(no subject)

[oselle]

Let's just get this out of the way. Days like this, I love this frigging show. I love these guys. I love them with the big, stupid, devoted love of a Labrador Retriever for the family four-year-old. Just pure, tongue-hanging-out, slobbering adulation. I'd follow 'em anywhere, just wagging my tail. "Hey guys! Where you goin'? Can I come too?" *pant pant pant*

So while I'd love to say something really smart about this episode, I'm just too clouded by LOVE to think of anything particularly insightful. What follows are my big, stupid, devoted doggy thoughts.

Dean
Godamnit Dean Winchester, I love you. I love that you can sometimes seem so happy in spite of everything, I love that you're so full of life. I love you when you're banging your head to awful '80s rock. I love you when you're gargling, and may I commend you on your admirable commitment to dental hygiene? It explains a lot about how you have such lovely teeth even though you were raised like a savage on a diet of Lucky Charms. I love you sitting on the edge of your bed, tying your boots. I most definitely love you in the shower, covered in suds with that shower curtain prissily pulled up to your neck (you tease!). I love you ordering a pork-based breakfast with a side order of bacon. I love you in your new charcoal-gray suit and silky tie (how do you afford such beautifully tailored suits?).

But most of all, Dean, I love you dying. No, don't take that the wrong way. It's just that you're so bloody good at it. You know I've always thought you take a beating better than anyone. Well forget that, because when it comes to dying, you have no peers. Nobody does it better. Whether you're shot in the guts or run over by an old man or choking to death on pork-based breakfast meat or expiring over a toxic taco, Dean...you're just the best. How do you manage to make me laugh and cry all at the same time, and look so damned pretty while you're at it? Don't tell me. Some things are better left as mysteries.

Sam
Sam Winchester, I've neglected you and I'm sorry. You know I'm a one-Winchester gal. But you broke my frigging heart last night. All your efforts to save your brother, a hundred days of watching him die...how did you even hold onto your sanity, Sam?

And then when he was gone, really gone, and you carried on for three months by yourself? Sam, what can I possibly say? Could anything be worse than watching you do that job alone? Can anything be worse than seeing you without your brother? You didn't even look like yourself, Sam, I didn't even know you could look like that. You...sitting there, eating dinner by yourself. Making your bed. Barely holding it together. Just doing the job, almost senseless. Dude...you dug a bullet out of your own guts (good thing you have that rock-hard six pack) and you didn't even seem to feel it. Sam, I...I just have no words.

What was the Trickster trying to teach you? I think he was telling you that you're missing something. You're so focused on trying to save Dean that something's getting past you, you're not paying attention. You need to stop and think. You need to look at the big picture. Or maybe it's the details you're missing. Something, something. Is he trying to tell that you're missing something about your own destiny? Or maybe you're not seeing how you can really save Dean? I don't know Sam, but I think you'd better listen up. Tricksters don't torment people for no reason. He killed your brother 101 times because he wants you to see something. Think about it.

But before you do that...it's Wednesday. It's Wednesday at last and Huey Lewis is on the radio and Dean's alive. Thank God. Sam Winchester IF YOU DON'T GET OUT OF THAT BED AND HUG YOUR BROTHER...of course you do. Oh my God. Of course you do. And when Dean asks how many Tuesdays you'd had, you just say, "Enough."

Oh...SAM.

I just have nothing else to say. I love you guys. Where are you going? Can I come too?