Supernatural: Sex and Violence Recap
February 28th 2009 01:04
A woman is pounding the stake on her kitchen counter with a meat mallet. She glances out the window and watches her husband come in. She teases him about being late, and he bites her head off for it. They both apologize and she picks up a platter as he goes to the refrigerator.
“Oh hey, I ran into Jill Martin today,” she says conversationally. “Gary’s turning 40 on Saturday.”
“Yeah?” he answers wearily, pulling a beer from the fridge.
“She invited us to the party.”
“What’d you tell her?”
“That’d we go.”
He slams the refrigerator door, gruffly answering, “You’re kidding.”
“What? You like Gary,” he wife says, confused.
“Yes, that doesn’t mean I want to waste my Saturday night with him,” he cuts back, leaning on both fists to stare out the window angrily.
“I thought you’d want to go.”
The man turns around to face his wife, angrily answering, “I don’t *believe* you.”
“Fine,” his wife says with a smile. “I’ll call Jill and tell her we can’t make it.” She turns on a lamp, asking, “What’s with you tonight? It’s like you want to have a fight or something.”
She turns around just in time to catch a fleeting glance of the meat mallet as her husband bashes it against her head over and over again, spraying the family photos on the wall with blood.
~*~*~
Dean wakes up to a honking passing semi truck and glances over to see his brother’s bed is empty. He blinks back sleep and squints at the bathroom, where Sam is quietly talking on the phone to someone.
“Yeah…yeah…okay, we’ll keep looking,” Sam tells the person. “You keep looking too okay? Alright, talk soon.”
Dean quickly turns over, pretending to be asleep as Sam hangs up the phone and walks back into the room.
“Hey,” Sam calls out, nudging Dean’s leg as he sits on his own bed. “Up and at ‘em kiddo.”
Dean pretends to wake up for the first time, rubbing his eyes and glancing at the clock. “You’re up early. What’re you doin’?”
“Nothing. I was in the can.”
Dean considers this a second. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Sam answers, teasing, “want me to draw you a picture?”
“No, I’ll pass.”
Sam hands Dean the newspaper, telling him about their next job. “Third local inside two months to gank his wife, no priors on any of them. All happily married.”
“Sounds like Ozzie and Harriet,” Dean says sarcastically, to which Sam answers, “More like The Shining.”
“Well I guess we better have a look.” Dean tosses the newspaper aside and gets up to get ready.
~*~*~
At the jail, the man who killed his wife asks Sam and Dean why the PD keeps sending “you guys. I already said I don’t want a lawyer.”
“They’re lining up the firing squad,” Dean tells him, and the guy answers that he’s already pleading guilty.
“Alright, you don’t want us to represent you, that’s fine,” Dean answers, adding with a laugh, “In fact, it’s probably not a bad idea between you and me.” Sam clears his throat, shooting his brother a warning look, and Dean gets back to business. “We just want to understand what happened. That’s all.”
“Mr. Benson,” Sam coaxes. “Please.”
Mr. Benson finally gives in and tells them, “What happened was…I killed my wife. And you want to know why? Because she made plans without asking me.”
Okay…Dean can’t hide is reaction. That’s a little harsh wouldn’t you say? Sam asks Mr. Benson how he felt when it happened. “Disoriented? Like you were out of control?”
“Like something possessed you to do it?” Dean adds, and Mr. Benson tells them that he knew exactly what he was doing. “I was crystal clear.”
“Then why’d you do it?”
“I don’t know,” Benson answers, struggling to add, “I loved her…we were happy…” He lets out a heavy breath and Sam nods to Dean to open the briefcase they brought along.
Dean pulls out a phone record, using a pen to point to the bottom listing. “Nine Gs. Hefty bill.”
“Where did you get that?”
“Doesn’t matter, we have it,” Dean answers. “See, certain charges, the ones you don’t want the Mrs. to know, they show up under shady names like “M & C Entertainment”…”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Benson lies, and Dean flat out answers, “Like droppin’ plastic at a nudie bar for instance.” Sam quickly interrupts with a more polite, “We just—want to know the truth, Mr. Benson.”
Benson glances from Sam to the phone bill, thinks a moment, then sighs and admits that, “her name was Jasmine.”
“She was a stripper?”
“Dude,” Dean answers. “Her name was Jasmine.”
