Far Away Eyes’ Review: “Supernatural” 10.3 “Soul Survivor”

What makes disease such a frightening thing—even in some of our more modern and sanitized countries—is that it can adapt. At every turn, we watch Demon Dean adapt to what Sam is doing. Any tactic that fails is flung aside. Begging to be let go to live his life as he sees fit is abandoned for taunts and dark truths being exposed. When that doesn’t stop Sam from injecting more sanctified blood into him, he decides to escape to kill Sam.

Could it be that he is adapting yet again? Demon Dean being cured mirrors the earlier moment when Castiel’s grace was replenished with yet more stolen grace—a temporary fix at best. As Demon Dean is administered another shot, we see him fight back, and then the blackness of his eyes shatters to reveal the real Dean that had been locked inside all along.

Disease is hard to deal with because it adapts. News reports about the overuse of antibiotics and other medicines prove that while these may kill the majority of a virus or bacteria, it does not kill all—and those that survive learn to be immune. Is it possible that Demon Dean has adapted—or that he’s like cancer, merely gone into remission? Is it possible that, like Castiel’s grace being replaced for a temporary fix, that this isn’t the last we’ll see of the disease?

After all, Dean still has the Mark of Cain, seen clearly as they inject him with the blood. As much as Demon Dean was disease personified, brought to the surface and unleashed upon the world, the true disease is the Mark still etched onto Dean’s skin. Even Castiel knows this to be true—that the problem still remains. If Dean were to die again, it’s possible that the Mark would reawaken Demon Dean. It’s possible, that over time, it’ll corrupt Dean again—-and this time it may adapt so that Dean need not die to return to the diseased version.

It’s also clear, in the aftermath, that this experience has affected Dean. He knows what happened. He remembers what his demonic self did. Demon Dean didn’t just ravage the world around him. He didn’t simply kill Lester and others. He did more than beat down Cole. He also ravaged Dean himself. Dean is left with the mess left behind. He has to reconcile the knowledge that he nearly killed his brother while turned into this monster.

Like many after a bout with a terrible disease, he feels discombobulated—seen as we watch him sit in his room, taking it all in. As he picks up the same pictures Sam looked at earlier, we can see him searching for the life that he had before this disease entered his body and changed him for the worse. Can he go back? In his conversation with Castiel, we see Dean question if Sam wants a “divorce.” He’s exhibiting the fears that his disease will push away his loved ones—that it will spell the end of relationships. It took away so much already—can it finish its job and take away the most important person in Dean’s life?

Dean has to know that this happened because the Mark demanded it. The Mark of Cain was born for one purpose: Lucifer’s. It was born in a moment of fratricide—no matter what Cain truly intended when he slew Abel. It corrupted Dean, infecting him with its disease until it became personified. It seeks its own purpose—follows its own path. And so, Dean has to live with the awful truth that this could happen again. This knowledge is almost worse for Dean than the disease itself.

It’s yet another reason why disease is so frightening—and so powerful over our own imaginations.

But what of those that are left to care for the diseased? What of those that the infection itself? What does this metaphor say about them?

Sam has spent the weeks since Demon Dean disappeared with Crowley, doing everything he can to piece a trail together—he’s done terribly desperate things that have cost other people dearly—and he’s struggled with asking Castiel to help him. He’s on the outside looking in at this—and it scares him. Anyone who has ever cared for a loved one that is terminally or catastrophically ill knows how Sam feels here: helpless.

Yet, in “Soul Survivor,” Sam can finally do what he’s wanted to do since Metatron stabbed his brother—if not farther back: save his brother. And that’s just what he intends to do.

To show the metaphor of disease, we begin the episode with Sam in a doctor’s outfit. The setting is rather sterile—being a hospital and all. The white outfit is pristine. It transforms Sam momentarily into the doctor he’ll have to be once he gets back to the Bunker. This image hits with subtle impact. We’re watching Sam pretend once again to be something he’s not—while seeing something we see so often in footage of hospitals: the clinical treatment of disease.

