Robin’s Rambles – “The Girl Next Door”

ByRobin Vogel

“The Girl Next Door”
Season 7/Episode 3
Robin’s Rambles

 
Dean awakens at Sioux Falls Hospital in agony, staring into three ER lights above him. His first question, of course, is where Sam is. The doctor tells him that Sam bashed his head hard and went upstairs for an MRI. As for Dean, the doctor assures him, “You’re not going anywhere on this leg, buddy.” (Ed. note: mostly because you’re directing this week’s episode.) Dean passes out from whatever drug they injected into him.
 
Coming to, tucked all nice into a hospital bed, the first thing he sees is the Sioux Falls sign on the wall. “Oh, no, no, no,” he mutters, sitting up groggily. He pulls out his IV needle as if swatting a fly and falls onto the floor with a plop–on his casted broken leg. Bobby enters. (Let’s all hug him!) “You OK?” he asks. “You’re alive!” exults Dean. “Of course I am,” says a dapperly suited-up Bobby, “why are you on the floor?” “They gave me morphine–a lot,” says Dean, as Bobby helps him up, “a monster broke my leg–the house, we thought you were dead.” “Well I ain’t, not yet,” says Bobby evasively, turning away to close the blinds, “but we gotta run–this place ain’t safe.” He hands Dean his clothes, asking, “Where’s Sam?” “Head scan, I think,” answers Dean. “Meet me at the ambulance bay, stat,” commands Bobby, “I’ll find Sam.” “Wait, where?” asks Dean–“Bobby, I’m a gimp!” Bobby hands Dean a pair of crutches and fondly smacks his cheek. 


 
Dr. Gaines, washing his hands, asks his nurse, “You’ve scheduled dessert, I presume?” She holds up his ringing phone to his ear. “The Winchesters?” he says, glowering. (Winchesters for dessert? I can go with that.)
 
Dean, unsteady and vision blurring, looks both ways as he totters from his room on the crutches.
 
Bobby intercepts Sam’s gurney, muttering, “c’mon, sicko, let’s heal you someplace safer.” 
 
Dean tucks himself into himself as he passes by a stranger, avoiding eye and all other contact. 
 
Bobby rushes Sam to the ambulance bay.
 
Dr. Gaines finds Sam and Dean gone from their rooms.
 
Dean hurries quickly down the corridor.
 
Bobby loads Sam into an ambulance and climbs behind the wheel. “C’mon, Dean,” he begs. Finally, my heart pounding too hard for it to be healthy, Dean leaps into the passenger seat. “GO GO GO GO GO GO!” he cries. Bobby guns the engine, Dr. Gaines and nurse in pursuit. The Leviathan doctor takes out his phone.

Whitefish, Montana, three weeks later – In a ramshackle cabin that once belonged to Rufus (aw, Rufus, we miss you!), Sam reads a book and Dean appears to be watching a Spanish soap opera. Dean reports something from the plot to Bobby, who says, “Adios, Esai. This oughta cheer you up.” He tosses him the keys to the Impala. Dean can’t wait to get his cast off so he can drive it again. “How is it out there?” asks Sam, who still has bruises all over his face. “Weird with a side order of bloody,” answers Bobby. A few hunters have run into the same kind of thing that set up shop at the hospital. “And tried to kill us at your place,” Dean reminds him. “They’re like shape-shifters,” says Bobby, “only a lot more into eatin’ folk–and nothin’ can kill ’em.” “Good times,” says Dean, “anything else?” “They bleed black goo,” reports Bobby. “Like that stuff that came out of Cas,” says Sam, “those things from Purgatory–Leviathan.” “What about those chompers you met at the hospital?” asks Dean–“they still makin’ spleen burgers?” (LOL!) “Yeah,” says Bobby, “made some calls, that doctor never showed up back to work, ditto the nurse.” The conversation suddenly fades for Sam, to his consternation. When Dean asks him what he thinks, Sam doesn’t respond, but he brings himself back by grinding his fingernails into the wound in his hand. “I’m right here,” replies Sam. “You OK?” asks Dean. “I’m fine,” lies Sam. “Good,” says Bobby, not believing him–“the last bit of info I had burned down, so. . .”  “What about this place?” asks Dean, Rufus leave anything?” “Sea rations and dust,” says Bobby, “I don’t think he’d been here in years. I gotta go round up my old library.” “I thought you said most of those books were one of a kind,” Sam reminds him. “That’s why I stashed copies all over the place,” says (very wise) Bobby. “Good,” says Dean, and to Sam, tossing him the Impala keys, “Hey, two-legs, we’re fresh outta grub, wanna make a run? Be careful, and Sam–pie.” “Obviously,” agrees his brother. “So?” asks Dean, after Sam leaves, “before you bail again, girl interrupted there–any thoughts?” Bobby thinks he’s doing better. Dean disagrees–“you just saw him!” “He checked out once,” says Bobby, “that’s progress– Sam’s head ain’t no different than your leg, people heal on a curve.” “I get this thing off in five days, I’m golden,” argues Dean, “Sam’s not a curve, he’s a freakin’ time bomb!” “It ain’t like he’s keepin’ secrets,” says Bobby, “what you see is what you get, so what’s so nuts about callin’ it an upswing?” Because that’s not how it works, Bobby, EVER, especially not with Sam–the other shoe is gonna drop, it’s just a matter of when.” “How about we worry about today’s problems,” suggests Bobby, “and today we need intel–I’m goin’, you sit there and stew. I’ll check in.” Gently, he adds, “Look, you sittin’ here wringin’ your hands ain’t gonna do nothin’. Maybe he’ll surprise you.” Dean looks around the dingy cabin, not believing that, scratches the outside of his cast, and makes a face.
 
