Comicommentary: Supernatural Origins - Issue #2
This post is critical of the Supernatural: Origins comic Issue #2, particularly the art and the characterisation of John Winchester. If such a viewpoint is likely to offend you, you will not want to read this entry.
Word Count: 4500-ish, plus reference graphics
Rating: GEN, pg-13
Characters: Sam and Dean
Summary: Sam and Dean do a commentary on the SPN:Origins comic Issue #2 (Conversation-style)
Warnings: Extreme spoilers for SPN:Origins Issue #2, and spoilers for all of Season 1 and 2, probably. Also major league breakage of the fourth wall, and lots of rambling. Intended to be like a movie commentary, sort of. Excessive snark. Loads of disclaimers at the beginning and extended A/N at the end.
THANK YOU to malevolent73, longhairedlady, and wynterwolf47 for previewing/betaing/providing moral support for this. Tea and cookies all around!
DISCLAIMERS:
Images from Supernatural Origins Issue #2 are reproduced for review and analysis purposes and are not intended to infringe the copyright in any way. All rights remain with Wildstorm and the original authors. I will remove the images if requested by the copyright holders.
The characters of Sam and Dean Winchester belong to Eric Kripke and the CW Network. The opinions they express are nobody's but mine and my guess at what the characters would think which is likely way off base, but hopefully entertaining.
PLEASE NOTE: I originally wrote this before Peter Johnson made his much appreciated (and unprecedented, to my knowledge) announcement of changes being made to the comic based on fan input. No insult or injury is intended. Just expressing an opinion or two. I don't want to offend people.
Comicommentary: Supernatural Origins Issue #2
"Hey there, I'm Sam."
"And I'm Dean"
"And we're here to do a commentary on 'Supernatural: Origins part two'"
"More like a review."
"Kind of a fact-checking maybe?"
"Still freaks me out there's a comic book that's supposed to be about us."
"This is all just a dream though, Dean, so it's okay."
"Really? Where are the chicks?"
"What? Never mind. Anyway, the comic. Issue Number Two, Supernatural Origins."
"Who the hell is that on the cover?"
"That's-"
"-and why is he holding a turnip?"
"Er-"
"And Chucky's in it?"
"What?"
"Chucky? Evil murderous doll? Child's Play, Chucky's Back, Bride of Chucky? From the movies?"
"Uh, no, Dean. That's you."
"Me? Nuh uh. When I was a kid, I was never a glaring muppet."
"It's not a photorealistic art style, it's representational."
"Which means..."
"Not supposed to look exactly like us"
"Ah, well, they got that right. So the guy with the gun is supposed to be Dad?"
"Yeah."
"And... heh... you're the turnip?"
"Dean-"
"Nonono, Sammy. The art's pretty dead on about that, you did look like a turnip."
"Whatever. So, okay, anyway, let's take a look inside."
"...Nice layout..."
"...Yeah... Nice bullet holes in the Kansas sign. Good to know the locals can't aim."
"...um..."
"And that sure sounds like Missouri, same pushy old bi-"
"-Dean!"
"Yeah, yeah, okay, fine. So..."
"Hmm..."
"... What is that, a station wagon?"
"And what's this about a tooth?"
"YOU WANT THE TOOTH? YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TOOTH!"
"Wha-! Dude! What was that for?"
"Sorry, Sam... don't know what came over me for a second there."
"You really need to stop it with the Nicholson, man."
"I, uh, yeah, heh. Maybe."
"Next page yet?"
"Sure, still trying to figure out what's up with the station wagon."
"Oh my god. Dad's driving a station wagon?"
"Yeah, that's kind of..."
"HA! A station wagon!"
"Did Dad have a station wagon when I was a baby?"
"Oh hell no! He always had the Impala, as long as I can remember."
"So where's this station wagon coming from? Dean?"
"Sorry, I just it's... *snerk* Dad! Station wagon!"
"Are you done yet?"
"Heh, I'll never be done."
"Great. So anyway-"
"Station wagon!"
"Dean! Focus!"
"Pft! Okay, fine. Hehe. Ahem. Yeah, go."
"So, besides the Sta-"
"Station wagon! HA!"
"DEAN!"
"Oh come on! You have no sense of humor! Dad driving a station wagon is like... like you full-on headbanging to Enter Sandman."
"Can we please get past the station wagon? We're only on page two here. Besides, I've just heard that that's going to get fixed in reprints, so lighten up on it, okay?"
"Oh, okay. That's good then... Hunh. I don't think I ever asked that question."
"Which one? You're asking a hell of a lot of them."
"The one about going home. I mean, I was four, but we sat on the hood of the Impala, watched the place burn to the ground, and Mom never came out. I never wanted to go back there, swore I wouldn't go back there and didn't until your Shining thing let us know about that poltergeist."
"Hunh."
"I didn't bug Dad like that, either, I don't think. I was never that whiny."
"I wouldn't exactly call that whiny, Dean."
"Well, okay, not whiny. Pushy. Whatever. I didn't ask Dad a bunch of questions I already knew the answers to."
"I think it's being used as exposition."
"Yeah, I suppose. At this time you're pre-verbal and can't ask all the questions, so I gotta take up the slack."
"Whatever."
"It's still wrong though... I didn't feel much like talking after Mom died. Like I told that kid at that lake last year, Lucas."
"Well... maybe it's not you?"
"Oh, come on. Who else would be riding in the back of Dad's, heh, station wagon with your turnipy little- hey, where are you?"
"I think that blue thing under that... white... um..."
"Fog patch?"
"Sun glare, off the window, I think. That blue thing is supposed to be me."
"Heh. you don't even have a face under that white patch, just a red wooly cap."
"Yeah, well, at least I don't look like a Mr. Potato Head."
"I do not look like a Mr. Potato Head!"
"Oh yeah? Third row, third panel. Tell me those lips aren't held on with plastic pegs."
"Okay, fine."
"You're also five feet tall, judging by where your head is in relation to the rearview mirror. How old are you supposed to be here?"
"Four or five, I think?"
"Did you shrink since then?"
"You've got a hell of an attitude for a faceless turnip. Next page."
"Why's Dad going to Arizona?"
"Missouri told him to, I think. Something about some guy."
"Wow, Dad used to be angsty."
"Was he?"
"Not... really. More of a get up and do something instead of sitting around feeling sorry for yourself kind of guy."
"Maybe he went through a bad patch you don't remember, right at the start?"
"... maybe. I doubt it, but maybe."
"Next page?"
"Next page."
"Wow, this guy in Tempe is paranoid. And anal."
"Ya think?"
"And again with the tooth. What's with this tooth?"
"I think it must be something from the first comic."
"First comic?"
"Well, yeah, Dean, this is number two, so, there's a number one."
"Why haven't we reviewed that one?"
"... I don't know, really. This is all a dream, remember. Because if someone actually started writing a comic book about us in our world, that would be really-"
"-weird."
"Right. And probably somehow related to the Demon."
"Hm. Right. Okay. So Dad's going to talk to this dork in Tempe Missouri sent him to see about a tooth that was from the issue before this one."
"Right."
"Well, whatever Dad's going to talk to this guy about, he better hurry. He's left the lights on on the *snerk* station wagon."
"Where?"
"Third panel."
"Heh. They are too."
"Black Sucko?"
"Black Shuck." *ping*
"Dude, what are you doing with the laptop?"
"Checking up on their lore."
"You are a total geek. Even in a dream."
"Here we are. Black Shuck. It's another name for hellhound, mostly used in East Anglia in Great Britain. Red or green eyes."
"So the comic's done some critter research."
"Wikipedia anyway."