In this case, he’s asked a priest to bless some human blood. Clearly, using his own might not be enough. He has no idea how many injections will be necessary for Demon Dean. It’s a clue, however, seeing him in the sterile white, that Sam’s not so much fighting his brother, he’s fighting the disease that has replaced him. It’s also in the white cooler marked “human blood,” and the syringes Sam will use. Medical tools will be his weapon here.

This clinical treatment continues as we watch Sam enter the Bunker’s dungeon. He quips to the strapped in Demon Dean, “For what it’s worth, I got your blood type.” He methodically takes out the blood and the syringes, focusing in on the task at hand so he can do what he needs to in order to cure his brother. Any distraction from that and he may waver or fail. It even means deflecting anything Demon Dean says and does to stop him.

Demon Dean retorts, “You know I hate shots,” and Sam replies with thick emotion, “I hate demons.”

He shoves the needle in deep, injecting the purified human blood as required. The first difficult step has been taken. Now he only has to wait for it to work. Only, instead of becoming emotional or moved, Sam has to watch in horror as his brother starts to snarl in agony. He watches the bloom of terror blossom over Dean’s face. It makes him wonder just what he’s done.

Sam falls into the same pitfalls all care givers do when helping or caring for a sick loved one. He feels guilt, worry, and grief every time he sees Dean in pain. He doubts himself and what he’s doing—is this the right thing? Is this going to work? What if he’s doing more harm than good? Sam has to deflect what the horrible disease not only does to his brother—he has to deflect as much as possible everything it says. When Demon Dean tries to nudge him into a word match, he simply declares, “That’s not even the real you I’m talking to.”

Sam knows this isn’t his brother—the thing strapped in that chair just isn’t Dean. And he’s right. It’s the disease that has ravaged his brother. Since it will do and say anything it must in order to survive, Sam must draw upon all of his deep reserves.

But it won’t be easy.

He’s stunned, scared, and saddened when he sees Dean start to scream in pain. The look of terror on his brother’s face—even if it’s Demon Dean at that moment—makes him question. It stabs into him deeply, almost worse than what his brother’s become. What he’s doing is causing great pain clearly—but he knows that the alternatives are far far worse. It’s either leaving his brother as he is—a demon—or killing him if he can.

The more he sees Dean in pain, the more he doubts—and it doesn’t get any easier when Demon Dean taunts him with the most painful of words. We see Sam crack, nearly breaking down as Demon Dean snarls, “You never had a brother!”

And yet, we also see Sam find a way to power through this—he knows this isn’t Dean talking. He knows that he can’t let the disease push him around this way. He must keep going and find a way to let what this monster says roll right off of him—but it’s so hard when the words are being spoken by the voice he knows so well. He tells Dean, his emotions high, “No. No you don’t. You don’t get to quit. We don’t get to quit in this family. This family is all we’ve ever had!”

In a way, we can see that he’s saying this as much to the Dean he knows is trapped underneath this demonic beast as he is to himself, finding the strength to not quit.

To further his problem, the treatments continue to make Demon Dean scream in agony, and Sam needs someone to hold him up. He needs reassurance that he’s doing the right thing. And so, he calls Castiel, informing him of how this cure is working. He tells Castiel, “I could be killing my brother.” And the angel, dealing with his own fading grace issues, tells him he may have no choice, making Sam crumble against the wall to whisper yet again, “killing my brother.”

If he can’t get the strength to continue this way, he’ll take a step back. For most care givers of anyone facing a terminal illness, the grieving process is ongoing and begins long before their loved one is gone. They grieve for the time before the disease. They grieve for the time they have left. They grieve for the time that they’ll never have once the inevitable comes.

We see this as Sam enters Dean’s room. He’s been grieving for weeks now—for the brother that died in his arms. We can tell that he’s gone into this room many times since that happened, looking over all the various items left exactly as Dean left them—half eaten pie, notes for various hunts—and family pictures that meant so much to the elder Winchester.