At the Gas and Sip where Sam is shopping, a local newspaper headline about an ice pick killer striking again catches his eye; he adds it to his purchases. He hands over a Charge America Platinum charge card belonging to Lemmy Kilmister. (As in Let me kill, Mister? Not very subtle!) At a call center, that name triggers one of the workers to call newly created Leviathan Edgar and tell him the Winchesters have turned up on his radar in Montana. “Why are you still talking to me?” demands Edgar. 
 
Sam returns to the cabin and hands over the big bag of junk food to Dean, who sighs with delight. Sam asks where Bobby went. He took off, answers Dean. “How you doin’?” asks Dean–“are you still–” “I know what you mean,” says Sam–“yeah, I’m still seein’ crap that’s not real, but yeah, I’m fine, I can tell the difference.” “Are things getting better?” asks Dean. “I dunno,” answers Sam honestly, “I just know I’m managing it, so don’t worry.” “Where’s the pie?” asks Dean. “I got you cake,” says Sam, “close enough, right?” (Nooooooooo! Not the same, Sammy!)

After Dean falls asleep, Sam reads the newspaper article: VICTIM’S FATAL WOUNDS SIGNATURE OF KILLER 
 
Flashback: Lincoln, NE, 1998 – Newspaper in hand, teenage Sam speaks to Dean on the phone, “From what I can tell, it’s something called a kitsune. Not much, they look human until they sprout out claws and stab you behind your ear to get to your brain. I don’t know yet. I realize killing them is important, maybe if Uncle Bobby found a book in English. . .no, no, don’t put him on the phone. . . I AM!. . .hi, Dad. Yessir. I realize people are dying. Yeah, I’m on my way to the library right now.” Realizing he’s on his own, Sam gathers up the newspapers and heads off to do what he’s been ordered to do. 
 
Present: Sam leaves a note for Dean next to the uneaten cake, takes the Impala keys and leaves the cabin. A commercial for MY BLOODY VALENTINE 3D (Jensen’s movie!) is on TV as Dean sleeps. 
 
A woman is making a drug deal, but the price has gone up and she doesn’t have it. “Maybe we can make a little trade,” suggests the sleazy dealer. A police siren sends her running away. Hearing something, he stops for a moment under an overpass, but continues on his way–until he’s attacked and killed, blood streaming from the back of his neck.
 
Dean awakens and turns off the TV set, which features a show about lazy, self-content wildebeest (Dean?–never!) and fierce predators that stalk them from the shadows (irony). He finds a note: BACK IN A FEW DAYS. I’M FINE. SAM  “Other shoe!” are Dean’s first words to Bobby on the phone. When Bobby suggests that Sam maybe needed a little “me” time, Dean retorts, “For all we know, he’s road-tripping with Lucifer somewhere! Left me here like Jimmy-friggin’-Stewart!” “I assume you called,” says Bobby. “Straight to voice mail, and he turned his GPS off, too,” says Dean, exasperated, “and he took my car!” “Don’t panic,” urges Bobby. “Too late!” says Dean. “He says he’s OK,” Bobby reminds him, “give it a couple of days, just till you get the cast off, then hunt him down. Till then, we’ll both just keep callin’.” Dean agrees, but our next scene shows him with a circular saw warning his cast (or is it his leg?) “You’re going down!”