"I don't remember any hellhounds back then though... British or otherwise. But there could have been."
"Well, I wouldn't put too much stock in it, because according to this guy in Tempe every single graveyard is a potent site for a Devil's Gate."
"Dude. How much would that suck if that were the case?"
"Big time. We're in about three graveyards a month, on average for one reason and another. The way this guy says it they're all just itching to pop open a gate to Hell."
"We would've run into something before now. So, is that green wiggly thing the Sucko's tooth then?"
"Shuck. I think so."
"Why's it got pi on it?"
"What? It doesn't have pie on it!"
"Sure it does. Right there. Pi. Right above the whirlygig."
"Oh. Pi. Sorry, I thought you were talking about, like, pie you eat."
"I'm wounded, Sam, wounded that you always assume I'm talking about food."
"I don't always assume you're talking about food."
"Good."
"I assume you're usually talking about sex."
"As long as that's clear."
"Perfectly."
"Chip?"
"No thanks. Hey, where'd you get the Doritos from?"
"My dream. If there's not gonna be girls, there better be food."
"Whatever. Just don't get cheese dust on the comic."
"Fine, Sam, you turn the page. The ad with the guy with eyes all over his head is starting to creep me out."
"Heh. Station wagon."
"Dean..."
"It'll never not be funny, Sammy. Deal with it."
"...so... Hunh. That's weird."
"Did this dork in Tempe just hand Dad a blank book and tell him to write stuff down?"
"Looks like."
"Well, that's crap."
"Yeah, kind of."
"I mean, Dad had his journal started when he met Missouri. First entry, first page. 'I went to Missouri and learned the truth'"
"Which was that he needed to go see this guy in Tempe about a British hellhound in California, how gates to hell can pop up in random graveyards? And so he could give Dad a pristine, blank book, and tell him to write things down in it?"
"Yeah, looks like, because as you very well know, Sam, Dad doesn't do anything at all unless some almost total stranger tells him to."
"Ha! Yeah, right. 'Cause Dad's just such a pushover when it comes to people telling him to do stuff."
"Totally. That whole page there is just ludicrous."
"I kind of wish he'd had a hard-bound book like that though, it might be easier to find stuff in Dad's journal if it was in chronological order and the pages and newspaper clippings didn't keep falling out."
"Hey, it's not that hard to find stuff in Dad's journal."
"Only if you put things back in where they fell out from."
"...you can tell?"
"Well... no actually. That's half the problem."
"Anyway, the next page looks promising."
"Dark mysterious guy in a hat and a trenchcoat, following Dad. Is that supposed to be a demon, you think?"
"If it is, he's sporting one hell of a mustache."
"Dean, I think that's just a shadow."
"Could be... I gotta say, I like the bottom panel on this page."
"Yeah, it's actually kind of cool. Nice trenchcoat."
"Standard trip to the mall in Dad's, hehe, stai-"
"Dean, enough already! I told you they're fixing it!"
"Fine! I'll make fun of your sad little E.T. baby-self here at the bottom of the page."
"Dean-"
"At least you've got a face this time. Yep. You were one fugly baby Sammy. Huge and lumpy. The three Stooges haircut didn't help, considering you didn't have much in the way of hair at six months old.... Sam?"
"You done yet? Got it out of your system?"
"... Yeah, I'm good."
"Okay."
"For this page."
"Dean..."
"Oh come on, Sam, it's just a comic."
"Whatever. Next page?"
"Yep."
"Okay. Incidentally..."
"Yeah?"
"What's a 'Size 12' in relation to guns?"
"... no clue. 12 gauge, maybe?"
"Okay. As long as it's not just me."
"Okay, I'm getting sick of me asking questions all the time."
"You also look like you aged six years."
"At least. 'What do you need that for dad?' Pft. For shooting things. Duh. I feel like smacking myself."
"Heh. Oh, hey! It's the guy with the hat!"
"He took out dad? That's not cool."
"Well, it kinda serves Dad right for checking into a hotel that apparently doesn't have peepholes in the doors."
"And for standing right next to the door like that. I mean seriously, if evil shadowy trenchcoat and hat guy had a gun or a knife, Dad would be toast right there."
"Oh wow... Indiana Jones?!"
"Um... I don't think so, Dean..."
"Looks like him... Is it the guy from before, the one with the trenchcoat?"
"...no trenchcoat, same hat... maybe?"
"Woo. Hat guy knows about Mom? And Dad knows this guy? What the hell?"
"Wait, maybe it's not trenchcoat guy."
"Who the hell is it then?"
"Jacob... Not ringing any bells..."
"...except for little you, Dean."
"Uncle Jacob? Like Mom's Uncle we've never even met? Is his name Jacob?"
"...maybe? I don't remember."
"Hunh. And Uncle Jacob knocked Dad and his 'size 12' shotgun down by opening a door."
"Looks like."
"How in hell'd he knock Dad on his ass by opening a door? Dad's not that stupid. I mean if he was Indiana Jones or evil shadowy trenchcoat guy I could maybe see it, but random normal relative?"
"Yeah, really."
"Why's he busting the door in anyway? It's not like Dad wasn't opening it."
"No idea.... Says Mom was raised by her Uncle Jacob when her folks died. Wonder if that's true?"
"Hard to say, there's so much stuff that's way off base in here, there's no telling if it's supposed to be true or not. Could be."
"Hunh.... Hey, that's kind of interesting. You apparently tossed me up onto the bed between the first two panels without moving at all. See? Not there, there."
"Naw, you could teleport when you were a baby."
"What?!"
"Yeah, you grew out of it. Thank god."
"...Dean..."
"Heh. Totally had you goin' for a second there didn't I, Sammy?"
"Oh, please."
"And besides looking like a turnip from outer space, you weighed fifty pounds at six months old. Dude, look at that drawing, look how big you are compared to the bed, you're huge!"
"So are you."
"No kidding, I look twelve. Tallest four-year-old in the world. I'm in Guinness."
"Drinking Guinness, maybe."
"Aw, Sammy, I had to be huge to pack around your forty-pound baby ass, now didn't I?"
"Anyway. Moving on now."
"...So, Dad's showing Uncle Jake the tooth thing?"
"Must've been before he developed rule number one."
"Must be. Hey, the pi moved!"
"What?"
"The pi! The pi on the tooth thing! It was right next to the whirlygig before, and now it's down under the slashes and dots."
"... You're right. Hunh."
"Think the symbols changing is supposed to mean anything?"
"... Nah."
"So where are we at?"
"Dad's invited Uncle Jacob, a random relative with no known combat experience, who may or may not have raised Mom, along to track down a hellhound in a graveyard. Looks like Dad's trying to prove something to Uncle Jacob, maybe? He's asking what Dad's going to do with us."
"And you're a forty-pound squashy alien turnip in a Smurf-skin sleeper."
"Dean-"
"Seriously, dude, that thing is way too blue."
"All right, I get it, I'm ugly and my brother dresses me funny."
"Nuh-uh, Sammy. You hunted down those Smurfs all by yourself."
"Dean-"
"Killed 'em, skinned 'em and made yourself a set of footie pajamas. You kicked ass as a baby."
"Can we move on now please?"
"Sure thing, Sammy Smurf-killer."
"You are far too amused by this."
"... Dude, what?"
"Did Dad just leave us with some totally unknown hotel clerk?"
"Yeah... looks like. Maybe she's the hotel manager?"
"He'd never do that. Ever."
"Dad was hardly a saint, Dean, and he left us totally on our own lots of-"
"-No, you don't get it. Dad wouldn't do that. Leaving us with some hotel clerk? A total stranger? No. That's just asking for the clerk to call child protection services. Unless the clerk's a whackjob, which is asking for a whole lot of other things."