We can imagine that Sam has done this so many times in order to feel close to Dean—the real Dean. We can see him sitting on Dean’s bed, taking in the room, and letting his brother’s things ground him. Since he can’t simply turn to the one person that he’s always counted on—the one person he’s always seen as his north star, he’ll have to settle for second best. He’ll have to settle for immersing himself in Dean’s things.

And yet, he’s here because he’s caught between wanting to do what he must in order to honor Dean’s dying wish and giving in to the words his “brother” says now. Dean had told him, before he died, “The Mark. It’s making me into something I don’t want to be.” Sam can understand that. He didn’t want to be the leader of the demon army once upon a time. He didn’t want to be Lucifer’s vessel. He didn’t want to be soulless. Sam gets it. What Dean’s become is the last thing Dean ever wanted.

But the creature in the dungeon only says that he doesn’t want to be cured. He says it over and over—forcefully.

It leaves Sam at a crossroads. He must decide if he’s to continue the cure or kill this demonic version of his brother. It’s not an easy decision to make—and no one will envy him. Either way will be a difficult road.

But, as we watch him glance through the photos—of their mom and their dad, of the two of them with Bobby—and of them together in happier moments, we see a fresh resolve bloom. His grief has allowed him to dig deep and find the reserves he needs in order to face down the disease that he’s left chained in the dungeon. Rather than focusing on what he’s lost, Sam focuses on why he’s doing this. It reminds him of what he shares with his brother—and that if he should succeed that he may have that yet again. It gives him the hope that he so desperately needs in his darkest of hours. And so, he won’t let that monster parade around in Dean’s body and do unspeakable and terrible things. Instead, he’ll stick to his plan of “save my brother or die trying.”

Unfortunately, Demon Dean has other plans. Sam arrives to find his brother no longer in the chair. As he makes his way around the Bunker, trying to outwit and trap Demon Dean, he’s told that what he was doing led to this moment. Demon Dean shouts, “All that blood you pumped into me to make me human well the less demon I was the less the cuffs worked and that Devil’s Trap well I just walked right across it.”

If Sam is to survive and finally administer the doses needed to cure Dean, he’ll have to think faster than a disease can adapt. He quarantines the Bunker, turning on the alarm system that will lock it down. To further slow it down and confine it, Sam hopes to trap Demon Dean into a room until he can either do what he’s been trying to avoid—killing his brother—or wrestling somehow the beast back into the chair.

Demon Dean has no problem with stalking him—and just in the nick of time, Sam dodges the blow meant to smash in his head. With one graceful motion, he ducks and then raises the demon killing blade to Demon Dean’s neck. He’s faced with the awful moment. He will have no choice but to kill his brother—and yet he just can’t. Even with the cold blade at his brother’s throat and Demon Dean cajoling him into doing it, he pulls the blade away.

It’s almost his undoing.

If not for Castiel’s intervention, he would have ended up dead or worse.

With the angel’s help, he can now administer the last doses necessary. But there’s a nagging at the back of his mind. There’s the concern about doing the right thing. Castiel informs Sam that Dean may have found this new version of himself easier. He tells Sam that “Well, I can see his point. You know, only humans can feel real joy but also such profound pain. This is easier.”

He watches in anxiety as his brother struggles against the cure—and then he sees his brother’s eyes go from pitch black to green—the black shattering and fading away to reveal the north star he thought he’d forever lost. Warmly, he tells his returned brother, “Welcome back, Dean.”

Sam is simply overjoyed to have his brother back, and choses to set aside lingering doubts—and the new ones Castiel raises. He wants to get Dean a big greasy dinner and get drunk. He wants to take a moment and find release from the grief and the anxiety and the stress it took for him to yank his brother’s “lame ass from the fire.” Only Castiel reminds him that one problem remains: the Mark of Cain.

Anyone who has seen someone go into remission or have a chronic disease stabilize knows that the next bout with the disease is around the corner. At any time it could strike, and the battle just so hard fought can and will begin anew. Sam knows this, too. He may have “cured” Dean here, but even he knows that this was really only the first round. There’s still problems to solve. There’s still the fear that the disease he just beat back will return—and perhaps much more voraciously next time. Sam knows this—and yet he’s simply too tired to face it so soon after the exhausting battle he’s just fought.

