INT. LIVING ROOM – DAY
A woman, Mrs. Xavier, was reading the Weekly World News, headline: "LEADING PSYCHICS AGREE: THE APOCALYPSE IS HERE! Experts confirm the end is upon us!" She chuckled. The door opened.
"Hey, babe," Mrs. Xavier greeted as Mr. Xavier hurried upstairs. "Nice to see you too, babe."
INT. BATHROOM – DAY
Mr. Xavier rushed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He turned on the water in the sink and leaned forward, staring into the mirror. He was a young man, but aged rapidly, skin wrinkling, hair going gray and falling out, eyes going white-blind. He stumbled backward into a cabinet, smashing glass.
INT. LIVING ROOM – DAY
Mrs. Xavier heard the crash and looked up before calling, "Honey?"
INT. BATHROOM – DAY
Mr. Xavier collapsed.
INT. LIVING ROOM – DAY
Mrs. Xavier dropped her magazine and asked, "Are you okay?"
She rushed upstairs.
INT. BATHROOM – DAY
Mrs. Xavier opened the bathroom door, took one look, and screamed.
INT. HOSPITAL – DAY
Sam, Elena and Dean, in suits, and a dress for Elena, held up CDC badges.
"You expect me to believe you're CDC?" the doctor asked.
Dean looked at Sam and Elena.
"Excuse me?" Sam and Elena said.
"It's just that you're a day early. First time in history I haven't sat on my ass waiting for you people."
"New administration," Dean told her. "A change you can believe in."
"Right."
INT. MORGUE – DAY
The doctor pulled the corpse of Mr. Xavier out of a freezer. He looked like a dead eighty-year-old.
"Meet Xavier," the doctor told them. "Date of birth, April third, nineteen eighty-four." She exchanged glances with Dean, Elena and Sam. "I know. I ran the DNA twice. That's definitely him."
"Well, he wasn't big on the sunscreen, huh?" Dean commented.
"So, what's your theory?" Elena asked.
"All I know is, decedent's male, twenty-five years old—and he died of old age," the doctor said before she walked away. Sam, Elena and Dean glanced at each other.
INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR – DAY
Sam, Elena and Dean left the morgue. Dean was on the phone.
"You were right about this one," Dean said. "It's definitely a job."
INT. BOBBY'S LIVING ROOM – DAY / INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR – DAY
Bobby sat in his wheelchair, phone to his ear. "Thought so. Any other stiffs in town?"
"Just the one body."
"Anything else?"
"Couple missing persons, but usual for a town this size."
"Well, check 'em out."
"You think they're connected?"
"Call it a hunch."
"You got it. And, by the way, how you doing?"
"Doing?"
"Yeah. You know, just... in general?"
"Oh, you mean my legs. Well, I'm just weepin' in my Haagen-Dazs. Idjit." He hung up.
HOUSE
Dean sat on an ottoman, looking at a framed photo of an old man, Cliff Whitlow. Elena stood nearby. Sam sat in an armchair and Mrs. Whitlow sat on the sofa.
"That's the most recent," Mrs. Whitlow said as Dean handed her the photo.
The photo was of Cliff as a golf tournament champion, Miami Palms June 2009, holding a golf club and trophy. A USMC tattoo was visible on his right arm.
"How long has he been missing?" Sam asked.
"Oh, I knew right away when he didn't come home Tuesday night," Mrs. Whitlow replied.
"Is there someplace he likes to go after work, maybe?" Dean questioned. "A favorite bar?"
Mrs. Whitlow laughed. "No. Tuesdays, he always works a bit late, but he always comes straight home."
"May I use your facilities, ma'am?"
INT. OFFICE – DAY
Dean entered the room, looking back over his shoulder.
He scooped a pile of papers off the desk.
Dean rifled the rest of the desk and the pockets of Cliff's coat.
He pulled out a receipt and they looked at it: it was for Madame Liu's Golden Palace and totaled over $250.
"'Working late' my ass," Dean muttered.
INT. MOTEL CORRIDOR – NIGHT
Dean, Elena and Sam walked along the corridor.
"Well, at least he's consistent," Sam said. "Same room every Tuesday, hourly rates."
"Hope I got that kind of kick when I'm his age," Dean commented.
"Yeah, like either of us will live that long."
"True."
Elena looked between them. "So... what do you think's in there?"
They paused.
"A wrinkly, gooey corpse," Dean guessed.
They went on to stop outside room 44.
Sam pulled out his lock pick kit and selected two while Dean and Elena kept watch. A man started shouting inside the room.
"Oh, God!" the man cried. "Oh, God! Oh! Oh, God!"
Sam, Elena and Dean looked at each other and slammed the door open.