"But not if-"
"No, think about it, Sam. A lone guy checks into a hotel with his two kids. Another guy comes by, the lone guy takes off with him and leaves his kids with the clerk, and pays her fifty bucks, in 1983 which would make it like paying over a hundred bucks today. Probably in cash."
"Hm...."
"See? Looks suspicious, and Dad might not have known all the ins and outs of staying off the grid back then, but he knew enough not to do something like that."
"Well, there's that and Dad left us with some friend of mom's and she was attacked and killed."
"What? When was this?"
"In the first issue, I heard."
"More stuff from the first issue? We really need to take a look at that thing."
"Yeah, sure, next dream maybe. Anyway, just based on stuff they've had in the comic, if the last time Dad left us with someone we were attacked by a demonic dog or something and the person watching us was killed, leaving us with an even more random unprepared person makes no sense whatsoever."
"See, Sam? Like I said, it's total bull."
"Hey, even Uncle Jake thinks- Hold on.... No way."
"What?"
"Is that the Impala?"
"... Looks kind of like an LTD..."
"No, no, that's an Impala. The headlights and grill are right..."
"So... they're saying the Impala was originally Uncle Jacob's?"
"Oh, yeah, sure. So, Uncle Jacob just happened to stop by on the night Mom died, and we still never met him?"
"Maybe he lived next door?"
"I repeat, 'and we still never met him?'"
"Anyway, it doesn't matter because they're fixing it."
"Right. Good."
"So, Dad's going off to a cemetery where he's pretty sure there's something nasty lurking, at night."
"No sense waiting for daylight to scout the place out."
"Naw. Why go in prepared?"
"Takes the excitement out of it."
"Especially if he's taking along a random clueless relative twice his age."
"One who can knock Dad down by opening a door, remember."
"Oh, yeah. Uncle Hell-Puppy Chow will be just fine then. Why exactly did he bring Uncle Jacob along, to hold the flashlight?"
"I have a bad feeling about this."
"Well, it is page 13. Sort of, if you leave out the ads."
"Heh. 'Trust me, I'll know when I see it.' That sounds like Dad."
"Sam... Actually, yeah, it kinda does. I gotta say, Uncle Jake's being a real sport about being led to his obvious doom here."
"How the hell do two people search an entire graveyard and miss a giant mausoleum in the middle?"
"Maybe they saw it and just missed the engraving. After all, it's the middle of the night, and there is only one flashlight."
"And they couldn't pick up another one at a gas station on the way? I'm gonna get eyestrain if I roll my eyes any harder here, Sam."
"If they missed it that easily with only one flashlight, I'm surprised they can see it matches at all, never mind a perfect match."
"But it's not a perfect match! The symbols are in totally different positions than the thing on the mausoleum!"
"Hunh. Yeah, and they're different than on the previous pages too."
"Hell, Sam, the mausoleum symbols are different between the panels on this page."
"Why does this hellhound have engravings on its fangs anyway?"
"And why its home address? 'This tooth is property of a Black Sucko-'"
"-Shuck."
"'-Sucko. If found, please return to big-ass crypt in the middle of Hidden Hills Cemetery, Eureka, California.' Seriously."
"So now he's telling this Uncle Jacob guy that they're in the graveyard looking for a dangerous killer."
"And now he's thinking it might be a good idea to prepare."
"After dragging Uncle Jake out in the dark to help."
"Yep."
"'Oh, incidentally, we're looking for a dangerous killer. Slipped my mind, sorry.' The hell?"
"And of course Uncle Jacob... wait. How did that work exactly?"
"You mean how Dad's standing right there, feeling up the door to the crypt when all of a sudden Uncle Jake's opening it too fast for Dad to stop him, even though he's right there?"
"Yeah, that."
"Maybe Uncle Jake can teleport too."
"Funny, Dean."
"Love how Uncle Jake's standing there yapping for a second with the door open and Dad's still not making a move to shut the door or pull him away."
"It's also interesting how the hellhound doesn't attack right away, but waits for Uncle Jacob to finish talking."
"Well, see, that's probably because it's a British hellhound. Maybe they're more polite and all, and don't interrupt a guy's last words however lame they are."
"Heh, maybe."
"Aaaaand splat goes Uncle Jacob. Dead from being a dumbass."
"...Mom's uncle's still alive, isn't he?"
"As far as we know."
"Just checking."
"...Wow. Dad sucks."
"So, not only did he not tell his only potential backup that they're going into a probably dangerous situation, he forgets where his gun is, can't pick up a lit flashlight three feet away, can't shut the crypt door before the thing comes out, can't do basic first aid, and sits there in a helpless panic going 'No, please, no?'"
"That about covers it, Dean."
"Dad used to be a Marine. He served active duty. This? Is ridiculous."
"Next page?"
"Yeah. I'm done with this one."
"...Okay... what exactly happened there?"
"Entirely visible hellhound jumps on Dad, who drops injured Uncle Jake like a hot potato for a second between panels apparently, someone shoots the hellhound, which..."
"...Maybe it's some kind of special-"
"Meh, whatever. Shoots the hellhound, which goes down like a sack of rocksalt. Hellhound then gets up and runs away."
"British hellhounds are kind of pathetic."
"You're telling me? One shot and they run away? No wonder they call 'em Suckos."
"It's Black Shu- Actually, you know, in this case, Sucko works."
"See? And the whole time, Dad sits there like a lump."
"So who fired the shot?"
"I'm dreading finding that out. But who knows, maybe it was me."
"You? You're supposed to be four, Dean."
"Nearly five. Maybe I found Dad's gun, ran out, stowed away in the trunk and snuck out in time to shoot it."
"Come on, Dean."
"Why not? It makes as much sense as any other possibility."
"Next page?"
"I can hardly wait."
"Hey, it's trenchcoat guy!"
"Of course, he was the gun on the wall."
"Come again?"
"It's a literary device, Anton Chekhov-"
"Oh! The Russian guy on Star Trek. 'Take me to your nuclear wessels'!"
"Um, no Dean. Anyway, the guy in the trenchcoat was introduced in an enigmatic and dramatic way and so of course he's going to show up later."
"Well, yeah, of course he is. They always do."
"But you didn't know the literary device."
"I watch movies, Sam."
"No, really? I'd never have guessed."
"Smartass. So, trenchcoat guy can fire a gun, color-coordinate, and strike full page dramatic poses in graveyards."
"And he showed up just in time to save Dad's cowering ass."
"Hunh. It's not one of those Mary-Sue things again is it?"
"I don't think so."
"Hope not. Man, I hate those freakin' things."
"There must have been a sale on those hats, it's just like Uncle Jacob's."
"I've got a theory about those Mary-Sue things, wanna hear it?"
"...do I have a choice?"
"See I figure it's like this-"
"-thought so-"
"-they're some kind of demon that projects an invisible field of stupidity and incompetence. Because every time one of them gets near us, or, like in this comic, the main character, the main character starts acting like they can't find their own ass with both hands tied behind their back, and waits around all doe-eyed to be rescued by one of these Mary-Sue demons. Like Dad here and the guy in the trenchcoat."
"Hunh. You know, that almost makes sense. Almost."
"Whatever. Anyway, whether he's one of those Mary-Sue things or not, he's a total poser."
"Poser?"
"Poser. One who poses. This guy with his trenchcoat swirling in the convenient dramatic breeze? He's a poser. Trying to look like more than he is."
"But we don't know who he is yet, maybe the posing is warranted?"
