Robin’s Rambles – “Death’s Door”

We get a view of the inside of Bobby’s head wound from the inside out, bullet and all.

While Sam frantically checks Bobby’s vitals in the back seat, Dean drives as fast as he can. “Is he dead?” demands Dean. “JUST DRIVE, DEAN!” shouts Sam, and to the man in his arms, “Bobby.” “You gotta talk to me, Sam!” insists Dean, panicked. “He’s breathing,” says Sam, “there’s a bullet.” “Keep him upright,” orders Dean, “stop the bleeding.” “I’m not an idiot, Dean!” cries Sam, holding Bobby up in a tight embrace–“I know first aid for a friggin’ bullet in the head!” Dean, on the phone, is getting the hospital’s address, and the van swerves through an overpass as he puts pedal to the metal to get there and save Bobby.

“Bobby! Hold on!” begs Sam. We enter Bobby’s wound again. Bobby remembers the three of them finding Phil, “a corpse in a tree,” as Dean dubs him. “Something bad’s about to happen,” warns Bobby. “That’s why we got the guns,” Dean reminds him. Blood drips on Bobby’s hand, but he reaches up and finds it’s coming from his head. “Or somethin’ bad’s happened already,” he mutters. They enter a cabin. “Balls!” says Bobby. Sam asks him what happened–“What’s going on with your head?” “I got shot, idjit,” answers Bobby. The brothers don’t believe it; they’ve been with him all day. “I think we would have noticed if you took a bullet,” says Dean. “I didn’t take one here, I took one out there,” says Bobby, pointing out the door, “in the real world.” The brothers are lost, puzzled. “There’s somethin’ I gotta tell you,” insists Bobby. “dammit, I can’t get at it.” “It’s okay,” Sam assures him, “take your time, we’re right here.” “Not you you,” says Bobby, “real you, in the waking world–numbers, numbers–where’s paper?” He writes down the number 454895 on a sheet of notebook paper and says, “I didn’t have time to tell you what they’re cookin’ up–ya need to know.” He folds up the paper and slips it into his jacket pocket.

“Well, you just gonna stand there or hand it over, Bobby?” asks his wife, lolling sexily in a nightie in bed. “What the hell? Karen!” he says. “You were expecting Farrah Fawcett?” she asks. “No, she always calls first,” he says, smiling, then adds, “that’s what I said the first time this happened.” “What are you talking about?” she asks, reaching for the wine he’s holding in his hand–“gimmee.” She takes a sip of wine and puts it down on the night stand. “This is just like it was,” remembers Bobby, “you’re beautiful.” “Quit sweet talkin’ and come here,” she says, reaching for his hand, “I feel like we haven’t talked in ages.” “I know just how you feel,” he murmurs. “Listen, I have something I want to say to you,” she says, “no excuses this time, okay? Just sit, Bobby.” He sits on the bed. “I know what night this is,” he says, “I remember this.” “I thought about this a lot,” she says, and he’s saying the words along with her. She smacks him and playfully accuses him of making fun of her. “I wouldn’t,” he says, “but right now I gotta.” There’s a crash of thunder. “I don’t remember a storm the night this happened,” says Bobby, looking outside on a sky filled with a full moon and stars. The moon fades away. Bobby spies a young boy running toward his house. Mother Mary,” he exclaims, “I’ve got a messed up fruitcake.” “What, Bobby?” asks his wife. “I gotta go,” insists Bobby, “sorry, darlin’.” “Bobby, wait, don’t go!” begs Karen.