"Hey! What the—" the man trailed. He was apparently naked, in bed with a woman, barely dressed.
"Oh," Sam said.
"God," Dean commented.
Elena immediately covered her eyes, not wanting to see more than she'd already seen.
Another woman came out from under the covers.
"It's gooey," Sam stated.
Both women fled the bed.
"Sorry," Dean apologized. "Uh, got the wrong room."
"Close the door!" the man yelled.
Dean and Elena were outside and Sam was about to close the door behind them when he noticed something.
"Hey," Sam said, noticing the man had a USMC tattoo that looked exactly like Cliff Whitlow's. "Nice tattoo."
Sam came back into the room and asked, "Happen to know anybody named Cliff Whitlow?"
The man shook his head. "Never heard of him."
"Well, that's weird." Sam pulled an ID out of the wallet that was in the man's pants. "'Cause you're carrying his wallet."
Dean went over to the bed and yanked up the covers to look underneath. "Huh." He dropped the sheets. "Your wife told us about your, uh, birthmark there. That's nice. Well, you look great. Cliff. Did you get some work done?"
Cliff shook his head and sighed. "Could you give us some privacy?"
The two women were robed. Dean winked at them, then went back to glaring at Cliff. Cliff, also robed, handed one of them some money and they left. He closed the door behind them and smiled at Elena, who Sam stepped in front of.
"Please don't tell my wife," Cliff begged.
"Slow down," Dean told him.
"I'm begging you. As far as she knows, I'm dead. For the love of God, let's keep it that way."
"How can you possibly be Cliff Whitlow?"
"I can't tell you."
Elena poked her head out from behind Sam before saying, "Well, either you tell us or we tell the missus."
"Okay! Okay! It was a game."
"Like... XBox?" Sam asked.
"What's XBox? No. Poker. High stakes. Instead of cash, you play for years."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Dean wondered.
"Look, I know it sounds crazy. Guy comes up to me at a bar, invites me to play. Gives me twenty-five of these weirdo poker chips, right? Chants some mumbo humbo over them, says now they're twenty-five years. I'm laughing, but then I come out up. And look at me."
"What was he chanting?" Sam and Elena inquired.
Cliff laughed. "How should I know? All I know is, my bad hip's good, I threw away my glasses. One of those ladies was here for free! Man's some kind of miracle worker."
"What does this miracle worker look like?" Dean questioned.
"Just a guy. Maybe thirty-five, brown hair. Irish accent. His name was Patrick."
"All right, all right. Where's this game at?"
"He said he likes to keep moving. Never stays in one bar long. And he finds you."
"Thank you, Cliff."
Sam, Elena and Dean headed for the door.
"Oh, and, uh... stay classy," Dean added.
EXT. STREET – DAY / INT. BOBBY'S LIVING ROOM – DAY
Sam, Elena and Dean walked along the street. Dean was on the phone with Bobby.
"It sounds crazy, right?" Dean asked.
"No," Bobby replied. "There's lore on it. Goes back centuries. Traveling card player pops into town. You beat him, you get your best years back. 'Course, most folks lose."
"Well, that would explain the crunchy corpse."
"Supposedly, this player's a hell of a card shark. Got a lot of years in the bank. You find the bar he's working in yet?"
"There's a lot of dives in this town. We're gonna have to split up."
"Well, why you still talking to me?"
Bobby hung up. Dean shut his phone. Bobby's keys were on a stack of papers; he grabbed them as he rolled past.
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Dean was on the phone with Sam and Elena.
"Find anything?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, a whole bunch of squat," Dean said. "You two?"
"No, not a thing," Elena replied.
"All right. Well, you two come up dry, circle back to the motel in two. Your turn to grab dinner, Sam."
"Usual?" Sam questioned.
"Extra bacon."
Dean hung up and sat at the bar before asking, "Can I get a beer?"
"Yep," the bartender replied as he reached for a beer bottle.
"You wouldn't happen to know of a poker game going on in back, would you?"
The bartender opened the bottle and passed it to Dean. "It's a bar, not a casino."
Dean dug into his pocket. "My friend Ben told me you'd know."
"Don't know any Ben."
"Sure you do. You know, balding, smart-ass, real ladies' man?"
The bartender leaned forward. "Listen, pal, I told you, I don't know any Ben. I don't know nothing about a game."
"You sure? 'Cause, uh..." He slid a hundred-dollar bill, with its picture of Ben Franklin, across the bar. "He sure seems to know you."
The bartender glanced down, then up, and took the bill.
EXT. BACK OF BAR – NIGHT
Dean walked around behind the bar.
The bartender voiced, "'Round back. Take the elevator down."
