Supernatural
I Think I’m Gonna Like it Here

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The Hardy Boys Don't Understand Consent

Next we're dangling from a hospital room ceiling, staring down at an unconscious Sam. Dean sits at his bedside, red-eyed, chin propped in his hands. He glances up at the TV to see a news report on the "global meteor shower" that popped up out of nowhere. (The episode very nearly coincided with the Draconid meteor shower.) Some part of Sam must be hearing this, since he picked up on the meteor explanation. Dean rubs his eyes and sighs. We're only three minutes into the season and he's already exhausted. That's when the season's new title card flaps onto the screen. Like your favorite maxi pads, Supernatural now has wings!

A doctor goes over the results of Sam's MRI with Dean. He has massive internal burns to most of his internal organs and his brain has been deprived of oxygen. It happened when he tried to make sense of the show's plots last season. "The coma is the result of the body doing everything in its limited power to protect itself from further harm." Dean paces around Sam's bed. "This wasn't supposed to happen," he says. I think that translates more as "I was supposed to be the one dying," as opposed to "Sam shouldn't be dying as a result of this." Because the whole reason Dean wanted to be the one to do the trials in the first place is that he was pretty sure it was a one-way trip. Oddly enough, the doctor doesn't ask just what happened. A strapping man in his early 30s shows up out of nowhere with barbecued innards, you'd want to know how, right? "If your brother continues on this trajectory, the machines might keep him alive but..." The doctor trails off.

"He'll be dead," Dean finishes. At this point, Sam seems only to be hooked up to a monitor and IV drip, so at least he's breathing on his own. The doc says that yes, technically, Sam would be dead. But his hair will keep growing. "So there's no recovery, no bounce back?" Dean asks. "I'm afraid that's in God's hands now," the doc says. This pisses off Dean, and quite understandably so, but he seems to be unaware that he's brought his brother to a soap opera hospital. Diagnoses come quick, comas are inevitable, and nobody is ever very specific with medical terms.

Dean stomps out into the hallway, full of directionless despair, and then he sees the sign for the hospital chapel. It's not God he calls on, but someone a little lower on the totem pole. He kneels in the pew, folds his hands, and asks for Castiel. "Sammy's hurt," he says. "He's hurt pretty bad. And I know that you think that I'm pissed at you, okay? But I don't care that the angels fell. So whatever you did or didn't do, it doesn't matter, okay? We'll work it out." He listens, but gets no answer. "Please, man," he whispers. "I need you here." He prays so hard and so earnestly, but there's no angel on the other end. Dean doesn't know this yet, though, so he glances around behind him as if expecting to see the familiar rumpled overcoat. Another hopeful visitor to the chapel coughs, the sound almost glaringly loud in the otherwise silent room. "Screw it," Dean says. He shifts slightly, the wood beneath his knees creaking as he digs himself in. "Okay, listen up. This one goes out to any angel with their ears on." An ominous orchestral note warns us that bad things are about to happen. Dean probably knows it, too, judging by the look of loathing on his face, but he's obviously desperate. "This is Dean Winchester, and I need your help."

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Supernatural

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