He tells Castiel, “You know what, Cas. I’m beat, man. One battle at a time, you know? So I’m just gonna grab my brother some cholesterol. And then I’m gonna get drunk.”

That next battle will have to wait another time—and in the meantime, Sam’s going to relish every moment he has with Dean.

Erica Carroll puts in a moving performance as Hannah. She gives the angel a gentleness yet shows her steel as she confronts Castiel repeatedly over his condition. Carrol conveys well that Hannah does indeed care for the rebel angel. It’s written all over her face and in her body language. She keeps pushing, gently at first, trying to get Castiel to see her side of the argument. There’s a sadness in Carrol, too, as she shows us Hannah’s grief at watching her friend slowly die. Hannah isn’t a push over, however, and when she’s told yet again by Castiel that they must remain focused, her angry retort, “I’m clear on my priorities—and yours,” captures everything the angel is feeling in that moment. It’s in how she delivers the line. During the fight with Adina and the chaos that breaks out with Crowley’s arrival, we see Carrol’s Hannah step back, observing. She captures the angel’s anxiety as she watches the King of Hell force grace upon her friend. We can see it in her shocked expression. She had wanted Castiel to perhaps do something like this, but seeing the brutality of someone else doing it to him seems to rattle the angel. Carrol makes that clear in her hesitant walk to join them and how Hannah glances between Crowley and Castiel. Now that Castiel’s been restored temporarily, how else will she assist her friend and can she convince him to make that deal with Metatron after all?

Mark Sheppard gives us a conflicted Crowley—one trying to get back into the swing of ruling Hell while longing for the Dean he created and now seeks to destroy. There’s times when we can sense that Crowley’s almost bored with the mundane tasks of ruling. Before his time locked in the Bunker or with Demon Dean, we can be sure that Crowley enjoyed all the ins and outs of contracts and paperwork. It made him happy to see Hell running smoothly—but now we can sense that he’s lost that enjoyment. Sheppard shows it best in how he sits on Crowley’s throne, paging through documents that he barely glances at. He even goes as far as to say, “You’re guilty of something which I won’t tolerate whatever it was.” And yet, under that boredom, Sheppard gives Crowley a wistful air. As he succumbs to another flashback to his time with Demon Dean, we can sense that he wishes he could go back to doing that rather than listening to all the underling demons bring their problems or disposing of Abaddon traitors. The way Sheppard shows us this makes us question his other actions—why is he so bent on getting rid of Demon Dean when he clearly wishes he could spend more time with him? Any intruding on these flashbacks, Sheppard shows Crowley’s annoyance with witty barbs and pointed looks delivered with the panache that marks the character. When we see him learn about Castiel’s predicament, it almost seems as if he’s indignant with his minion for insinuating he’d kill Castiel. There’s a touch of concern on his part, too—confirmed when we see him arrive to save Castiel by stealing Adina’s grace. Sheppard makes sure to downplay any actual concern the King of Hell may have had for the angel, but sells it well that he wants the angel alive for his purposes—in this case saving Dean. The way Sheppard plays the King of Hell in this episode leaves us to question all of his actions and all of his motives. We can’t put our finger on just what game he’s playing on the Winchesters lately—but we can certainly tell that there’s much more than what we see on surface level. As we get deeper into the season, we’re left to wonder just what Sheppard’s Crowley will do next—and how it may shape the story left to unfold.

