Robin’s Rambles: “Adventures In Babysitting”

 
REO Speedwagon’s “Riding the Storm Out” plays over the opening montage. 
 
A man in a diner watches another man go off with a hooker, and he is so preoccupied, he pays little attention to the blond waitress, Marlene. He drops a tip on the table and heads out after the couple. He passes by a truck with the classic IF THIS RIG’s A ROCKIN’ DON’T COME A KNOCKIN’, but finds no one. Turns out his waitress added something to his coffee; she turns up and lets him know they are “venomous.” When he holds a knife on her, she realizes she didn’t dose him hard enough, assures him  there’s more where that came from, and knocks him out cold. “That’s for the crappy tip,” she retorts.  

In Rufus’ former home, Sam and Dean. drinking beer and hard booze, wait out two weeks of sadness, grieving for Bobby’s death. The sit, staring at each other and at nothing, and finally get to work going after Dick Roman and figuring out the meaning of the numbers Bobby left for them. 45489.
 
Newspaper and magazine clippings are tacked to the walls: Dick is growing in power. Biggerson’s recalls tainted meat. Dean frets over how long it’s been since he gave Frank the numbers; Sam asks if they should be telling people about Bobby’s death. Dean, ignoring his brother’s question, wonders if Frank is nuts or just being rude? Dean speculates that the Leviathans ate his face. Do you wanna call Bobby’s people or not? Sam finally asks. Dean doesn’t see that as being their job. Dean isn’t calling anybody; if Sam wants to, he can go right ahead. Sam doesn’t want to, either. Sam doesn’t want to, either. The phone rings; Dean refuses to get it. it’s a child, a girl who asks for Bobby, and, finding out he isn’t available, hangs up. Her father had told her to ask for him specifically. Sam is concerned that might have been a hunter’s kid; she sounded pretty scared. He has a caller ID and wants to go check on her. Frank is working on the numbers Bobby spent his last breath on, Dean reminds him, that takes priority. He tells Sam to check out Girl Scout, he’ll go see Frank.  Sam is OK with that, as long as, if Frank’s just spinning his wheels, Dean joins Sam. Dean agrees, then thanks Sam for drinking his entire beer. Sam didn’t touch Dean’s beer, his is right there. “You probably drank it without noticing,” says Sam. Right says Dean, setting down the empty, puzzled.
 
Sam goes to see Krissy, who is a cautious 14 year old. She lets him in, but makes him aware she has her finger on the 911 button of her cell phone. He tells her she can trust him as she trusted Bobby, and that Bobby is dead (I can’t believe the words)! “So you’re a salesman, too”, she says, emphasis on the false word. She explains that her father hasn’t checked in with her in five days, and Sam realizes the significance there “Just you and him, huh?” says Sam ruefully–“I know how that is–sometimes on the road, crap happens, I’ll help you track him down.” “Really?” she asks. He asks where her dad was going, and she says he had a couple of leads near Dodge City. She shows him her dad’s desk, but he requests a cup of coffee to keep her out of the way while he searches everything possible, watching for her the whole while. He hits paydirt in the closet, after pushing aside the clothes. He tells Krissy he has an idea where to start and asks to take a photo of her with her dad. He gives her a phone number and promises to check in. “Don’t say that, that’s what my dad said,” she reminds him. He gives her a half smile and leaves.
 
Dean pulls up to Frank’s small house. They go through a hilarious back and forth over which of them is a Leviathan, finally settling it by making each other cut their arms to prove they don’t bleed black goo. “We’re amongst friends here,” says Dean, holding a gun on Frank. “That’s what a Leviathan would say,” sneers Frank, holding a gun on Dean.  

