She is Poetry & Prozac... (freneticfloetry) wrote,
She is Poetry & Prozac...

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I shot the sheriff...

Yeah, everybody saw that one coming. And yet, it was still brilliant. Go figure.

Still irrationally giddy about "Mystery Spot"'s diner maven, considering my own coffee-wielding Doris the waitress in fic. I feel oddly validated. I've been Kripked! But back to more recent events.

First, hip hop hooray for "Nightshifter"! I kind of missed Ron and his crackpot conspiracy theories. Mandroid. Heh. Though, after repeating gag reel viewings, I can no longer see his poignant death scene, only hear Jensen's "you did a really nice fall" and accompanying snickering from the supposed corpse. Just like the sight of poor slip-clad Sherri crumpled on the floor automatically makes my mind go "Jensenated!". Thank you so much, moondropz, for that. But then the Styx started, and all was right with the world.

Also, HEEEEENRICKSON. I often wondered, after my first viewing, why I instantly loved him so much, and loved him even more post-interrogation in "Folsom Prison Blues". There's the brown folk solidarity, yes, and general giddiness at having a solid presence of color in my biggest fandom world. I know now that he's also hot in his purely Henrickson, completely capable, bullseye-bantering-with-my-boys way (and that I may have smutty and slightly twisted Dean/Henrickson thoughts). Whatever the motivation, he gets the glorious crown of the night.

It's still sad that my brain immediately wants to call him "Lance" - you'd think it would be easy to get over, considering my other bald, black and brilliant go-to guy is also a Victor - but that's neither here nor there. Moving on...

Oh, Bela, you've put your foot in it now, sweetheart. If there's one thing you don't want in this universe, it's to be on the bad side of Winchesters. Unless everybody's consenting and you've all got a code word. I like you, I do. But you make it so difficult.

On second thought, maybe not. Because Heeeeenrickson! Gotta love the "and while you're down there..." face that topped the slow pan. And his stroll of authority through someone else's precinct. The whole world is your jurisdiction, baby. You run it, we just run around in it. But good god, has no one yet decided what his name actually is? After three eps, I've lost count of the slips. Or maybe the "d" is silent. I would reflect more, but I just saw a name flash across my screen that has stopped my breath. Could it be...?

The boys are clapped in irons, and I'm singing "Chain Gang" in my head. Oh, the imagery. And even shackled, Dean is the world's biggest flirt. You're a piece of work, boy. Besides, even your face cannot excuse the fact that you sound insane. If I were Nancy the secretary, I'd be clutching my crucifix, too. And possibly my ovaries, but not in that good way.

My brain has now shorted out, because Peter DeLuise is on my television. Please imagine my commentary for the next few minutes. Make it witty.

Dean, Dean, Dean... methinks thou doth protest too much. You know you want to be served up on that surf and turf platter. And for the record, I want to watch. Pass the A1, please. I love this interaction. Sam's wisely silent - he knows this is a battle of wits and wills. Also seems to know that his brother's bound for failure, and it's pointless for him to waste his energy. Why so jaded, Sam? Is it the manacles? And so much love for Dean's cluelessness - Henrickson readily admits that he underestimated their brain power, but Dean's still not seeing that they've underestimated his. I bet that low blow wised him up but quick. Solitary's child's play, but Sam lockdown? Knows just which buttons to push, doesn't he, Dean?

Oh, Doug. Oh, Dagwood. First Michael hit Lost, then David did Bones, and now Peter's among Winchesters. Please never stop owning my soul, DeLuise brothers. I can even forgive you for the gunshot. It's not Dean's first shoulder hit, he'll heal.

Impressive reflexes there, Sammy. Guess you're good for more than hot sauce saves. And oh, not even a demon blink. Good on you, DeLuise. It's beneath you. Sam's latinating with a fierceness. Hadn't realized how much I missed it.

Dangled before my face, and snatched away so quickly. Damn you, Kripke.

FBI man, how did they ever let you into Langley? You don't know enough to call for backup when you nearly trip over the mutilated bodies of your men in arms? Pfff. Reedy, you deserved to die. Schmuck.

Inside the station, everybody's freaking but Henrickson, who's standing stoic and stock-still like he's reenacting Apocalypse Now. Which, fitting. He finally yells his game plan - Samuel L. Jackson Deep Blue Sea style - while the sheriff pisses his pants, and I can't help but laugh for the same reason I did then - with no tension-amping musical track beating in the background, this must all sound pretty over-the-top.

He's exempted Nancy from his ranting, though. It's kind of sweet, in a "I Tarzan, you Jane" kind of way. She seems to appreciate it.

Where the hell did Sam get tissue? And more importantly, why is he trying to staunch the flow of his brother's blood with a Kleenex? What, no tampon? Even with 2-ply, Sammy, you might as well be using your hand. Henrickson's back, again giving them props for the smarts. How exactly they'd know in advance that they'd go down in a surprise raid and get thrown in the poke, I have no idea, but considering his Winchester track record, he's following logic to the best of his ability. He's even come armed and ready, despite the bars and the bleeding. He may despise them, but he obviously respects them in a way every good cop should. Victor, I love you so.

Check out stealth!Sam. Necessary, yes, but the poor girl was already traumatized. You can kiss Dean's conjugal goodbye.

