Episode Report Card
Demian: C | 2 USERS: A+
Caged Heat
In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description!

Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter THEN! Once upon a time, there was a sassy demonette named Meg, who was quite awesomely used as some sort of Hell-sent meat carpet by My Sweet Baboo after she rather rudely offed the late and much lamented Ellen and Jo Harvelle. There were also Alphas, about whom much lore had been written, though we have to take Zombie Grandpa's word for all that. And finally, there was Crowley, who used to be in charge of the world's various crossroads before being promoted to King Of All Hell, a position he's been exploiting to locate Purgatory's current coordinates for some infernal reason or another. Oh, and Darling Sammy's still lacking a soul, though to be honest with you, no one but Dean seems to miss it. Got all that? Excellent, 'cause it's time once again for the...

...Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter NOW! The camera opens up on Crowley's battered and blood-streaked face, and his torso, at least, has been firmly secured to a chair with several lengths of iron chain. "I told you," he wearily sighs, "I don't know anything about it." Barely have those words left his lips when some off-camera presence whaps him upside the head with an aluminum baseball bat. "VIOLENCE!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, writhing about atop his overstuffed armchair with delight over this gift of the good stuff so early in the episode. "WANTON ACTS OF UNREPENTANT...! Wait a minute! Why are there two of him?!" An excellent question, my faithful recapping companion, and one I'm assuming has arisen due to the fact that another Crowley has just entered the frame? "It has!" You'll pardon me, I'm sure, while I attempt to explain. "By all means! Do!" Well, you see, the real Crowley -- the one holding the aluminum baseball bat, with which he has just clobbered the fake Crowley -- is apparently torturing a shapeshifter of some species in order to determine Purgatory's current coordinates. "Oh!" Raoul shrieks again, a perfectly manicured paw fluttering up to his chest as a deeply unnerving smile passes across his altogether impressive maw. "This charming little Friday-evening divertissement is so clever sometimes!" I want to think you meant that as a compliment, friend of friends. "I'm certain you do!" Then, I shall assume as much, and get back to the scene at hand? "Assume away, you agreeable little man!" You're starting to freak me out, Raoul. "Hee!"

Anyway. Now, where was I? Oh, yes: Real Crowley -- who's chosen to protect his stylish black-on-black-on-black outfit from stray gouts of shapeshifter blood with a cunning little butcher's apron, by the way -- mutters something about how Fake Crowley's "exceptional good looks" won't be buying him any mercy this evening, and hops off-camera again to wheel on a little cart filled with various implements of shapeshifter destruction. "What should we use next?" Real Crowley smiles. "The speculum, or something more exotic?" "Now!" Raoul shriekily interrupts to opine. "Would be a most propitious moment for you to mention that winning little medieval torture device you've been wanting to work into these little stories of yours for so long!" And you know what? "What!?" You're right, my scaly friend. "Hooray!" Unfortunately, someone guessed that particular Rae Dawn Chong Challenge several weeks ago. "Rats!" Now, if you don't mind? "Not in the least!" Excellent.

So, Fake Crowley claims that all he knows about Purgatory is that it's supposedly the place he's meant to go when he dies, and he protests that it's not like he can draw Real Crowley a map, or anything. Real Crowley, however, begs to differ, for his unimpeachable sources earlier informed him that Alphas like Fake Crowley, here, know everything about everything, or something like that, so Real Crowley lets his fingers dance across the cart for a moment before allowing them to curl around the haft of an especially shiny hunting knife. "I hope you appreciate just how much effort I've gone to," Real Crowley smiles, "to find something that can actually hurt you." With that, he twirls the especially shiny knife around in the air while noting the thing's been forged from iridium, as more mundane elements like silver apparently have no effect on a personage so august as the shapeshifters' Alpha, and after threatening to use this especially special blade to "chop off the bits that stick out" on Fake Crowley, Real Crowley once again asks for Purgatory's coordinates. Fake Crowley basically tells Real Crowley to go back to Hell, so Real Crowley jams the knife into Fake Crowley's shoulder. "VIOLENCE!" Raoul again. "WANTON ACTS OF UNREPENTANT SHOULDER-DESTROYING VIOLENCE AND GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" For yes, gentle reader, as Real Crowley withdraws the knife from Fake Crowley's now-destroyed shoulder, a good bit of shapeshifter grue comes with it. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Not a lot, mind you, but after the dreadfully boring run of episodes we've had to endure this season, Raoul's forced to exult over whatever scraps and shreds they see fit to grace us with. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Unfortunately, this latest bit of torture only seems to strengthen Fake Crowley's resolve, for when Real Crowley once again asks for Purgatory's coordinates, Fake Crowley merely hacks a lungful of blood into Real Crowley's face by way of reply. "Most unsanitary, I must say!" Raoul gasps, clutching at his nonexistent pearls, and I'm sure you'll be happy to note that Real Crowley's inclined to agree with you, my faithful lizardly companion. "Oh, goody!" Yep, he snarls something nasty about the Alphas' beastly hygiene habits for a moment before retrieving a baby monitor from his Cart Of Destruction, and as he switches the thing on, he reveals that "this prison has a nursery." "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" shrieks Raoul in anticipatory glee, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to burst your bubble, there, Raoul. "What on earth do you mean?!" I mean they're not actually going to show Crowley, real or otherwise, slaughtering newborn shapeshifters on this show -- to be honest with you, they're not even going to hint at it. "Oh, poop!" Well, you know, aside from having him threaten to "fillet" the little beasties in front of their daddy, as he does now. "That's hardly a satisfactory alternative, and you know it!" Talk to Sera Gamble, dude. "Excellent idea! I shall start penning a strongly worded letter of rebuke this instant!" You do that, honey.

And while Raoul's busily scrawling, "KILL THE INFANTS! KILL ALL OF THE INFANTS!" over and over again on an expensive-looking sheet of monogrammed stationery, let's get this opening over with, shall we? Long story short, Real Crowley threatens to slaughter all of Fake Crowley's kids, and Fake Crowley's like, "Whatevs -- I can always make more," so Real Crowley hacks Fake Crowley's head off with an iridium sword. "Wait!" shrieks Raoul, lifting his eyes from his exquisite penmanship. "What!?" I said, Real Crowley hacks Fake Crowley's head off with an iridium sword. "Rewind! Rewind immediately!" Oh, God. Fine. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE! Again! Again!" Jesus Christ. Here. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" I have to admit, that initial burst of arterial spray does have much to recommend it. "It's glorious! EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" And as Fake Crowley's decapitated noggin lolls around on the dungeon floor, we finally reach the long-awaited...

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