Something clattered. Bobby rolled out of the elevator.
"Bobby? What the hell are you doing here?" Dean wondered.
"Planting daisies," Bobby retorted. "What's it look like? Came in on the case."
"And you beat me here?"
"Well, brains trumps legs, apparently." Bobby rolled around Dean who followed.
"So, you found the game?"
"Yep."
"Did you stop it?" Bobby didn't answer. "Bobby?"
Bobby stopped and turned around. "Not exactly."
"What did you do?"
"I played, okay?"
"And?"
"I lost."
"Are you kidding me? You played some—some he-witch?"
"Don't you take that tone with me."
"You idiot!"
"They're my years! I can do what I want!"
"How many did you lose?"
"Twenty-five." Bobby aged before Dean's eyes.
"We're not done." He headed for the elevator.
INT. BAR – NIGHT
An older man and a young woman sat at the bar; he was unnamed and her name was Lia. Another man stood next to them, chewing on a toothpick. He spoke with an Irish accent; Patrick.
"So, you're saying that you're a mind reader," the older man said.
"Ah, come on," Patrick replied. "No such thing. But I can read people. Take your lovely companion here."
The older man and Lia smiled at each other.
"I'd say, judging from her exquisite posture, she used to be a dancer," Patrick added.
Lia chuckled, indicating to the older man that Patrick was right on the money.
"Not much of a drinker," Patrick noted. "Very independent. Looking for adventure."
Dean came up behind Patrick, grabbing him by the arm. "Hey, man. Excuse me. Can I borrow you for a sec?"
Dean adjusted his jacket to show Patrick the handle of his gun. Patrick glanced down at it, then up at Dean.
"Oh, yeah. Of course. Great. Good to see you."
Dean grinned, nodding, and glanced at the older man and Lia.
Dean headed for a table across the room.
"Would you two please excuse me?" Patrick questioned, following Dean to the table.
"Sorry to cut you short with Mr. and Mrs. Easy Marks over there," Dean said.
"Oh, no big." He held up a gold wristwatch. "Wasn't a total loss." Under the table, Dean pulled out his gun. "Look, I don't know what it is you think I did to your wife or girlfriend—" Dean frowned, confused and Patrick kept fishing, "—mother or sister, but, uh, I just want you to know, my feelings were real.
"That ain't my problem, man-witch. You owe my friend some years."
"Oh, that's what this is. I'm sorry. He lost. Them's the breaks."
"Well, then un-lose him." Dean cocked the gun. Patrick flicked a glance down.
"Oh, go ahead and shoot me, if it makes you feel better. Besides, I could use a good... you know... tickle. You want years? Great. Play me for 'em."
"Fine."
Bobby came up to the table and cried, "Dean, no!"
"They're my years. I can do what I want."
Bobby coughed. Patrick held up a cough drop and asked, "Lozenge?"
Bobby wheezed.
"What? It's barely linty," Patrick said. "Okay, well, suit yourself. Just trying to help."
"All right, all right," Dean stated. "Come on. Let's do this."
"You understand the terms?"
Patrick set a red case on the table. He opened it, chewing on a toothpick. It contained eight stacks of poker chips. He pulled out a stack of red chips. He took the toothpick out of his mouth.
"Buy-in's twenty-five years," Patrick told Dean as he closed the box.
"Make it fifty," Dean told Patrick.
Bobby glanced at Dean. Patrick took the toothpick back out of his mouth before replying, "I like the cut of your jib."
Dean smirked. Patrick gave Dean another stack of red chips and held his hand over them.
"Lannraich gu dealrach a-nis," Patrick said.
Light flicked along both stacks. Patrick went back to chewing his toothpick. Dean took them and counted the chips in one stack.
"Twenty-five. That's twenty-five years. They go to him," Dean told Patrick, pushing the chips into the middle of the table. "And he's cashing out."
"Dean!" Bobby yelled.
"Bobby."
"You sure?" Patrick asked.
"Yes."
Patrick nodded and held his hand over the chips. "Las suas agus cuir ás an teine. Mar sin bitheadh."
The chips caught fire, burned to ash and blew away. Bobby was back to normal.
"That's twenty-five years you just pissed away," Patrick told Dean. "Better be sure you can win them back."
Dean tapped his remaining chips. "Shuffle up and deal."
Patrick laughed. "This is gonna be fun."
INT. MOTEL ROOM – NIGHT
Sam opened the door and came in, followed by Elena, carrying a takeout tray with burgers and three sodas. He put it on the table.
"Hey, Dean? You find anything?" Sam asked.
"Uh, you might say," the old man replied.
Sam and Elena startled and drew their guns, aiming for the old man in the bathrobe.
