My Heart Will Go On, 6/17
Robin’s Rambles by Robin Vogel
In the recap, we sadly see Rufus, Ellen and Jo die all over again, and it was no easier than the first time.
Chester, PA – A man props up his garage door with a stick, a foolhardy move on this show. He sets down his beer, picks up a piece of metal that he dubs a piece of crap, hammers it once, reaches for the beer, knocks over a jar of nails–“Damn it!”–dislodges a skateboard when he takes a broom to sweep them up, falls, comes eyes to blades with a pair of very sharp pair of garden shears, knocks over a basket of little plastic balls, trips on one, then falls on his back. One of those balls hits a piece of wood, sending a golf ball up into the air, dislodging the stick propping up his garage door–which falls down and decapitates him. His legs and body twitch wildly as he dies.
(Editor’s notes: There was something almost funny and balletic, as well as gruesome, about this death. Terrible, I know, but I loved the way everything happened in perfect timing and juxtaposition, obviously choreographed by Fate. I wonder–when I fall, does it look this entertaining to someone watching? I sure hope so!)
Bobby’s house – Bobby, researching from a book, drinks the end of a bottle of booze, finishes it, and opens another. Concerned, Sam and Dean stand in the doorway watching him. “Say something,” Sam mouths to Dean. “You,” the latter mouths back. “No, you!” mouths Sam. Rock-paper-scissors ensues, Dean throws scissors, Sam paper (another clue that this is a different universe; Sam knows Dean always tosses out scissors and brings out rock). “You two just gonna stand there like the ugly girl at the prom, or at you gonna pitch in?” asks Bobby irritably–“this so-called Eve Mother of whatever ain’t gonna gank herself. What’s wrong with you two?” Dean points out that he hasn’t slept in days. “Sleep–what are you, my wife now?” demands Bobby irritably. “I’m just sayin’, takin’ five might be a good thing,” says Dean. “It was tough for all of us, seein’ Rufus go like that,” says Sam. “This ain’t about Rufus,” says Bobby huskily. “He wasn’t just a poker buddy,” says Dean. “You know when I knew Rufus was done for?” asks Bobby–“the day I met him–the only question was, who first, him or me–now you want to stand there and therapize, or you want to give me some coffee–make it Irish.” The brothers head to the kitchen. “He’s doin’ fantastic,” mutters Dean. “Yeah, this isn’t about Rufus at all,” says Sam. “What do you want to do?” demands Dean–“we can’t just sit here and watch him poop out his liver.” (LOL!) Sam suggests getting him out of the house, on a job, and shows Dean a newspaper article about three members of a family in Chester, PA that got picked off last week, all in freaky ways. The last, says Sam, got karate chopped by his garage door. Family curse? suggests Dean, who starts to ask “Grumpy” if he wants to go on a case, but Bobby, taking his coffee, says he doesn’t want to do crap–“Leave me alone–get out of my house both of ya, you’re drivin’ me nuts.” “Bobby!” protests Dean. “Now!” insists Bobby–“for the love of Pete.” They toss their gear into a FORD MUSTANG WITH THE OLD PLATES, KAZ 2Y5, then get in. “You know, maybe we should wait till she gets back,” suggests Sam. “Maybe we should just call from the road,” says Dean, “she said she’d be back in two shakes–you really want to stay and smell him stew in his juices?” “Eh, drive,” says Sam. They take off in the black and orange striped (!) car (or ‘stang, as my brother used to call his).
Bobby pours another drink, but a sawed-off gun stops him from picking it up. “Tell me you haven’t been drinkin’ this whole time,” says ELLEN, a bag of groceries in her other arm. “You’re worse than the boys,” Bobby gripes, “I’m workin’.” “My God,” Ellen says, noting the mess, “I’m gone a week this place goes completely to hell–what is wrong with you, Bobby Singer?” “Get a pen, it’s a long list,” he says. “You smell like a bar, you know that?” she asks, taking things out of the bag. “You don’t exactly smell like a rose yourself,” he says, leaning against the sink. “I went hunting with Jo, what’s your excuse?” she teases. “If I need one, I got a good one,” he says. “I know,” she says, “and I’m so sorry. He meant a lot to me, too.” They nod sadly together, and she slaps him on the arm. “Go wash up, I’ll fix us something.” “Anybody ever tell you you’re a pain in the ass?” he asks her. She chuckles and kisses him. “That’s why you married me,” she says. She bumps his shoulder with hers. “Go!” she orders. “Don’t tell me what to do, Ellen,” he says, but he obeys. She gazes worriedly after him.