"Huh. Maybe. Still looks like he's trying to look all heroic and stuff, like the cover of a romance novel."
"...Dean, how-"
"Uh, never mind! Next page!"
"Who's Fletcher Gable?"
"The, uh, 'dork in Tempe', I think, Dean. He's apparently a legend."
"Ah. You know, I think I hate this guy."
"Who, Fletcher Gable?"
"Naw, trenchcoat guy here. 'Hi, I kick ass and you suck.'"
"Well to be fair, the way this comic has written Dad, he kind of does suck."
"Hmm. You've got a point, Sam. So, Uncle Jake's still alive? They don't seem too concerned about it."
"Yeah, relative bleeding out on the ground, no need to rush or anything."
"Total poser."
"What? The 'That's right.'?"
"Yeah. There is a guy bleeding to death in the back seat and trenchcoat guy is being all enigmatic, and Dad's chatting. What's wrong with a fake name and hauling ass to a hospital?"
"What gets me, Dean, is even though enigmatic trenchcoat guy won't give Dad a name, he tells Dad there's nothing the hospital could do for poor, ignored, dying in the back seat Uncle Jacob, who is still with it enough to groan so he's still breathing and semiconscious, and Dad just buys it."
"Seriously, the hell? Why is Dad just going along with this?"
"Well... He starts to buck what the guy's telling him in the middle of the page, but he guy tells him to relax, so he just... does."
"That's Dad. Always so trusting of nameless strangers. ...Maybe this guy has the same thing as Andy?"
"Mind control? That'd explain a lot, but I seriously doubt it."
"I mean, 'What would you tell them?' He was attacked by a dog! A big evil dog, but still a dog! It's not like it's a knifing or a gunshot wound, or oozing green-"
"-hey! You said you'd never mention that!"
"Right, sorry Sam. Got carried away there. Still, I mean, he's probably got health insurance, why not just take him to a hospital and punt him out the door? It's an obvious animal attack. Pick us up from the damn hotel clerk, and haul ass out of town. Uncle Jacob would say he was attacked by a big dog, and it ran away. Probably report the car stolen, but whatever, it was never his in the first place."
"Enigmatic trenchcoat guy said the hospitals couldn't help Jacob."
"Why not? It's a hellhound-wannabe, not a werewolf. Is Uncle Jake gonna turn and slash up a bunch of doctors or what?"
"Nothing in Wikipedia. Though it did say... the, uh, Black Shuck is the basis for the Grim in Harry Potter."
"Oh, that's really helpful."
"Did Dad just push Uncle Jacob off a cliff?"
"Looks like."
"No way. Nuh-unh. Never happen. Unless there's some really bad blood between Uncle Jacob and Dad-"
"-beyond threatening to take us away, Dean? And Jacob blaming Dad for not saving Mom?"
"...yeah. beyond that. If Dad offed everyone that threatened to turn us over to CPS over the years there'd be a pile of corpses even you couldn't see over. We moved, when things got close to that point. Dad didn't just off people, whether they were annoying relatives or not. Especially not on the say-so of some enigmatic guy in a trenchcoat he just met. Why is Dad still listening to this guy?"
"... because trenchcoat guy shot the really wussy hellhound that Dad should have been able to shoot himself, but he was too busy lying around wondering whether he remembered to bring a gun?"
"Ah, yes. And saving Dad's ass while striking a dramatic full-page pose, don't forget."
"So Dad's doing this because enigmatic trenchcoat guy is now all of a sudden Dad's hero?"
"Hey, hey, I get it! He's Obi-Wan, dude! He just rescued Luke from the Sand Creatures and now he's gonna train the young Jedi in the ways of the Force."
"Um. Yeah, Dean. Dad as Luke Skywalker?"
"Why not? I mean it's totally ludicrous, sure, but why not?"
"Well, Dad's not a whiny little farm boy without a clue. He's a combat-experienced Marine, not that you can tell from the way this comic's making him out to be."
"...Yeah, that's true. And Obi-Wan never told Luke to push Uncle Owen off a cliff."
"Also true."
"And Obi-Wan wasn't a poser."
"...Well..."
"Dude, Obi-wan was not a poser!"
"You have to admit, Dean, he had a certain sense of dramatic... posturing."
"Yeah, well, not like this guy in the trenchcoat."
"True."
"Civilian? Dad was a Marine!"
"No, I think it's supposed to mean civilian to the hunting world. The comic even mentioned him being a Marine earlier."
"Why isn't he acting like it? I mean he..."
"What?"
"Nothin'. Just right from as early as I can remember, Dad kind of fell back on his training, giving orders to... to whoever was available to get things done that needed done, not freezing in a crisis. If Dad had been like he is in this comic, we all would've died when Mom did, twenty-three years ago."
"Hunh. Yeah, I guess..."
"Walking into unknown and likely dangerous territory totally unarmed? Sitting on his ass while Mom's Uncle bleeds out on him and some hell-hound thing charges at them? Nuh uh. Dad saw active duty. That right there, that's bull."
"Hmm. 'This isn't the thing that killed your wife,' says trenchcoat guy."
"Oh, really? Ya think?"
"Even on Dad's worst day, he would've known that. For one, no fire."
"And for two, no giant green dog fangs with math on them in the wreckage of the house."
"Maybe Dad just never mentioned a fang. Or maybe you forgot."
"I was four, Sam. If Dad had been waving around a giant green dog fang, it would have made an impression."
"And that was the last page. So, to summarize, Dad was a passive, ineffectual idiot until Missouri told him to go see some dork in Tempe who told Dad to start a journal and go hunt an incredibly wussy hellhound-wannabe in Eureka, California. Uncle Jacob showed up in time to tag along and get gutted-"
"-enigmatic trenchcoat guy showed up in time to save Dad's ass because Dad was sitting there doing nothing. Then they killed Uncle Jacob by not getting him medical help, loaded him semiconscious into Dad's-"
"-into a station wagon which is not going to be Dad's when they fix it in the reprints, so drop it already, Dean."
"I wasn't gonna say anything, Sam. It's cool that they're changing it."
"But you've-"
"You have a very suspicious mind, young man. Where were we?"
"Uh... Shoving semiconscious Uncle Jacob off a cliff in a station wagon of nebulous ownership."
"Right. Then Dad went off to be mentored by enigmatic trenchcoat guy. And you're a giant alien Smurf-slaying turnip, and I'm five feet tall at four years old and never stop asking stupid questions."
"Aaaand it looks like that's it for this issue. Hope you all have enjoyed the commentary, but we're going to go wake up now."
"I still want to know where the chicks are if this is my dream."
"It's not... um, we... never mind."
- - -
A/N: Some references have obviously been influenced by conversations about the comics (Chucky and Smurfs, etc.) on the TWoP Supernatural comic discussion thread and elsewhere on fan-sites, and LiveJournal. If anyone spots anything in here they feel should be credited to a specific person, please let me know and I'll credit them directly.
A/N2: I am not in any way trying to dissuade people from buying the comics. I love that there's a comic, I buy two copies of every issue so far, and intend to continue doing so for however many issues they last. I am thrilled beyond reason that Peter Johnson has announced he will be trying to get the comic altered to get it more in line with events depicted in the TV series with regards to the origin of the Impala.
A/N3: If there is a large negative reaction to this post, I will f-lock it, or private-lock it. That's totally not a threat, and it's not a "taking my toys and going home" thing, but because I wrote this to vent my spleen and thought other people might find it entertaining. If people don't enjoy it, then there's no reason to leave it public :-)
To that end, here's a little poll. Maybes will get counted as half Yes, half No. After a week, I'll take the poll down and do whatever the results of the poll say.
