He goes to The Truck Stop Diner of Doom and meets up with Blondie from before – whom we know is Bad News – and shows her a pic of Chambers. She sends him outside to talk to the “hooker” from before – who looks like Terri Hatcher’s younger sister – and he finds out her name is Sally. He asks Sally if she saw Chambers and Sally plays the damsel in distress to a “T” pulling him away from the well-lit, highly populated front of the diner to someplace “safer” in the back so that she can tell him what she knows.
In moments, Blondie shows up and Sam valiantly tries to save Sally, only to realize that she’s a snake-eyes, too. The girls double team him, taking him down with their venom bites and he falls to the ground in this almost delicate-looking yoga pose.
And this, kids, is why you always hunt with a partner.
Back in the All Seeing RV, Dean is waking up, his head slumped sideways against a cabinet of some kind. He straightens stiffly and asks Frank how long he was out. Frank says 36 hours. Um, what? Sitting up like that? How the heck is he moving at all? And why doesn’t he have to pee like a racehorse? ‘Course this is coming from the same guy who thought 4 weeks was 4 days, so….
Still, I think they were trying to make the point that Dean just full-on passed out from exhaustion and was tired enough to sleep – basically sitting up – for a day and a half (enough time for Sam to get in trouble). Not only that, but the way Dean looks in this whole scene, just…he wears exhaustion well.
There was something about his eyes – how wounded yet steady they were. How he seemed to listen with all of him. He often stands still, somehow giving off the illusion that he’s in motion. But here, he was just…still. Maybe it was the weariness and sorrow weighing him down. But he wore it well.
Without pausing for food or coffee or anything, Frank shows Dean what he discovered – a Sara Palin look-alike named Amanda Hillard who works for Dick Roman.
Dean: What is she doing?
Frank: Being a naughty, bossy little girl.
Dean: Hate to ask for that in the non-porno version.
Basically, she and a bunch of surveyors are…surveying. Planning to build something there. What? They don’t know. Frank tells him to have patience. Dean’s not really friendly with patience, thanks. Franks tells him to go kill something to blow off steam, earning him a tired-eyed glare.
Frank: You don’t like my suggestion?
Dean: I don’t think you’re in the position to give suggestions. You’re one tin foil hat away from a rubber room.
Frank: Did I mention you look awful?
Dean (eyes going hard for a moment): Yes. Maybe because someone I cared about just got shot in the head. (eyes shifting to tired again) And this is like shoving a rock up a hill. (eyes shifting ever so briefly to full-on vulnerable) And… (wall goes down) screw you.
Frank: Here’s my advice you didn’t ask for. Quit.
Frank: You want to keep going?
Dean: I want Dick Roman on a spit.
Frank: You’re gonna drive yourself into the ground first. Good plan.
Dean (looking down, voice sullen): Not gonna quit. Not even an option. Not gonna walk out on my brother.
I thought it was interesting how he connected that – quitting hunting (what Frank was suggesting) meant walking out on Sam. He assumed Sam wouldn’t quit. And that if he did quit, he’d lose Sam – which isn’t necessarily the truth. But it’s interesting to see how he ties it all together. It’s not about not quitting because he knows no other way or because this is all he is, all he’s good at. It comes back, as it always seems to for Dean, to Sam.
Frank: Fine. Do what I did.
Dean (scoffing, leaning against the cabinet): What, go native? Stock up on C-rations?
Frank (suddenly looking very sane, almost scarily so): No. What I did when I was 26 and came home to find my wife and two kids gutted on the floor.
Everyone has a story. Which is why I hate assumptions. You have no idea the road someone else has traveled to get to the point they’re at in their lives. No idea what they’ve had to do to make themselves okay with their choices. Listening to Frank, Dean pulls a bit away from the wall, his face smoothing with surprise and a familiar sadness you feels when you realize that you have a kinship with someone, but it’s over a similarity you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.
Frank: Decide to be fine to the end of the week. Make yourself smile because you’re alive and that’s your job. Then do it again the next week.
Dean: Fake it?
Frank: I call it being professional. Do it right. With a smile. Or don’t do it.
Dean looks down, nodding. When life gets to a point where you say, I don’t want to do this anymore, no matter what ‘this’ is, you make a decision and you follow that decision with a vengeance. You decide to survive it, or you decide to quit it.
Turning away from Frank, Dean digs out his cell phone – probably realizing with the mention of his brother that he’s been out of touch for over a day. He starts to listen to Sam’s voicemail and before Sam can get past “maladjusted loners,” Dean’s like, “no, no that’s not right.” The phone beeps in and Dean clicks over – it’s Krissy. She hasn’t heard back from Sam. Dean = growl of worry.
Inside some abandoned garage-looking place, Sam wakes up tied to a chair, his neck bloody. Around him are the drained, lifeless bodies of several other men – presumably the missing truckers. Tied to a chair across from him is Lee Chambers, looking dangerously pale and completely exhausted. Sam tells Chambers who he is, his connection to Bobby and that Krissy’s okay. Chambers tells Sam that when the vetala’s feed four times, you’re toast. He says that when they bite, they inject a venom that makes it so you can’t see, feel, think…. And they’ve fed on him 3 times.
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