Good point.
Benson tells them that he didn’t mean for it to happen. He usually doesn’t go to strip bars, but his buddy was having a bachelor’s party. “And there she was.”
“Jasmine?”
With a faraway look in his eye, Benson recalls, “She came right up to me. And…I don’t know, she was just—” Clearly even the thought of Jasmine intoxicates him. “Perfect. Everything that I wanted.”
“Well if you pay enough anybody will be anything,” Dean answers, and Benson insists that “it wasn’t about the money. It wasn’t even about the sex it was—I don’t know…” He tries to find the words, but still can’t. “I don’t know what it was,” he finally says. “It’s hard to explain.”
Confused, Sam asks, “And, you’re wife found out?”
“No, she never had a clue.”
The boys are now more confused than ever. “Then why’d you kill her?”
“For Jasmine,” Benson answers, staring at the table. “She said we would be together forever…if-if only j-Vicky was…”
“Muerte…” Dean helps.
“Afterwards me and Jasmine were supposed to meet,” Benson continues. “But she never showed. I don’t know where she lives, I don’t know her last name, I mean I don’t even know her real first name.” Benson suddenly realizes what he’s saying and sighs, shaking his head and muttering, “I’m an idiot.”
“And you didn’t think to tell this to the cops?” Sam asks softly.
“What for?” Benson asks curtly. “The stripper didn’t do it. I did it. I know what I deserve…The judge doesn’t give me the death sentence, I’ll just do it myself.”
Sam and Dean aren’t quite sure what to think about this one.
~*~*~
Sam goes to talk to Dr. Cara Roberts, who did some work with the Sherriff’s office on the cases they’re working on.
“Rough night?” he asks, watching her pop a few quick pills.
“Fun night,” she answers, pressing her fingers against her temples. “Rough morning.” She glances up. “Can I help you?”
Sam introduces himself as “Agent Styles” of the FBI then asks if she’d mind if he’d ask some questions about the cases he’s working on. She nods and he sits in the chair opposite her desk, reading off the names of the guys who killed their wives. She remembers them. She did “autopsies for the wives and tox screens for the perps. Two for one special.”
“You find anything?”
“Not really,” the doctor answers. “The COD on the woman was pretty clear, nothing unusual in their systems.”
“What about the husbands?”
She stares at him a moment then asks to see his badge again. Sam pulls it out and she glances between the picture and him and finally tells him that there was a strange anomaly in all the tox screens on the husbands. They had “crazy high” oxytocin levels.
Dr. Roberts pulls out a file and hands it over to Sam, explaining that oxytocin is “a hormone that’s produced during childbirth, lactation, and sex,” she adds, with a teasing look.
“Okay…” Sam is confused.
“People call it the “love hormone”,” she answers. “You know that feeling when you first fall in love? That whole weak-in-the-knees, tattoo-you-on-my-chest thing? That’s oxytocin.” Sam smiles, glancing over the files as she adds, “Which usually fades, and then you’re stuck with every relationship ever.” She stares at him. “That and a painful regiment of tattoo removal.”
Sam looks up and she smirks at him. He smiles. They continue to stare at each other until Dean finally opens the door, walking in. “What’d I miss?”
Sam introduces his brother as his partner, “Agent Murdoch.”
“Agent sounds so formal,” Dean says with a winning smile. He offers his hand, telling her, “you can call me Dean.”
“I’m Dr. Roberts,” she says shaking his hand quickly before turning back to Sam. “So, can I help you with anything else?”
“Uh…sure, just one more thing.” Sam hands her back the files as Dean sits down in the chair next to him. “This chemical, this uh—”
“Oxytocin—”
“Oxytocin. What would cause those high levels that you found?”
“Nothing that I’ve ever seen,” she answers, turning back to fact them.
“Okay, that’s it. Thanks, doc.”
She nods a particularly inviting smile at him, and Dean notices. Sam nods to him and they both get up to leave.
“By the way,” Sam says turning around in the door. “Try a greasy breakfast. Best thing for a hangover.”
“Watch it buddy,” she laughs. “I’m the only MD here.”
Sam grins and shuts the door, following his brother. She watches him leave.
Dean: Dude, you totally c-blocked me.
Sam just shrugs. What could he do?