Bobby finds himself in the middle of a thunderstorm, with Rufus, who’s wearing a uniform with PEST CONTROL stamped on the back. “Number one trick–act like you know what you’re doing,” says Rufus. “RUFUS?” says Bobby, stunned. “What, I can’t give you advice now? All of a sudden you know everything?” says Rufus–“you know, you can always go wait in the car.” “Wait, I need your help, bad,” says Bobby. “Damn straight you do,” says Rufus. “Listen to me,” says Bobby frantically, “I’m gonna die!” “Now that’s a realistic view of a motel where you’re going on a ghost hunt,” says Rufus, pulling out an MVP device going crazy, “Whoa, Nellie, red line, all right, baby boy, here we go.” He runs into the motel. “Yo, Rufus!” calls Bobby, seeing that same little boy running by on the sidewalk. Rufus pops out the hotel door. “You comin’, Bobby? We ain’t gettin’ any younger here!” “Coming,” says Bobby, but turns to find the young boy has grabbed hold of his arm. “God’s going to punish you,” the kid says. Bobby hears a crash and looks to see a broken glass of milk on the ground. The child is gone. He enters the hotel which is actually a church. It begins to shake; bibles fall from the backs of the pews; six choir members that had been standing there disappear, one by one; the lights above Bobby’s head go out, leaving him in darkness. “Hello, Mr. Singer,” says a voice behind him, and he turns to see a man dressed in black say, “your time is up.”

“So you’re my Reaper, huh?” says Bobby–“I’ve heard of you guys, grabbin’ reapees in broad daylight and in their sleep, but never heard of a Reaper showin’ up inside a guy’s custard.” “You’re in a coma, genius, this is what happens,” says the Reaper, “I climb in your custard and fish you out.” He reaches for Bobby, who steps back. “Oh, you think you can lose me.” “Gonna try,” says Bobby. “I got places to be, Singer, don’t waste my time,” says the Reaper. “Might as well, while I got it,” retorts Bobby. “Prolonging the inevitable,” says the Reaper, snapping his watch open and closed. Bobby takes off running. “I can find you anywhere!–even in this gin-soaked rat-maze,” the Reaper assures him.

Bobby finds himself with Sam and Dean, who are about to watch either a Chuck Norris or a Jet Li DVD’s. “I don’t even KNOW you right now, there’s not even a contest!” complains Dean. “It depends on the criteria,” says Sam. “SURVIVAL is the only criteria,” insists Dean, “when the crap hits the fan, it’s not about who has skill, it’s about who’s the bigger badass–Bobby, would you please tell Sam Chuck Norris would kick Jet Li’s ass.” Bobby rushes past them. “Grab me a beer while you’re in there,” asks Dean. Bobby opens the pocket kitchen doors to find a red-haired woman setting the table, warning Bobby he had better be washed up when he comes down. He stares in consternation at her. “You’re filthy!” she says–“what’s wrong with you, it’s like you want him to get mad.” Bobby slams the doors shut.

“Bobby, heads-up!” calls Rufus, tossing him a gun. “Poor thing–she gets left at the altar, kills herself, now she’s going after men who break their girl’s heart. Why you outta breath? Did you go for a jog up there now?” “I need your help, Rufus,” says Bobby desperately. “Clearly,” says Rufus, “I want you to grab a torch, man, soon’s I open up her coffin, showtime’s comin’ pretty quick.” “Will you listen to me, you son of a bitch,” says Bobby, “there’s a damn Reaper comin’ for me!” There’s a damn Reaper comin’ for all of us,” says Rufus, shining his flashlight on a wall of dead–Lara Coggins–“all right, let’s put this damn ghost to bed, I got plans for Purim.” He takes a mallet to the wall.

Hospital – Sam and Bobby follow Bobby’s gurney into the emergency room. “Gunshot wound to the right frontal area, no exit wound found, breathing spontaneous, respiratory rate 18 and shallow, RST 120, BP 90 over 60, GCF 5,” announces the ER room caller. They are giving Bobby Mannitol and prepping him for intubation, and making Sam and Dean leave. “That’s our uncle,” pleads Sam. “You’ve got to stay back,” they’re ordered. “We’ve got to get him stable,” she says in answer to their questions. Dean asks when they’re going to get the bullet out. If they can get the swelling down, if it’s in a place they can get to. . .  “If he lives that long,” adds Sam. She closes the curtains. We see Bobby lying there, oxygen mask on his face, ugly, bloody bullet wound on the right side of his head.

