Robin’s Rambles – “Season 7, Time For A Wedding!”

“Season 7 Time For a Wedding”
Season 7 Episode 8
Robin’s Rambles by Robin Vogel

Las Vegas, NV – A hot blond waitress tells Dean she’s a grad student–“People say I say that just to get a bigger tip–see!–there’s that look!” “This is my I dig smart chicks look,” he assures her, “if they dressed like that, I  wouldn’t have dropped out of school.” He drinks his beer. She asks what his deal is–“You came in looking like somebody shot your puppy.” “Things are looking up now that your shift is over,” he says, but she isn’t having any of that. “All right,” he says, and talks of a friend who has a younger brother who’s a loose cannon–his reactor blew a while back and he’s waiting to see if he goes guano again. “The kid’s all reasonable now–considering he’s crazy.” They’re on their annual pilgrimage to Vegas, and he’s gone off on his own granola-munching hike in the desert by himself. Maybe he needs some time on his own, she suggests, we all need some time on our own. Dean is skeptical, but says, “Maybe he does.”  I wasn’t talking about him, she says. Dean gets a message from Sam to meet him at an address only four blocks away, and to wear a suit. See, he needs you after all, comforts the waitress.

A Little White Chapel – (Joan Collins, Michael Jordan) – Dean walks nervously down a Tacky wedding chapel corridor. The light above him flickers. He takes out his gun and prepares it for action. He reaches for the handle on the double door before him, but Sam opens them first. He pushes the gun down. “You don’t need that,” he assures him. “I thought you were becoming one with the land,” says Dean as Sam hustles him up the aisle. Sam pins a pink carnation on his lapel. “What is this crap?” Dean asks. “Apparently, pink is for loyalty,” says Sam. “What’s the pretext?–we wedding crashers?” asks Dean–“we lookin’ for some kind of siren or what?” “Nothing like that,” says Sam–“life is short, so I’ll keep this shorter–I’m in love, and I’m getting married.” Dean is dumbfounded. “Say something, like congratulations,” says Sam. “WHAT?” asks Dean. The wedding march begins to play. A heavily veiled bride begins to walk toward them. “What the hell?” asks Dean. Sam steps forward and lifts off the veil. It’s. . .BECKY. “Dean, I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, beaming. Dean looks puzzled–and horrified.

(I was unspoiled for this ep completely and had no idea who the bride was. Becky is completely out of the blue and pretty icky in my book, and Sam’s, too, of course. We all believe this must have come about by demon, Leviathan or other ugly means. I’m sure if Sarah Blake had been under that veil, most of us would have been cheering and absolutely thrilled, right?)

TITLE: A black and white wedding cake reads “Time for a wedding” and explodes into pieces, some of them bloody.

Dean fans himself after the ceremony and says, “Shouldn’t she have asked for my permission or something?” “You wanted her to ask for my hand?” says Sam, bemused. “How did this happen?” asks Dean. “Short version?” says Sam–“we met, we ate, talked and fell in love, you know, here we are!” He’s smiling goofily. “Yeah, I guess I’m all caught up,” says Dean, then, making a gesture of insanity, adds, “ignoring everything, having you forgotten the average lifespan of your hookups?” “But if anyone knows that, it’s me,” interrupts Becky, “I read every book! So, opens eyes, you know, open eyes.” “I’m gonna be sick,” says Dean. Sam insists he has to jump on something good that happens, now, today, period. OK, Dead Poet’s Society, fine, says Dean, did you make sure she’s even. . .  Salt, holy water, everything, says Becky, holding up her silver-sliced arm–not a monster, just the right girl for your brother–that’s it. The bill for the ceremony is presented. “I got it,” says Becky, snatching it away, and she goes off to take care of other business, leaving Sam and Dean to do their brother thing. 