ETA: The week is over, and the result was a unanimous yes. So, up it stays!
* * *
And now I'm off to read issue #3!
Word Count: 4500-ish, plus reference graphics
Rating: GEN, pg-13
Characters: Sam and Dean
Summary: Sam and Dean do a commentary on the SPN:Origins comic Issue #2 (Conversation-style)
Warnings: Extreme spoilers for SPN:Origins Issue #2, and spoilers for all of Season 1 and 2, probably. Also major league breakage of the fourth wall, and lots of rambling. Intended to be like a movie commentary, sort of. Excessive snark. Loads of disclaimers at the beginning and extended A/N at the end.
THANK YOU to malevolent73, longhairedlady, and wynterwolf47 for previewing/betaing/providing moral support for this. Tea and cookies all around!
DISCLAIMERS:
Images from Supernatural Origins Issue #2 are reproduced for review and analysis purposes and are not intended to infringe the copyright in any way. All rights remain with Wildstorm and the original authors. I will remove the images if requested by the copyright holders.
The characters of Sam and Dean Winchester belong to Eric Kripke and the CW Network. The opinions they express are nobody's but mine and my guess at what the characters would think which is likely way off base, but hopefully entertaining.
PLEASE NOTE: I originally wrote this before Peter Johnson made his much appreciated (and unprecedented, to my knowledge) announcement of changes being made to the comic based on fan input. No insult or injury is intended. Just expressing an opinion or two. I don't want to offend people.
Comicommentary: Supernatural Origins Issue #2
"Hey there, I'm Sam."
"And I'm Dean"
"And we're here to do a commentary on 'Supernatural: Origins part two'"
"More like a review."
"Kind of a fact-checking maybe?"
"Still freaks me out there's a comic book that's supposed to be about us."
"This is all just a dream though, Dean, so it's okay."
"Really? Where are the chicks?"
"What? Never mind. Anyway, the comic. Issue Number Two, Supernatural Origins."
"Who the hell is that on the cover?"
"That's-"
"-and why is he holding a turnip?"
"Er-"
"And Chucky's in it?"
"What?"
"Chucky? Evil murderous doll? Child's Play, Chucky's Back, Bride of Chucky? From the movies?"
"Uh, no, Dean. That's you."
"Me? Nuh uh. When I was a kid, I was never a glaring muppet."
"It's not a photorealistic art style, it's representational."
"Which means..."
"Not supposed to look exactly like us"
"Ah, well, they got that right. So the guy with the gun is supposed to be Dad?"
"Yeah."
"And... heh... you're the turnip?"
"Dean-"
"Nonono, Sammy. The art's pretty dead on about that, you did look like a turnip."
"Whatever. So, okay, anyway, let's take a look inside."
"...Nice layout..."
"...Yeah... Nice bullet holes in the Kansas sign. Good to know the locals can't aim."
"...um..."
"And that sure sounds like Missouri, same pushy old bi-"
"-Dean!"
"Yeah, yeah, okay, fine. So..."
"Hmm..."
"... What is that, a station wagon?"
"And what's this about a tooth?"
"YOU WANT THE TOOTH? YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TOOTH!"
"Wha-! Dude! What was that for?"
"Sorry, Sam... don't know what came over me for a second there."
"You really need to stop it with the Nicholson, man."
"I, uh, yeah, heh. Maybe."
"Next page yet?"
"Sure, still trying to figure out what's up with the station wagon."
"Oh my god. Dad's driving a station wagon?"
"Yeah, that's kind of..."
"HA! A station wagon!"
"Did Dad have a station wagon when I was a baby?"
"Oh hell no! He always had the Impala, as long as I can remember."
"So where's this station wagon coming from? Dean?"
"Sorry, I just it's... *snerk* Dad! Station wagon!"
"Are you done yet?"
"Heh, I'll never be done."
"Great. So anyway-"
"Station wagon!"
"Dean! Focus!"
"Pft! Okay, fine. Hehe. Ahem. Yeah, go."
"So, besides the Sta-"
"Station wagon! HA!"
"DEAN!"
"Oh come on! You have no sense of humor! Dad driving a station wagon is like... like you full-on headbanging to Enter Sandman."
"Can we please get past the station wagon? We're only on page two here. Besides, I've just heard that that's going to get fixed in reprints, so lighten up on it, okay?"
"Oh, okay. That's good then... Hunh. I don't think I ever asked that question."
"Which one? You're asking a hell of a lot of them."
"The one about going home. I mean, I was four, but we sat on the hood of the Impala, watched the place burn to the ground, and Mom never came out. I never wanted to go back there, swore I wouldn't go back there and didn't until your Shining thing let us know about that poltergeist."
"Hunh."
"I didn't bug Dad like that, either, I don't think. I was never that whiny."
"I wouldn't exactly call that whiny, Dean."
"Well, okay, not whiny. Pushy. Whatever. I didn't ask Dad a bunch of questions I already knew the answers to."
"I think it's being used as exposition."
"Yeah, I suppose. At this time you're pre-verbal and can't ask all the questions, so I gotta take up the slack."
"Whatever."
"It's still wrong though... I didn't feel much like talking after Mom died. Like I told that kid at that lake last year, Lucas."
"Well... maybe it's not you?"
"Oh, come on. Who else would be riding in the back of Dad's, heh, station wagon with your turnipy little- hey, where are you?"
"I think that blue thing under that... white... um..."
"Fog patch?"
"Sun glare, off the window, I think. That blue thing is supposed to be me."
"Heh. you don't even have a face under that white patch, just a red wooly cap."
"Yeah, well, at least I don't look like a Mr. Potato Head."
"I do not look like a Mr. Potato Head!"
"Oh yeah? Third row, third panel. Tell me those lips aren't held on with plastic pegs."
"Okay, fine."
"You're also five feet tall, judging by where your head is in relation to the rearview mirror. How old are you supposed to be here?"
"Four or five, I think?"
"Did you shrink since then?"
"You've got a hell of an attitude for a faceless turnip. Next page."
"Why's Dad going to Arizona?"
"Missouri told him to, I think. Something about some guy."
"Wow, Dad used to be angsty."
"Was he?"
"Not... really. More of a get up and do something instead of sitting around feeling sorry for yourself kind of guy."
"Maybe he went through a bad patch you don't remember, right at the start?"
"... maybe. I doubt it, but maybe."
"Next page?"
"Next page."
"Wow, this guy in Tempe is paranoid. And anal."
"Ya think?"
"And again with the tooth. What's with this tooth?"
"I think it must be something from the first comic."
"First comic?"
"Well, yeah, Dean, this is number two, so, there's a number one."
"Why haven't we reviewed that one?"
"... I don't know, really. This is all a dream, remember. Because if someone actually started writing a comic book about us in our world, that would be really-"
"-weird."
"Right. And probably somehow related to the Demon."
"Hm. Right. Okay. So Dad's going to talk to this dork in Tempe Missouri sent him to see about a tooth that was from the issue before this one."
"Right."
"Well, whatever Dad's going to talk to this guy about, he better hurry. He's left the lights on on the *snerk* station wagon."
"Where?"
"Third panel."
"Heh. They are too."
"Black Sucko?"
"Black Shuck." *ping*
"Dude, what are you doing with the laptop?"
"Checking up on their lore."
"You are a total geek. Even in a dream."
"Here we are. Black Shuck. It's another name for hellhound, mostly used in East Anglia in Great Britain. Red or green eyes."
"So the comic's done some critter research."
"Wikipedia anyway."
"I don't remember any hellhounds back then though... British or otherwise. But there could have been."