Rufus opens the casket. “Forget it,” says Bobby, “I gotta keep movin.” The bride has other ideas, however; she relieves him of his gun and reaches into his chest for his heart. “Heartbreaker,” she snarls. Bobby tips his head back, in agony. 

Dean and Sam stand outside the curtained area, only able to hear, “We’re losing him!” They see a bright light. “He’s crashing now,” says a doctor.

“I’ll break YOUR heart!” swears the jilted ghost bride, but before she can fulfill her promise, Rufus slashes her with an iron fireplace rod, dispersing her temporarily. Bobby falls to the floor. “Bobby, you all right? Say something,” begs Rufus. Spotting the ghost behind Rufus, Bobby warns him, but Rufus gets tossed against the crypt wall anyway. Rufus has hit his head and lies still and bloody, but Bobby takes a flamethrower and finishes off the ghost in her opened coffin, burning her bones for all time. 

ER – Blood pressure 130/90 says the nurse. Bobby blows out the flame-thrower and looks at Rufus. “Balls, this would be the one job you nearly got yourself killed on–you’re gonna be useful even if I got to carry you.”

ER – The doctor reports to the brothers that Bobby is stable–for the moment–“We’ll just have to see.” Dean sighs with relief, looking in at Bobby, looking small and helpless in the hospital bed. The brothers exchange looks like two frightened little boys.

Bobby commences to remember. “Rufus, where the hell did you go?” he asks, and spies the little boy again. “Hey, you, kid, what are you makin’ like a white rabbit all over the place for, ya grubby little. . .? Enough with the jump-scares, kid, who are you runnin’ from?” The kid doesn’t reply. “Wait a minute,” says Bobby, “I know you.” “Did you think I was dead?” asks Rufus behind him, being wheeled out from a hospital. To the old nurse steering his wheelchair, he says, “Call me, okay? Don’t sit shivah for me yet, Bobby.” The kid is gone again. “Listen,” says Bobby, “after Bridezilla took you out, do you remember what you told me about your near-death experience?” “I haven’t told you nothin’ yet,” says Rufus, “but now that you mention it, I’m pretty sure I almost crossed over.” “And what did you see?” asks Bobby anxiously. “What did I see? What are you so riled up about, Papa?” asks Rufus–all right, I saw a hallway, a plaid carpet, the apartment building from when I was a kid–and I wanted out! I’m not dyin’ on no plaid carpet, no thank you.” “So what did you do?” asks Bobby. Not being stupid, Rufus looked the the damn exit door! That’s what they mean about your life flashing before your eyes–every time I opened the door, there was another chapter inside, the good, the bad, the bloody. So how did you get out? wonders Bobby. Found the right door, obviously, answers Rufus. How did you find it? asks Bobby. I went deep–crap you do not want to think about, says Rufus–so you bury it, shove over crap over it, and you don’t go there–ever. So you’re tellin me the way out was through your worst memory, says Bobby. It’s an important door, Bobby, says Rudus seriously. Okay, this is good, says Bobby. What the hell are you goin’ on about, anyway? asks Rufus. This, says Bobby, taking out the paper with the number on it and shaking it at Rufus, I gotta find the right door to get this to Sam and Dean–I’m in a coma, Rufus, right now. Rufus laughs–get out, he chortles. “I got shot in the dunce cap, I’m dyin!” says Bobby. “I’ll be a prima ballerina,” says Rufus, “are you tryin’ to tell me I’m just one of your better memories?” “Would I make this up?” demands Bobby. Thunder rumbles. Bobby insists that Rufus is coming with him–“I need my partner on this–please!”