To Dean’s surprise, Frank tells him Gwyneth Paltrow is a Leviathan. Dean think’s Franks been doing too much research. Frank thinks maybe they sent Leviathan Dean to come for him today. Dean offers to show him what he bleeds, and Frank is all set to shoot him to get the blood. Dean puts down his gun and cuts his arm to show off his red-blooded American. Frank tries to get out of it, but, per Dean, “Fair’s fair, douchebag,” Convinced, Frank orders him to grab his gun and follow, and keep quiet. He takes Dean in a red car to a motor home. Dean asks about the downsize. When Dean asked him to get a lead on Dick Roman, everyone was after him, and he was burned out of every IP he had. Ears on his phone, eyes on his house, Dick’s got people watching him. “You think it’s easy to see this deep into what’s real and also to be bi-polar with delusional ideation–there is no pill for my situation, sweetie pops, so yeah, best guess, the big mouths are onto me,” says Frank–the tentacles are everywhere, I’m looking at bankers, military higher ups. . .  That’s why you didn’t call me back,” guesses Dean. “Cut me some slack, you called me four days ago,” says Frank. “Four weeks ago,” corrects Dean. Frank is stunned. No, really? Days, weeks, quit busting my chops! You cool your heels, Buster Brown. I paid you 15 thousand dollars, Dean reminds him. (Where did he get all that cash? Bobby’s bank account?) I get that, says Frank. You don’t get that, says Dean, Dick Roman is every card is my hit list, those numbers have something to do with him, Bobby DIED for those numbers. I’m sorry about Bobby, I really am, says Frank, and starts to relate a story about him and Bobby in Fresno. Dean stops him cold–he doesn’t want to hear a warm, fuzzy story about Bobby from someone who barely knew him! This isn’t a friendship, Frank, I’m paying you! He thinks Dean needs a little LSD, a little Shiatsu. Dean starts to leave in a huff, but Frank stops him. He explains that, in Bobby’s brain-damaged state, he was missing a number, there should have been six, not five, and they come out to be coordinates to a parcel of land Dick Roman bought under one of his subsidiaries. They SHOULD stay away, or, if they’re stupid, go set up surveillance.

Sam speaks to a coroner about a young man found dead with puncture wounds in his femoral artery and carotid arteries. He died of blood loss. The coroner brings up a vampire, which “usually gets a chuckle,” but not from Sam. He talks to Dean on the phone and learns about Dick’s land parcel. He’s concerned Frank and Dean are going there alone. “Relax, it’s a field, not a death star,” Dean assures him. “Dick’s at a TED conference, it’s all over the Huffington Post.” “Since when do you read?” asks Sam, smiling. Dean asks about the girl. Sam doesn’t think she knows her father’s in “the life.” Sam explains about the three truckers and the one blood-free body. “Good times,” says Dean, and asks Sam to keep him posted. Frank calls from the door of the mobile home for Dean to come get into hos costume so they can scoot. Costume? wonders Dean.
 
Field – “What’s so special about this place?” Dean asks Frank. “I love a mystery,” says Frank, “now get up in that cherry picker and act like you’re fixin’ something.” They argue over why Dean has to go up, but Frank’s wearing the one that says Manager, Dean the one that says tech. Dean goes up in the cherry picker and Frank starts to raise him up, to his consternation. Dean behaved scared, which seems out of character for him, doesn’t it? Why would heights scare Dean? Frank uses binoculars to spot all the cameras hanging up in the trees surrounding the field. He orders Dean down. “They got this place wired up the wazoo,” he explains. “They’re watching right now?” asks Dean. “Just watching Cheech and Ed from Ma Bell,” he assures him teasingly. “Gonna be a little difficult to set up surveillance if there’s surveillance everywhere,” Dean reminds him. “Right–so we need to tap into theirs instead,” says Frank. Inside the mobile home, Frank works on the surveillance and observes how terrible Dean looks. “When was the last time you slept the night?” Dean tells him to just work. “It’s done, now we watch the screens,” says Frank. “You can take first watch–you’ll be no use if you can’t even keep your eyes open.” Dean is already asleep, ignoring his ringing telephone.
 
Sam leaves Dean a message that he is hunting a Vetala–Dad took one down back in the day–silver knife to the heart, twist, they’re done. They’re maladjusted lower types, like to knock a guy out, drag him home, feed slow, so if Krissy’s dad got grabbed, he might still be alive. It’d be nice to get this girl’s dad back home to her, you know. All right, I need your help, call me. 

Sam shows Krissy’s father’s picture to the blond waitress and asks if she’s ever seen him. “Might have served him the other day,” she says, and adds, “I think he went off with that girl over there.” She points through the window to the slut. “Sally” denies ever having seen the man in the photo, then sidles closer, whispering, “It’s not safe here, somewhere private.” She leads Sam between two trucks. “Something’s happening here, I’m afraid I’ll be next,” she says. “Tell me what you saw,” he says. “I don’t know what I saw,” she says, scared. He turns, knife in hand, and is attacked by the blond waitress, who forces the knife out of his hand. “Sally, run!” he yells, but she’s right there next to him, fangs bared. Sally kicks him in the knees, sending him the ground, and goes for his throat. The blond waitress has her fangs out, too. Sam lies unconscious on the pavement at their feet. 
 
