Sheriff’s office – Deputy Linus hands Sam the Luther Garland file. Noticing Dean hanging back, looking a bit loopy, Linus asks, “Is he drunk?” “No,” says Sam firmly, even after Dean winks at Linus, “according to this, Luther Garland’s cause of death was physical trauma–what does that mean?” “It happened 20 years ago, before my time,” says Linus. Sam asks to speak to the sheriff, but he’s out sick today. Sam orders him to have the sheriff call him at the Bluebird. Sam takes the file and marches out. Dean, who had been studying his hand, tells Linus, “You know what? You’re awesome!” “Thanks,” says Linus, smiling big time. “You, too, I guess.” Sam returns and drags his brother away. The intercom barks, it’s the sheriff: “Who was that?” Linus explains it was the FBI agents, and they took the Garland file. Inside his office, Sheriff Britton is scrubbing the bloody mess inside his arm with steel wool! He slips a bullet into his gun and sees his reflection in the trophy case, which warms him: “They know what you did, and I’ll make you pay!” His reflection laughs evilly at him.
Peaceful Pines Assisted Living Facility – Dean frets over their fake FBI badges; what if they get busted? They could go to jail? Sam shushes him, orders him to calm down and take a deep breath, but none of it works on Dean’s nerves. “Don’t scratch,” Sam reminds him. In the deserted cafeteria, they meet John Garland, Luther’s brother, who asks to see their FBI badges. This further unnerves Dean. As Garland studies them, Dean says, “Those are real. Obviously.” Sam clears his throat warningly, but Dean blathers on, “I mean, who would pretend to be an FBI agent? That’s just nutty!” Sam kicks him. Garland hands back the badges. “What do you want to know?” he asks. Upon hearing that the cause of death listed is physical trauma, Garland says he doesn’t agree, but who cares what an old man thinks? Sam assures him they just want the truth about his brother–please. Garland takes his brother’s badge and looks at his photo. “Everybody was scared of Luther,” he says. “He was too big, too mean-lookin’, just too. . .different.” We see flashbacks of this giant man intimidating everyone in his path, except Jessie O’Brien. “Didn’t matter if he was the kindest man I ever knew. . .didn’t matter that he never hurt no one.” Luther takes a kitten out of a box and cuddles it, perhaps the ghost of the one that terrified Dean. Beginning to cry, Garland continues: “A lot of people failed Luther. I was one of ’em. I was a widower, with three young’uns, and I told myself there was nothin’ I could do.” Sam shows Garland the drawing found at the mill. “Jessie O’Brien,” says Garland–her man Frank killed Luther.” “How do you know that?” asks Sam. “Everybody knows,” says Garland. “They just don’t talk about it.” Flashback to Jessie sitting at a desk at an ancient computer, Luther handing her a pencil she’d dropped in his meaty paw. “Jessie was a receptionist at the mill. She was always real nice to Luther, and he had a crush on her. Frank didn’t like it, and when Jessie went missing. . .Frank was sure Luther had done something to her. Turns out the old gal killed herself. Frank didn’t know that. Flashback to a scene in which Frank enters the mill to find Luther sitting at a desk behind which hang many drawings of Jessie. Frank strikes Luther in the head with the butt of his gun and ties him to the back of his truck with a length of chain around his neck. “They found Luther with a chain wrapped around his neck,” says Garland, “he was dragged up and down the stretch outside that plant until he was past dead.” “O’Brien was never arrested?” asks Dean. “I screamed to every cop in town,” says Garland. They wouldn’t look into Frank, he was the pillar of the community. My brother was just a damn freak.” “You must have hated Frank O’Brien,” says Sam. “For a long time,” agrees Garland, “but life’s too short for hate, son. Frank wasn’t thinkin’ straight–his wife had vanished, he was terrified. It’s a damn shame he had to put Luther through the same, but that’s fear–it spreads and spreads.”