“REALLY? Super fan ’99?” explodes Dean after she’s walked away. Sam says he used to feel the same, but when he got past the book thing, he found that he was the dick and Becky great. Dean finds it suspicious that Becky showed up during Vegas week–maybe Chuck wrote about it. “You’re paranoid,” says Sam. “And you’re in love?” accuses Dean–“it’s been four days, man!” Sam picks up Becky’s veil and flowers and says that they’re going to Becky’s place in Delaware–he should get his dome around all this, get supportive, and give them a call. Becky gets on the phone and posts her first tweet as Mrs. Becky Rosen Hyphen Winchester. She and Sam leave together.

Dean calls Bobby, who is beard-deep in “that Oregon nest.” He’s going to Delaware to do some investigation on Sam and his new wife–“You heard me–wife. Call me.” 

Alpine Lake, DE – Uncle Dietz’ Alpine Haus Restaurant – Class of 2001 10 year reunion – Becky wants to make a quick stop at this place, where, apparently she was known as “yucky Becky” in high school. “I’m here to RSVP for the reunion, if it’s not too late,” says Becky. “There’s always room for one more,” says the nasty hostess, who looks up and spots Becky’s hot, adoring husband and is quite surprised and jealous. “Actually, it’s Rosen-Winchester,” corrects Becky, “so mark me down plus one.” Outside, Becky gleefully writes in her phone, Jocelyn Caruso, roasted! In the parking lot, she introduces her friend Guy to Sam, explaining that she met Guy in the erotic horror section at the Novel Hovel. Guy is embarrassed, citing TMI, but Sam assures him any friend of Becky’s is a friend of his. Guy is the event planner for the reunion.  Becky runs over to Guy and asks if he got her message. Of course, he says, asking for a hug and slipping something into her hand in the process. “I swear, if everyone had a Wiccan in their pocket, the world would be a happier place,” says Becky. “It is nothing,” he assures her, “blessed be.” Sam waves Guy off, Becky looks unsure, and Dean drives up.

Dean sits down at a counter of a local place and notes in a newspaper lying there the death of a pedestrian–and recent lottery winner–killed in a freak accident.

“Cherish” by the Association plays. Becky, wearing a seductive nightie, has ordered in a wedding night dinner for Sam. “You look. . .nice,” he praises. “Thanks–I was saving it,” she says. They toast each other in champagne, “To us.” Sam gets dizzy and starts seeing three of Becky. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “What am I doing here?” he asks. She throws herself into his lap and kisses him, then doses his drink with something and urges him to drink it. “We’re celebrating, dear,” she reminds him. “Of course,” he says, raising his glass to hers, “to us.”  “Feeling better, honey?” she asks. “Now that I’m with you,” he says. She sighs with relief and drinks her own champagne.

Baseball field – An evil blond man in a black hoodie uses a hand gesture to cause a baseball tossing device to malfunction and strike an unfortunate man hitting practice baseballs in the head. It’s quite a bloody incident as the ball noisily smashes the man’s skull and sends him to the ground, where blood spreads across the white plate. His killer grins with pleasure.