Dean awakens after sleeping 36 hours. “Why didn’t you wake me?” he asks Frank. “Not your butler,” the older man retorts–come see this. He shows Dean a couple making out in a car. “You need to get out more,” Dean tells him. “Not that,” says Frank, “check out Sarah Palin.” There’s a woman on the screen in a raincoat and glasses, and she does resemble Palin. Surprise surprise, she works for Richard Roman, being a naughty, bossy little girl. “I’d like to ask for that in the non-porno version,” says Dean. “They’re getting ready to build something,” says Frank. How do they find out? “We watch,” says Frank, “patience, Grasshopper.” “Patience and me aren’t exactly on terms,” says Dean tiredly. “Then go out and kill something or whatever you kids do to blow off steam,” suggests Frank. Dean glares. “You don’t like my suggestion?” asks Frank. “You’re not in a position to give suggestions,” says Dean.  “I think you’re one tinfoil hat shy of a rubber room.” “Did I mention you look awful?” asks Frank. Yes, says Dean testily, maybe because somebody I cared about got shot in the head–and this is like shoving a rock up a hill. . .and, screw you. Frank gives him some advice he wasn’t asked for: quit. “What?” asks Dean. “You wanna keep going?” demands Frank. “I want Dick Roman on a spit,” says Dean. “You’re gonna drive yourself into the ground first,” says Frank, “good plan!” “I’m not gonna quit,” says Dean.  “It’s not even an option, I’m not gonna walk out on my brother.” “Then fine,” says Frank, “do what I did.” “What, huffs Dean, go native?–stock up on sea rations?” “No, Cupcake, what I did when I was 26 and came home to find my wife and two kids gutted on the floor–decide to be fine until the end of the week. Make yourself smile because that’s your job. Then do it again the next week.” “So fake it?” asks Dean. “I call it being professional,” says Frank, “do it right, with a smile, or don’t do it.” His eyes bore into Dean’s, challenging him. Dean’s phone rings. He listens to his message from Sam. “Oh, no, Sam, that’s not right,” he says. He gets on the phone with Krissy. Who’s this? he asks. Who’s THIS? she asks. Sam told me to call if I didn’t hear anything back from him, she explains. Dean is on red alert.
 
Creepy warehouse – Sam, neck blood-covered, awakens tied to a chair and looks around at other men in the same situation. “That ringing in your ears is from the venom,” the man sitting beside him says. It’s Krissy’s father, who notes how well Sam is handling this. “I was out there looking for you,” Sam says. “Lee Chambers, I’m a friend of Bobby Singer’s,” says Sam, “Krissy called, she’s fine, she’s just worried about you–so how do we get out of here?” “I dunno,” says Lee, “they’ll be back here pretty quickly.” “Just the two of them?” asks Sam. “Tag team,” says Lee, “one of them knocks you out, the other dumps your rig miles down the road–it’s a pretty nice system they got.” “They’ve been draining you,” observes Sam. Lee nods. “Tap you three or four times, you’re dead,” he says, “lemmee tell you–you can’t see, you can’t walk, I thought they’d kill me right off, but they don’t have to, they got nothin’ to worry about.” “How many times they fed off you?” asks Sam. “Three,” supplies Lee significantly.

Krissy admits Dean to her apartment. “Did Sam tell you where he was going?” she asks. “I’m still trying to figure that out,” says Dean, “what did you tell him?” “He checked my dad’s room,” she says, and shows him where that is. “I really don’t have time to hold your hand here,” he says. “What are you saying?” demands Krissy. “I’m saying go wait in the living room,” says Dean, “your dad may not want you to know every single thing about him.” She puts a hand on her hips and stands there, an unmovable object. Dean pushes aside the clothes and notes that everything is gone, except the corner of one map. Dean asks her where everything is. “You mean everything about the job my dad was working?” she asks. “Sam said you didn’t know,” says Dean. “Sam seemed competent,” Krissy says. (Whoa!) “So I said fine, I’ll just do what my dad always tells me to, be a regular kid, don’t say anything, stay out of the line of fire, let the adults work it out. So much for that.” “All right, hand it over,” orders Dean, “I have had a long, long week!” She points a gun at him. “All right, I get it,” says Dean, “you’re a tough kid, but I’m trying to get Sam and your Dad back.” “My dad left, and he didn’t come back,” she says, voice trembling, “Sam left, and HE didn’t come back–I give you the info, you leave, you don’t come back.” “I’m coming back,” Dean assures her. “I’m coming with you!” insists Krissy. “No,” says Dean, “hell, no.” “I’m coming,” says Krissy, using the gun for emphasis, “or you’re not going.” With a huff, he grabs the gun out of her hand. “OW!” she protests. “Now hand it over,” Dean orders. “I can’t–I burned it,” she says, “but lucky for you, I memorized it all first.” 
 