As they head back outside, Sam asks about the other two guys who killed their wives. Both of them fessed up. “One emptied his IRA, the other his college fund,” Dean tells him. “All on the same day.” The club they were at was called The Honey Wagon.
Sam asks if the guys were also having affairs “with a stripper also known as Jasmine,” and Dean answers, “Yes and no. This is where it gets interesting,” he adds as they step outside. “Each guy hooked up with a different chick.”
“So what, are all these girls connected somehow?”
“Well they all describe the stripper in the same way—the exact same way: Perfect and everything that they wanted.”
“Huh, yeah at least until Dream Barbie convinced them to murder their wives.”
“There’s that.”
Sam says that “it’s almost like they were under some kind of love spell,” and Dean agrees “that it sure seems that way.”
“Which caused them to be totally psychotic…” Sam adds.
“Absolutely.”
They reach The Impala and Sam studies his brother a second. “You seem pretty cheery.”
Dean looks up from unlocking the door and answers, “Strippers, Sammy. Strippers. We are on an actual case involving strippers. Finally!” He grins and gets into the car.
~*~*~
At The Honey Wagon Bar, Dean uses his badge to cut in line and heads inside. The place is packed. He makes his way over to the owner, telling him that he’s looking for three girls. When he tells him their names, the guy just looks at him, and asks, “You seriously think those names mean anything to me?”
“One’s a redhead about 5’9, the other one’s Asian, about—”
“Do you have any idea how many girls I deal with?” he cuts in, gesturing to the one dancing on the table in front of them. “Fake names, fake hair, fake…”
“You gotta have some sort of paperwork,” Dean answers, having to shout to be heard over the music. “Check stubs, some way to keep track of the strippers?”
“Please,” the man answers, insulted. “Exotic dancers.” Dean rolls his eyes as the guy adds, “Independent contractors working for cash. I stay out of their hair, they stay out of what little I have left.”
Dean tells him that three of his customers murdered their wives. “And you don’t think that that’s weird?”
“Yeah, I think that’s super freakin’ weird,” the guy answers. “But you know what it ain’t? My problem.” With that, he leaves.
Sam walks over and catches Dean’s attention across the room. Dean walks through the crowd to see if his brother has had any more luck.
“A little,” Sam shouts over the music. “I just talked to Bobby, we officially have a theory.”
“What’s that?”
“Sirens.”
Dean gives his brother a skeptical look, asking, “Like Greek myth siren? The Odyssey?” At Sam’s surprised look, he answers, “Hey, I read.”
“Yeah actually,” Sam answers, impressed. “But the siren’s not actually a myth, it’s more of a beautiful creatures prey on men, entice them with their siren song.”
“Let me guess, ‘Welcome to The Jungle’? No, no, Warrant’s ‘Cherry Pie’?” Dean asks, glancing at another one of the dancers.
“There song is more like a metaphor,” Sam answers. “Like a metaphor, like their call, their allure, you know?”
“So they shake their thing and the guy’s zombie out.”
“Basically, yeah. Sirens lived on an island, sailors would chase them, completely ignoring the rocky shores and dash themselves to pieces.”
“Just like Adam and his buddies.”
“Yeah.” They look around as Sam asks, “If you were a Siren in ’09 looking to ruin a bunch of morons, where would you set up shop?”
Guys are handing over money left and right and the girls grin. Yep, smart sirens.
Dean turns to his brother. “So whatever floats the guy’s boat, that’s what they look like?”
“Yeah, you see sirens can read minds. They see what you want most, and then they can kinda, like, cloak themselves, you know? Like an illusion.”
“So it could all be the same chick?” Dean asks. “Warping into different dream girls?”
“Yeah actually, probably,” Sam answers. “Sirens are usually pretty solitary.”
Well great. Just great. “How do we kill it?”
“Bobby’s working on it,” Sam answers. “But even if we figure that out—“
“How the hell are we gonna find it?” Dean finishes, looking around at the crowded bar. “Could be anybody.”
Across the room, a girl with long black hair and a short black dress goes over to a guy sitting alone in a booth.
“Hey Belle,” he answers, grinning.
“I thought you’d never come.” She grabs his hand and leads him out of the bar and down the street.
~*~*~
The young man from the bar carefully opens a bedroom door, then shuts it quietly, turning to whisper, “Okay, she’s asleep.”