Sam shows up at Sam’s house with a red ribbon festooned gift. “Me being supportive,” he says, “congratulations to you and the Mrs.” It’s a waffle iron, non-stick,” says Dean, “I actually don’t know how to use it–are we good? Because I’m sniffin’ a case in this town. Guy wins Powerball, gets squished by a truck, second guy went from the bench to the majors, a week later, his face was the catcher’s mitt.” “Our first thought was Crossroads Demon,” says Becky from another room,”but there’s that ten year time frame for collecting souls. Then there’s cursed object, like in BAD DAY AT BLACK ROCK, but we haven’t been able to connect the vics yet.” “You’re working this case–together?” says Dean. Sam chuckles–“Yeah, I know, right?” he says–“and I guess all those Chuck Shurley books paid off.” “I don’t know what kind of mojo you’re working,” Dean accuses Becky, “but I will find out.” “That’s my wife you’re talking to,” Sam reminds him. “You’re not even acting like yourself, Sam!” Dean says. “How am I not?” asks Sam. “You married BECKY ROSEN!” bellows Dean. “What are you saying–I’m a witch?” cries Becky–“or maybe I’m a siren–did it ever occur to you we’re just–I don’t know–happy?” “Come on, SAM!” says Dean–“guy wins the Lotto, guy hits the bigs, obviously, people’s dreams are coming true in this town, don’t you think this is a little bit of a coincidence?” “You know what, Dean?” asks Sam–“what Becky and I have is real. If you can’t accept that, that’s your problem, not ours.” “Or maybe she’s part of it,” suggest Dean, “for whatever reason, you’re her dream, if you really do care about her, I’d be worried, because people who do get their little fantasies, or whatever, seem to end up dead pretty quick.” “You know, I went after her, Dean, maybe that’s what’s bugging you,” says Sam, “that I’m moving on with my life–you took care of me and that’s great, but I don’t need you anymore.” Dean nods and leaves. (His face looked as if he’d been shot in the heart, like what Sam had just said to him HAD to be untrue and the work of a demon, Leviathan or some other unworldly creature. It broke my heart.) On the phone outside, he says, “I don’t want another hunter, Bobby, why can’t you do it? Fine, what’s his name?”

In a notebook, Becky has scrawled BECKY AND SAM all over with hearts and wedding bells. She sniffs the ink so closely, she leaves red on her nose. Sam comes in, licks his fingers and adorably wipes it off with his spit. (I SO wanted that to be me!) He gives her a present that delights her–his and hers fake ID’s–and shows her a headline in the newspaper–JUNIOR SALESMAN LEAPFROGS TO CEO AT MUTUAL FREEDOM INSURANCE. She asks if he thinks it’s a lead. “Becky?” he says. He’s found her notebook with their names written like a schoolgirl’s. “This is beautiful,” he croons, hugging the notebook against him, “so what do you think about the CEO?” “Let’s go pretext him!” she squeals.

Dean meets Garth, the hunter Bobby set him up with. Says Garth, “He’s tangling with a major league nest up in Oregon territory, numero dos, he said you’d be all surly and  pre-menstrual about working with me–but hey, man, sticks and stones.” Dean shows Garth the newspapers. “I think we got a case.” First things first,” says Garth, laughing, “Oh, Marmaduke, you’re crazy!” This causes Dean to pinch the top of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

Garth and Dean are sitting and waiting at the offices of Mutual Freedom Insurance, listening to a woman reaming out the secretary for misspelling Marsha as Marcia, when Sam and Becky exit. “Is that your. . .” begins Garth. “Yes,” says Dean. “Awkward,” says Garth. Dean gets up to greet them, but Becky gives him the stink eye and just walks away. “No point going in, the guy’s clean,” says Sam. “You sure?” asks Dean. “Positive,” says Sam–“Becky handles him like a pro, she’s a real natural–what’s with the scrawny guy?” “Temp,” explains Dean. Sam nods and leaves. Garth waves like, nice to not meet you. Posing as a reporter for the ACTUARIAL INSIDER, Dean asks Mr. Burrows how he got the gig. “I was asked, said yes,” is the response, “pretty much out of the blue.” “Any idea how the board landed on you over your supervisors?” asks Dean. “They didn’t say,” says the man. Garth listens carefully. “What excited the board about your actual qualifications?” asks Dean. “What’s with the third degree?” wonders Burrows. “We were just wondering if you got here by nefarious means?” asks Garth (LMAO!) “Whoa, Garth!” warns Dean. “I didn’t mean corporate backstabbing,” says Garth, “I meant more like black magic, or hoodoo.” Dean laughs and says, “He jokes, he’s a jokester–let’s rewind–tell us what it felt like when your big dream came true.” “On the record,” it’s great,” the man says, “off the record, it’s not my big dream–I’m a sales guy, I’m good in sales!” “Your secretary’s an idiot,” announces the woman in the doorway, “I’ll be at the printer’s this afternoon.” “All right, dear, see you at dinner,” he says. “Just have the idiot make a reservation–here’s a tip–remind her she works for the CEO. One more screw-up, she’s fired.” “Your wife seems pretty stoked for your promotion,” notes Garth. “I’ve never seen her happier,” agrees Burrows, “I have no idea how I’m going to tell her I have to resign–the news is just gonna–” “Kill her?” suggests Garth, and he and Dean exchange looks like light has just dawned.

