Episode Report Card
Demian: B | 2 USERS: A-
The Hardy Boys Do The Ultra-Violent

So, Our Intrepid Heroes have this demon lashed to a chair that's been bolted (presumably) into the center of a devil's trap, and we join them just as they Supernatural-ly waterboard the foul freak with a jug of holy water, trying to fry out of the guy the name of the entity that's holding Dean's deed. The demon of course denies knowledge of anything and everything related to the Winchesters until Dean forces another gullet-searing gargle down the guy's throat. When the demon recovers, his eyes have flipped beetle-black, and an infernal grin spreads across his face as he raises his head to sneer, "That's like a flea bite compared to what's coming to me if I tell you jack." "Do what you want," he continues as Dean and Sam frown down upon him. "The only thing I'm scared of is the demon holding your ticket!" Dean, somewhat defeated, tosses A Look in Sam's direction, so Darling Sammy starts Latinating -- from memory, natch. "Go ahead!" the demon sneers above the Latination. "Send me back to Hell, 'cause when you get there, I'll be waiting for you." "Got a few pals," he teases, "who are dying for a nice little meet-and-greet with Dean Winchester!" So, Hell is a fan convention? Good to know. In any event, Dean's finally had enough of this demon's touchy-feely self-help sneering crap, bitch, and orders Sammy to "send him someplace he can't hurt anyone else," so Sam kicks the Latination into high gear. Soon enough, the demon's screams fill the decrepit mountain shack Our Intrepid Heroes have selected for this evening's interrogation as the camera pulls a budget-saving zoom in on Dean's troubled face until...

...We shoot ahead an hour or so to find Sam just getting off his cell as Dean wearily trudges back indoors from burying the now-dead demon's long-deceased host in the shack's yard. "What was the phone call about?" Dean asks, swigging on a much-needed beer. "Remember that thing in the paper yesterday?" Sam prompts. "'Stripper Suffocates Dude With Thighs'?" Dean guesses, and I'm surprised they can find copies of The New York Post all the way out there in the middle of the woods like that. The goddamn News Corporation will not rest until Rupert Murdoch's taken over the entire planet, I suppose. In any event, Sam was of course not referencing the Post's latest coverage of New York's deadliest jiggle joints, but was in fact talking about the wire coverage of Dead Kavan's very last trip to the hospital. Seems Dead Kavan's corpse was "covered with bloody fingerprints" not his own, and Sam had apparently just been LYING to the Erie Police in order to learn if they've identified the fingerprints' owner yet. The Erie Police -- shockingly efficient -- have indeed, but here's the catch: The prints belong to someone who died in 1981, so there's a possibility Our Intrepid Heroes could be looking at some classic zombie activity, here. Dean, instantly intrigued, notes that zombies are quite fond of "the other other white meat," but almost as instantly questions Sam's motives. "You've been on soul-saving detail for months now," he points out, "and all of a sudden, you're interested in some hot zombie action?" Sam's all, "Whatever! You're the one who wants to keep hunting even though you're about to topple into the smoky pits of Hell -- I thought I was doing you a favor!" and Dean's all, "Well, obviously I want to hunt some zombies!" and Sam's all, "Fine!" and Dean's all, "Fine!" and Sam's all, "Fine!" and Dean bow-leggedly clompy-stomps out of the frame to prepare the Impala's cabin for departure while Devious Darling Sammy gets this adorably giddy shit-eating grin on his face. This won't end well.

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