"Well, I wouldn't put too much stock in it, because according to this guy in Tempe every single graveyard is a potent site for a Devil's Gate."
"Dude. How much would that suck if that were the case?"
"Big time. We're in about three graveyards a month, on average for one reason and another. The way this guy says it they're all just itching to pop open a gate to Hell."
"We would've run into something before now. So, is that green wiggly thing the Sucko's tooth then?"
"Shuck. I think so."
"Why's it got pi on it?"
"What? It doesn't have pie on it!"
"Sure it does. Right there. Pi. Right above the whirlygig."
"Oh. Pi. Sorry, I thought you were talking about, like, pie you eat."
"I'm wounded, Sam, wounded that you always assume I'm talking about food."
"I don't always assume you're talking about food."
"Good."
"I assume you're usually talking about sex."
"As long as that's clear."
"Perfectly."
"Chip?"
"No thanks. Hey, where'd you get the Doritos from?"
"My dream. If there's not gonna be girls, there better be food."
"Whatever. Just don't get cheese dust on the comic."
"Fine, Sam, you turn the page. The ad with the guy with eyes all over his head is starting to creep me out."
"Heh. Station wagon."
"Dean..."
"It'll never not be funny, Sammy. Deal with it."
"...so... Hunh. That's weird."
"Did this dork in Tempe just hand Dad a blank book and tell him to write stuff down?"
"Looks like."
"Well, that's crap."
"Yeah, kind of."
"I mean, Dad had his journal started when he met Missouri. First entry, first page. 'I went to Missouri and learned the truth'"
"Which was that he needed to go see this guy in Tempe about a British hellhound in California, how gates to hell can pop up in random graveyards? And so he could give Dad a pristine, blank book, and tell him to write things down in it?"
"Yeah, looks like, because as you very well know, Sam, Dad doesn't do anything at all unless some almost total stranger tells him to."
"Ha! Yeah, right. 'Cause Dad's just such a pushover when it comes to people telling him to do stuff."
"Totally. That whole page there is just ludicrous."
"I kind of wish he'd had a hard-bound book like that though, it might be easier to find stuff in Dad's journal if it was in chronological order and the pages and newspaper clippings didn't keep falling out."
"Hey, it's not that hard to find stuff in Dad's journal."
"Only if you put things back in where they fell out from."
"...you can tell?"
"Well... no actually. That's half the problem."
"Anyway, the next page looks promising."
"Dark mysterious guy in a hat and a trenchcoat, following Dad. Is that supposed to be a demon, you think?"
"If it is, he's sporting one hell of a mustache."
"Dean, I think that's just a shadow."
"Could be... I gotta say, I like the bottom panel on this page."
"Yeah, it's actually kind of cool. Nice trenchcoat."
"Standard trip to the mall in Dad's, hehe, stai-"
"Dean, enough already! I told you they're fixing it!"
"Fine! I'll make fun of your sad little E.T. baby-self here at the bottom of the page."
"Dean-"
"At least you've got a face this time. Yep. You were one fugly baby Sammy. Huge and lumpy. The three Stooges haircut didn't help, considering you didn't have much in the way of hair at six months old.... Sam?"
"You done yet? Got it out of your system?"
"... Yeah, I'm good."
"Okay."
"For this page."
"Dean..."
"Oh come on, Sam, it's just a comic."
"Whatever. Next page?"
"Yep."
"Okay. Incidentally..."
"Yeah?"
"What's a 'Size 12' in relation to guns?"
"... no clue. 12 gauge, maybe?"
"Okay. As long as it's not just me."
"Okay, I'm getting sick of me asking questions all the time."
"You also look like you aged six years."
"At least. 'What do you need that for dad?' Pft. For shooting things. Duh. I feel like smacking myself."
"Heh. Oh, hey! It's the guy with the hat!"
"He took out dad? That's not cool."
"Well, it kinda serves Dad right for checking into a hotel that apparently doesn't have peepholes in the doors."
"And for standing right next to the door like that. I mean seriously, if evil shadowy trenchcoat and hat guy had a gun or a knife, Dad would be toast right there."
"Oh wow... Indiana Jones?!"
"Um... I don't think so, Dean..."
"Looks like him... Is it the guy from before, the one with the trenchcoat?"
"...no trenchcoat, same hat... maybe?"
"Woo. Hat guy knows about Mom? And Dad knows this guy? What the hell?"
"Wait, maybe it's not trenchcoat guy."
"Who the hell is it then?"
"Jacob... Not ringing any bells..."
"...except for little you, Dean."
"Uncle Jacob? Like Mom's Uncle we've never even met? Is his name Jacob?"
"...maybe? I don't remember."
"Hunh. And Uncle Jacob knocked Dad and his 'size 12' shotgun down by opening a door."
"Looks like."
"How in hell'd he knock Dad on his ass by opening a door? Dad's not that stupid. I mean if he was Indiana Jones or evil shadowy trenchcoat guy I could maybe see it, but random normal relative?"
"Yeah, really."
"Why's he busting the door in anyway? It's not like Dad wasn't opening it."
"No idea.... Says Mom was raised by her Uncle Jacob when her folks died. Wonder if that's true?"
"Hard to say, there's so much stuff that's way off base in here, there's no telling if it's supposed to be true or not. Could be."
"Hunh.... Hey, that's kind of interesting. You apparently tossed me up onto the bed between the first two panels without moving at all. See? Not there, there."
"Naw, you could teleport when you were a baby."
"What?!"
"Yeah, you grew out of it. Thank god."
"...Dean..."
"Heh. Totally had you goin' for a second there didn't I, Sammy?"
"Oh, please."
"And besides looking like a turnip from outer space, you weighed fifty pounds at six months old. Dude, look at that drawing, look how big you are compared to the bed, you're huge!"
"So are you."
"No kidding, I look twelve. Tallest four-year-old in the world. I'm in Guinness."
"Drinking Guinness, maybe."
"Aw, Sammy, I had to be huge to pack around your forty-pound baby ass, now didn't I?"
"Anyway. Moving on now."
"...So, Dad's showing Uncle Jake the tooth thing?"
"Must've been before he developed rule number one."
"Must be. Hey, the pi moved!"
"What?"
"The pi! The pi on the tooth thing! It was right next to the whirlygig before, and now it's down under the slashes and dots."
"... You're right. Hunh."
"Think the symbols changing is supposed to mean anything?"
"... Nah."
"So where are we at?"
"Dad's invited Uncle Jacob, a random relative with no known combat experience, who may or may not have raised Mom, along to track down a hellhound in a graveyard. Looks like Dad's trying to prove something to Uncle Jacob, maybe? He's asking what Dad's going to do with us."
"And you're a forty-pound squashy alien turnip in a Smurf-skin sleeper."
"Dean-"
"Seriously, dude, that thing is way too blue."
"All right, I get it, I'm ugly and my brother dresses me funny."
"Nuh-uh, Sammy. You hunted down those Smurfs all by yourself."
"Dean-"
"Killed 'em, skinned 'em and made yourself a set of footie pajamas. You kicked ass as a baby."
"Can we move on now please?"
"Sure thing, Sammy Smurf-killer."
"You are far too amused by this."
"... Dude, what?"
"Did Dad just leave us with some totally unknown hotel clerk?"
"Yeah... looks like. Maybe she's the hotel manager?"
"He'd never do that. Ever."
"Dad was hardly a saint, Dean, and he left us totally on our own lots of-"
"-No, you don't get it. Dad wouldn't do that. Leaving us with some hotel clerk? A total stranger? No. That's just asking for the clerk to call child protection services. Unless the clerk's a whackjob, which is asking for a whole lot of other things."