Dean and Garth stop Mrs. Burrows in the stairwell. She doesn’t want to speak with them, but Dean warns her this is a matter of life and death. She thinks he’s threatening her, and Garth points out that’s exactly what it sounds like. “For your own good, what did you do to get him promoted,” demands Dean. She insists she has no idea what he’s talking about, threatens to call security and stalks off.

Dean has all the pertinent information on the wall of their room, but something isn’t adding up. “I’m sure we’ll get a break,” Becky assures him, “as soon as I’m done working on romantic honeymoon getaway.” Sam gets another terrible pain in his head. Becky runs for her purse and realizes the bottle of potion is empty; much of it spilled all over her purse. 

“Bring the damn car around,” orders Mrs. Burrows, “I’m not walking five blocks in my heels.” On a balcony above her, the same blonde man we’ve seen performing previous murders works his mojo on a gigantic light fixture right above her head. Fortunately, Dean was right there and saved her, pulling her out of harm’s way as the fixture came crashing to the ground, narrowly avoiding Mrs. Burrows. “How did you know?” she asks him. “Because you’re not the first,” he tells her, helping her up. “Come on.” “You want to tell us what’s up here?” asks Garth. “I was having lunch with friends,” she explains– “this guy heard me bitching. Next thing I know, he was making me an offer–Craig’s job for my soul.” (Doesn’t anyone ever learn?) “I know,” she says, “hilarious–what have I got to lose?” “Well, there’s your soul,” points out Garth–“what kind of demon deal is this?–timeline’s whack.” “What are you talking about–demon?” she asks. “Let me back up here,” says Garth, “you made a deal with a demon in exchange for your everlasting, except those are 10 year contracts–why is the bill coming due so fast?” “I don’t know,” says Dean, “but I got a bad feeling about who’s next–we gotta find Sam, pronto.” Garth says he’ll drop Mrs. Burrows off at his cousin, who will stop anything trying to get her, they’ll find Sam, hopefully fix this, everyone’s home in time for AMERICA’S GOT TALENT. He tells Mrs. Burrows she’ll be living with a tri-racial paraplegic sniper until this all blows over, okay? (Okay, that’s got to take the cake for a really strange combo, even for this show–tri-racial paraplegic sniper?)

Becky, on the phone with Guy, is upset, asking to meet up with him fast–“I’m losing Sam!” Her husband, in terrible pain, asks, “What’s happening?” “Don’t you remember? We’re married?” she cries. “I’m calling Dean,” he says. (Who says he doesn’t still need his big bro? First one he wants to call when the witchy love potion is wearing off, right?) She whacks him over the head with Dean’s waffle iron, knocking him unconscious. (BITCH!) Becky gulps, breathing heavily. (Yes, there is too-obvious irony in her using Dean’s gift to knock out his brother, but I don’t know why I’m mentioning it, given how obvious it is.)

