Robin’s Rambles – Supernatural 7.15, “Repo Man”

Four years ago – Coeur D’Alene, Idaho – Sam opens a cabin door to a woman. “You shouldn’t have come,” he tells her. “I had to see it for myself,” she says, “all those hours, tracking, it’s one thing to study them in books. . .”  Sam grabs a knife and begins to sharpen it. A demon, tied to a chair with arm-straps, in the middle of a Devil’s trap, is being guarded by Dean, and asks, “Do I smell menopause? Well, if it isn’t the Wiccan bitch of the west! Miss Havlock, I know your the one that helped them find me.” A bloody body, covered in a sheet, lies on a table. “Not in time to save our big girl here,” taunts the demon, “but still, you get a merit badge.” “They caught you, you SOB!” she says in his face, “no more murders!–you’re going back to hell!” “Oh, Nora, Nora,” he smirks, “I’m gonna scoop you out like a pumpkin, you know that.” And he makes a scary noise at her, his eyes turning black, that sends her jumping backwards and out of the room. The demon laughs. “Your scoopin’ days are over, Gomer,” says Dean, “all you got to worry about now is us. Sam watches through the window as Nora leaves. You’re not the first demon we tracked down on this safari, says Dean. You put us over half a dozen, says Sam. “Lookin for Lilith in all the wrong places,” the demon says. You’re gonna help us with that, says Dean, holding a knife in his hands. “Things are gonna get messy,” predicts the demon, “maybe you should meet the owner of this fleshy tuneful puppy of a man–you’ll like him.” Releasing the human to speak, the young man inside, Jeffrey, pleads, “You’ve got to stop him,” Sam says, Jeffrey, is that you? We’re gonna send that demon back to hell. “Okay,” says Jeffrey tearfully, and to Dean, “Please don’t hurt me.” Jeffrey, before we let him go, the demon knows where we can find more of his kind, says Sam. We’re hunting him, all of them, says Dean, he’s not gonna give up his Rolodex easy, Jeffrey, we’re gonna have to cut into him–that means you. Jeffrey cries–those things he made me do, those women. . .he looks at the dead body and says, whatever you have to do, you do it. Sam nods. Please, begs, Jeffrey, just stop this evil piece of. . . The demon takes over again. “And on and on and on,” smirks the demon, “frankly, he can get tedious with this whole good and evil thing.” “You were right,” says Dean, “I like Jeffrey, he’s a decent guy, in fact, he just signed off on his temple.”  Dean dips the knife in holy water and cuts the demon with it, putting him in a world of pain. He screams, smoke coming from the wound. There’s more holy water, Sam and Dean take turns punching him. “She’s got other lieutenants, we already know that!” shouts Dean–“we want names.” (Punch, punch, Sam pours holy water on his face, and he screams) Finally, “HIS NAME IS MERRICK, I SWEAR! You’ll find him in New Orleans!” Dean reads the exorcism from the journal, sending the demon on his way to hell, and we cut to. . .

Back in our beloved Impala, Dean is rushing Jeffrey to the hospital, urging him not to move. Sam stayed at the crime scene to clean them out of it; no reason for them to go down for a demon’s murder. Dean helps Jeffrey out of the back seat and reminds him, no demon talk in the ER, you were mugged. Jeffrey, all bloody and barely able to stand, thanks him as he drives away.  
 
Same place and state, present day – The brothers enter room 113 of a hotel room. Dean’s cell phone is ringing, Classified Server. Gotta be Devereaux, Dean figures. Lucifer is with Sam, commenting, “Nice, kind of like a men’s room with beds.” He takes a scraping from the wall. “Avocado grime–takes years to build up a patina like this.” He tastes it. (Ewwww!)  Sam presses into his healed palm as hard as he can, making Luci go all staticky.

“What do you mean you can’t find him?” Dean is asking Frank–“it’s Dick Roman, turn on CNN–you see him at that press conference in Phoenix?–bastard’s everywhere–you sure?–no, I don’t care that they’ve infiltrated the luxury boat industry–Frank, call Kanye.” Dean hangs up, annoyed. “Frank still stumped on Roman?” asks Sam. “Yeah,” says Dean, “okay, let’s do this.” They examine some folders on the bed, all containing photos of bloody victims. “Victim profiles, same age, hair color, body type,” notes Sam, “mutilations line up exactly.” “Who would have let our demon out of the can?” wonders Dean–“he squealed his superiors, we made sure of that; he should be down under until Trumpet Day.” “Two women killed in the same two weeks,” says Sam, “same parts missing, same hunting grounds, even.” “Maybe we can take a swing at it,” suggests Dean, “but it’s the Leviathans we need to be hunting.” “Not right now, no,” says Sam, “this one’s ours, Dean, unfinished business, apparently.” “All right,” agrees Dean.