The girl stands in the middle of the room, backlit by the lit fireplace. “Lenny?” she croons. “You’re amazing. Taking care of her like this? Most guys would have put her in a nursing home…”
“No big deal.” Lenny shrugs, adding simply, “She’s my mom.”
“Like I said, amazing.” She pulls her hair seductively to the side and smiles softly, unzipping the back of her dress. It drops to the floor in a puddle of black fabric, and she steps forward.
~*~*~
Lost in the throes of passion, Lenny misses the siren’s true monstrous reflection in the mirror hanging above the couch…
~*~*~
Lying in Lenny’s arms, Belle tells him, “I love you so much.” She sits up to look down on him, asking, “Will you take care of me like your mom?” Stroking his face, she adds, “You’re so sweet…and strong…I just wish you didn’t have to carry it all. I mean your mom takes up all your time.” She stares at him a second. “As long as she’s around? We can’t really be happy…”
Lenny smiles, not getting it. “She’s not so bad.”
“I could be with you…forever,” she whispers. “If only your mom wasn’t here. Don’t you want to be with me forever?”
“Yeah,” Lenny answers, getting lost in her eyes. “Yeah, you know I do.”
“Then bash your mother’s brains in.” When he doesn’t immediately answer, she urges, “Baby, do it for me. Do it baby…”
“Yeah okay,” Lenny says, smiling and sitting up. “If you say so.”
He starts to get up, then hesitates a moment. What is he doing? When Belle seductively whispers, “I love you” though, he smiles and gets up.
Lenny picks up a fireplace poker and goes into his mother’s bedroom.
*Bam! Bam! “Ahh!” Punch! Slam! “Oof!*
Belle grins evilly and gets up, slips her dress back on, and walks out.
~*~*~
Dean sits at the hotel table staring over the research papers on the table at Sam’s phone. Finally, his curiosity gets the better of him and he can’t stand it anymore. Dean gabs Sam’s phone and clicks through his call log, finding the number of the person Sam was talking to this morning.
The phone rings, then Ruby picks up. “Hey Sam.” Dean’s heart drops. When Ruby asks, “You there?”, he quickly hangs up the phone, deeply troubled.
Sam opens the door and tells his brother that “Lenny Bristol was definitely into the siren vic.”
“You got in to see him?” Dean asks as Sam shuts the door.
“Yeah. He said he brought a stripper home named Belle, a couple hours later he offed his mother. Belle, of course, went MIA.”
“Wait, he killed his mom?” Dean asks, surprised, and Sam just shrugs, answering, “The woman he was closest too.”
Sam’s phone starts to ring, and Dean picks it up. “Yeah, you uh, forgot your cell phone.” He tosses it to his brother, who answers it, “Hey, Bobby.”
“Sam, you find her yet?”
“Uh no, and it doesn’t seem like she’s slowin’ down any. What about you?”
At the other end of the line, Bobby is sitting at his desk, surrounded by his own pile of research books. “Some lore from a dusty Greek poem,” he answers, sarcastically adding, “Shockingly, it’s a little vague.”
“Hold on a sec, let me put you on speaker.” Sam sets the phone down and puts Bobby on speaker so Dean can hear too.
“Says you need a bronze dagger, covered in the blood of a sailor under the spell of the song.”
Dean stares at the phone. What’s that supposed to mean? Bobby has no idea either. “You’re dealing with 300 years of the telephone game here,” he answers.
“Best guess?” Sam asks and Dean sits down at the table.
“Well, the siren’s spell ain’t got nothing to do with any song,” Bobby answers. “It’s most likely some kind of toxic or venom. Something she gets in the vic’s blood.”
“That makes them go all Manchurian Candidate,” Sam agrees. “Uh, wat do you think? She infects the men during sex?”
“Maybe.”
Dean nods. “Supernatural STD.”
“Well however it happens, once it’s done, the siren’s gotta watch her back. She gets a dose of her own medicine—”
“It kills her,” Sam finishes.
Bobby nods. “Like a snake gettin’ iced by its own venom.”
“So what, you gotta find a way to juice one of the OJ’s in jail?” Dean asks.
“Not that easy. None of those guys are under the spell anymore,” Bobby answers. “I haven’t got a clue where you’re gonna get the blood you need.”