Speaking of, I remain disturbed and oddly intrigued by his eager curiosity when it comes to the manner of his death. Like last week's "did it look cool, like in the movies?", he's got a strange obsession with how he dies. Splattering on somebody's windshield and then losing all bladder control is not cool, dear. Neither are demonic hitmen, despite your smirk. You know what that all boils down to? It means you lose, Deano. Bend over and kiss your soul goodbye. I thought we'd already established that you're in no hurry to get to hell, and that particular revelation was a long time coming. Don't get seduced by the thought of going out like John Wayne, when you'd just be going out like John Winchester. Doesn't much matter if it's a bang or a whimper.

Did somebody say "bang"? Scuffling, grunting, and what I'm sure amounts to more damage to Dean's rotator cuff and we're back to latinating (squee!). With Nancy's nicked crucifix and a toilet full of holy water, complete with in-bowl cam. This is brilliance, people.

See, Sam thinks the "d" is silent.

"...but you didn't shoot the deputy." Turns out it's even funnier the second time around, mostly because Sammy's face is positively murderous. Oh, Jared. You've made me such a Samgirl. Have to hand it to Kripke & Co. - this whole turn of events is spot-on. Including Sam's darkly smug "now you know". Precisely. By taking the luxury of disbelief away, they've earned the best ally they can have in this situation. He's gotten an up-close-and-personal glimpse at the big picture, and plausible deniability is no longer an option. Plus, Victor's been violated. You know he's gonna take that shit personally.

Sam's sketching devil's traps in blood-red spray paint. From memory. Between this and all the exorcism action, I'm feeling a little faint.

Aww, Nancy. I like you. And not just because somebody's finally gotten Dean some medical attention. It's also mildly amusing that you're using Scotch tape to do so. Dean likes you, too, and he's no longer auditioning for Silence of the Lambs, so who knows? There's hope for you crazy kids yet.

It galls me that Dean's waited this long to ask about the Impala. Where are your priorities?

Is it just me, or is Jensen more bowlegged than usual this episode? I think the ankle hardware may have incited rebellion.

Anti-possession ink. Heeeee. I was unspoiled on the tattoos, so they came as a pleasant surprise. Seems like they could've been located elsewhere (my mind conjured lovely images of dark lines on flat abs) but hey, who am I to complain? I love their expressions during the reveal - Sam was blank and unaffected, while Dean looked pained. It was probably the shoulder, yes, but something tells me that's exactly how it went down during.

What is going on with the inept law enforcement? Exactly what was so important outside that you had to drag a chair to that particular window and break the damn salt line, Deputy Dewey?

"Fighting off monsters with condiments." Heh. Technically a spice, but I'll overlook it just this once, in light of your sheer badassery. And the bonding over bullets. Have we ever seen Dean this candid? Especially about the reality of the world. Maybe he recognizes a kindred soul. Funny how easily Henrickson realizes that Dean's only got one thing to live for, which is now one more than he has. Ugh. Hunter Henrickson would've been a special kind of awesome. I'm more than a little disgusted, for reasons that have already been expressed and wanked over.

So Dean has chosen to fight. Explains the interest in the "how". It's oddly eloquent and completely perfect.

Ruby, you amuse me so. You and your rampant disappointment in Sam. But once again, I'm questioning your motives - I don't think you ever intended to make that big sacrifice, not when you know exactly who you're dealing with. Like Dean would ever sit idly by while you carved up an innocent girl, even if it is for the greater good. I'll refrain from wondering why the painfully awkward deputy couldn't have been the virgin. Like I said, wank.

Lilith! I always get chills when they wade in the deep end of the lore pool, and this reveal was no exception. Makes Bobby's "storm's coming" seem aptly put, in retrospect.

Henrickson at Dean's shoulder, backing him up... and I thought I had chills before. That moment that passed between them made me ache a little. No, Dean, you're not always wrong. Yes, validation still exists.

I love how half his argument is that she's a virgin. No grown woman should die without knowing the pleasures of the flesh, right Dean? I've gotta say, his plan sounds faulty - they're going to unleash firepower on an army of possessed-but-innocent people to save an inept deputy and the virgin Nancy? How do those scales balance?

Attack on Precinct Podunk. Dean's strapped up like Rambo, Sam's wielding holy water like a katana, and Henrickson is kicking ass and taking it all in stride. Loving. This. Nancy swears that when all's said and done, she's going to get some ass. Tough talk, but I suppose there's not much else to do when your entire belief system has been upended. Also, the plan is beginning to make the kind of sense that actually does.

Boys are pinned to the brick like giant Winchester butterflies. Somehow that never gets old. Aha! Loudspeaker latin! It's entirely too amusing that Sam sounds all bored and rote, like he's doing a reading for a PBS special. It's brilliant nonetheless.

Dude, that much demon in the air cannot be healthy. Talk about secondhand smoke.

Oh god, the "how 'bout that?" shrug has nearly killed me. Victor's swiping absentmindedly at his bloody lip like this is all in a day's work. Damn you, Kripke.

Aaaaand Dean's declared dead. Again. Maybe it'll be anticlimactic when it actually happens for real. As cover stories go, it's solid. No explanation for dead deputy director DeLuise, though. That's gonna be a bitch.

You can actually hear their handshakes. Feel the respect, folks. Feeeeeel it.

So we all know what happens next. I'm disappointed, I'm disgusted, and I'm damn tired. It's an ugly blemish on a beautiful episode, and the same could be said for the big picture. Here's hoping the Powers That Be get the message, so that I can go back to loving my show without lingering guilt.

Until April. Bleh.
Tags: brown girl fandom coalition, does courtney have to choke a bitch?, is it april yet?, tv: supernatural
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