"But not if-"
"No, think about it, Sam. A lone guy checks into a hotel with his two kids. Another guy comes by, the lone guy takes off with him and leaves his kids with the clerk, and pays her fifty bucks, in 1983 which would make it like paying over a hundred bucks today. Probably in cash."
"Hm...."
"See? Looks suspicious, and Dad might not have known all the ins and outs of staying off the grid back then, but he knew enough not to do something like that."
"Well, there's that and Dad left us with some friend of mom's and she was attacked and killed."
"What? When was this?"
"In the first issue, I heard."
"More stuff from the first issue? We really need to take a look at that thing."
"Yeah, sure, next dream maybe. Anyway, just based on stuff they've had in the comic, if the last time Dad left us with someone we were attacked by a demonic dog or something and the person watching us was killed, leaving us with an even more random unprepared person makes no sense whatsoever."
"See, Sam? Like I said, it's total bull."
"Hey, even Uncle Jake thinks- Hold on.... No way."
"What?"
"Is that the Impala?"
"... Looks kind of like an LTD..."
"No, no, that's an Impala. The headlights and grill are right..."
"So... they're saying the Impala was originally Uncle Jacob's?"
"Oh, yeah, sure. So, Uncle Jacob just happened to stop by on the night Mom died, and we still never met him?"
"Maybe he lived next door?"
"I repeat, 'and we still never met him?'"
"Anyway, it doesn't matter because they're fixing it."
"Right. Good."
"So, Dad's going off to a cemetery where he's pretty sure there's something nasty lurking, at night."
"No sense waiting for daylight to scout the place out."
"Naw. Why go in prepared?"
"Takes the excitement out of it."
"Especially if he's taking along a random clueless relative twice his age."
"One who can knock Dad down by opening a door, remember."
"Oh, yeah. Uncle Hell-Puppy Chow will be just fine then. Why exactly did he bring Uncle Jacob along, to hold the flashlight?"
"I have a bad feeling about this."
"Well, it is page 13. Sort of, if you leave out the ads."
"Heh. 'Trust me, I'll know when I see it.' That sounds like Dad."
"Sam... Actually, yeah, it kinda does. I gotta say, Uncle Jake's being a real sport about being led to his obvious doom here."
"How the hell do two people search an entire graveyard and miss a giant mausoleum in the middle?"
"Maybe they saw it and just missed the engraving. After all, it's the middle of the night, and there is only one flashlight."
"And they couldn't pick up another one at a gas station on the way? I'm gonna get eyestrain if I roll my eyes any harder here, Sam."
"If they missed it that easily with only one flashlight, I'm surprised they can see it matches at all, never mind a perfect match."
"But it's not a perfect match! The symbols are in totally different positions than the thing on the mausoleum!"
"Hunh. Yeah, and they're different than on the previous pages too."
"Hell, Sam, the mausoleum symbols are different between the panels on this page."
"Why does this hellhound have engravings on its fangs anyway?"
"And why its home address? 'This tooth is property of a Black Sucko-'"
"-Shuck."
"'-Sucko. If found, please return to big-ass crypt in the middle of Hidden Hills Cemetery, Eureka, California.' Seriously."
"So now he's telling this Uncle Jacob guy that they're in the graveyard looking for a dangerous killer."
"And now he's thinking it might be a good idea to prepare."
"After dragging Uncle Jake out in the dark to help."
"Yep."
"'Oh, incidentally, we're looking for a dangerous killer. Slipped my mind, sorry.' The hell?"
"And of course Uncle Jacob... wait. How did that work exactly?"
"You mean how Dad's standing right there, feeling up the door to the crypt when all of a sudden Uncle Jake's opening it too fast for Dad to stop him, even though he's right there?"
"Yeah, that."
"Maybe Uncle Jake can teleport too."
"Funny, Dean."
"Love how Uncle Jake's standing there yapping for a second with the door open and Dad's still not making a move to shut the door or pull him away."
"It's also interesting how the hellhound doesn't attack right away, but waits for Uncle Jacob to finish talking."
"Well, see, that's probably because it's a British hellhound. Maybe they're more polite and all, and don't interrupt a guy's last words however lame they are."
"Heh, maybe."
"Aaaaand splat goes Uncle Jacob. Dead from being a dumbass."
"...Mom's uncle's still alive, isn't he?"
"As far as we know."
"Just checking."
"...Wow. Dad sucks."
"So, not only did he not tell his only potential backup that they're going into a probably dangerous situation, he forgets where his gun is, can't pick up a lit flashlight three feet away, can't shut the crypt door before the thing comes out, can't do basic first aid, and sits there in a helpless panic going 'No, please, no?'"
"That about covers it, Dean."
"Dad used to be a Marine. He served active duty. This? Is ridiculous."
"Next page?"
"Yeah. I'm done with this one."
"...Okay... what exactly happened there?"
"Entirely visible hellhound jumps on Dad, who drops injured Uncle Jake like a hot potato for a second between panels apparently, someone shoots the hellhound, which..."
"...Maybe it's some kind of special-"
"Meh, whatever. Shoots the hellhound, which goes down like a sack of rocksalt. Hellhound then gets up and runs away."
"British hellhounds are kind of pathetic."
"You're telling me? One shot and they run away? No wonder they call 'em Suckos."
"It's Black Shu- Actually, you know, in this case, Sucko works."
"See? And the whole time, Dad sits there like a lump."
"So who fired the shot?"
"I'm dreading finding that out. But who knows, maybe it was me."
"You? You're supposed to be four, Dean."
"Nearly five. Maybe I found Dad's gun, ran out, stowed away in the trunk and snuck out in time to shoot it."
"Come on, Dean."
"Why not? It makes as much sense as any other possibility."
"Next page?"
"I can hardly wait."
"Hey, it's trenchcoat guy!"
"Of course, he was the gun on the wall."
"Come again?"
"It's a literary device, Anton Chekhov-"
"Oh! The Russian guy on Star Trek. 'Take me to your nuclear wessels'!"
"Um, no Dean. Anyway, the guy in the trenchcoat was introduced in an enigmatic and dramatic way and so of course he's going to show up later."
"Well, yeah, of course he is. They always do."
"But you didn't know the literary device."
"I watch movies, Sam."
"No, really? I'd never have guessed."
"Smartass. So, trenchcoat guy can fire a gun, color-coordinate, and strike full page dramatic poses in graveyards."
"And he showed up just in time to save Dad's cowering ass."
"Hunh. It's not one of those Mary-Sue things again is it?"
"I don't think so."
"Hope not. Man, I hate those freakin' things."
"There must have been a sale on those hats, it's just like Uncle Jacob's."
"I've got a theory about those Mary-Sue things, wanna hear it?"
"...do I have a choice?"
"See I figure it's like this-"
"-thought so-"
"-they're some kind of demon that projects an invisible field of stupidity and incompetence. Because every time one of them gets near us, or, like in this comic, the main character, the main character starts acting like they can't find their own ass with both hands tied behind their back, and waits around all doe-eyed to be rescued by one of these Mary-Sue demons. Like Dad here and the guy in the trenchcoat."
"Hunh. You know, that almost makes sense. Almost."
"Whatever. Anyway, whether he's one of those Mary-Sue things or not, he's a total poser."
"Poser?"
"Poser. One who poses. This guy with his trenchcoat swirling in the convenient dramatic breeze? He's a poser. Trying to look like more than he is."
"But we don't know who he is yet, maybe the posing is warranted?"
"Huh. Maybe. Still looks like he's trying to look all heroic and stuff, like the cover of a romance novel."
"...Dean, how-"
"Uh, never mind! Next page!"