Sam thinks a second, then answers, “I think I might have an idea.”
Bobby warns them about the trickiness of sirens, then hangs up.
~*~*~
Sam and Dean go back to talk to Dr. Roberts, who seems happy to see Sam again. “Can’t stay away, huh?” Dean rolls his eyes, giving his brother a pointed look.
“Actually, uh, we’re here on business,” Sam finally answers, adjusting his suit jacket. “About the—the blood samples. The ones with the high…you know, uh—Oxytocin?”
Dean gives him a ‘that took long enough’ look, and gets to the point. “Do you still have them?
Dr. Roberts finally glances at him. “Mmhmm.”
“Good, we need them.”
“What for?”
Before either brother can answer, another man in a suit walks in. “Excuse me Dr. Roberts?”
“Excuse me, uh,” Dean answers as he and Sam pull out their fake FBI badges. “We’re a little busy here, buddy.”
“Yeah,” the guy answers, pulling out his own FBI badge. “So am I, pal.”
Uh-oh.
“Uh, could you give us a sec please?” Sam asks Dr. Roberts, and she heads back into her office, leaving the men alone.
Dean turns to the FBI Agent. “What’s your name?”
“Nick Monroe, what’s yours?”
“I’m Special Agent Sam Styles, this is my partner, Dean Murdoch.” The brothers show Monroe their badges. “What office you from?”
Monroe tells them he’s from the Omaha office, that he was sent down to check out the murders. “You?”
“DC,” Dean answers easily. “Our Assistant Director assigned us.”
“Which AD?”
“Mike Kaiser,” Sam answers just as easily.
“What are your badge numbers?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Dean asks, and Monroe assures them he’s just following protocol.
“Look man, whatever,” Sam answers, pulling out a business card. “Just call our AD, he’ll sort things out, huh?”
Sam and Dean wait as Monroe walks off and calls. Someone picks up and he asks for Assistant Director Kaiser. After a moment, “Uh, yes sir, hell, it’s Agent Nick Monroe. I’m calling about two of your men, Styles and Murdoch? Uh, it seems that they’ve been put on my case by mistake.”
~*~*~
At home wearing his hat and “kiss the cook” apron, Bobby is frying up some hamburger, and asks, “You questioning my authority?”
“No no, Sir, I’m not questioning.”
“You could have fooled me,” Bobby answers. “Last time I checked son, DC has jurisdiction.” He wipes his hand off on his apron. “Or am I wrong?”
“No Sir.”
“Good.” He starts to walk to the wall. “Well next time you want to waste my time with stupid questions, don’t.” Bobby hangs up the phone labeled FBI. It’s one of four phones hanging on the wall, all labeled with a different agency. “Those idgits.”
~*~*~
Monroe hands up his phone and hands Sam back the business card. “I’m sorry guys.”
They shake it off, but Dean can’t help but answer, “Just don’t let it happen again.”
Right. “Where are you at with this?” Monroe asks, and Dean asks him the same question. “Well,” he answers, “I was just about to run the perp’s bloodwork.”
“I already checked,” Sam answers. “It’s a dead end.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well get this,” Monroe says. “I feel like I’ve found something that, uh, connects all the murders.”
“Really?” Sam asks, surprised.
“They were all bangin’ strippers from the same club,” Monroe answers, proud of himself. Sam and Dean pretend to be surprised.
“You don’t say?” Dean answers, and Monroe thinks they should all go down and check it out.
“Well here’s the thing, Nick,” Dean answers. “See, we’re kinda lone wolves—“
“You know what?” Sam interrupts, much to Dean’s surprise. “That sounds like an excellent idea, just give me a second with my partner and we’ll, uh, one second.” He turns to Dean. “Come here.” They walk off to the side and Sam tells his brother, “Dude, you gotta stay with him.”
“What?”
“Keep him out of the way?”
“Why me?”
“Cuz I gotta get the blood samples.”
Dean doesn’t like it. What’s he supposed to do with Monroe? Sam gives his brother an exasperated look. “Take him to the strip clubs; keep an eye out for the siren.” Dean still doesn’t like it. “Come Dean, just focus on the naked girls, you’ll forget he’s even there.”
Dean gives his brother a stern look. “I’m not doin’ this for you, I’m doin’ it for the girls.”