(Editor’s note: Had to start here. Bobby and Ellen married–I love it. If she couldn’t be married to John, Ellen and Bobby together would have been a great couple, and the two of them together as hunters or retired hunters would have been wonderful. Jo out hunting with her mother at the helm sounds so perfect. The brothers think more than Rufus is upsetting Bobby here–what would that be? Ellen out hunting with Jo, him being afraid for her? I love their teasing and bantering, the way she so obviously is worried about him even as he calls her a pain in the ass and makes lots of physical contact with him. A nice smooch on the mouth would have been nice.
As for the brothers driving a Mustang, I remember Kripke saying that’s the car he originally planned for them. Interesting that in this changed universe, that’s what they are driving. Anyone know what year? (From Alice – It’s a 1967 of course! A Fastback to be specific.)
Chester, PA – Flashlights and EMF maters in hands, the brothers check out the garage where the man lost his head. It’s not a vengeful spirit, but they find a piece of gold thread–Christmas tinsel? They find a gold flowerpot and wonder why a handyman would have gold just lying around in his garage. “There’s definitely a skeleton in this family’s closet,” says Dean, “accidents don’t happen accidentally.” Sam gives him a look. “You know what I mean,” says Dean. Sam’s checking family records, Dean will go see next of kin.
Dean goes to see Mr. Russo, a lawyer who is telling his mother to be at the courthouse at three PM–and charging her the usual fees. Nice guy! Dean is posing as a genealogist from the local university checking out the Russos. This lawyer doesn’t seem at all interested in discussing his tragically deceased cousins. He wasn’t close with his family–“Is this gonna take long?” The Russos were average people, from Italy. “Was anyone ever killed or maimed, from a war?” asks Dean–“some other violent thing? Something so dark it would sully future generations?” “No,” answers Russo, puzzled and somewhat insulted. “Good, good stuff,” says Dean, writing it down. “Anyone own a slave?” asks Dean–“any ties to the Nazi party?–did Grandma ever piss off a gypsy?” Lawyer Russo stands up and says, “I don’t know what kind of study you’re doin’, but it’s over, right now, so if you don’t mind.” “I’ll just cut to the chase here,” says Dean, “your life is in danger.” “ARE YOU THREATENING ME?” demands Russo. “No, no, no,” Dean assures him, “I’m just simply saying that if you don’t watch your back, you’re gonna die.” “Get the hell out of my office–NOW!” orders Russo. Sam calls and asks if he found anything. “One asshat in a shiny suit,” says Dean. Sam found their great-grandparents were born in Calabria in 1912, been here ever since. “No severed horse head?” asks Dean. “Four generations of picket fence,” says Sam. Climbing into the Mustang, Dean asks, “If these people are the Waltons, why the hell are they dying?”
A redhead woman at a travel agency is trying to sell Cuba over the phone when a blond with black-rimmed glasses freezes the scene, removes the redhead’s keys from her pocketbook and tosses them under the humming copy machine. The blond disappears. Annoyed that Cuba didn’t sell, the redhead searches her pocketbook for her keys, can’t find them, spots them under the copier, knocks over a vase of flowers when she bends to pick them up, notices smoke issuing from the copier, starts stabbing buttons to shut it down, gets her scarf sucked inside the machine, and is choked to death trying to extricate herself. We get a nasty closeup of her dead eyes. The blond reappears, opens a book with a gold tallis hanging from it (one strand falls to the floor), crosses out a name filled with many other names inside and leaves with a pleased smile on her face.
(Editor’s notes: Lawyer Russo seemed like a cliche to me. Lawyer you just want to kill. Sure hope whatever else happens, HE dies! Nobody treats our Dean that way, even if he IS asking ridiculous questions that would piss us off if anyone was asking them of us!
I wonder if Fate cared about how her victims died, as long as they died? She didn’t seem to care one way or another. Carelessly dumping the keys under the copier led to the dropped vase and the water in the machine. I was expecting electrocution, so the strangulation was a surprise. A comment on that ugly scarf, perhaps?
This is one of those eps I was spoiled for and am really annoyed with myself that I knew what was happening. If I knew nothing, I would have enjoyed the ep much more, I’m sure. Not knowing who the blond was or who was responsible for these weird changes would have certainly made this an exciting mystery. I’m going to have to stick to my no-spoilers policy more strictly for the rest of the season!)