Rufus urges Bobby to aim for his worst memory–think, focus. Bobby’s got a metric ton of worst. Take a shot, says Rufus, and wonders why the killer bride called Bobby a heart-breaker–“You’re a family man if ever I saw one.” Thanks for narrowing things down, says Bobby. His head rumbles and he finds himself back in his bedroom with Karen. “I can’t believe you. I hate you,” she says. Everything’s a lie–our whole life. Our vows, everything–you knew I wanted kids. Why didn’t you just sit me down and say. . .I don’t understand, you’re a good man, you’d be a good dad, WHAT DOES ANY OF IT MEAN? ‘You break everything you touch?’ What kind of excuse is that?” She stumbles into the broken glass, cutting her foot, and falls onto the bed. When Bobby tries to help her, she orders, “Just stay away from me! You broke my heart, Bobby! You happy? Just go away!” She bows her head, miserable. “Just so you know, I’m sorry,” says Bobby, looking miserably at his sobbing wife, “I never stopped being sorry.” Rufus, uncomfortably listening, says, “I’d thought you’d want a gang a rug-rats.” Bobby shakes his head. “So how long after this?” asks Rufus. “Did she get possessed?” asks Bobby–“three days–biggest regret of my life is this fight. You’d think it was when I had to stab her to death, but no–all through that, I was thinkin’. we never got to get past THIS. If I’d a known, I’d a said anything she’d wanted to hear.” They sorrowfully watch Karen cry on the bed. “Bob–hey–try to do it, now,” says Rufus. “Thanks, Rufus,” says Bobby. He walks to the door and goes out into a bright light.

“Balls!” says Bobby. “What year is this? 89-ish?” asks Rufus. “What does it matter, I’m still stuck in eternal friggin sunshine,” says Bobby. “I was just thinkin,” says Rufus, “you look pretty good there, musta drank less.” Bobby is walking with a young boy, who asks Bobby where they’re going. “Well, Dean, what’s it look like?” Bobby asks the kid. “Dad says I’m supposed to practice with a double-barrel,” says Dean. “We’re gonna skip the guns today,” says Bobby, pulling two mitts out of the duffel, “today, you’re gonna throw a ball around, just like a regular snot-nosed little jerk.” (Awwww, Bobby, I love you!) Watching Dean and Bobby play catch, Rufus says, “For a man who’d rather break his wife’s heart than give her a baby, you make a hell of a nanny.” “Shut up, Rufus,” says Bobby, “we need another door.” They turn around, but, despite Bobby calling him a dog with a bone, Rufus presses, “How come no kids?” “It ain’t that deep; Dad was a mean drunk, I figured I’d be just like him,” explains Bobby, “and hey, I was right, no sense passing on the legacy.” “You’re too hard on yourself,” chastises Rufus, “you’re more of a cranky drunk–you do know that what you’re trying to avoid with the eye rolls and the ? is where you’ve got to go.” Bobby insists he isn’t avoiding anything. Yeah, sure, retorts Rufus. Get off my ass, says Bobby. Rufus reminds him he’s only trying to help here–“Do you wanna get outta here or do you wanna die?” “I’m tryin’! How am I supposed to know what I don’t want me to know?” demands Bobby, opening yet another door on.

HAMMONTON REGIONAL HOSPITAL – Dean spies a car waiting outside the hospital and bangs on the window. “Dick! I know you’re in there! Come on out, you dick!” The window rolls down to reveal Dick’s smarmy face. “What, did you come here to finish the job?” demands Dean, backing away from the door, “come on, right here, right now, out in the open, you and me, Dick Roman.” People around them have already taken out their phones to record the fight. “See? Decide to jump a famous guy–ain’t all up side–you can kill me right now! You wanna see it on-line! “You should go check on that friend of yours,” advises Dick–“he can’t be feeling too frisky right about now–I’m a very good shot.” He grins. “We’re comin’ for you,” warns Dean, “and not just to hurt you–to kill you, you understand me?” “Come on, Dean, I can’t be killed,” Dick reminds him. “You’re gonna wish you could, then,” threatens Dean. Dick laughs. “That’s some conviction,” he says, “you’d really crush on the motivational circuit.” “You’re either laughin’ because you’re scared or you’re laughin’ because you’re stupid. I’ll see you soon, Dick,” promises Dean.