~*~*~
Outside, Dean and Monroe head for The Impala. “Okay, we’re takin’ my ride, no complaining about the tunes.”
Monroe stops when he sees the car. “No way, you drive an Impala?”
“Yeah,” Dean answers, heading for the door.
“It’s a ’67 right?” Monroe asks, clearly impressed. “It’s a 327 four-barrel.”
Dean pauses unlocking the door. “Yeah actually.”
“It’s a thing of beauty!”
“Thanks,” Dean answers, thinking that maybe this Monroe guy isn’t so bad after all.
Monroe asks how Dean talked the bureau “into lettin’ you drive your own wheels?” and they get into the car.
~*~*~
Back inside Dr. Robert’s office, she asks Sam why he wants the blood samples. He tells her he just wants to run some test, and she teases, “You know, I’ve run every test there is. It’s uh, my job. Notice the lab coat.”
Right, but uh, “We know a specialist who’d like to try out a theory.”
Okay then. “If you say so.” She goes to get the samples out, but bad news. “The blood’s gone.”
~*~*~
At the strip club, Dean and Monroe are sitting at a table away from the crowd. Each takes a shot, and continue their music trivia contest.
“Nobody’s Fault But Mine,” Dean asks.
“Oh, oh,” Monrore thinks. He knows this one. “Zeppelin recorded it in ’75. It was a cover of cover of a Blind Willie Johnson tune.”
“Nice!”
“You Shook Me,” Monroe shouts, asking Dean this time.
“Oh,” Dean let’s out a ‘this is too easy’ noise, and finishes, “’69. Debut album, written by Willie Dixon.”
“And…?”
“And what?” Dean has to shout to be heard over the music.
“Written by Willie Dixon, and J.B. Lenore!”
Dean grins. “Dude! *Dude*!” Clearly this is awesome. “You know, for a Fed you’re not a total dick.”
“Aren’t we both Feds?” Monroe shouts, and Dean quickly covers himself, “Yeah, I know, I just, there’s not a lot of feds as cool as us, huh?” Monroe nods. Very true.
Getting back to the case, he asks Dean how one girl convinces four guys to murder? Dean just answers, “Crazy world.”
“I guess,” Monroe answers, glancing from one of the dancers then back to Dean. “Hey, can I level with you?”
“Hmm?”
“It’s about something kinda weird.”
“You brought your weird to the right spot,” Dean answers, watching one of the dancers. “Lay it on me.”
Monroe hands over an evidence bag with a purple flower in it. Turns out the flower was left at more than one of the crime scenes. On purpose? Maybe. Like a killer’s calling card. Monroe admits that he still has no idea what’s going on here. He might not, but Dean does. He’s seen this kind of flower before.
~*~*~
Back at the doctor’s office, Sam and Dr. Roberts are watching the surveillance tapes. They’ve got nothing. Whoever took the blood apparently tampered with the tapes too. Sam asks her who has access to her office, and she tells him that everybody does. “We don’t lock it.”
“You what?”
“I’ve never had this problem before.” She looks up at him. “What is so important about the blood anyway?”
“I think someone drugged the men, made ‘em commit murder.”
“What?” she asks skeptically. “What kind of drug?”
“Uh, I’m not sure yet.”
Dr. Roberts isn’t so sure. She interviewed each of the guys and “they all had their reasons.” Sam agrees that that’s true, “but they all loved their victims.”
“I’m sure they did.” When Sam just waits for her to elaborate, she finally gets up and asks, “Come on, haven’t you ever been in a relationship where you really loved somebody and still kinda wanted to bash their head in?”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Yeah,” she answers, biting her lip and grinning. There’s no way Sam can miss the fact that she’s flirting with him. She gets up and goes to a cupboard, and Sam tells her he’s sorry. “I don’t mean to pry.” She just sets two glasses down on the desk and pours him a drink. Sam looks at the hard liquor, surprised. “Really?”
She hands out one of the glasses to him. “It’s medicine.” When Sam hesitates, she adds, “I’m a doctor.”
He thinks a moment then finally takes the glass, smelling it as she pours herself a drink. She starts to tell him about the named Carl who she was married to. And then “fate happened.” One day she woke up and it was like living with a stranger. He knows what she’s talking about right? Yeah, maybe.