"Who the hell are you!" Sam demanded.
"Dude, Elena, relax. It's me," the old man said.
Sam and Elena lowered the guns; the old man was familiar.
"Dean?" Sam and Elena called.
"Hi," Dean greeted.
"What the hell happened?"
"I, you know... found the game." He headed for the food and picked up a burger.
Sam frowned. "You f—I thought you said you were g-good at poker."
"I am. Shut up. So, you two were just gonna shoot some old guy? Is that it?"
"I didn't know what you were. I mean, have you seen you? You look like—"
Dean spoke with his mouth full. "The old chick in Titanic. I know. shut up."
"I was gonna say Emperor Palpatine."
The door thudded open. Bobby rolled in and the door closed before Bobby said, "I see you met John McCain there."
Elena crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Yeah. Either of you want to tell me or Sam what happened?"
"Bobby's an idiot," Dean replied. "That's what happened."
"Hey, nobody asked you to play," Bobby retorted.
"Right. I should have just let you die."
"And for damn sure, nobody asked you to lose!"
Sam grinned before he said, "It's like Grumpy Old Men."
Dean and Bobby turned to Sam and spoke in unison. "Shut up, Sam."
"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean asked. "He's a witch. He's been playing poker since guys wore tights."
"You just don't get it," Bobby said.
"Yeah, I get it, Bobby. You saw a chance to turn the hands of the clock back and get out of that damn chair. Pretty tempting. I can imagine."
"No, you can't."
"You got me. I never been paralyzed. But I tell you something—I've been to hell, and there's an archangel there wanting me to drop the soap. Look at me! My junk's rustier than yours! You hear me bellyaching? Huh?"
"Uh, actually, yeah," Sam said.
"Oh!" Dean sat, still holding his burger. "I'm having a heart attack."
Sam and Elena looked at Dean, worried.
"No, you're not," Bobby retorted.
"What is it?" Dean asked.
"Acid reflux. Guys your age can't digest certain foods. You're gonna need to put down that cheeseburger." Dean sighed and put down the burger. "So, you want to keep emoting, or you want to talk about solving this little issue of yours? It's got to be about the chips."
"I slid 'em across, Patrick did his little witchy number, and you prettied up in a hurry."
"I mean, what are you all thinking?" Sam questioned. "Some kind of magic chips or something?"
"Definitely," Bobby answered as Sam and Elena sat.
"You remember what he chanted?" Dean asked.
"Yep—every word."
"All right, then let's find out where he stashes his chips," Sam said.
"And steal me fifty," Dean added. "Benjamin Button me back into burger shape. What do you think?"
"I think you ought to put some clothes on," Bobby told him.
Dean, fully dressed, went to answer a knock on the door. It was a young, pretty maid with a cart and an armful of towels.
"Ready for housekeeping, sir?" the maid asked.
Dean grinned. "Born ready."
The maid laughed. "You're just like my grandfather." Dean's grin faded. "He hits on anything that moves, too." She headed past him into the room. "You're adorable."
"And dangerous."
"Aw."
She laughed, heading for the bathroom. Sam and Elena smirked, as did Bobby.
"Can we just go?" Dean asked.
EXT. STREET – NIGHT
Bobby, Sam, Elena and Dean sat in Bobby's van, watching people go by. Patrick came out of a building. He checked his watch and crosses the street without looking, noticing too late that a car was coming; it slammed right into him. The driver got out and checked his injuries; it didn't look like Patrick survived. The driver ran over to a construction crew nearby.
"Guys, get some help!" the driver called. "He came out of nowhere! Right out in front of me!"
Bobby, Sam, Elena and Dean all stared. Another car drove by; Patrick was in the driver's seat. The driver and the construction workers looked between him and where Patrick got hit by the driver's car.
Dean laughed. "I got to say, I kind of like the guy."
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - SKYSCRAPER – NIGHT
Bobby, Sam, Elena and Dean followed Patrick there and watched him leave the building, get in his car, and drive off. Dean looked at Sam and Elena, who looked at Bobby, who looked at Sam and Elena, who looked at Dean, who looked at Patrick.
INT. STATESBOROUGH APARTMENT BUILDING – NIGHT
Dean held the door open while Sam rolled Bobby inside. Sam, Elena and Dean let Bobby roll himself. Bobby stopped and sighed.
"Well, I'm out," Bobby said.
A sign on the elevator read "ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE". Sam and Elena looked at it, then at Bobby, and sighed.
INT. STAIRS – NIGHT
Sam and Elena jogged up a flight of stairs with no difficulty. Dean walked up one step at a time. Sam and Elena stopped on the landing.
