So, they haul the body back to the abandoned house – and this is before we knew that Bobby has an A-Team-worthy van, so I was kinda squicked out thinking about the body in the trunk of the Patchwork Dodge with all the weapons. They lay the body on the table and Bobby remarks that it was super-model skinny, but wicked strong. They’re all flanking the body, Dean and Sam along the side, Bobby at the feet.
Sam: Only took one bullet to bring it down.
Dean: And not even a silver bullet, just a bullet bullet.
I totally should have seen this coming, but I didn’t. All this training and watching and late nights and tired has me off my horror-genre game.
Without warning, the body SITS UP then jumps to its feet on the table. I jumped back with a gasp. The boys jump back and as one they all three pull their weapons and fire at the thing until it’s down again. I love it when they do things instinctively like that. So. Cool.
When it falls once more, Sam and Dean are puffing out breaths and look at each other very W.T.F. was that?!
Bobby: Guess I just stunned it.
Dean’s like, let’s see who this Dude is, and goes to check his pocket for some ID. Which isn’t what I would have thought to do, honestly. So good on him. He pulls out the wallet and looks at all the blood and…gunk…on it.
Dean: Uuunhh, that’s just gonna…ruin the leather.
Sam gives him an irritated glance and grabs the wallet.
Bobby: Are you feeling okay?
Dean: Yeah! I feel great!
And it’s because I believed him in that moment that I knew something was up (told you, off my game). Until he said “I feel great” with such a profound sense of…release…I was just thinking it was Dean being…well, Dean. Sometimes our guy can be irreverent, y’know? And he wasn’t off his game as far as reaction time. But then, he said this and I thought back and realized that ‘liking Rick’ wasn’t really how he would have reacted to a person getting eaten, nor was a comment about the leather with a dead body sprawled out in front of him.
Sam reads the ID and I swear the zombie dude’s name changed like three times – it sounded different to me every time I heard from the different guys. At first I heard Gerald Broughton. Then Joe Broughton. Then later on, Gary Broughton. So, henceforth in this ramble Gerald/Joe/Gary is just gonna be Broughton because sometimes even I can’t understand their Midwest accents and I’m as Midwest as you can get.
Anyway, according to his ID, Broughton was supposed to be 235 lbs. Dean looks at the body all, Whoa.
Bobby: Apparently he’s lost a little pudge. (hee)
Dean: Maybe it’s a lap-band side effect.
Sam gives him a look and Dean, undaunted by his brother’s disdain, helpfully stretches his hands across his middle to illustrate the lap band. *laughs* Oh, boy. Bobby, well…he pokes the body with a stick, which I probably shouldn’t have but found rather funny. He pulls out some purple…goo…and says they better have a look under Broughton’s hood.
So, Sam and Bobby flank the body, cut it open, and start rooting around inside. It’s obviously gross and judging by their faces, stinks to high-Heaven. Dean comes in, looking totally unaffected by it all, and pours himself some whiskey, leaning against the mantel piece and asking them if they’re getting hungry. ‘Cause, y’know, he’s hungry. They give him A Look.
Sam (looking totally grossed out): Uh, that’s human, right there.
Bobby: That’s fresh Rick. Plus…a pine cone. (He drops the pine cone in a bucket next to Sam, making Sam jump.) Pack of gum, in the wrapper.
Dean just leans on the mantel, sipping his whiskey, picking lint off his jacket. It’s another of those foreground/background shots that I like where you can watched the (gag-worthy) action in front of you or shift your eyes to the person in the back and you still get layers of the story.
Sam: That’s older. Maybe Phil? Or the glamper? And that’s uh…yeah. That’s a cat’s head.
UCK. I mean, seriously uck.
Bobby: You gotta be damn hungry to eat a cat’s head.
Bobby pulls something else out of the body and says it’s Broughton’s adrenal gland which is supposed to be the size of a bar of hotel soap and orange. It looks like a mutated watermelon and is purple/gray. So, they realize that the thing in the woods killing and eating people isn’t the Jersey Devil (which was slightly a bummer, because I miss the actual monsters in MotW episodes, to be honest), but he wasn’t Broughton anymore either (no, ‘cause he’s a zombie, guys…seriously).
Meanwhile, Dean’s like, guys, seriously, time for dinner?
Sam gives him a yeah, okay, sure, whatever look and they all head out – presumably leaving the hacked up body of Broughton on the table. *shudder*
At Biggerson’s, Sam’s using the wifi hotspot to look up Broughton and find out that he went missing 8 days ago. Sam and Bobby postulate that he might’ve been what happened to the campers, but what happened to him is the mystery. Meanwhile, Dean is practically making love to his Turduckin Slammer. I mean the sounds he’s making…yeah. Staring at him, Sam’s all what do you think?
Dean: I’m not that worried about it.
Dean (sounding totally stoned…and, I’m sorry, kind of adorable): That’s funny, right? I could give two shakes of a rat’s ass. Wait…is that right? Does the rat shake its ass or is it something else?
Bobby and Sam finally look around and see that everyone in the restaurant is eating the Turduckin and loooooovin’ it. Sam grabs Dean’s sandwich, causing Dean to protest like a five-year-old.
Bobby: There’s some funky chicken in the Turduckin Slammer.
So, they take it back to the house (hilariously wrapped in swan foil) and put it on the table. I have to say, I kind of loved stoned Dean. We’ve seen him slightly uninhibited before, we’ve seen him scared out of his mind before, but this is a first we’ve seen him toooooootally mellowed out, man. It was refreshingly endearing.
Dean (hanging back and leaning against the kitchen counter): Stupid. My sammich din’t do anything. Don’t know what y’think you’re gonna find.
Bobby (staring incredulously at him): There’s something wrong with you, Dean.
Dean: Are you kidding? I’m fine. (He hops up to sit on the counter.) I actually feel better than I have in a couple of months. Cas. Black goo. I don’t even care anymore. What’s even better is, I don’t care that I don’t care.
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