“People change,” she says. “I know I did. But it’s nothing to feel guilty about, it happens.”
Sam studies her a second, then asks, “So you two split up?”
“Yeah I suppose that’s the word for it,” she answers, pouring herself another drink.
Sam’s phone rings and he glances down at the caller.
“You need to get that?” She looks up at him, and he hesitates a moment, then answers, “No. Not right now.” He hangs up the phone and sets it back down.
“Whatever,” she answers, filling his glass. “We’ve all got our own sad stories, so screw it.” She gets up. “Have fun, no regrets, and live life like there’s no tomorrow.” They clink glasses.
She sets her glass down and leans in very close to Sam’s ear. “For instance, I have been thinking about you…all night…Well, parts of you.”
“Just parts?” Sam asks, amused.
She moves from his ear to hover inches in front of his mouth. “Mmmhmm…Like your lips. They’re very distracting.” She looks at him, very close now. “It’s a problem.”
Sam glances down as she unknots and slides his tie off.
“I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.”
“That so?” Sam asks, and she nods.
“So?” She raises her eyebrows at him. “What the hell, huh?” She kisses him slowly, then more intense. Clothes begin to fly and they back into the window, closing the blinds on the flower found at the crime scene…
~*~*~
Sam walks down the hotel hallway, opens the door to his and Dean’s room, and finds it empty. Pulling out his cell phone, he calls Dean, who is driving through the rain and wondering where on earth his brother has been.
“With Cara.”
“Oh, it’s ‘Cara’ now?” Dean asks dryly. “And you’re not picking up your phone.”
“We were trying to find the blood samples, someone stole them.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Nick found flower petals at the crime scene. Hyacinths.”
“So?”
“Hyacinths?” Dean asks, wondering when his brother will finally catch on. “Mediterranean? From the island where the whole freakin’ siren myth started in the first place?”
“Okay?”
“Sam, Cara had hyacinths flowers,” Dean finally explains.
Sam nearly laughs. “You think Cara’s the siren?”
“Well I did a little checkin’ up on her,” Dean answers. “She’s only been in town for two months.”
“And?”
“And she has an ex-husband, a DEAD ex-husband, Carl Roberts. Dropped like a stone, no warning, supposedly a heart attack.”
“Well, maybe it was a heart attack,” Sam answers, and Dean can’t believe it.
“You’re kidding me.”
“Look, I just don’t think it’s her.”
“What makes you so sure?” Dean asks, and Sam tells him “a hunch.”
“A hunch? I’m givin’ you cold hard facts here and you’re givin’ me a hunch?” Sam doesn’t answer, and suddenly it hits Dean. “Did you sleep with her?”
Sam shifts uncomfortably. “No.”
“Holy crap you did,” Dean answers, easily hearing the lie in his little brother’s voice. Sam can’t deny it, and Dean adds, “It’s the middle of Basic Instinct and you banged Sharon Stone? Sam, you could be under her spell right now!”
“Dude, I’m not under her spell.”
“Unbelievable man, I just don’t get it.”
“What?”
Dean hesitates a second, then answers the usual, “Nothing.”
Sam’s not letting him off the hook that easily. “No, say it.”
“Naw, it’s just, first it’s Madison, and then Ruby, and now Cara,” Dean says, frustrated and getting angry. “What is with you and bangin’ monsters?”
“Dean, I’m telling you, it’s not Cara. I feel fine.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
“You don’t trust me?” Sam asks, and Dean immediately answers, “No, because this could be the siren talking.”
“Just tell me where you are, and I’ll come meet you and we’ll figure things out.”
Dean is silent a moment, then finally answers, “No.”
“Are you serious?”
“I wish I weren’t. I gotta handle this Sam,” Dean answers, curtly adding, “By myself” before hanging up.
Sam gets up and angrily throws his phone across the room.
Dean calls Bobby and leaves a message on his phone, “Sam’s in trouble Bobby, I think the siren’s worked her mojo on him. Call as soon as you get this.” Dean hangs up, then dials another number.
Monroe picks up the phone. He too is driving in the rain. “Hey man, what’s up?”
“I need your help.”
“Uh, sure, with what?”
“Canvassing,” Dean answers. “We gotta find somebody.”
~*~*~
Monroe sits outside a pup and watches Cara get out of a taxi and go in. Dean walks opens his car door and sits down in the passenger’s seat.