Bobby takes down an Old King James Bible. “What exactly are we doing now, Bobby?” asks Rufus. “Technically, you’re correct,” says Bobby, “you can’t stop a Reaper, not permanently, only their boss can do that, and we don’t want him involved–ahh, now we’re cookin’ with gas.” Bobby pulls out a cross that’s has a deep cut-out inside the bible, along with a rosary. “Sam and Dean have run up against these suckers a couple, three times, picked up a few tricks, ’nuff to slow ’em down a hair.” “All right, let’s work some mojo,” says Rufus.

Dean drinks a cup of hospital machine coffee and goes to a window where Sam waits vigil for Bobby. What did that guy want? asks Sam. An insurance mook, lies Dean, but adds, “Dick Roman was out there.” That brings Sam to his feet. “What did he want?” “Nothin’–for now,” answers Dean, “just a freakin’ staring contest, that was about it.” Sam reports that Bobby was fighting his tubes, so they removed then; Bobby’s breathing on his own–Doc says that’s the best-case scenario. “So when are they going to take the bullet out?” asks Dean. “They’re not even going to try that, not yet,” says Sam hesitantly. “What does that mean?” asks Dean, puzzled. “The word’s ‘abrading,'” I think,” says Sam. “English,” says Dean. “Cutting out the dead brain tissue,” translates Sam, “that’s if the doctor even thinks it’s worth the risk.” Sam takes Dean aside for a more private conversation. “What, talk about what?” asks Dean anxiously. “You know what,” says Sam. “We’re not having that conversation,” insists Dean. “We need to. . .” begins Sam. “He’s not gonna die,” says Dean. “He might,” says Sam. “SAM!” says Dean. “Listen, we need to brace ourselves,” says Sam. “WHY?” asks Dean. “Because it’s real,” says Sam. “What do you want to do?” asks Dean, “you want to hug and say we made it through it when Dad died? We’ve been through enough!” He walks away. Sam sits down, looks as though he’s about to pray, then presses his thumb into his hand again, trying to find that tenuous connection to Dean he seeks when Satan is trying to get too close. Sam looks like a child trying not to cry. (This scene seriously broke my heart. Thanks for the splendid acting and screw both of you for the splendid acting!)

While Rufus is concocting stuff in a pot, Bobby looks in an empty linen closet.  “I still need gold lore, hemlock and mace,” says Bobby, checking an empty cabinet. Rufus, mixing things in a bowl, says pretty basic stuff, then. Bobby sees himself report to an angry John that, instead of shooting rifles, he and Dean threw a ball around. “He’s a kid, John, they both are! He’s entitled! Yeah, I know I ain’t their dad!” He tosses the phone away, pissed off. Hearing a noise, Bobby says “What the hell?” goes into the fridge and finds a jar of blood. He paints a Devil’s Trap on the floor in white paint. He holds up the cross and recites some Latin; Rufus tosses a match in the bowl of ingredients and up pops Bobby’s Reaper, who says, “Cute–I gotta admit, first time anyone’s pulled one on me while actually unconscious.” “Get comfy,” advises Bobby. “Not so fast,” says the Reaper. “Yeah? Sorry, other business,” says Bobby ironically. “Tryin’ to help you,” says the Reaper, “you’re going to die–think you can stop it by pinning me like a bug?” “Well?” says Bobby. “You’ve seen the dark coming,” says the Reaper, “people disappearing, things going blank, look around–cell by cell, that bullet’s killing your brain–you’re running out of places to hide. So understand, this trap won’t hold forever. Because this room won’t hold because YOU are going to die.” “You think,” says Bobby. “Come with me,” urges the Reaper, “be done. You’ve earned it. Don’t fight me. Stay here. And you know the drill.” “I dunno, Bobby,” says Rufus, “you really want to get stuck? Turned into some ghost?” “I know what I’m doing, Rufus,” says Bobby. “Yeah, you’re thinkin’ you can help those boys,” says Rufus, “but how many spirits you meet in their right mind? Some hunter’s gonna cut you down.” “Whose side are you on?” asks Bobby. “Bobby,” says the Reaper, “you’ve helped. You got handed a small, unremarkable life, and you did something with it. Most men like you die of liver disease, watching Barney Miller reruns. You’ve done enough. Believe me.” “I don’t care,” insists Bobby. “Why?” asks the Reaper. “Because they’re MY boys,” retorts Bobby, looking at the child who was himself, “the only way out is through–so lead the way.” To Rufus, Bobby says, “Nice seeing you again, old friend, “thanks for the chat.” 

