When he shows up in Lily Dale, he’s in a suit and is showing the crime scene guys a badge – which I guess answers my question last week of if they’d play FBI again. I guess either Frank worked up some new fake IDs when he turned them in into Tom and John Smith (still wonder which is who and who is which), or they just did it themselves – sans rock aliases (*sad*).
Moving carefully around the room, Dean looks behind the curtains and under the table, revealing all the little buzzers and switches the medium had used in her little show to give the impression of the spirits reaching out from beyond the veil. Still bent under the table, Dean sees the switch that moves the planchette around the Ouija board and asks the “spirits of the further” if he’s going to win the Powerball.
When he straightens up, there’s no one left in the room to appreciate his humor. Poor Dean. He leaves the crime scene and starts to explore Lily Dale, glancing at the various signs for psychic readings, his lips tipped downward in an expression of oooookay. He sees a large sign advertising Lily Dale’s annual psychic festival, three images on it. The center pic is the medium that was garroted by the planchette. He heads inside the building the sign is out in front of.
It’s a diner called Good Graces where the special of the day is You. Oh, boy. I had to join Dean in the eye roll at that one. He steps up to the counter and the waiter calls it as his first time in their establishment. Dean gives him a tight, how’d you guess smile as the waiter says they are, “locally sourced by our dynamic and you get a free affirmation with ever order.”
Dean’s look = Um. What?
He says he’ll check out the taco joint and turns to leave when he hears a voice. Sam’s voice to be exact. He freezes for a moment, the look on his face that of someone who just had the air sucked out of them through their navel, then squares his shoulders, rotates, and heads over to where Sam is sitting, looking through a file.
This whole exchange is a perfect dance between these two and Jared and Jensen played their roles beautifully. Dean, desperate for normal, acts as normal as he can while his walls are about as strong as a fractured egg shell. His humor shimmers over a calm so forced it’s about as malleable as metal and doesn’t stop moving – barely stops talking long enough to breathe. He can’t afford to allow Sam to chase him away, not now. Not like this.
Sam, desperate for a totally different normal, is strained and stiff. His answers are clipped, his face tight. He looks pissed and hurt, irritated and uncomfortable. He wants to be anywhere than where he is now, with anyone else. But there’s something that won’t let him walk away. There’s something about Dean that keeps Sam right where he is.
As a total aside, what is the deal with Sam’s sideburns? They’re almost…distracting. I’ve never been a sideburns gal. Can’t say I’m much of a fan here, either. /random hair rant
Dean approaches the table quickly, his grin the same one he gives to strangers. “Always wear a suit to get your palm read?”
Sam looks up, shock fading to uncertainty, his expression eventually settling somewhere between angry and annoyed.
Dean: Not surprised you caught this one. It’s on every morning zoo in America.
He asks to sit down, but doesn’t wait for an answer. Before Sam can say anything, Dean starts running down what he’s found out so far about the case, as if they’d just been separated for the morning, gathering intel. Sam stares at him. Dean ignores the angry eyes burning holes in him and rambles on.
Dean: When’s the last time you saw a real psychic? Pamela? Missouri? (Took me a fraction of a second to realize he meant the person, not the state.) How you been? (This last is asked as if he’s run out of steam.)
The waiter who greeted Dean steps up to take his order. Dean orders ‘pancakes with a side of pig, black coffee.’
The waiter smiles, nods, then says, “You are virile manifestation of the Divine.”
Why yes. Yes he is.
Dean gapes after the waiter, then looks at Sam with a look like I’m gonna kick that guy’s ass…I think, asking, “What did he say to me?”
Sam gets this helpless, half-grin he always wears when Dean is just…socially inept and slightly “uncool.” (As if Dean could ever be uncool….*wink*)
Dean: Laugh it up, Sam. Hilarious.
Sam (sobering, remembering that he’s still Very Angry): Dean.
Dean (both sarcastic and relieved): Oh. He speaks.
Dean (recognizing that tone…the one Sam had in Chicago when he said he was leaving when this was all over…the one Sam had in River Park, CO, when Sam said they needed to go their separate ways…the one where Sam is Very Angry and more focused on getting away from Dean than on fixing whatever is wrong): Sam. We’re both here. The chance of either of us leaving while people are still dying out there? Nill. You might as well bite the bullet and work with me on this one.
*rubs heart* They both made my heart whimper a bit in this episode, but Dean’s desperation to make it all just…okay actually made it ache. I recognized that need.
Sam: I don’t know if I can.
Dean: I’m not asking you to open up a can of worms. I’m not even asking you where you’ve been for the last week and a half.
Gah! Week and a half! Wow. Well, if nothing else, this break should show Dean that Sam really has managed to find a way to deal with Hellvision and hit on at least 7 of 8 cylinders. He’s functioning, healthy, and able to do his job. However, knowing that you’re not needed as a caretaker anymore when that’s the role you’ve held off and on (more on than off) for so long, can be just as unsettling as it can be reassuring.
Sam (jaw working overtime as he spits out the word): Good.
Dean: I’m just saying…let’s try and stop the killings.
Aside – his eyes looked so green in this scene. Good Lord.
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