“She went in just a second ago,” Monroe tells him.
“Nice work.” Dean glances towards the building.
“Should we follow her in?”
“No, no, no, I don’t want to tip her off. I’m just waitin’ and see who she comes out with.”
Monroe is still a little confused. “So you think…what? She’s druggin’ these guys?”
“Pretty much.”
“Uh-huh…”
“I know how it sounds,” Dean answers.
“Are you sure about that, because “it sounds like crazy on toast,” Monroe says, going over it. “All these different strippers, they’re magically the same girl, but then they’re not strippers at all, it’s Dr. Quinn.”
“It’s kind of hard to explain,” Dean admits. “But I have my reasons and they’re good ones, so you’re just gonna have to trust me on it.”
Monroe nods. “Yeah, okay, I guess.”
Dean looks at him to see if he’s being sarcastic. He’s not. Monroe is serious.
“Thank you,” Dean tells him, adding to himself, “That’s actually nice to hear.” He pulls out a flask, takes a drink, then offers it to Monroe, who laughs, then takes a drink himself.
Monroe hands the flask back to Dean, who takes another drink as Monroe says, “So let’s say she is druggin’ our vics.” He glances at the flask. “How’s she pullin’ that off?”
“She could be injecting them, or passing it on through physical contact.”
Monroe nods, still looking at the flask. “Or, it could be her saliva.”
Dean nods, then glances down at the flask and suddenly realizes his mistake.
“You really should have wiped the lip of that thing before you drank from it,” Monroe chastises, smiling. Dean swallows hard, zoning out of himself as Monroe coaxes, “I should really be your little brother.” Dean looks at him, and he continues, “Sam? You can’t trust him. Not like you can trust me.” He looks at his true self in the rearview mirror. His eyes are milky white with deep bruise-like circles around them.
“In fact, I really feel like you should get him out of the way so that we can be brothers…forever.”
Dean looks at him a moment, then answers, “Yeah. Yeah you’re right.”
~*~*~
Sam opens the hotel room door to find Monroe sitting on the bed…
~*~*~
Outside, Bobby pulls three pop bottles out of his car and goes to give two of them to Sam and Dean, who are standing by The Impala.
“Thanks,” Sam answers, taking it, but Dean just looks at the bottle and asks, “Soda?”
“You boys are drivin’ ain’t ya?”
Good point. They all take a swig of their pop.
“Thanks Bobby,” Sam is the first to speak. “You know, you showin’ up when you did…”
“You’ve done the same for me. More than once. Of course, you could have picked up the phone,” Bobby adds. “It only took one call to figure out that Agent Nick Monroe wasn’t real.”
Neither brother answers, knowing he’s right. Dean takes another drink, and Bobby studies them a moment. Finally, he asks, “You boys gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Sam quickly answers, and Dean agrees, “Yeah, good.”
Well okay then. Bobby salutes them, then starts for his car, but turns back around to remind them that, “You know, those sirens are nasty things. That it got to you, that’s no reason to fill bad.” They nod their thanks and Bobby gets in his car and drives off.
“You gonna say goodbye to Cara?” Dean asks, not looking at his brother.
“Nah,” Sam answers, letting out a breath. “Not interested.”
“Really? Why not?”
“What’s the point?” Sam asks, and Dean looks at his brother.
“Well look at you, love ‘em and leave ‘em.”
They stand there in silence a moment, then Sam finally says, “Dean look, you know I didn’t mean those things I said back there, right? That it was just the siren’s spell talking?”
Dean nods. “Of course.”
“Okay…” Sam is still a little worried. “So we’re good?”
“Yeah we’re good.”
Sam nods and Dean finishes off his pop and goes around to the driver’s side. They both get into The Impala silently.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
AAAARGH! Are you kidding me? They are so NOT good! *eye roll* Boys. LoL Talk about a sad episode though.
Dean could have anything in the world, and the one thing he wanted, needed, was his little brother back? That, and the fight? Well, just go ahead and rip out my heart and stomp all over it now, because we all know that it’s only going to get worse from here on out. Oh man…*chews lip nervously* But great episode, as always! Despite the gut-wrenching and heart-stomping, you know I love my angsty Winchesters as much as the sarcastic funny ones! 
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