Exiting the facility, Dean says, pointing to his arms, “Now I know what these are–road rash–and I’m guessin’ Luther swallowed wood chips when he was bein’ dragged down that road.” “Makes sense,” agrees Sam, now speaking to his brother across the Impala, “you’re experiencing his death in slow motion.” “Not slow enough,” says Dean, “let’s say we burn some bones and get me healthy.” When Sam reluctantly tells him it won’t be that easy, Dean wants to know WHY? “Luther was road-hauled–his body was ripped to pieces,”explains Sam. “He was probably scattered all over that road. There’s no way we’re going to find all the remains.” “You’re kidding me,” says Dean. “We’ll just have to figure something else out,” says Sam. Dean stares at him, eyes as big as baseballs. “You know what?” he says, “screw this! Come on, Sam, what’re we doing? Hunting a ghost? Who does that? Us! And that’s exactly why our lives suck! We hunt monsters, what the HELL! Normal people see a monster and they run, but not us, no no, we search out things that want to kill us–or EAT us! You know who does that? CRAZY PEOPLE! We are insane!” He begins to pace and goes on, “Then there’s the skeevy hotel rooms, and the bad diner food, and the truck stop waitress with the bizarre rash, I mean who wants this life, Sam, seriously? Do you actually like being stuck in a car with me eight hours a day? I don’t think so! I drive too fast and listen to the same five albums over and over and over again, and I sing along, I’m annoying, I know that. You, you’re gassy! You eat half a burrito and you get TOXIC! I mean, you know what?” He tosses Sam the keys. “You can forget it! Stay away from me, Sam, because I am done with it–I’m done with the monsters and the hellhounds and the ghost sickness and the damn apocalypse–I’m out, I’m done, quittin’!” Dean walks off, leaving Sam to explode a frustrated sigh. Dean loosens his collar, sweating. He hears a growl behind him and turns. It’s there again, the pink-bowed, killer Yorkie!
Hotel – Sam finds Dean sitting on the bed, trying to catch his breath. “I looked everywhere for you Dean!” he says. “How did you get back here?” “Runnin’,” answers Dean. “What are we gonna do now? There’s less than four hours on the clock–I’m gonna die, Sammy!” Sitting on the other bed, his brother says, “Yeah, you are. You’re goin’ back, downstairs, Dean–hell. It’s about damn time, too. Truth is, you’ve been a real pain in my ass.” Sam’s eyes turn yellow! He pins Dean to the wall. “No, you get outta my brother, you son of a bitch!” yells Dean. “No one’s possessing me, Dean,” says Sam, standing, “this is what I’m going to become–this is what I WANT to become, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He clamps a hand around Dean’s neck and squeezes. . .. “Heyheyhey, Dean!” says Sam, shaking his brother to pull him out of his hallucination. Still, Dean can’t help staring at Sam’s eyes.
Bobby arrives at the mill. “Thanks for coming up so quick,” says Sam. “Where’s Dean?” asks Bobby. “Home sick,” says Sam. At the hotel, Dean scratches his bloody arm and watches a Gumby and Pokey episode involving the latter being road-hauled by the former, He shuts it off, shuddering. “This isn’t helping,” he says.
Mill – “Have his hallucinations started yet?” asks Bobby. “A few hours ago,” says Sam, “we have just under two hours.” Sam asks if Bobby found anything. The latter shows him a book–in Japanese–and speaks some fluent words in the language. “Show off,” teases Sam. They’re perhaps dealing with a buruburu ghost, which infects people with fear. The way to kill it is to burn the bones, which won’t work with Luthor. “The buruburu is born of fear,” explains Bobby, “and the book says we can kill it with fear.” “So we have to scare a ghost to death,” says Sam. “How the hell we gonna do that?”
Sam calls Dean on his cell phone and assures him they have a really good plan and he can just sit this one out. “This is a TERRIBLE plan,” says Bobby after Sam hangs up “Tell me about it,” agrees Sam, “I know I said scare the ghost to death, but this?” asks Bobby. “You got a better idea, I’m listenin’,” says Sam.