The car (from Alice – a 1969 Buick GS Sport) is speeding down the road and Krissy is gazing at Dean’s profile. She has a question for him. “I’m usually a fun guy,” he tells her, “but I’m not in the mood. –I’m neck-deep in some serious crap, and if this wasn’t a serious emergency, I would drop you off at the next mall.” “What serious crap?” she asks. “Revenge crap,” he replies, “now shut up–eat a cookie or something.” She stuffs ear buds in to listen to music. “One thing doesn’t make sense to me,” she says, “my dad’s a pretty good hunter, and your brother’s the size of a car, so how did this thing get them both?” “Vetala’s usually hunt in pairs,” Dean explains, “Sam and your dad assumed it was one thing hunting solo.” “Why did they think that?” she asks. “Because they had the wrong info,” Dean tells her, “the best available–our dad took down a loner years ago; Sam has his journal, your dad must have been going on the same facts.” “And you know different because?” she asks. “Because I hunted one that turned out to be two, couple years back,” answers Dean. “And you never told Sam?” she asks accusingly, “wow, thanks, how about sharing that with the rest of the class so we don’t all get killed?” “Sam was away at Stanford, smart-ass,” retorts Dean. “Sam went to college?” she asks incredulously, “thought you said your dad was a hunter.” “He was,” says Dean, “we were, Sam quit, went to college.” Krissy is silent. “You could too, you know, says Dean, be a hunter/pediatrician.” Krissy thinks that over.
 
Warehouse – “Hunter day, all you can eat,” quips Sally to Lee and Sam, “how’s everyone feeling, strong, silent? Fine, I don’t need much entertainment with my meal.” She moves to Lee, starts to nibble at him. “Hey, Sally, did I tell you about the Vetalas I took down in Utah?” taunts Sam–“you remind me of them, except they were so much. . .younger. I tied ’em up, not because I had to, more so I could take my time.” “You’re lying,” she accuses. “Just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed cutting up your sisters.” (Oooh, Sam, I’d forgotten about that mean streak of yours. Love to see it come out under these circumstances.) “Shut up!” she snarls,grabbing his hair, tipping back his head and goes for his throat. She sucks his blood, his eyes roll back in his head and he falls into unconsciousness. 

Krissy and Dean watch truckers walking back and forth. “Actually ever work with your dad?” he asks. “Sure,” she answers. “Not shoot cans in the woods,” he says. “I help all the time,” she says. “Right about now, your stomach should be pretty knotted up, huh?” he asks. “Not really,” she says. “Look, maybe this was a lot harder for you when you were my age.” “Aw, you think you’re a good actress,” says Dean, nastily, “you’re NOT.” “What are you talking about?” she asks. “I hate to break it to you,” he says, “but it’s all over your face–you’re scared.” “Quit treating me like I’m some girl,” she says, “I’ve been prepping for this my entire life!” “Training’s one thing,” says Dean, “doing, a whole other beast.” “Wow, you really scared me straight,” she says, “thanks, Dean.” She spots a man heading off with a woman. “Why is that woman getting into that truck?” asks Krissy. “I’m not explaining the R-rated crap to you,” answers Dean belligerently. “The FRONT of the truck, not the back, Dean,” she retorts. He follows the truck.

“All right!” says Dean, holding out his fist for her return bump. “What century is this?” she asks, “no one fist bumps anymore.” “Come ON, give it up! Good work!” he urges, still holding out and shaking his fist. “You’re a dweeb,” she says. “What the hell,” she says, when he won’t drop his insistent fist, but he grabs hers and handcuffs her to the steering wheel. “I’ve got an idea, he says, I’ll let you stay here.” “What the hell?–you jackass,” she bitches through clenched teeth. “I’m a jackass who isn’t bringin’ a kid in there, period,” asserts Dean. “I can do everything you can do,” Krissy says angrily. “I’ll bring ’em back, trust me,” Dean promises. “They’re probably dead,” she says, almost sounding like she hopes so. He slams the car door closes the turns to her. “You don’t know that,” he says. “It’s been days,” she says in despair, “probably just a pile of meat–I’ve seen it–people die, Dean–I watched my Mom get torn to shreds. Let me go in there and kill them.” (Every hunter has a story.) Dean seems to think it over, but says no, sorry. “You’re such a hypocrite,” she accuses, “how come you get to  do it and I don’t?” (What makes her consider them equals?)  “Because I’m the grown-up,” he reminds her, “give it to me.” “What?” she asks. “Your lockpick,” he says. Silently, she hands it over to him. “Thank you,” he says, and leaves the car. Krissy gives the handcuffed hand an angry shake.
 