To Sam’s dismay, he awakens hog-tied to the bed, not wearing any pants. Becky assures him she took them off because it was less constricting, didn’t do anything weird and asks if he feels “concussiony.” She waves her hand around, asking how many fingers she’s holding up. “Where am I? What the hell’s going on?” demands Sam. “Just caaaalm down,” urges Becky. “Let me go–NOW!” he orders. “Are you thirsty? Or do you need a bottle to. . .tinkle?” she offers–“it’s OK if you do, I can help.” She receives a message from Guy on her computer. Sam overhears her explain she’s got Sam at her parents’ cabin and that she’s out of elixir–“I need a refill, OK? This isn’t the honeymoon I had in mind–well, some of it is, but not in this context–is it just me, or is this stuff wearing off faster and faster?” “Becky, breathe,” urges Guy. “Do you know we haven’t even consummated our marriage?” she says, “we were taking it slow because true love is forever, but everything just feels weird now.” He tells her to meet him in an hour. She returns to Sam, who says, “So you dosed me with love potion?” Becky makes a gesture of not understanding how he figured that out. “Thin walls.” “Yes, I used a social lubricant,” she says. (Now that sounds very dirty to me!) “You rufied me,” he corrects. “A rufie? I’d never,” she insists, “we had a great time together, you were happy.” “Oh, yeah,” says Sam sarcastically, tugging his bonds, “I’m thrilled!” She has to go. “You know your pal Guy is the one icing all those people, right?” asks Sam. “No he’s not,” says Becky. “So he’s not a witch?” asks Sam. “No, he’s a Wiccan!” cries Becky– “Wiccans are good, like Glinda of Oz.”  “You’re not this stupid,” says Sam coldly. (Okay, was anyone beside me having trouble concentrating, thinking of Sam pantsless under that cover?.) “Whatever is killing people, it’s something else,” she says. “It’s never something else!–when are there two crazy things in town at the same time?” demands Sam, furious–“Guy’s the creep–and you’re on his list!” “Guy’s my friend,” says Becky patiently. “No, he’s your dealer,” counters Sam, “look, I don’t know how much he’s charging you for that Spanish Fly. . .” “Nothing!” says Becky in an ah-ha! tone–“he gives it to me, and he said it wouldn’t work if you didn’t already love me deep-down–it just activates it.” “So you think I love you?” asks Sam. “Deep. . .deep down,” says Becky hesitantly. “Then untie me,” Sam orders. Instead, she gags him. “You’re still working through your emotions,” she says by way of explanation and denial. “Becky!” he calls through the gag. “Love you too!” she responds, waving. (This scene just had me laughing and nearly crying at the same time. Poor Becky, delusional beyond the ability to think rationally. She knows Sam doesn’t love her even a little, and that Guy is doing very bad things.)

Becky returns to the restaurant where the reunion is being held. Guy tells her to take a seat and offers her a drink for her tough day, which she refuses. “We can get right to it, if you like,” he says, sliding the elixir toward her on the table. He snatches it back as she is about to take it, however. “Let’s talk price,” he says, “we’re a little past the freebie stage, don’t you think?” “I thought we were besties,” says Becky stupidly. “Ohhhh, honey,” says Guy, “that is so depressingly BECKY, you’re so pathetic it actually loops back around again to cute.” (I want to strangle this SOB!) Becky offers a personal check, but Guy wants her soul, and his eyes go red to prove it. “You’re a Crossroads Demon,” she says, horrified. “Bingo Bango,” says Guy, delighted, pouring himself a drink–“I love reunions–the desperation!–these shlubs will sign on the dotted line for money, power, hair–whatever it takes to impress the nostalgically bangable head cheerleader.” “Sam was right,” says Becky despondently, “you killed those people.” “For legal reasons, let’s say they had ‘unfortunate accidents,” suggests Guy. “So, what, I hand over my soul and the next day a piano falls on my head?” asks Becky. “I’d never do that to you, promise,” he says with sickening sincerity. “I’m not stupid,” she says. “But you are special,” he assures her. “I am?” she asks pitifully. “Hey,” he says, “I wasn’t thrilled to see your new hubby was Sam-freakin’-Winchester–I mean, if he knew that I was here talkin’ to you. . .” “He’d probably gank your ass,” finishes Becky. “Yes,” laughs Guy, “and I’m very protective of my ass, it’s one of my best features. Becky, I’m prepared to offer you a one-time only deal–not 10 years, 25.” She frowns. Guy continues, “No pianos, guaranteed, “just Sam.” “For my soul,” says Becky. “And your promise not to breathe a word of this to the Winchesters,” says Guy, “and I’ll be on my merry way–no one gets a deal like this, not kings, not popes–I snap my fingers and Sam will love you for the rest of your life.” Becky smiles, considering it, and says, “I think I’ll have that drink now.” He hands over the elixir.