"Who's Fletcher Gable?"
"The, uh, 'dork in Tempe', I think, Dean. He's apparently a legend."
"Ah. You know, I think I hate this guy."
"Who, Fletcher Gable?"
"Naw, trenchcoat guy here. 'Hi, I kick ass and you suck.'"
"Well to be fair, the way this comic has written Dad, he kind of does suck."
"Hmm. You've got a point, Sam. So, Uncle Jake's still alive? They don't seem too concerned about it."
"Yeah, relative bleeding out on the ground, no need to rush or anything."
"Total poser."
"What? The 'That's right.'?"
"Yeah. There is a guy bleeding to death in the back seat and trenchcoat guy is being all enigmatic, and Dad's chatting. What's wrong with a fake name and hauling ass to a hospital?"
"What gets me, Dean, is even though enigmatic trenchcoat guy won't give Dad a name, he tells Dad there's nothing the hospital could do for poor, ignored, dying in the back seat Uncle Jacob, who is still with it enough to groan so he's still breathing and semiconscious, and Dad just buys it."
"Seriously, the hell? Why is Dad just going along with this?"
"Well... He starts to buck what the guy's telling him in the middle of the page, but he guy tells him to relax, so he just... does."
"That's Dad. Always so trusting of nameless strangers. ...Maybe this guy has the same thing as Andy?"
"Mind control? That'd explain a lot, but I seriously doubt it."
"I mean, 'What would you tell them?' He was attacked by a dog! A big evil dog, but still a dog! It's not like it's a knifing or a gunshot wound, or oozing green-"
"-hey! You said you'd never mention that!"
"Right, sorry Sam. Got carried away there. Still, I mean, he's probably got health insurance, why not just take him to a hospital and punt him out the door? It's an obvious animal attack. Pick us up from the damn hotel clerk, and haul ass out of town. Uncle Jacob would say he was attacked by a big dog, and it ran away. Probably report the car stolen, but whatever, it was never his in the first place."
"Enigmatic trenchcoat guy said the hospitals couldn't help Jacob."
"Why not? It's a hellhound-wannabe, not a werewolf. Is Uncle Jake gonna turn and slash up a bunch of doctors or what?"
"Nothing in Wikipedia. Though it did say... the, uh, Black Shuck is the basis for the Grim in Harry Potter."
"Oh, that's really helpful."
"Did Dad just push Uncle Jacob off a cliff?"
"Looks like."
"No way. Nuh-unh. Never happen. Unless there's some really bad blood between Uncle Jacob and Dad-"
"-beyond threatening to take us away, Dean? And Jacob blaming Dad for not saving Mom?"
"...yeah. beyond that. If Dad offed everyone that threatened to turn us over to CPS over the years there'd be a pile of corpses even you couldn't see over. We moved, when things got close to that point. Dad didn't just off people, whether they were annoying relatives or not. Especially not on the say-so of some enigmatic guy in a trenchcoat he just met. Why is Dad still listening to this guy?"
"... because trenchcoat guy shot the really wussy hellhound that Dad should have been able to shoot himself, but he was too busy lying around wondering whether he remembered to bring a gun?"
"Ah, yes. And saving Dad's ass while striking a dramatic full-page pose, don't forget."
"So Dad's doing this because enigmatic trenchcoat guy is now all of a sudden Dad's hero?"
"Hey, hey, I get it! He's Obi-Wan, dude! He just rescued Luke from the Sand Creatures and now he's gonna train the young Jedi in the ways of the Force."
"Um. Yeah, Dean. Dad as Luke Skywalker?"
"Why not? I mean it's totally ludicrous, sure, but why not?"
"Well, Dad's not a whiny little farm boy without a clue. He's a combat-experienced Marine, not that you can tell from the way this comic's making him out to be."
"...Yeah, that's true. And Obi-Wan never told Luke to push Uncle Owen off a cliff."
"Also true."
"And Obi-Wan wasn't a poser."
"...Well..."
"Dude, Obi-wan was not a poser!"
"You have to admit, Dean, he had a certain sense of dramatic... posturing."
"Yeah, well, not like this guy in the trenchcoat."
"True."
"Civilian? Dad was a Marine!"
"No, I think it's supposed to mean civilian to the hunting world. The comic even mentioned him being a Marine earlier."
"Why isn't he acting like it? I mean he..."
"What?"
"Nothin'. Just right from as early as I can remember, Dad kind of fell back on his training, giving orders to... to whoever was available to get things done that needed done, not freezing in a crisis. If Dad had been like he is in this comic, we all would've died when Mom did, twenty-three years ago."
"Hunh. Yeah, I guess..."
"Walking into unknown and likely dangerous territory totally unarmed? Sitting on his ass while Mom's Uncle bleeds out on him and some hell-hound thing charges at them? Nuh uh. Dad saw active duty. That right there, that's bull."
"Hmm. 'This isn't the thing that killed your wife,' says trenchcoat guy."
"Oh, really? Ya think?"
"Even on Dad's worst day, he would've known that. For one, no fire."
"And for two, no giant green dog fangs with math on them in the wreckage of the house."
"Maybe Dad just never mentioned a fang. Or maybe you forgot."
"I was four, Sam. If Dad had been waving around a giant green dog fang, it would have made an impression."
"And that was the last page. So, to summarize, Dad was a passive, ineffectual idiot until Missouri told him to go see some dork in Tempe who told Dad to start a journal and go hunt an incredibly wussy hellhound-wannabe in Eureka, California. Uncle Jacob showed up in time to tag along and get gutted-"
"-enigmatic trenchcoat guy showed up in time to save Dad's ass because Dad was sitting there doing nothing. Then they killed Uncle Jacob by not getting him medical help, loaded him semiconscious into Dad's-"
"-into a station wagon which is not going to be Dad's when they fix it in the reprints, so drop it already, Dean."
"I wasn't gonna say anything, Sam. It's cool that they're changing it."
"But you've-"
"You have a very suspicious mind, young man. Where were we?"
"Uh... Shoving semiconscious Uncle Jacob off a cliff in a station wagon of nebulous ownership."
"Right. Then Dad went off to be mentored by enigmatic trenchcoat guy. And you're a giant alien Smurf-slaying turnip, and I'm five feet tall at four years old and never stop asking stupid questions."
"Aaaand it looks like that's it for this issue. Hope you all have enjoyed the commentary, but we're going to go wake up now."
"I still want to know where the chicks are if this is my dream."
"It's not... um, we... never mind."
- - -
A/N: Some references have obviously been influenced by conversations about the comics (Chucky and Smurfs, etc.) on the TWoP Supernatural comic discussion thread and elsewhere on fan-sites, and LiveJournal. If anyone spots anything in here they feel should be credited to a specific person, please let me know and I'll credit them directly.
A/N2: I am not in any way trying to dissuade people from buying the comics. I love that there's a comic, I buy two copies of every issue so far, and intend to continue doing so for however many issues they last. I am thrilled beyond reason that Peter Johnson has announced he will be trying to get the comic altered to get it more in line with events depicted in the TV series with regards to the origin of the Impala.
A/N3: If there is a large negative reaction to this post, I will f-lock it, or private-lock it. That's totally not a threat, and it's not a "taking my toys and going home" thing, but because I wrote this to vent my spleen and thought other people might find it entertaining. If people don't enjoy it, then there's no reason to leave it public :-)
To that end, here's a little poll. Maybes will get counted as half Yes, half No. After a week, I'll take the poll down and do whatever the results of the poll say.
ETA: The week is over, and the result was a unanimous yes. So, up it stays!
* * *
And now I'm off to read issue #3!