Sam, suited up, walks down the corridor of a police station, questioning a cop, “You guys thinking this is another one, so-called ice pick killer?” “Same MO,” the cop says, “can’t say I’m too broken up about this one–busted him half a dozen times–real minch.” “So what’s the deal?” asks Sam–“killer comes to town, ganks a low-life, moves along?” “Yeah,” the cop says. MO is the same–no explaining the psycho. “They left that detail out of the paper, though,” says the cop, “how did you know?” “I worked a case like this a few years back,” says Sam. “Think it’s related?” asks the cop. “You find anything weird about the brains–like missing?” Sam asks. “Good question for the coroner,” says the cop. Sam thanks him. Sam’s ringing phone shows three missed calls from Lars Ulrich. He ignores this one, too. 
 
Dean hobbles from a “woody” station wagon into a Gas & Sip. He asks the man behind the counter, “Was there a big guy in here yesterday?” “That’s specific,” the man answers sarcastically. “I mean big, about yeah high,” says Dean, showing four inches taller than himself. “Maybe,” the guy says, “brown hair?” “Yes,” says Dean, “do you remember what he bought?” “Snacks, maybe,” the clerk answers. “How about a paper, do you have yesterday’s paper,” asks Dean. He directs him to a bin of newspapers. “You mind?” asks Dean, half- rudely, snagging the paper.
 
“We don’t get too many murders out this way, much less a serial,” says the coroner, opening the drawer containing the dead drug dealer. “So what did you find?” asks Sam. “It’s what we didn’t find,” says the Coroner, turning the guy’s head to show a mass of blood, hair and dura, “a big chunk of mid-brain went missing.” “Mid brain, like pituitary gland?” asks Sam. “Their pituitaries were clear gone,” says the coroner, “how did you know that?” 
 
Flashback: teen Sam, library, on phone: “Yes, they need a steady diet of pituitary glands to survive.”
 
Present: “Educated guess,” Sam answers the coroner. 
 
Later, in his hotel room, Sam has the walls covered with newspaper clippings, maps and other clues, just like his father used to do. 
 
Flashback: Teen Sam, library, pores over clipping on the table, talking on the phone. “Wait, slow down,” he says, X-ing off something on a map, “so these things are located in parks just off the highway, just one per town–that’s something. What? I’m just tired, I’ve been looking at this for eight years. Wait, hang on, I’ll call you back.” He draws a line, connecting three X’s. 

In front of the Lancaster Public Library, Teen-Sam orders a Triple Red Eye. “OK,” says the proprietor, amused, unsure. Sam watches a young blond girl walk into the library as the guy hands him his drink, then sits at a table and watches her inside the library. She notices him and smiles. Teen Sam and the young blond look at each other on either side of the books. She grins shyly at him. “You stab it in the heart,” he says into the phone. “Stab it–in the heart!” Loud enough to be heard by everyone in the library, he repeats, “I SAID YOU STAB IT IN THE HEART!” “SHHHH!” warns the librarian. “Okay, you guys cool, can I have a normal life for five minutes now?” demands Sam. “Oh, Dean, question–how do you talk to girls?” (LMAO! That is so cute, but I sure wish we could have heard Dean’s response.) He straightens his shirt and jacket and walks over to the blond girl, who’s sitting at a table. She’s wearing a moon and star pendant. (I looked this up, but there are hundreds of explanations for its meaning.) “I just wanted to say hi,” he says shakily. “No, go away,” she says. Seeing his crestfallen face, she says, “It’s just that I’m not supposed to talk to boys.” He nods and walks off, exiting the library. Noticing two boys following her, Sam does, too, at a distance. “Leave me alone!” he hears her say. They have her backed against a tree, trying to “talk” to her, asking why she’s being so rude, but their real intentions are clear. “Be nice,” one orders. “Why don’t you?” suggests Sam, joining them. “Butt out,” the latter says. “Can you believe this guy?” snarks the other, and both move to attack Sam, who, thanks to his hunter training, makes quick work of both shmucks, who run off. “Hi, I’m Sam,” says our hero. “I’m Amy,” she says. 
 

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