Dean and Garth, guns drawn, enter room #7, the latter bursting in ahead of Dean, who holsters his right away and sourly looks at a wedding photo of his brother and Becky. Dean rifles through their mail. “Anything?” he calls to Garth, who is checking Becky’s computer. “She’s got 11 Twitterers,” reports Garth. (Wow, not very popular, is she? Poor Becky.) Last entry states that she’s going on romantic trip with hubster!!!–“Guess she got excited,” says Garth. Dean holds up a photo of someone holding up a fish in front of the cabin–“That look exciting to you?” he asks. “No,” agrees Garth, “but I got this thing about fish–dead eyes, man.” Dean peels the picture of Becky out of the frame. It was taken in 1991 and shows Becky holding a big fish at her parents’ cabin.

Becky returns to Sam. “This is not how I imagined spending my reunion,” she confesses. “I was gonna show you off–not that anyone knows who you are. SUPERNATURAL’s not exactly popular, but. . .you’re tall, and nice, and they’d all think I was happy.” Sam mumbles something behind the gag. “You’re mad, I get it,” she says, lying on the bed, resting her head on his chest, “can we talk? I know you don’t love me.” Sam mumbles angry assent. Becky continues, “I know what I am–I’m a loser–in school, in life.” She smiles. “I guess that’s why I like you so much–I mean, not that you’re a loser, but you’ve got that whole character arc about being a freak–I can relate.” Sam leans back, resigned to the worst. “Honestly, the only place people understood me was the message boards,” she says, “they were grumpy and overly literal, but at least we shared a common passion, and I’ll take it, you know? Then I met you guys, the real Sam and Dean, and I started dating Chuck, and everything was AMAZING!” To Sam’s discomfort, she’s caressing his chest. “But you left and Chuck dumped me–I think I intimidated him with my vibrant sexuality–I just want someone who loves me for me!–is that too much to ask?” Sam tries to respond through the gag, and Becky finally tears it out. “What??” she demands. “If you want somebody to love you for you,” says Sam, “maybe you don’t drug them.” “But I WANT you!” she says hysterically–“and this is the only way!” She reaches into her purse for the elixir. “Becky?” says Sam fearfully–“you’re better than this.” “That’s sweet,” she says, twirling the bottle in her fingers, “but I’m not so sure.” (This was very sad and pathetic for Becky. Sam was trying to save himself from Becky; Becky, in just about every sense imaginable, was trying to save herself–from Guy, Dean, Sam, and all the cruel people who mistreated her in high school and made her feel terrible about herself.)

Uncle Dietz’ Restaurant – Becky seems sad. “Becks! You missed the party!” he chastises. “Yeah,” she says bitterly, “well, weird night.” “So what are we thinkin’?” he asks. “Okay,” she says, “I’m in.”