Dean breaks into the auto parts warehouse in time to overhear Sally bending over Lee, saying, “Good thing we picked up a new one, this one is about tapped out–you wanna finish him together?” “Sure, love to,” the blond waitress answers. Dean grabs hold of a weapon and whomps Sally with it. Blondie comes rushing over to help “Not so fast,” she says, making Dean lose his knife, and she grips him around the throat until he pulls a tire iron from the rack behind him and hits her with it. Sam awakens and reacts to seeing Dean there. As Dean leans over Blondie on the floor, reaching for his knife to finish her off, Krissy runs into the warehouse, yelling, “Dad, hold on, I got you.” Sally, on the floor, grabs Krissy’s ankle, felling her. “No!” yells Lee. Sally grabs Krissy in a tight hold. “Let her go,” warns Sally, “or Little Miss Sunshine here gets it.” Dean is still holding the knife threateningly against Blondie’s throat; Sally’s fangs appear only inches from Krissy’s neck, and evil, whispery snarls come from her fanged mouth. Dean rises to his feet, knife in hand, as helpless as the two men tied up, watching what is happening. Only Krissy doesn’t seem in the least afraid.

“What were you thinkin’ bringing her here?” Lee demands of Dean, who advances on all of them. “Now drop the knife!” commands Sally. Dean does so. “She’s just a child,” he reminds her, “let her go.” “I don’t think we’ll be letting anyone go,” says Sally. “Daddy,” says Krissy in a sobby, childlike voice. “It’s okay, baby,” her father assures her, “everything’s going to be fine.”  “All right, enough with the family bonding,” says Blondie nastily, “let’s make him shut up.” She yanks back his head and goes in for a meal. “DADDY, NO!” wails Krissy–“DEAN!” “He can’t help you, no one can,” says Sally as Dean and Sam exchange wild glances, trying to convey what to do, how to handle this horrible situation. At that second, Krissy pulls a knife out of her sleeve, stabs Sally and twists the knife in the creature’s gut, saying viciously, guess I’ll have to help myself, then. Sally’s body turns to dust, an incredibly wonderful special effect.   As Krissy goes to cut the cords binding Sam and her father, Dean retrieves the knife and is all set to kill Blondie when the freed Sam takes Krissy’s knife and inserts and twists it into Blondie’s gut, rendering her into a pile of ash as well. Her mouth opens wide to reveal her fang-filled mouth before she dies.  “Bad actress, huh?” tosses Krissy at Dean, untying her father. “I take it back,” gasps Dean, bested. 
 
Hospital – Sam and Dean enter Lee’s hospital room. “I was hoping you’d stop by, I wanted to thank you,” he says. “No problem,” Sam assures him. “You saved my life, Krissy’s too,” says Lee. “Actually, she kinda saved ours,” Sam reminds him. “Don’t thank us, quit,” says Dean.  “Your daughter’s 14 years old–she’s already a hunter with a kill under her belt–I’m not trying to be a dick, but what do you think that does to her lifespan? She could still be a regular kid.” “I got into this for a reason,” Lee reminds him. “I know, your family,” says Dean, “that’s the same reason you should get out now.” “I can’t” insists Lee, “you ever know anyone who left the life?” “No,” answers Dean, “they all get killed first.” (Oh, Bobby!) “We should probably let you get some rest,” says Sam. “Yeah,” says Lee, deep in thought. 

Outside the hospital, Krissy accosts Dean. “Thanks for saying bye, asshat,” she accuses. “What, now you’re sentimental?” he asks. “No,” she says, “just wanted to tell you you’re kind of amusing for an old man.” “How did you get out of those cuffs, anyway?” he asks. “Girl’s gotta have her secrets,” she says. Bobby (sob!) pin, guesses Dean.  “You know, you could have gotten yourself killed.” “I saved your bacon,” she counters. “My point stands–but yes,” he admits. “So,” she says, “guess I’m retiring, one and done.” “Really,” says Dean, “how do you feel about that?” “Who knows?” says Krissy, “maybe I’ll go to Stanford like Sam.” She holds out her fist, Dean bumps it. “We’re so lame,” she says. “Yeah we are,” he agrees.  “Take care of yourself.”  She gives him an ‘I’ve got a crush on you’ look as he joins Sam at the car. 
 