Sam, gun in hand, enters the mill. Luther sees him through a cracked window and drops his hands to the glass threateningly.
Hotel – Dean hears a dog howling, then hellhounds banging at his door, trying to get in. When the door bursts open, it’s Sheriff Britton. “Why are you looking into Luther Garland’s death?” he demands in a scary voice. Noticing the other man’s bloody arm, Dean says, “You’re sick, just like me, you gotta relax!” The sheriff punches him. “OW!” cries Dean. “Frank O’Brien was my friend!” says the sheriff, “so he made a mistake, so I didn’t bust him–so what? And you’re gonna bring me down over THAT? No, sir!” He points the gun at Dean, who, despite his fear, swipes it away with his hand. The men begin punching each other, grappling, and Dean sees the other man with black demon eyes. Dean pushes the sheriff to the floor. “Get back!” screams Britton, hearing his own voice in his head whispering, “They know what you did.” “Al, you gotta calm down,” urges Dean. “GET BACK!” screams the sheriff, clutching his chest, hearing his own heartbeat pound. Suddenly, he releases his hold on where he had been gripping his uniform over his heart and dies. Dean, horrified, takes a step back.
Sam, in walkie-talkie contact with Bobby, says Luther came right at them last time, he doesn’t know what’s wrong; it’s almost like he’s scared. Sam puts down his gun. “Now what?” asks Bobby. “Guess I gotta make him angry,” says Sam. He finds a drawing of Jessie and tears it up. The mill machinery cranks into life. “Come on, Luther,” calls Sam, “where are you?” He tears up another, then another, taunting, “What are you waiting for?” Luther, furious, appears behind Sam and grabs him.
Hotel – Having covered Al’s body, Dean sits furiously scratching both bloody arms. Sam’s voice says, “You’re goin’ back. It’s about damn time, too!” Dogs barking. Everything’s going blurry, then back into focus. He finds a bible on the floor and presses it to his lips, rocking. “Hi Dean!” greets a cheerful voice at his elbow. Lilith is sitting next to him! “No!” cries Dean. “Yes!” she chirps. “It’s me, Lilith!” She hugs his arm, he grimaces. “Oh, I missed you so much! It’s time to go back now.” He slides out of her grip. “You’re NOT real!” declares Dean, pointing at her with the bible in his hand. “What’s the matter, Dean?” she asks, offended. “Don’t you remember all the fun you had down there? You DO remember? Four months is like 40 years in hell. Like doggy years–and you remember every single one!” Dean falls to his knees, in terrible pain. “You’re NOT real!” he repeats raggedly. She pulls him up to look her in the eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” she says, eyes going white, “you’re still gonna die! You’re STILL gonna BURN!” “Why me?” he asks. “Why did I get infected?” Hands on hips, she replies, “Silly goose, you know why, Dean–listen to your heart. Ba-boom! Ba-boom! Ba-boom! Ba-boom! Ba-boom! BA-BOOM! Dean falls to the floor, clutching his chest.
Hi Robin
I really liked this episode, I also saw it more than just a comedy. It brought out the subject of Dean’s innermost fears.
I believe the ghost sickness fed off of even the smallest of fears or apprehensions and intensify it to the point of turning it into something so horrific that it would become fatal.
In this case it fed off of Deans fear of Sam going dark side and his fear of going back to hell and of being reacquainted with Lillith.
As for Luther I also felt for him. To be judged and alienated because of your size and mental capacity, you would think in today’s society this wouldn’t still be happening.
As for your first question I think Dean was going to tell Sam, but when he saw his eyes glow yellow, so he stopped himself. I think it was just some remaining ghost sickness.
When I first saw this one I thought the kitten in the locker was a bit daft, I mean, how did it get there? Then we got some kits of our own and the horrible truth dawned. They can teleport. Although it only seems to work if the destination point is somewhere dangerous/ immpossibly hard to get out of/ really disconcerting to the nearest human … 😉
Yes, suze, kittens are like that. they feed on your innermost fears that they are helpless, NOT!