Becky rises from her chair and faces Guy. “You’re making the right choice,” he assures her. “I know,” she says, “so, do we seal the deal with a kiss?” “Exactly,” says Guy, “pucker up, sweetheart.” She drops a lighter on the floor, illuminating a Devil’s Trap on the carpeting, trapping him where he stands. “I’m not your sweetheart,” Becky growls and runs to where Dean, Sam and Garth are waiting, the latter holding a bottle of whatever they used to imprison Garth. (I can’t understand what Garth said is in there beyond nightcap, the answer to all life’s problems.) “You see that, Sam?” exults Becky–“I did it just like we said–I am AWESOME! I–” Seeing his stern face, she says, much more quietly, “I’ll be over here.” “Dean Winchester, this is really thrilling,” says Guy, “can I have your autograph?” “Sure,” says Dean, taking out the DKK, “I’ll carve it into your spleen. Is that how you’re runnin’ your little scam?” “How do you mean, Dean?” asks Guy. “Signing people to your deals, snuffing them that week?” asks Sam. “Rules of the road–can’t lay a hand on any of my clients,” says Guy. “Right,” says Dean, “so how you cheatin’ it?” “I’m not a cheater, I’m an innovator,” corrects Guy, “it’s called the loophole, you moron! Yes, when a person bargains away his soul, he gets a decade, TECHNICALLY, but accidents happen.” “So you’re arranging accidents,” says Sam, “collecting early.” “Please,” says Guy, “white gloves–I don’t get my hands dirty–that’s why it’s important to have a capable intern.” Sam, Dean and Garth are thrown violently across the room by the intern. “What time did I ask you to be here?” yells Garth at the blond pony-tailed guy who’s been happily arranging and enjoying all the accidents. “WHAT TIME DID I ASK YOU TO BE HERE!” Dean rises to his feet, splashes holy water on Guy and starts an exorcism. Guy grabs Dean around the throat. Sam comes to, spies the deadly blond with the pony tail and orders Becky, “Run!” She does. Blondie subdues Garth and starts Sam choking just by waving his hand and making a fist. Guy continues to choke the life out of Dean. Just when things are going black for Sam, the DKK appears through Blondie’s chest in a lovely fireworks display, courtesy of Becky. “Whoa!” she says, delighted with herself. Sam hands the knife to Dean, who holds it to Guy’s throat. “How many deals you got cookin’ in this town, Madoff?” he demands. “Fifteen!” gasps Guy. “Call ’em off, or I’ll cut my own loophole in your throat,” threatens Dean. “Oh, crap,” says Guy. “You said it, you’re in a world of. . .” starts Dean. “Hello, boys,” says a familiar voice. “Oh, crap,” says Dean, and moves behind Guy, knife still at his throat, to face the newcomer–Crowley.

“Sam, Mazel Tov,” says Crowley, “who’s the lucky lady?” “You’re Crowley!” cries Becky. “And you’re–well, I’m sure you have a wonderful personality, dear,” says Crowley. (Aw, that’s just mean. Yet another male who puts down Becky, who is by no means ugly.) Becky’s face falls. “Another step and I’ll Colombian necktie your little friend here,” says Dean. “Please, don’t let him get off that easy,” says Crowley. “Sir, I don’t think that you,” begins Guy. “I know exactly what you’ve been doing,” says Crowley, “a little birdie named Jackson sold you out, he mailed all the GCD’s to my suggestion box. I assume that’s my whistle blower.” He gazes at the dead blond on the floor. “Shame–he had a future–unfortunately, you don’t.” “I was just. . .” says Guy. “I’ve got only one rule,” says Crowley, “make a deal, keep it.” “Well, technically, I didn’t,” says Guy. “Technically, we don’t call our chits in early, consumer confidence,” says Crowley, “THIS ISN’T WALL STREET, THIS IS HELL! We have a little something called integrity. This gets out, who’ll deal with us–nobody! THEN where are we?” “I dunno,” admits Guy. “That’s right, you don’t,” says Crowley, “because you’re a stupid, short-sighted little prat(?). Now, hand the jackass over.” Crowley will take care of every deal he’s made. “What are you going to do with him?” asks Dean. “Make an example of him,” promises Crowley, “fair trade, right? We’ll go our separate ways, no harm done?” Dean and Sam exchange glances, not liking this. “What, out of the goodness of your heart?” asks Sam. “Years of demons nippin’ at your heels, haven’t seen one for months, wonder why?” asks Crowley. “We’ve been a little busy,” says Dean. “Hunting Leviathan, yes, I know,” says Crowley, “that’s why I told my lads to stay clear of you meatheads.” “So what do you know about. . .” says Sam. “Too much,” answers Crowley, “you met that dick yet?–smuggest tub of goo since Mussolini. I hate the bastards–squash ’em all. Please. I’ll steer clear.” “Rip up the contracts first,” orders Dean. Crowley snaps his fingers. “Done. And done,” he says, “your turn.” “Nonononono,” begs Guy, but Dean shoves him at Crowley who says “Pleasure, gentlemen,” and disappears with Guy. Garth, having regained consciousness, crawls out from under a table. “What’d I miss?” he asks