When the brothers are asleep, the police scanner goes off–“We’ve got another one.” The brother’s flash their FBI badges at the crime scene. Entering the parking garage, Dean wonders if this is the day they’ll flash their badges at a bunch of chompers pretending to be policemen. “I hear ya,” says Sam. Someone slaps them on the shoulders. “Thought you guys might show up!” says a man’s hearty voice–“Bonham and Watts, right?” “Yeah,” the brothers agree. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Detective,” says Sam, fishing for the name, “Detective, what was it? “Sutton,” supplies Lucifer in the background, leaning against the wall. “No problemo–Sutton,” says Sutton–“sad to say, case looks to be openagain.”  “Are you sure?” Dean asks.  Lucifer sticks out a forked tongue. “Same tools,” says Sutton, “same cuts, same crazy–makes sense–we didn’t catch the critter last time, did we?” No suspects? asks Dean. “Same as before,” says Sutton, “very thorough–cold-blooded.” Sam looks inside the bloodied interior of a  car. Dean thanks him. “Anytime,” says Sutton. Sam finds sulfur on the inside of the back of the car, and they realize they need to check on Havelock. 
 
Wiccan’s Web – White mail order only, herbs and talismen – Havlock warns them to watch themselves stepping over a newly painted Devil’s Trap. “I have a friend at the sheriff’s office,” she says, “I heard about all the new murders. I’m doing what I can to protect myself.” She shows Sam some old banishments she’s been translating. “These are good,” he praises. “I’ve got an affinity,” she says. “Back then, that night in that farmhouse, I was in over my head,” she admits, “I will leave all that to the pros.” “You helped track it down,” says Dean, “solid legwork.” “I knew somebody who knew somebody who knew the right number to call, she admits–and your number is not working, by the way,” she tells Dean. “We’ve had some technical difficulties,” confesses Sam, “phone issues.” “It’s a monster problem, really,” says Dean, sparking a glare from his brother. “You haven’t had any contact?” asks Sam. “From the demon?”  “No thank God,” she replies–“I have one or two things to finish in town, then I’m leaving.” “Good choice,” opines Dean. “Have you found Jeffrey yet?” she asks. “Who?” asks Dean. “The man the demon possessed, she says–the man you almost beat to death?” “Yeah, Jeffrey,” says Dean, “that poor bastard.” “Some demons tend to be sentimental, don’t they?” she asks, “always go back to the same host if they can?” “It’s a start,” says Sam. 

 
Men are seated in a circle. One man raises his hand and asks why they can’t get Cinemax–they’re grown men, they pay rent. Skinemax chortles another man in the circle. The halfway program advisers have already weighed in on that, the group leader says, bringing it up in group. . . “FINE!” says the man who brought it up. The group leader points to Jeffrey. “You have something big going on later this morning.” “That’s right,” says Jeffrey, “I’m picking her up today–I’m getting a dog, a rescue–I had to get her spayed and shots and stuff, but they said she’s ready.” “Jeffrey and I talked about this,” says the leader, “he understands that pet ownership is a privilege, not a right–he’s going to have to show the whole house that he can handle the responsibility.” “And that’s what it’s all about, right, Alan?” says Jeffrey–“handling it.” 
 
Idaho Regional Animal Shelter – Jeffrey carries his adorable dog out, apologizing for the cone of shame–but we gotta keep those stitches in. He sets her down and, walking with a limp, heads into an alley, where he is accosted by someone who holds a DKK to his throat!
 
(Is it terrible of me that I’m more fearful for the dog right now than Jeffrey?) 

Jeffrey’s attackers are Sam and Dean, the latter brandishing holy water. Convinced he isn’t possessed, they apologize. “We just had to make sure,” says Dean. “What?” the terrified man says–“that I peed my pants today?” The dog whimpers. “You scared my dog,” accuses Jeffrey. “We did not want to do that,” says Sam. “Listen, Jeff, we gotta talk,” says Dean. Up in his shabby little room, Dean looks around and says, “This is. . .”  “I know what it is,” says Jeffrey defensively. “I know it must have been hard,” says Sam. “Do you even listen to yourself? sneers Lucifer. Defiantly, Sam presses his thumb into his palm. “Oh, don’t bother,” says Luci and disappears. The dog whimpers. “What do you guys want from me?” asks Jeffrey. “We’re pretty sure the demon that possessed you is back,” reveals Dean. “What?–what do you mean?–you exorcised him!” says Jeffrey, upset–“right?–he’s supposed to be in Hell.” He rises to his feet. Sam urges him to sit down, trying to calm him. “I don’t understand,” says Jeff, near tears. “Three more women have been murdered in the past two weeks,” explains Dean. “No, no,” moans Jeff. “Same vic profiles, same forensics, scene dusted with sulfur,” says Dean, “gotta assume that it’s him.” “We’re here now, okay?” says Sam, “so if he comes after you, we’ll nail him, just like we did last time.” “What was her name, the last one he killed?” asks Jeff. “Anna Paxton,” they tell him. “Marjorie Willis, she’s the next one on the list,” says Jeff, “The demon used to recite it all the time, like a grocery list, he burned it in my head, the names of all the women he was going to kill.” “He already had his victims chosen?” asks Sam. “And out in a line, and in order,” says Jeff. “But why?” asks Dean–“demons aren’t usually into the obsessive serial killer crap–you know, they’re just more just kind of all-around evil.  Why would he do this? Sam shakes his head. “He said it was his job,” supplies Jeff. Someone knocks at the door. Jeff puts a quieting finger to his lips and goes to answer. It’s Alan, wanting to know if Jeff’s guests signed in. “I’m sorry, Alan,” says Jeff, “they’re friends of mine from my days back at the post office–I didn’t know they were coming.” “So what do you think?” asks Sam. “I think we really messed this poor SOB up,” answers Dean, “look at him–he’s got a state-assigned dad.” “It’s okay, just get them to sign in when they sign out,” says Alan. Jeff nods. Alan smiles and leaves. Sam stands and tells Jeff he’s going to put Marjorie under surveillance while Dean stays here with Jeff, just in case. 
 
