Survival Of The Fittest

Episode Report Card
Demian: C- | 11 USERS: B
They Should Have Cancelled The Hardy Boys Years Ago

...the ridiculously scenic rustic homestead's parlor, where Castiel reminds those assembled that he no longer participates in "aggressive activity" before wandering over to the kitchen table, where he hoists the shattered femur the boys stole the previous evening into the air so he might get a good whiff of dead nun. "Mmmm!" My Batshit Baboo croons. "Sister Mary Constant! Good choice!" Dashing El Deano gently urges Castiel to get to the fucking point already and, after babbling about the flowers for a bit, Dean's angelic boyfriend finally admits that the members of his former garrison have fallen silent. This, of course, is A Very Bad Thing, so Castiel fluttered on over to Neighbor, Michigan, to check in on that sniveling, snot-nosed teenager from a couple of episodes ago, only to find the place deserted. Well, deserted except for the two dead heavenly custodians who were likely still littering that kitchen's floor. Castiel claims that the members of his former garrison either have been slaughtered or are in hiding at the moment and, after veering off on yet another monkey-related tangent from which the snappish El Deano must drag him, My Batshit Baboo announces, "It's in your hands now."

Our Intrepid Heroes would vociferously dispute that particular assertion, I'm sure, were it not for the fact that Meg's just now noticed the remains of their earlier attempt to summon Crowley, and things get very loud in the ridiculously scenic rustic homestead, indeed, until Crowley himself materializes in the cabin parlor with a cheery, "Hallo, boys!" "Sorry I'm late," he apologizes before raking his eyes across both Meg and My Batshit Baboo to realize, "This is an embarrassment of riches!" An affrighted Meg grits her teeth and blinks a couple of times while Crowley rather placidly allows the corner of his mouth to curl up into a sly half-smile, and the camera lingers on his face for a very long second until he vanishes into this evening's first METAL TEETH CHOMP!

Ridiculously Scenic Rustic Homestead. Immediate aftermath. Silky-smooth Crowley-issued threats abound until Dashing El Deano more or less announces that enough is enough, and long story short, Crowley fills them all in on his recent negotiations with Richard Roman. "So, what did he offer you?" Darling Sammy asks. "A fair deal," Crowley freely admits, "in exchange for giving you the wrong blood." He presents them with a carefully stoppered vial and rhetorically wonders, "Is it mine?" before assuring them it's "the real deal." "And why should we trust you?" Dean quite rightfully demands. Crowley responds by speechifying at length about never trusting anyone, ever, but he eventually hands the vial over and, after lobbing a few more dark threats in Meg's general direction, Crowley mildly observes that the boys will require the services of My Batshit Baboo in order to track down Richard Roman. "I don't fight anymore," Castiel insists. "Given the particulars of your enemy," Crowley cryptically replies, "you're vital." My Batshit Baboo squirms around uncomfortably while the others stare at each other, and when that's all over with, we head on over to...

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