"Dean," Sam and Elena called.
Sam and Elena pointed to a sign with a large 2. Dean sighed. Sam continued up the stairs. Dean glared at the sign, then, determined, followed.
Elena made her way to where Dean was, linked her arm through his, and helped her friend up the stairs.
INT. CORRIDOR – NIGHT
Sam left the stairwell. There was a long pause. Dean and Elena followed, the former breathing hard. Sam sorted through lock picks in front of room 3701.
INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT
The lock clicked open. Sam, Elena and Dean entered. They searched the place. Dean opened an armoire, knocked on the back, moved things, and opened the false back. There was a safe.
"Sam? Elena?" Dean called as they came over. "Dime-store model. Piece of cake."
Dean turned the dial, squinting and leaning in and out; the numbers were too blurred for him to read.
"It's like Mission: Pathetic," Sam teased. "Watch out."
Sam pushed Dean out of the way and turned the dial; it opened quickly. There were quite a few poker chips in the safe.
"I could have done that," Dean muttered.
Sam frowned at him and started to grab handfuls of chips.
"What are you doing?" Lia asked.
Sam, Elena and Dean turned around. Lia was standing there, wearing a large silver locket.
"Aren't you the chick from the bar?" Dean asked.
"I'm a lot more than that," Lia replied as she threw up a hand, clenched a fist, and twisted. Dean doubled over and Elena frowned. Patrick hurried up and put a hand on her arm.
"It's all right, sweetheart," Patrick told her. "It's all right. They're harmless. The boys, of course. The goddess isn't one to be trifled with."
Lia let Dean go.
Patrick stepped forward and said, "You boys and girl want chips? Take 'em. They're just chips, Einsteins. It's showmanship. This may come as a shock, but the magic does not lie in a pile of crappy plywood or in any phony abracadabra. It's in the nine-hundred-year-old witch. You boys and girl want years? Score 'em the old-fashioned way. Texas hold 'em."
Patrick chewed on his toothpick.
"Fine. Let's do it," Dean said.
Patrick pulled a card out of a pocket. It was the eight of hearts.
"What card am I holding up?" Patrick asked.
Dean squinted at it and didn't answer.
Patrick continued. "That's what I thought. If your eyesight's that bad, what about your memory? I'm not a murderer. You two, on the other hand..." Dean looked back at Sam and Elena. "No, Sam. No, Elena."
"Dean," Sam and Elena called.
"What, Sam, Elena, not much of a player? Okay, well, happy trails, Dean. Enjoy the twilight of your life. Should have taken better care of that ticker, though."
Patrick opened the door. "You're free to go."
Dean and Elena took the hint to leave. Sam followed.
"Oh, but, Sam..." Patrick called, causing Sam, Elena and Dean stopped at the door. "Your brother and friend's situation—that's punishment enough, but I can't let you leave without a small parting gift." He clapped three times.
"What are you doing?" Sam and Elena asked.
"You'll both find out soon enough."
"Let's get out of here, Sam, Elena," Dean told them.
They left. Patrick closed the door behind them.
INT. CORRIDOR – NIGHT
Sam, Elena and Dean headed for the outside door. Sam scratched at the inside of his thighs. Sam opened the door for himself, Elena and Dean and scratched some more.
"Dude..." Dean called as Sam and Elena turned to Dean. "I believe that he-witch gave you the clap."
Sam went stiff for a moment, then marched off. Dean laughed and Elena shot Dean a look.
EXT. CICERO MOTEL – DAY
Dean, Sam, Elena and Bobby headed towards the motel. To get there, they had to go up an incline. Sam and Dean had no trouble. Bobby tried to roll himself up and couldn't. Saoirse followed behind, choosing to bring up the rear.
"Little help here?" Bobby asked.
Dean and Sam stopped. Sam went down and pushed Bobby up the incline. Dean and Elena walked alongside.
"You know, I still think Seri or I should play," Sam said.
At the top of the incline, Bobby took over rolling himself. Dean stopped walking, so Sam, Elena and Bobby stopped as well.
"No, no, no," Dean argued. "You're not good enough. I don't know how Elena is. I'm better. Bobby's way better. We both lost."
"Exactly," Bobby agreed.
"So, what? So I don't get a say in this anymore?" Sam retorted.
"Sammy, when you get to be our age—" Dean began.
"You're thirty, Dean! Look, I've watched you hustle plenty of poker—"
Bobby cut him off. "Knowing the game is not enough, Sam. It's not about playing the cards."
"It's about playing the other guy. I know that."
"Well, hooray for you. All I'm saying is, I played this guy. I know his style. I can take him."
"No, Bobby," Dean told him. "You don't have enough years in the bank."