(Another beautiful, heart-rending scene!)

While Bobby’s mother cleans up his father’s tossed-away plate, Bobby’s drunk father orders him to get a broom. “You know why he’s like that?” Bobby’s father, drink in hand, asks his mother, “because you let him do whatever he wants.” “It’s okay,” she assures him, “I’m almost done, you just relax and have another drink.” “Don’t tell me what to do,” orders Bobby’s father. “No, wait,” protests Bobby’s mom–just before he cracks her across the face–witnessed by Bobby past and present. “Why do you always provoke people?” Bobby’s mother asks him. “Because he’s a bad kid,” answers Bobby’s father, “that’s why.” “Well that’s a load ‘a’ crap,” says adult Bobby, “who the hell were you to say?” “I’m your father–and you show your father respect!” “The day he deserves it, you drunken bully!” says Bobby, furious–“punching women and kids–is that what they called fatherhood in your day?” “You deserved it–you were nothin’ but what they called ungrateful,” says Bobby’s dad. “I WAS A KID!” shouts Bobby–“kids ain’t supposed to be grateful! They’re supposed to eat your food and break your heart! Ya selfish dick! You died–and I was still so afraid I’d turn into you, I never had kids of my own!” “Good–you break everything you touch,” says Bobby’s dad. Bobby’s mom is sobbing on the floor. “Well, as luck would have it,” says Bobby, “I adopted two boys, and they turned out great. They grew up heroes–so you can go to hell!” (Oh, Bobby, you sure did!)

Dean and Sam are told Bobby is showing signs of responsiveness–and they’re taking him up for surgery. If they want to see him, they should squeeze in there quick.

Bobby’s mother, her face bruised and cut up, is apologizing to Bobby’s father. “You say that every time,” he sneers. “Please just stop!” she pleads. “NO THIS TIME YOU LISTEN!” he roars. “Stop it!” orders young Bobby, carrying in a rifle bigger than he is. His father laughs at him. “You’re kiddin’ right? You’re not half enough man to be usin’ that thing. You leave the adults to sort this out. I will deal with YOU later.” He grabs his wife by the hair and she tries to tell her son to just go. “No, leave her alone,” orders Bobby, pointing the gun at his father, and shoots him in the head–ironically, the exact same spot where Bobby himself was shot. Singer, Senior falls dead to the floor. “Bobby, what did you do?” his mother asks in a terrified whisper–“God is gonna punish you.” “Hey, adult Bobby tells his young self, “you did what you had to do. This is where we learned that they pretty much never say thanks when we save ’em. Now go get a shove and bury the old man out behind the wood shed.” “You’ve got the only genetic case of bullet in the brain I’ve ever seen,” says the Reaper. A bright light shines outside, and Bobby turns to go. “Not so fast, Singer. He opens the door to the bright light.

Sam and Dean stare anxiously down at him. The nurse warns them that it’s time to get moving. Sam takes Bobby’s hand and thanks him–for everything. They’re about to wheel him away when Bobby comes to consciousness. “Wait, wait, wait, stop, his eyes are open,” says Sam. “Bobby!” says Dean. Bobby can’t speak, but is desperate to communicate, so they give him a marker. On Sam’s hand, he writes that series of numbers. “”Idjits,” he says, smiling, but goes flatline. “Bobby?” cries Dean.

The brothers stand outside, having a terrible sense of deja vu, as a Code Blue is called for Bobby. Will they lose him like they lost John?

