over us change shifts a little after 10.” “Uh uh”, says Dean, “and you left because?” “They stick you in there,” she says, “and you trust them, “it's all you know, and you don't question what they want you to do—terrible things.--and that's why I had to leave. They tortured me.” She holds up her arm to show the brand on her wrist. “They told me I had to endure pain so I could be strong like them, but I don't wanna be like them!” “Okay,” says Dean, inviting her in, closing and locking the door after her, “have a seat.” She has a suitcase with her. “Let's assume you're not like them—yet,,” says Dean, “what do you want me to do.” “Get me away from here,” she says, “you're a good man—my mother told me that.” “I seriously doubt she said that,” smirks Dean, “and if you knew me, you would seriously doubt it's true.” “They told me you're a hunter,” says Emma, “so maybe you'll understand about me—maybe you can protect me, just long enough so I can get away.--then I'll leave you alone. I know you don't want me.” “Let's not go there, okay,” says Dean, “this isn't a matter of. . . “ you get this isn't a normal situation, right?” “How would I know?” she asks shrilly--”three days ago, I wasn't even alive! Now here I am—my mother threw me into that PLACE! And my father. . .well. . .you get this is my last chance to have anything normal, ever, right?” (How close is this conversation to the one he had with Sam on the eve he left for Stanford, I wonder?)
Morrison declares the paper Sam has handed him as fascinating—handmade, a cellulose sort of like papyrus, which explains its durability—where did Sam get it? Crazy, drunk old genius, answers Sam, who is impatient, to know what it SAYS. They always have the good stuff, agrees the Professor. It's in Greek, says Morrison. I knew that, says Sam. Not a common dialect, says the Prof—my God, what is it with you and Amazons? Professor, it's important, says Sam, losing his patience. At 11:30 at night, it had better be, the Prof says. He says it repeats all the usual lore they knew before, but it's not the women who do the killing; instead, a ritual of initiation requires that the child born of the mating process must kill her own father. (OH NO!) . “What?” says Sam.
“You look exhausted,” says Dean. “And starving,” says Emma, “it's been a tough Sweet 16.. So you believe me?” Dean nods. “You'll help me?” she asks. “If you really want help,” he says.
Sam is rushing back to Dean when he runs into Charlene at the police station. “You're here late,” she notes. “Could we talk in the morning?” he asks. She grabs him by the throat. “What's your hurry—Sam--Sam Winchester?” she asks. He spots the telltale tattoo on her wrist. “Let's see—I could run you in for impersonating a Federal agent. She tosses him viciously down the stairs, into the stairwell, and heads down to finish him off with a long, sharp knife—but Sam pulls out his gun and fires at her, efficiently felling her. Unfortunately, his cell phone has been too damaged to warn Dean.
“What happens when they find you missing?” Dean asks his daughter. “They may have already found out,” she says, “and they'll hunt me down—look, I know this is gonna be hard, but if I'm going to do it, I have to do it now.” He opens the fridge door and looks inside. “I got cheese and a leftover burrito,” he offers. “It doesn't make a difference,” Emma says, rising from the bed with a wicked looking, daddy-knife in her hand. Dean instantly slams the fridge door closed and rounds on her, gun pointed directly at her. “You were askin' if I believed you,” he says.
Sam is on the road,, running red lights, driving around slower drivers.
“I was told you'd be a challenge,” says Emma. “And I figured you'd chat me up,” counters Dean, “try to catch me off-guard—almost worked, I was expecting your mother.”
Sam blasts through another red light.
“It's not her place, I have to kill you,” says Emma. “Is that what they told you?” asks Dean. “It's what I am,” she says. “Then I should just kill you right now,” asserts Dean. “Sure, but you coulda done that 30 seconds ago,” she says.