"I got enough."
Elena shook her head. "No, you'll die if you lose, Bobby."
"So what if I do, huh? What exactly am I living for, huh? The damn apocalypse? Watching men die bloody while I sit in this chair, can't take a step to help 'em?"
"Bobby—" Dean began.
"No, no. It's the facts. I'm old... and broke down... and I can't..." He took a moment to breathe. "I ain't a hunter no more. I'm useless. And if I wasn't such a coward, I'd have stuck a gun in my mouth day I got home from the hospital."
Silence fell.
"Bobby, you are not playing again," Sam told him. "I'm not letting you do that. There's another way out of this. There's got to be. And I'm gonna find it."
Sam went past Dean, Elena and Bobby.
Elena stared at Bobby and walked away, not liking the sudden rush of sadness.
INT. MOTEL ROOM – DAY
Dean opened the door so Bobby could roll in. Bobby looked up and stopped abruptly. Lia was sitting on the bed.
Lia held up a piece of paper and said, "Take it. It'll help you."
Bobby rolled closer and took it. "What is this?"
"The most powerful reversal spell you've ever laid your eyes on."
"And it reverses what?" Dean asked.
"Patrick's work—all of it."
"You—you saying I could be normal again?"
"You and everyone else he's ever played." She corrected herself. "Who's still alive."
"Why the hell should we trust you?"
"Trust me, don't trust me. I don't care. The spell is real." Lia got up and headed for the door.
"If it zaps everyone, don't that include your man?" Bobby questioned.
"And me, too. I look good for my age."
"Lady, this don't add up for squat. Why would you want that?"
"I have my reasons." She looked at her silver locket. "Do it quick. We leave town tomorrow."
Lia left. Dean and Bobby watched her go, then looked at each other.
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Patrick chewed on a toothpick. There was a glass of whiskey in front of him. On the table were five cards in a row, the eight of spades, five and four of clubs, king of diamonds, and jack of hearts, and a pile of poker chips, about three dozen. His opponent, an old man named Hesh, clinked his poker chips against each other; he had at most ten, looking at his two face-down cards. Patrick looked at his own cards; the kings of hearts and spades, for three of a kind. Hesh had the nines of clubs and diamonds for one pair.
Hesh threw a few chips on the pile and said, "Bet."
Patrick took out his toothpick. "I sense you've got me by the jewels on this one, Hesh. I fold." Hesh collected his chips. "What are you up—like thirteen years there, Hesh? What do you say we call it a day?"
Hesh chuckled. "Thanks, Patrick."
Patrick looked up. Hesh, when he realized Patrick was talking to someone behind him, turned; it was Sam.
"Hesh here is gonna live to see his granddaughter's bat mitzvah," Patrick said. "Isn't that right, Hesh?"
Hesh turned back and said, "Thanks again, Patrick."
"Shalom, my friend," Patrick said. "Shalom."
Hesh got up and left. Patrick shuffled the cards.
"That was nice of you," Sam commented.
"I'm a nice guy," Patrick replied. "What can I do you for?"
Patrick kept shuffling.
Sam sat and said, "Deal."
Patrick smirked.
EXT. GRAVEYARD – NIGHT
Bobby sat at the foot of a grave while Dean and Elena, who'd returned after Lia left, dug.
"Jawbone of a murderer," Dean said. "Great." He stuck the shovel in the dirt, breathing hard. "You know, this really sucks. How do we even know her spell's gonna work?"
"We don't," Bobby answered. "But we ain't got a Plan B. Now, less flappin' and more diggin'."
Dean went to move another scoop of dirt. Something cracked.
"Oh, God!" Dean cried with a moan and Bobby rolled his eyes while Elena glanced at Bobby. "My elbows! I'm all creaky."
"Hurry up, you crybaby," Bobby told him.
"Pound it up your ass, Ironsides."
"One little grave."
"Then you do it."
"Fine. I'll hop right in."
"Well, least your legs are numb."
"Shut up and dig, Grandma."
Dean went back to digging while Elena laughed.
"Oh! Now it's my back! Elena, stop laughing."
"Can you straighten up?"
"Yeah, but a little sympathy wouldn't hurt. From both of you."
"Butt cheek tingling?"
"Well, that's kind of personal."
"So yeah?" Dean looked up. "It's sciatica. You'll live. Keep digging."
"You know, Bobby, killing you is officially on my bucket list."
Elena sighed. "Stop it, you two."
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Patrick was chewing on his toothpick. He had a glass of whiskey on the table, two cards in his hand, and several stacks of chips. Several chips were piled in the middle of the table next to the four of diamonds, a red court card, a black seven, the three of hearts, and a black two.