Misha Collins makes our hearts ache in “Sou Survivor.” The angel we’ve known for so long is slowly fading away before us, and Collins captures the sheer enormity of the inevitable well. He makes Castiel seem weary, even when he’s simply sitting there in the car. The way his shoulders slump, Collins shows us that not only is Castiel ill and dying, he’s feeling the weight of the world on his back. He wants to rush to help Dean as fast as he can, and yet he can’t. Collins shows us that Castiel is pushing himself far too hard, asking too much of the grace left to him. And in the way he tries to convince Hannah to accept the truth about his situation, Collins makes those lines both gentle and clinical all at once. He isn’t going to sugar coat things, but he also wants to make it easier for Hannah. Collins makes us sympathize with Castiel then—we know just as he does that this is a terminal illness. There’s nothing short of killing another or dealing with a devil in angel’s clothing that will save him now. When we see him beat down by Adina, Collins shows us that Castiel’s lost what strength he had. He falls limp, he barely raises his arms to fight back, and we can see the look of defeat clearly written on his face. After he’s restored, Collins conveys a familiar Castiel, one with the majority of his power returned. It’s shown best in his iron grip of Demon Dean. The gentle way Collins delivers his lines with both Padalecki and Ackles in the aftermath gives us insights into the shifting of Castiel’s perspective yet again. We’re left to wonder, now that he’s restored for the moment, how he’ll handle his own brushes with emotion. What role will Castiel have to play going forward?

Jensen Ackles pulled double duty in “Soul Survivor” as both the chilling Demon Dean and as the episode director. Even when he’s tied to the chair within the Men of Letter’s dungeon, Ackles gives Demon Dean a powerful presence. He may be immobilized, but we can see all the gears clicking inside his head all through how Ackles glances around the room, the way he moves his arms in the restraints, and how he shifts his body. He conveys that Demon Dean’s simply waiting for that moment to break free—and he know that he will in a matter of time. Ackles also shows us all of Demon Dean’s anger and desperation. Sure, he’s taunting Sam cruelly, picking at old and new wounds alike, but Ackles makes it clear that Demon Dean is fighting for his own survival. He’ll say or do anything if it means he gets to remain just as he is. We can see, in how Ackles delivers his barbs, that he’s looking for the one thing he can say that will finally make Sam let him go or quit. When that doesn’t work and he finally has his opportunity to break free, we see Demon Dean become his most terrifying. As he gracefully stalks the halls, we see Ackles capture all of Demon Dean’s agility and beauty. His figure may be a dealer of death, but he’s sleek in all of his motions—calmly willing to stalk his prey. As he finally finds Sam, we see him turn up his anger, taunting Sam as he smashes the door between them. Ackles makes the line, “You act like I want to be cured. Personally, I like the disease,” cut deep and send shivers down our spines. As we see him endure the cure, Ackles conveys the pain that Demon Dean is enduring. When he gets the shots, left alone just before breaking free, Ackles shows it in little pants and struggles against his bonds. After he’s cured, Ackles shows us the Dean we’ve known for so long—remorseful and the lost little boy hiding inside the agile hunter. But Ackles didn’t simply tell us Dean’s story through his acting. He also captured it in his direction, giving us little touches that enhanced the story beautifully. Ackles made use of lighting here brilliantly, making all the soft lighting of the Bunker dungeon seem a bit brighter to illuminate the Devil’s Trap painted on the floor. This use of lighting also allowed for shadows to play—particularly on Dean’s face as he endured the cure or taunted Sam. As Demon Dean would look down, Ackles made sure that the light cast on him in such a way to hide his face in deep shadow, adding to the dark aspect of his lines. His focusing the camera on Sam as Dean tells him about Lester allowed for the story to hit its biggest impact—on one hand we can see the bound Demon Dean telling Sam with no remorse what happened—and on the other we can see each and every word stab into Sam. When it came to the cat and mouse game between Sam and Dean, Ackles makes use of all the camera angles to show each aspect of the Bunker, making the setting just as much part of the story as the brothers themselves. We saw it go from the safest place on earth to the most dangerous as we watched Dean stalk Sam throughout. For the scenes outside the Bunker, Ackles also managed to make use of light and angles to tell the story. We see this in the gas station as we see Hannah walk through the neatly stocked shelves only to notice the sheer quiet. The focus of the upturned coffee cup gives us our first clue that something is wrong. As we see Adina attack and then Crowley come in to the rescue, Ackles makes sure to capture these with great angles focusing on Adina turning and Crowley making his quick slice to release her grace. Taking that from the side rather than from behind Adina or Crowley gives us the sense of horror at what we’re seeing—because next Crowley stabs her in the heart. Ackles has now directed a handful of episodes, and each time we can see him improve just a bit more on the shots he gets to tell us the story. “Soul Survivor” is no exception. He managed to pull out the emotional beats of his actors—and himself—and set a great atmosphere to match. It makes us look forward to the next time Ackles goes behind the camera—just as long as we get an equally matching performance in front of it.

