Episode Report Card
Demian: B | 19 USERS: A+
The Hardy Boys Freeze Their Butts Off Waiting To Worship A Rat

"Heat of the moment! Telling you what your heart meant!" A gently slumbering Sam snaps open his eyes and bolts upright in bed. "Rise and shine, Sammy!" undead El Deano bellows as he finishes lacing up his boots. Sam simply sits there, stunned, and with mouth agape, so Dean picks up his cue for him, grinning, "Dude! Asia!" "You love this song and you know it," Dean continues, cranking up the volume on the crappy motel clock radio and rocking out on his bed with a finger-pointing, head-bopping lip-synch to the chorus before shimmying out of the frame. Sam squints in disbelief.

Flamingo-Themed Bathroom. Dean, with his head thrown back, engages in a marathon, ten-second-long gargling session -- this time with bubbles! -- while Sam hesitantly rinses his own mouth out, spits, and then just stands there staring at his brother with mightily furrowed brow. Dean eventually spits himself and, noticing Sam's apparent befuddlement, goes, "What?" Sam takes a moment to consider what might be happening at the moment, opts for the simplest explanation, and finally replies, "Man, I had a weird dream." "Yeah?" Dean asks, picking at his teeth with a thumbnail. "Clowns or midgets?" Probably both. Hee. Sam just shakes his shaggy mane around until we leap forward to...

...the diner. Pickett pays his bill, Cal orders coffee, and the boys take a booth by the window from which Dean enthuses, "Hey -- Tuesday! Pig 'N A Poke!" "It's Tuesday?" Sam splutters. "All day," Dean pretty much replies as Doris arrives with pen and pad in hand. Dean orders the special with a side of bacon and a coffee while Sam, increasingly freaked, stammers out that he's fine. Once Doris heads back to the kitchen, Dean attempts to suggest they drop their current assignment in favor of hunting down and eradicating Posh Bela once and for all, but dazed Darling Sammy's off in a world of his own, so Dean's forced to lean across the table and snap his fingers a couple of times to recapture Sam's attention. "You sure you feel okay?" Dean asks. Sam heaves a mighty sigh and frowns, "You don't remember all of this?" "Like it's happened before?" he continues. "You mean like déjà vu?" Dean guesses with a pleased and self-satisfied little smile on his face. "No, like it's really happened before," Sam counters. "Like...déjà vu?" Dean offers, not getting it. "Forget about déjà vu!" Sam impatiently flusters. "I'm asking you if it feels like we're living yesterday all over again!" Dean thinks for a very long moment, then begins, "Okay, how is that not dé...?" "Don't say it!" Sam interrupts, his hands flapping all over the place. Hee. Fortunately, Doris arrives at this very moment with Dean's caffeine. Unfortunately, she also arrives with a half-full bottle of hot sauce that she manages to bobble right off her tray...and into Sam's anticipatorily outstretched hand! "Thanks!" Doris grins, and she turns to head back behind the counter while Sam starts darting crazy eyes around the diner and gritting his teeth. "Nice reflexes!" Dean grins. Sam clenches.

As Our Intrepid Heroes stroll down this tiny little burg's main drag, post-breakfast, a yappy yet admirably restrained golden retriever snaps at their heels as the two amble past, with Sam focusing all of his disbelieving attention on the mangy cur before continuing to deliberate the matter at hand, which now happens to be his increasingly unhinged reaction to this unbelievably lengthy bout of déjà vu. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Dean shrugs. "Okay, look," Sam explains for what is obviously the tenth time, "yesterday was Tuesday, but today is Tuesday, too!" He's ranting a bit by the end of that, leading Dean to deadpan, "Good! You're totally balanced." "So you don't believe me?" Sam blurts as a distracted blonde body-checks Li'l Stumpy as she passes the boys heading in the opposite direction. Dean offers her a quickly appraising side-eye while the distracted blonde mumbles a hasty apology and keeps moving, as Sam gapes endlessly over how freakish his day has become. "I'm just saying it's crazy," Dean offers. "I mean, Even-For-Us crazy -- Dingo-Ate-My-Baby crazy." "Hey, maybe it was one of your psychic premonitions!" Dean supposes, making an entirely reasonable guess. Sam brushes that suggestion off immediately, claiming the entire experience has been far too "vivid" thus far, before verbally retracing their steps the previous day -- until the two pass that pair of movers struggling with an oversized desk at a storefront's door. "I told you it wouldn't fit," grouses the first mover. "Whaddya want, a Pulitzer?" the second sneers back. A better retort is all I'm asking for, guys, but I've seen this episode already, and I know that's certainly not in the offing, so fuck the both of you and shut up so I can listen to Darling Sammy realize it must be The Mystery Spot that's affecting his brain. Dean agrees that they'll break into the place that evening after it closes, but the very idea sends Sam into a wild-haired panic, and he bats at Dean repeatedly while insisting they hit The Spot now, during business hours, when it's good and crowded. Dean's all, "Fine! Whatever! We'll do it now!" and pulls The Dean Winchester Patented Bow-Legged Clompy Stomp Of Great Vengeance And Furious Anger right into oncoming traffic! "VIOLENCE!" roars Raoul, clapping his paws together with delight as a mint-green monster of a '70s sedan sends Li'l Stumpy flipping ass over end through the air until he finally crashes into the asphalt at the center of the intersection, beaten to a thoroughly bloody pulp. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Old Coot Pickett, who's naturally at the sedan's wheel, Alzheimers what I'm certain is meant to be his dismay over this unfortunate sequence of events while Sam howls over to scoop his brother up in his arms and shake Dean awake, because everyone knows that stabilizing a blunt-force trauma victim's spinal column is for pussies. For his part, Dean just flops around, dead. "'ACK! ACK! GLAAAAAAAH!'" Nice of you to include the tongue this time, Raoul. And are we enjoying ourselves over there on our overstuffed armchair? "We are!" Excellent.

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