Patrick took the toothpick out before saying, "I like you, Sam. I do. You're smart, and your heart's clearly in the right place. Just like that girl who was with you."
Sam didn't answer.
Patrick threw down his toothpick and drank his whiskey. "I can tell a lot about a guy by looking."
"You mean you're psychic," Sam said.
"No. That'd be cheating. I'm talking about good old-fashioned intuition."
Sam nodded. "Right. Let's just play."
Patrick drank more whiskey. "We are playing." He put the glass down next to the toothpick. "Does your big brother or your friend know you're here?"
"Bet five."
Sam dropped a stack of five chips on the pile. He had a lot fewer chips left than Patrick.
"Didn't think so," Patrick stated as he put one stack of five on another and added that stack to the pile. "I raise. Here you are, right? Trying to clean up their mess, and they still want to sit you at the kiddie table."
Sam looked down. Patrick toys with a few chips.
Patrick continued. "You're not the little brother anymore, Sam." Sam looked up. "Then again, maybe you are. You're in over your head here, Sam. I mean, you can keep making these moves—you know, playing it cautious, playing the percentages. But I'm still gonna kick your ass into the nursing home."
"Does this armchair-psychology routine usually work for you?" Sam asked.
Patrick laughed. "You tell me. You're the one who's losing." He chewed his toothpick.
A little later, Patrick shuffled the cards, chewing his toothpick. He had thirty or thirty-five chips and Sam fifteen or twenty. Sam played with a few of his chips. Lia walked in. Patrick put down the toothpick. Lia leaned down to kiss Patrick. Patrick looked at Sam and winked.
"Little break?" Patrick questioned.
EXT. BEHIND BAR – NIGHT
Sam burst out of doors that read "EMMIT'S PUB DELIVERY RING". He looked around and spotted Dean and Elena.
"How's it going in there?" Dean and Elena asked.
Sam scoffed. "How do you two think it's going? What about you two? You both have everything you need?"
"We still need a little he-witch DNA," Dean replied.
"He was chewing it." Sam held up a toothpick. Dean took it. "Hurry up, Dean. Please."
"All right. Just keep him busy. And, Sammy... don't lose."
"Be careful, Sam," Elena said as she squeezed his hand.
Sam went back inside. Dean headed away, pausing to rub at his aching arm.
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Sam played with his chips. Patrick sat back down. Lia stood behind Patrick, who pushed the deck of cards across the table.
Bobby voiced, "Airmidh mi air maponus, dia—"
EXT. BEHIND BAR – NIGHT
A car drove in front of where Bobby, Elena and Dean were set up, Bobby read from Lia's paper while Dean and Elena stood at the bowl full of burning things.
"—na hogalachd. Gairmidh mi air sucellus, dia na time," Bobby finished.
Dean threw a handful of something in the flames, which flared up blue.
Bobby continued. "Till an-dràsda obair uile gu bheilair a bhith deànta. Mar sin bitheadh. Drop it in."
Dean looked at the toothpick and added it to the fire. There was a pause.
"Well? How do I look?" Dean asked.
Bobby didn't reply.
Elena shook her head. "The same. Sorry, Dean."
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Patrick looked at Sam and said, "Question." He held up a toothpick. "Is this what you meant to give your big brother and friend?"
Sam didn't let his expression change. Lia flicked a glance at the toothpick.
Patrick continued. "The one you gave him never passed my lips. Won't do a scrap of good." He threw the toothpick across the table. "I don't like cheating, Sam."
Patrick stretched out his hand and clenched a fist. Sam stiffened, gasping for breath, while Lia watched. Sam put a hand to his throat.
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Patrick was still choking Sam via witchcraft.
"Stop it!" Lia cried as she grabbed Patrick's wrist. "Patrick, let him go!"
"He tried to kill us!" Patrick yelled.
"I did it! I gave him the spell!"
Patrick, shocked, released Sam and looked up at Lia. Sam gasped in air.
"What?" Patrick asked as he stood and touched Lia's face. "Why... why would you do that?"
"You know why," Lia replied, touching her silver locket. "You know."
Patrick looked away for a moment, then sat. "Keep. Playing."
Lia looked away. Sam glanced at her.
INT. BOBBY'S VAN – NIGHT
Bobby was driving, Dean next to him and Elena was in back.
"Everything we put in that spell was kosher," Bobby said.
"Yeah, everything except the damn toothpick," Dean muttered.
"You got to go get a speck of DNA. Strap on your track shoes."
"Oh, goody. More stairs."
INT. BAR – NIGHT
More than a dozen chips were piled next to the eight of hearts, the queens of clubs and diamonds, and the two of diamonds. Patrick discarded a card and deals the ace of clubs. Sam had his hands folded against his mouth.