Library – Standing over his shoulder, Lucifer says, “You’re right, we just don’t read anymore. Marjorie Willis, librarian, indoor gardening enthusiast, our demon’s next organ donor.” Sam sits at a table, looking past Lucifer at Marjorie, who’s sitting at a desk. “Come on, Sam, talk to me, it’s been months,” complains Luci. Sam is determinedly silent.

Jeff’s room – While stroking his new dog, Jeff is telling Dean, “When you left me at the ER, I had three smashed fingers, five teeth out, a broken wrist, nose, cheekbone, collarbone, I had to get 160 stitches–mugged! The doctor on duty said it looked like I got caught in the Spanish Inquisition.” “We’re the good guys,” Dean reminds him. “They patched me up, mostly,” Jeff says, “but I lost my job, health insurance, I just started to drink, drift, and I got lost, had some kind of mental break, and I started to talk about what happened.” “Aw, man,” says Dean sympathetically–“never tell–never, never.” “I know that now,” says Jeff, “believe me.”  “So let me guess,” says Dean, “drunk tank to psych eval to 72 hour forced hold to a nice long stay at an institution of their choice.”  “Yes,” says Jeff softly. “It’s happened to friends of mine,” says Dean. “For a long time, I didn’t care,” says Jeff, “the truth was more important than where I was; I was in no shape to cope with the outside world.” “You got out,” says Dean, “you’re pullin’ it together.” “And now the demon is back,” says Jeff. “Yeah,” says Dean, “and I’m sorry, man, I mean it, about all of it.” “You saved my life,” says Jeff, “I owe you for it–I know that–I owe a lot of people for getting even this far–I. . .crap! If he isn’t already circling the next woman, then I think I might know where he is!–he had this special place where he kept souvenirs. . .where he nested.” “Why didn’t you tell us this?” asks Dean. “I didn’t want to go!” cries Jeff. “You don’t have to go, we’ll handle it,” Dean assures him. “I DO, I have to,” insists Jeff. 
 
“Average annual rainfall, Hackberry, Texas,” reads Luci aloud, tossing the book aside. Sam sees Marjorie wheeling a cartload of books away. Two people begin banging their heads into the table at which they’re sitting, bloodying their faces. Soon, EVERYONE in the library sitting at a table is doing the same–or appears to be. Sam presses his thumb hard into his palm, willing away the grotesque images, and everything returns to normal. “Come on,” Sam, says Luci petulantly, “pay attention to me, I’m bored!” Sam spots a suspicious-looking guy walking by. “Civil War buff?” suggests Lucifer. Sam leaves the table to check it out. 

 
Dean and Jeff pull up somewhere and leave the dog in the back seat with some jerky to eat. “That thing’s not gonna pee in here, is it?” Dean asks. “I dunno,” replies Jeff. Dean isn’t happy. “So we get you this far and he shuts your lights out,” says Dean. “For some reason, he’s very secretive about this place,” says Jeff, “but after a while, he’d only cover my eyes when we walked in.” “Okay–think you can get us back there?” asks Dean. 

Overhearing what could be someone in pain, Sam instead comes across Marjorie getting some making out action with the mysterious stranger in the stacks.
 
“Red door, down the hall,” instructs Jeff, following behind Dean, who is leading with his flashlight. “Yeah, there is,” reports Dean, taking out the DKK. “This must be it,” says Jeff. It appears to be a boiler room, the windows covered with all sorts of religious symbols. Dean pushes Jeff to one side. “Stay here, don’t move,” Dean instructs him. He finds a man chained to a chair and gagged. He shines his flashlight back on Jeff, who gazes back at him, doe-eyed and innocent. “I’m gonna get you out of here,” he assures the tied-up man, beginning to work on the chains binding him. The man begins to scream under his gag, trying to warn him. Of what? That Jeff had appeared behind him and is injecting him in the neck with one big-assed hypodermic needle! 

 
(I had a bad feeling almost from the get-go that Jeff was already possessed. I’m not even sure if I’m right about that, but something is obviously bad here.) 

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