Sam signs off on annulment papers. “It wasn’t all bad, was it?” asks Becky hopefully. He glares at her, and the hope dies in her eyes. “Okay, you did save my life, and for that, thanks,” admits Sam. “So, I’ll see you again?” she asks. “Yeah, probably not,” he says. She drops her head in sadness and rapidly signs off on the annulment agreement, too. “Becky, look,” says Sam, “you’re not a loser, okay, you’re a good person, a lot of energy, so do your thing, whatever that is, and the right guy will find you. Garth fixes his hair and smiles at Becky. She smiles back. “No. No,” insists Dean. (Aw, stay out of it, Dean, perhaps these two are soulmates! Why are you trying to sabotage poor Becky’s happiness, anyway?)

Sam and Dean are leaning against A Car That Isn’t The Impala when Garth joins them. “I gotta say, you don’t suck,” says Dean, slapping him on the shoulder. “Thank you–that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” says Garth. He throws his arms around Dean and embraces him eagerly. “Yeah, all right, that’s, thank you,” says Dean, awkwardly patting Garth’s back as Sam chuckles and clears his throat. “Take care,” says Dean. Garth leaves. “Aw, you made a fwiend,” teases Sam, then adds, “when I was all dosed up, I said some crap.” “You mean she WASN’T your soulmate?” teases Dean. “I mean I DO need you watching my back,” says Sam, “obviously.” “Yeah,” says Dean, “when crazy groupies attack.” “You know what I mean,” says Sam. “I gotta say, man,” says Dean, “for a whack job, you really pulled it together.” “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” says Sam, “don’t be too impressed, it’s still a Denver scramble up here, I just know my way around the plate now.” “I’m just sayin’, it’s stupid to think you need me around all the time,” says Dean, “you’re a grown-up–a hikin’ in the desert hippie douche grown-up.” “Dude, I was CAMPING,” insists Sam–“YOU camp.” (I seem to recall both brothers expressing a hatred of camping in an early episode.) “Yeah, whatever, hippie,” teases Dean. “You know what,” says Sam, “it might be nice–you’ve basically been lookin’ out for me your whole life, now you finally get to take care of yourself–about time, huh?” “Yeah, right,” says Dean, but not happy about it, like a mom with an empty nest she never wanted or asked for.

1.  There seems to be a lot of negativity toward this ep, what about you?  I loved it.  Felt terrible for Becky, wanted to send all the men, including the writers, for sensitivity training, but thought it an episode that made me think.

2.  I wondered how Dean would have felt had Sarah Blake been under that veil.  What do you think?  Way more accepting, right?

3.  Do you think Crowley’s appearance in this ep bodes eventual ill for the brothers?  Seems to me that he will expect payment for keeping their lives demon-free.  Does he ever do anything for nothing or out of the goodness of his heart?

4.  Had I done what Becky did, I’d have consummated the marriage before we left the chapel!  Why do you think she REALLY waited so long before doing so?

5.  Sam is usually such a kind, understanding guy.  I found myself angry at him in this ep.  I know, Becky did rufie him and take away his SELF-ness and force him to love her, but she ultimately chose not to make it permanent and saved his life, to boot. Did he have to be so cruel?  Couldn’t he have been nicer?  He had to see how much pain she was in.

6.  I thought Garth was a great character and a lot of fun as a partner for Dean, smart, hilarious and pretty gutsy.  Would you mind seeing him come back once in a while?  I wouldn’t mind more guest appearances, how about you?

7.  Guy was a foolish idiot demon.  What made him think he was going to get away with his scheme?  I’m surprised something about him didn’t ring alarm bells with Becky, especially after reading the entire SPN series.

8.  I give this ep a 9.  Yes, I really liked it and hope poor Becky finds an ordinary shlub to love who will love her back for exactly who she is.