Jared Padalecki continues to wear Sam’s heart—and ours—on his sleeve in “Soul Survivor.” He’s very much the little brother we’ve come to know over the years, and we can see it in every action Sam takes and in every word he speaks. Despite his large frame, we can see the little boy yearning for his big brother hiding inside. Padalecki captures all of Sam’s desperation as he finally faces down the demonic version of his brother. We can tell that he’ll do whatever it takes to restore his north star. And yet, he’s not impervious to some of the taunts and truths called out by Demon Dean. Padalecki, facing us instead of his “brother,” shows how heartbroken Sam is as he’s forced to hear his own sins during his frantic search for his brother. The callous manner in which he convinced Lester to summon the crossroad’s demon shows us a darker streak in Sam—and Padalecki shows us that best when we see him snap at Lester to speak the Latin correctly. Padalecki also shows us how Sam’s worn with guilt upon learning the man’s ultimate fate. His shoulders sag, his face falls in remorse, and his voice trembles slightly as he delivers his lines. And yet, we see him also pull upon Sam’s steel, knowing he can’t let this version of his brother steer him away from his goal. As we see the treatments start to affect Demon Dean, we see genuine fear written all over Sam’s face. His frantic call to Castiel, telling him that he might be killing his brother resonates. In this emotional moment, we can see Sam start to crumble a moment, grieving for his brother all over again while being the one that could possibly kill him yet again. Padalecki also shows all of Sam’s cunning well in the cat and mouse game as he evades Dean throughout the Bunker. Even with the sling—a genuine injury—Padalecki manages to show us that it doesn’t slow Sam down when faced with the almost insurmountable odds of surviving his now demonic brother. He is just as graceful and agile as he slinks around the corners, peering around door frames, and sneaking from room to room. There’s a beauty in the almost seamless motion Sam makes as he ducks Dean’s hammer at the last moment only to turn and put the demon killing blade to Dean’s throat. If it wasn’t a life and death situation, we could almost take the moment to be a sparring exercise between the two brothers—an example of their complimentary skills and talents coming together in a masculine form of dance. Once Dean seems to be cured and restored to his normal self, Padalecki conveys all of the relief and joy Sam feels with his warm, “Welcome back, Dean.” And yet, when faced with Castiel’s warning, we can hear in Padalecki’s voice the fatigue at facing the next battle that might be necessary to save his brother. His best scene, however, has to be the one in Dean’s room. Despite Dean being physically down the hall, we can see grief etched all over Sam’s face as he looks around the room—left just as his brother left it. Padalecki gently picks up the left over pie, glances through random notes jotted down about a case, and then sits down with family photos. Looking through them, we can see equally the pain Sam feels at possibly killing his brother and the resolve to do whatever he must in order to save Dean from becoming less of the man Sam sees in those pictures. Padalecki didn’t need to say a word to do this. We can feel it deeply just when we look at him. Padalecki continued to capture beautifully our feelings about Dean as the episode progressed—now that he has Dean back, just what other struggles await the younger Winchester?

Best Lines of the Week:

Dean: You act like I want to be cured. Personally, I like the disease.

Crowley: Why can’t you people just sit on clouds and play harps like you’re supposed to?

Sam: This is me yanking your lame ass from the fire.

Sam: No. No you don’t. You don’t get to quit. We don’t get to quit in this family. This family is all we’ve ever had!

Crowley: It’s Hell. You wait. It’s what you do.

Sam: Welcome back, Dean.

Next week, Sam and Dean are reunited—and on the hunt for werewolves.