Bobby remembers taking beer from his fridge, hearing Dean tell him they have a lot of Chuck Norris to get through. The Reaper is there. “Nice move, wakin’ up like that,” he says. “Motivations of mother,” says Bobby. “You know why it’s dark out there, don’t you?” asks the Reaper–“this house, it’s your last island, everything else melted by that bullet–gone–this is your last chance to come with me and move on–for your own good, Bobby, let go. They’ll be okay without ya.” “Last memory, huh?” asks Bobby. The Reaper nods. “Glad I saved the best for last,” says Bobby. “Scoot,” Dean orders Sam, sitting beside him on the sofa, “show your elders some respect.” “You scoot, asshat,” says Sam, throwing a piece of popcorn at him. Bobby gives them their beers. Dean looks in the bag of goodies. “Did we get licorice?” he demands. “No,” says Sam, mouth full, “we did not get licorice, we got good snacks, licorice is disgusting.” “I’m sorry, I did not understand that, Mr. peanut butter and banana sandwiches,” says Dean. “I stand by that sandwich,” says Sam, “nobody like licorice, it’s made of dirt(?)” “It’s a classic movie boat,” insists Dean, “right up there with popcorn!” “Popcorn? You’re out of your mind,” says Sam. “It’s like little chewy pieces f heaven!” says Dean. Bobby listens fondly to their banter until they disappear from his gaze. “Well, Bobby,” says the Reaper, “stay or go, what’s it gonna be?”

All we hear is loud ticking, which is what we’ll be left with for five weeks, you bastards!

YOU CAN’T, CAN’T KILL BOBBY!!!!!!!!!!
 

QUESTIONS:

1.  For those purists who love John, how do you feel about Bobby claiming he adopted Sam and Dean?  That he turned them into heroes?  Do you feel this was an affront to John Winchester?

2.  How much did this ep make you cry?  Me?  Buckets.  I can’t bear the thought of losing Bobby, I really can’t!

3.  I loved the way this was written.  I wasn’t confused, even though I expected I would be.  I followed the storyline easily.  Loved the humor, the banter between the brothers and most of all, the scene between Sam and Dean when they couldn’t talk about losing Bobby.  It just about killed me.

4.  The acting in SUPERNATURAL has always blown me away.  I think Jim deserves special kudos for his job here, with Steve Williams not far behind for his job as Rufus.  And I ALWAYS think Jensen and Jared are Emmy worthy, but they deserve special awards for their acting in this ep, IMHO!

5.  Poor Bobby, what a tough life he led!  His father beat him and his mother.  He killed and buried his own abusive father and I cheered when he fired that bullet.  He denied his beloved Karen what she desperately wanted kids.  The reasons were obvious, but not to her.  A demon infected her shortly thereafter and he stabbed her to death, giving him a double burden to carry as far as she was concerned.  Taking care of Sam and Dean probably gave him what little joy he got from life. 

6.  That final scene, watching Sam and Dean argue over the merits of movie candy while Bobby watched with fond, fatherly eyes, had me bawling my eyes out.  I wonder how he’s going to beat this, if, indeed, he is.  Will the surgery save him?  Can getting out that bullet make him live, or will the Reaper persevere and take our Bobby away?

7.  How feral was Dean in his encounter with DICK?  Wasn’t that a pleasure to watch, and didn’t you want to give Jensen an Emmy then and there?  I did. Just as I did watching Jared in the silent scene after he and Dean fought over whether or not Bobby was going to live or die.  Just bring those statues to Vancouver for 2011, folks!  But you won’t.  This show’s quality is overlooked more often than not.  

I don’t think I can wait five weeks to find out his fate!  I give this episode a solid 10, I loved every minute of it.  I know some folks feel Bobby HAS to die after such a marvelous send-off, but to hell with that, let Crowley come back and give him a nice deal (100 years on earth, followed by working in the easiest of hell’s back rooms).  Better yet, let Castiel return and save Bobby’s ass the way he did when Lucifer broke his neck!  At this point, I’m ready to make a deal with ol’ Crowley myself to save the Bobster.  After having him on the show for seven years, I guess I can imagine SUPERNATURAL without Bobby Singer.

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