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In contrast to this streak of hubris in Dean at this moment the down-to-earth humility (if you can say that in this context) of Tessa and Death himself moves me. Itâ€™s not like there is no compassion in Tessa. Weâ€™ve seen glimpses of that in every episode she appeared. But she is aware that some elements have to be accepted as they are. Dean should know that, too, by now, but heâ€™s in denial here. He should know it after all the terrible consequences they as a family suffered when they tried to turn events (by making deals, etc).
Perhaps itâ€™s a blessing, too, for Dean at present that he doesnâ€™t know what Sam is doing, though he is also aware that his brother will try to torpedo his efforts. Bobby gets to play Lassie and watch him. A dangerous Lassie, alright. Unfortunately, heâ€™s dealing with a brilliant young hunter here, one that has no trouble escaping and getting to an abandoned factory building (or something in that neighbourhood) to perform a ritual that brings Balthazar down from his celestial shores.
Because â€“ he is terrified, isnâ€™t he? Now, how can a soulless character feel fear? He canâ€™t. Itâ€™s not only instinct, as that is a matter of seconds. This Sam is planning, being freaked out on a long run, because he can almost sense what it will mean to have that damaged, mutilated thing back from hell.
His voice is full of pressure â€“ he needs that spell to keep his soul out. He needs it so desperately that he even agrees to the most shady of terms: â€˜I will do it for free. (â€¦) you seem like a capable young man, Iâ€™d love to have you in my debt.â€™ And â€“ we can be sure of that, canâ€™t we â€“ that he will come back some day to collect Samâ€™s debts of honour. Sam knows this. He is, indeed, a capable young man, highly intelligent. But he agrees.
â€˜You need to scar your vessel.â€™
â€˜Meaning something that so pollutes it that it renders it uninhabitable.â€™
Ah, a classic mythological move. And what could be more scarring than killing the next thing you have to a father? â€˜the plot thickensâ€™ in truthâ€¦ Sam is plotting his way (while playing cards with Bobby, looking for a way to go through with his plan) to polluting his vessel while Dean is confronted with more and more questions.
Natural order, really?
A young girl is supposed to die. She has a serious heart condition. And Dean refuses to take her. Another aspect of absolute power â€“ he simply messes up the natural order of things.
I donâ€™t know how much we can actually influence in our lives and what is decided the moment we are born.
But there is a natural order in this world. In wildlife we see it in countless documentaries. Nature picks out those that wonâ€™t survive for long and they die â€“ being killed by natural enemies or simply die along the way. It has to be that way. This planet can provide for only a certain amount of inhabitants, canâ€™t it?
Man has pretty much messed up the natural order of life for a long time. Itâ€™s the blessing but also a curse of our civilization and scientific progress. True, in ancient times people didnâ€™t live long. But they rarely ever got dementia. That, for instance, is a disease of our modern times. Women didnâ€™t get children at a high age; today medicine makes it possible for women to have children even at the age of fifty. If that might be difficult for this child (when he has to begin to worry about his mother before he finishes school, because she might be about seventy then and at risk of getting seriously sick or in need of care) is not the question.
True, many diseases are stopped because we mess with the natural order. But sometimes things just are. When you mess with those there are consequences. Every action we take has consequences. Every single one. And sometimes those are hard to take.
The moment Dean decides to let the girl live, he seals the fate of the nurse who was â€˜supposed to live for many decadesâ€™. That had been her destiny.
But Dean canâ€™t accept that. Not after fighting destiny and its variations for years. His whole frustration with his life and his disappointment over being played by demons and angels alike fuels his actions and it might just be mere stubborn defiance when he utters his verdict. Heâ€™s very pleased with an â€˜isnâ€™t-this-much-betterâ€™ smirk to Tessa upon watching the happiness in the fatherâ€™s face when heâ€™s informed that there has been some sort of miracle.
Dean is doing what has been some kind of second or third nature to him â€“ defying fate. He and his brother have always been advocates for free will and choosing your own path. But â€“ free will doesnâ€™t apply to every aspect of living. Or dying.
Saving the girl Dean screws up. He keeps screwing things up. Itâ€™s not his natural calling, of course, and heâ€™s not a fast learner in this field. Well, I doubt anyone could do that in a day. And it hasnâ€™t even been a whole day.
He needs to tie the loose ends up again, else will â€˜chaos and sadness follow her (the girl) for the rest of her lifeâ€™ Tessa informs him â€“ but he knows that already, I reckon. He, of all people, knows. But still he makes the same mistakes. Despite his speech to his Grandfather, reminding him to learn from their mistakes, he, again, made a deal with a supernatural entity, since despair seems to be the mightier weapon compared to reason in a moment like that. He will hear later about the catchâ€¦
How do you stop the car of a drunken, depressed fresh widower who just wants to kill himself? Itâ€™s hardly possible, so intense is that new identity. To paraphrase Sylvia Plath: Widower. â€˜The word consumes itself.â€™ So, what can you do, Dean? You pull of your ring of power and freak him out (and confusing him even more when you disappear again. If he doesnâ€™t blame the booze, he will need some therapy sessions).
At this moment I could hear myself whispering: but what about Sam, now? That must have been an un-calculated, unplanned move for Dean. He wouldnâ€™t put Samâ€™s soul at risk. But he also wants to keep his guilt and shame account endurable, if possible. It was the instinct of a good person â€“ save those you can. He didnâ€™t have time to think. So, Dean acted in a heartbeat.
Heâ€™s learning, though. The hard way â€“ which is also a typical Winchester trait. The moment he steps into the girlâ€™s hospital room he is more humbled than before. He is aware of the necessities of this life and this lifeâ€™s dying. Though he agrees that â€˜natural order is stupidâ€™, he knows itâ€™s necessary. Perhaps now for the first time he truly accepts it. And that might be quite helpful for him and his loved ones in the future.
â€˜Iâ€™ve been born at night, boy, but it wasnâ€™t last night.â€™
Oh, Bobby. You have to deal with a new kind of fiend here â€“ the man you love like a son turned into a soulless thing you might have to stop â€“ that is: put away, injure, perhaps kill (my God). I can imagine those scenes from those days when he had to kill his wife come back to some corner of his head, as this time his beloved boy turned into another kind of monster. He must have felt desperate in his own way, but big words are not Bobbyâ€™s way.
He does his best, watching Sam, following him, hiding, but he seems to lack some of his trusty hunter instincts (like falling for the oldest trick ever, the blood â€˜bread crumbsâ€™ Sam laid out for him). What can he do if he doesnâ€™t want to kill Sam whoâ€™s axing the door to get to him? There is no animal more dangerous than a wounded one fighting for survival. Sam acts in a very similar way â€“ he is fighting for survival, ready to do anything to actually ensure that.
But Bobby not only has a panic room, heâ€™s also got his house bobby-trapped, ahem, booby trapped. Thereâ€™s the odd trapdoor, for instance, a reinforced steel door with titanium.