Sam pulls up in front of the motel and races upstairs. “It's weirdly hard, isn't it?” she asks--”it is for me.” “Knock it off,” he orders. “How could it not be?” she asks--”you're my father. “HEY!--we're not gonna do that.” says Dean. “It's true,” taunts Emma, “I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. So now someone has to kill someone.” Outside the door, in agony, Sam looks in and listens. “You know what?” asks Emma--”so far, my childhood has been kinda disappointing. “You haven't killed anybody yet, Emma,” Dean reminds her--”right now, I won't go after you.” “I can't—I don't have a choice,” she says archly. Sam bursts in; Emma is caught between her father and her uncle, both with guns trained on her. “Please don't let him hurt me,” she pleads, Daddy's little girl for the first time since she walked in the room. Without a word, Sam shoots her in the heart. She falls to the floor, dead. Sam looks at Dean, defiant.
The brothers go to what Dean calls the “mother ship,” but it's empty, all occupants gone.
Sam is at the wheel of the car, driving very fast. “You know what, I don't like it either,” says Dean, “I wanted to torch 'em just as much as you—but hey, next time they surface, we'll be ready—if we live that long.” When Sam doesn't respond, Dean says, “Fine, just sit there and be pissed.” “What did you say to me?” demands Sam--”when I was the one who choked, what did you say to me about Amy? YOU KILL THE MONSTER!” “I was GOING to!” says Dean. “The hell you were!” says Sam--”you think I'm an idiot?” “You think I am?” demands Dean. “You were gonna let her walk!” cries Sam. “No I wasn't, that's ridiculous!” says Dean. “Look, man, she was not yours, not really,” says Sam, more calm. “Actually, she was, really,” says Dean, smiling, “she just also happened to be a crazy, man-killing monster, but, hey.” “Bobby was right,” says Sam, “your head's not in it, man, when Cas died, you were wobbly, but now. . ..” “Now what, you're dealin' with this so perfect?” asks Dean--”newsflash, pal, you're just as screwed-up as I am!--you're just. . .bigger.” Sam looks at him like he's crazy. “WHAT?” he asks. “I don't know,” says Dean. “Tonight almost got you killed,” points out Sam, “I don't care how you deal, I really, really don't, but don't get killed..” “I'll do what I can,” promises Dean. “What's that supposed to mean?” asks Sam. “It means I'll do what I can,” says Dean, “you can shut up about it.”
They both shut up, and the music is sad, and this episode is sad and we REALLY need a light-hearted episode, and soon, writers, please?.
I thought this episode was a good mystery, with a neat twist—the daughters were doing the killing. No wonder that one man opened the door and was so happy to see the person—we thought it was his lover, but it was his daughter, and he was happy to see her, not realizing she was there to murder him. Very gruesome scenes in this ep, what with the severed hands and feet and the nasty carving in the chest. This is one daughter who doesn't deserve to have Daddy dance at her wedding, which he couldn't do even if he lived, what with the no feet and all. I know, not really funny, right? Neither was this episode. It was just a downer on too many levels for me. It made me miss Bobby more than ever, what with that dopey professor who isn't a hunter and never will be (I did recognize him from Buffy as the mayor who ascended and became a lethal serpent at her graduation). I grew as impatient with him as the brothers did, and didn't consider him much except for a very poor man's Bobby.
I was hoping that WAS his spirit guiding them to the fact that it was the daughter, not the mother, that did the killing, since it was a very important and urgent thing for Sam to know to save Dean, since Dean wasn't rushing to save himself. Was he going to let Emma kill him? Did he feel anything for her? Was he supposed to? I sure didn't. She didn't seem much like him, although she did have killer lips and eyes—and was a killer. Hmm, maybe she was more like Dean than I wanted to admit. I cheered when Sam shot her right between the boobs because Dean was talking too damn much!
Did I like this episode? I’m not sure. I heard the premise (I wasn't as spoiler free as usual) and my first reaction was, not a Madison clone episode! It didn't turn out to be that at all. Madison was so nice, I was sorry to see her die; I was cheering for Sam to get home and put a bullet into nasty Emma. She sure could turn on the baby talk good, though. I LOVED “Heart.” I give that a 10, this only a 6. This had a smattering of the little coven-type group in “Malleus Mallificarum” (I liked the blond who went after Sam and the dark-haired gal was kinda cool, too, but what made them think knives were more effective than guns, silly women)? And all that bloody mess! read less
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