In the car, driving away, Sam says, “Good for them.” Dean says, “It’s nice to walk away from someone and feel that they could be okay–what about you, how you doin’? You all right?” “No, I’m definitely not,” says Sam, “but, I just wanna work. Should I even ask?” “I’m fine,” says Dean. “Fine, meaning. . .” asks Sam. “You’re right, we should just work,” agrees Dean, “right? Figure out a way to kick Dick Roman’s ass. Hey, we are the professionals.” Sam puts in a tape and rolls on his side to take a nap. Traffic singing “Dear Mr. Fantasy” fills the car. Dean smiles, just like Frank taught him to do.

I love Frank as a character, but if they are hoping he will be some kind of new sub for Bobby, no way, not for this viewer!  He’s funny, and his speech to Dean was hilarious, but don’t even try to sub him in either the brothers’ lives or mine as any kind of father substitute!  NOOOOO! The realization that Bobby has truly died makes me inexorably sad. I was hoping somehow that we would return to find that a miracle surgeon had operated and Bobby was all right. No such luck.
 
I loved the interaction between Dean and Krissy; I sensed a lot of interaction and difficulty there that reminded me of what must have happened between him and Sam, similar head-butting, anyway. She had some mouth on her, didn’t she, and her ability to seem like a damsel in distress while actually being a cobra waiting to spring was nothing short of scary. Frankly, while her father might lead them out of the hunter life, I doubt Krissy will ever really be able to let it go. She KNOWS what’s out there now, and I sincerely doubt she will ever be able to let that go. If she thinks there’s a dangerous creature out there, she will feel compelled to hunt it. You can take the girl out of hunting life, but take the hunting life out of a girl like Krissy?  I very much doubt it. She’s already been bitten, no pun intended.
 
Okay, there was definitely a significance to that business with the beer that Dean accused Sam of drinking that Sam insisted he hadn’t drunk that was empty anyway. What’s that all about? Was that Bobby from beyond the grave? Dean more of an alcoholic that even he realized? Sam playing a joke on his brother? Or something more sinister and bizarre? Even Frank is having some problems of his own; he thought only days had passed when WEEKS had gone by. What’s with that? 
 
What did you think of these monsters of the week?  Tag teaming gals? Do the men work in pairs on women, or are these strictly female predators, I wonder?  
 
I really enjoyed this ep, by the way. It was lighthearted moments, especially between Dean and Krissy and Dean and Frank, nice brotherly moments for Sam and Dean, and some elements of mystery for us to ponder. Plus, is Bobby really, most sincerely dead?  I don’t want to believe it, so I won’t. I stick my tongue out at those who do, and will sit in my corner and cry.
 
Questions:
 
I give this episode a 9 because I loved Krissy and Frank and all the fun they had with Dean.  I loved the parental interchange between Krissy and Dean, but I also loved how she was the one who saved the day in the end.  What did you think of this episode, and yes, you are allowed to tell us how you feel about Bobby, how little or how much he was mentioned, and whether or not you REALLY believe he is gone forever. Sniff, sob, I’m in serious denial here.
 
Do you suspect they are trying to foist Frank on us as a sub for Bobby?  Not necessarily a father or uncle figure, but just another go-to guy for help of some kind.  They survived without someone pretty well, do they REALLY need anyone other than themselves?  Aren’t they ready to be hunters on their own two feet yet? 
 
What are your thoughts on Krissy? Yay or nay?  Do you think if Mary and John had had a daughter, she would have been just like Krissy?
 
Did the missing beer incident seem significant or strange to you?  If yes, why?  What do you think it means, if anything?
 
Any idea what Dick is doing on that land of his?  Speculation?  Wasn’t it keen how Frank figured out those coordinates?
 
Do you think Sam and Dean will just remain hunters until they are killed or die of natural old age?  At this point, is there really anything else open to them?  Do either of them believe they have any other choice in life anymore? How do you, as viewers, feel about that?  Me, I still want them to find something else to do, outside of hunting.  I still have hope that they can get out of the life and do something else that will help them lead longer, happier lives.  
 

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