Travel Agency – Dean and Sam check out the office where Anne Witting was killed and find a gold thread and no connection between her and the Russos. If this isn’t a family curse, what is it? Dean calls Ellen, who’s cooking dinner and pulling a beer from a protesting Bobby’s hand, to ask about it. “I was afraid of that,” she says, “these so-called accidents we’re seeing nationwide, about 75 so far. I got Jo and her crew working on a cluster in California.” Some are blood relatives, some not. Jo’s got what he does–dead bodies and a bunch of gold thread. As for what it means, she’s got Bobby working on it right now. “How’s he doing?” asks Dean. “Don’t worry,” she says, “I’m kicking his ass back to health and happiness.” “Who asked you to–the hell with ya,” gripes Bobby. “I heard that,” says Dean. “He’ll be OK,” Ellen assures him. “You OK?” Dean asks. “Oh, honey, you’re sweet,” she says, “you know me–I just worry about you boys.” (It’s like they have a real mother, isn’t it?) “Yeah, well,” says Dean, “so these corpses–anything relate ’em?” Tasting her cooking and adding salt, Ellen explains she found one obscure fact–the families all came over to America in the same year–1912–on the same ship–the TITANIC. Ellen sips from the bottle of beer she confiscated from Bobby, then pours some into the cooking pot. Dean asks Sam if the name TITANIC rings a bell. It doesn’t, but after looking it up on the net, Sam learns it was the largest passenger steamship in the world when it made its maiden voyage across the north Atlantic in 1912. “What’s the big friggin’ deal, it’s a ship, it sailed,” says Dean. It had a close call with an iceberg, reads Sam, “avoided just in time by first mate I. P. Freeley. “That’s not suspicious,” says Dean, “got a picture of Mr. Freeley?”
Turns out savior Freeley was none other than Balthazar! Dean and Sam set up a ritual to summon the angel. “Boys, boys, boys,” he says playfully when he appears, “what can I do for you.” He confesses that the “boat” was meant to sink “and I saved it. It was meant to bash into this iceberg thing and plunge into the briny deep with all this hoopla, and I saved it–anything else I can answer for you?” The brothers ask him why he un-sunk the ship. “Because I hated the movie,” says Balthazar. “What movie?” asks Dean. “Exactly!” says the angel, laughing. “Wait,” says Sam, “so you saved a cruise liner. . .” “. . .because that God-awful Celine Dion song made me want to smite myself,” says Balthazar. (Editor confession: I agree with the angel. I loved the movie, but my best friend and I despise Celine Dion, and call that song, the title of this episode, “My ASS will Go On.” Apologies to those who love it–and her.) “Who’s Celine Dion?” asks Sam. “She’s a destitute lounge singer somewhere in Quebec, and let’s keep it that way, please,” says Balthazar. “I didn’t think that was possible,” says Sam, “I didn’t think you could change history.” “Haven’t you noticed?” asks Balthazar–“there’s no more rules, boys.” “Wow,” says Sam, shaking his head, “the nerve on you, so you just un-sunk a giant boat?” “I saved people!” the angel reminds him–“I thought you loved that kind of thing!” “So now,” says Sam, “those people, and their kids, and their kids’ kids must have been linked with so many other people, changed so much crap, you totally butterfly affected history!” “Dude,” says Dean, “rule one, no Kutcher references.” “Unfortunately, there’s still an Ashton Kutcher,” reveals Balthazar, “and you still averted the apocalypse and there are still archangels, it’s just the small details that are different–like you don’t drive an Impala.” (The brother exchange puzzled glances.) “Yes, yes, what’s an Impala, trust me, it’s not important.” He looks on their counter for some booze, taking a bottle out of a bag. “And of course, Ellen and Jo are alive.” “Ellen and Jo what?” asks Dean. “They’re supposed to be dead,” the angel says, “see, I save a boat, one thing leads to another, which leads to another thousand things, yada yada yada, cut a long story short, they don’t die in a massive explosion. Anyway, let’s agree I did a good thing. One less (?) movie and I save two of your closest friends.” Balthazar drinks up, Sam and Dean are stunned. “But now,” points out Sam, “somebody is killing the descendents of the survivors. “And?” asks Balthazar. “That’s like maybe 50,000 people,” says Sam. “And?” asks Balthazar. “And we need to save as many as we can,” says Dean angrily, “but we need to know who’s after them.” “Sorry,” says Balthazar, “you have me confused with the other angel, you know, the one in the dirty trench-coat who’s in love with you?” Dean glares at him. “I don’t care!” says Balthazar–“goodbye, boys.” He downs the rest of his drink and flies off. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!” calls Dean, but it’s too late–“SON-OF-A-BITCH!”
(Editor’s comment: How could I not say anything about Balthazar’s snarky reference to ‘that angel in the dirty trench coat who’s in love with you’? There are now more gay Cas and Dean stories on the net these days than Sam and Dean stories! I never thought I’d see the day! Me, I still believe Sam and Dean are totally het, but these pairings never fail to fascinate me in the workings of the fan fiction world and the minds of writers and readers.)