INT. APARTMENT – NIGHT / INT. BOBBY'S VAN – NIGHT
Dean was on the phone with Bobby and Elena while he looked around Patrick and Lia's apartment.
"It's too damn clean in here," Dean said. "First witch I ever heard of didn't spew bodily fluids all over the place."
"Toothbrush, comb—anything," Bobby told him.
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Sam stacked five chips next to another five next to the pile.
Patrick said, "Well, look at you—the percentage player betting the farm. Awful transparent of you, Sam. I mean, if I had a monster hand like you have, I'd trap you. But you get so excited, you bet yourself right out of a big pot."
Patrick sniffed and picked up his face-down cards. "I fold." He discarded his cards. "Set of ladies, I'm guessing."
Sam collected a couple dozen chips and turns over his cards; the three of clubs and five of diamonds, for one pair of queens. Sam stacked his chips.
"Nice bluff," Patrick commented. "If we had time, I could make a real player out of you."
"I got time," Sam said.
Patrick grinned. "Maybe. But I can't say the same for Dean. Your brother's gonna be dead soon." Sam looked up. "And when I say 'soon'..." he leaned forward, "I mean minutes."
Sam's expression changed, fearful, and he stood. Patrick extended a fist to yank him back down with witchcraft.
"The game's not over till I say it is," Patrick told him. "Blinds."
Patrick slapped down two chips and Sam one.
INT. APARTMENT – NIGHT
Dean spotted a wine glass on a table, still with a little wine left undrunk. He started toward it.
"Sam..." Dean began, slumping to the floor with a groan.
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Patrick dealt two face-down cards apiece. Sam glanced at his and added another chip to the pot.
"So," Patrick began as he slapped down three cards and spread them out; the ace of spades and fours of hearts and clubs. Sam eyed the cards. "When it's about your brother, you get so emotional, your brain just flies right out the window." He illustrated with a hand gesture. "Good to know."
"Go to hell," Sam retorted.
INT. APARTMENT – NIGHT
Dean laid on the floor.
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Sam shoved all his chips into the middle. "I'm all in."
Lia glanced at him. Patrick sighed, checking his cards.
"Don't do that, Sam," Patrick told him.
"I can't leave until it's over? Fine. It's over. Now, where's my brother?"
"Look, there's poker and then there's suicide."
"Just play the hand."
INT. BOBBY'S VAN - NIGHT
Bobby was on the phone with Dean.
"Dean? Dean, you there?"
INT. APARTMENT – NIGHT
Dean laid on the floor, gasping weakly.
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Patrick added all his chips to the pot. "Fine." He discarded a card and dealt the seven of diamonds.
INT. BOBBY'S VAN – NIGHT
Bobby was still on the phone with Dean.
"Dean?!"
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Patrick dealt the nine of spades.
INT. APARTMENT – NIGHT
Dean laid on the floor.
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Sam and Patrick stared each other down, Sam worried, Patrick smug, Lia nervous.
INT. APARTMENT – NIGHT
Dean laid still.
INT. BOBBY'S VAN
Bobby held the phone, worried.
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Patrick turned over his face-down cards: aces of clubs and diamonds.
"I'm sorry, kid," Patrick apologized. "Aces full."
Sam looked at the cards.
INT. APARTMENT – NIGHT
Dean exhaled.
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Sam let out a breath. He glanced at Lia and realized, "You're crying."
Lia sniffled, looking away. Patrick and Sam watched her.
"For a witch, you're so nice, it's actually kind of creepy," Sam commented. "It's okay." He looked at Patrick. "It was a great hand."
Patrick moved to collect the chips; the only hands that could beat a full house with three aces are a four of a kind and a straight flush. The flop cards were three different suits, so he knew Sam could not possibly have a straight flush, and he knew the odds were slim that Sam had the remaining two fours.
"Just—" Sam began, causing Patrick to look up, "—not as great as—"
Sam turned over his face-down cards, the fours of diamonds and spades. He knew he had a four of a kind from the moment the flop cards were dealt; the only way to beat a four of a kind would be to have a straight flush, which he knew Patrick could not possibly have.
"—as four fours," Sam finished.
Patrick glanced up at Sam, then down at the cards. Sam took a deep breath and let it out.
Patrick leaned back and said, "Well played. You know, that whole... going-out-of-your-head bit—very method." Sam smirked. "Well, there's more to you than meets the eye."
Patrick raised his glass. Sam nodded and said, "Cash these in for Dean, please."
Patrick nodded. He set down the glass and replied, "With pleasure."
INT. BOBBY'S VAN – NIGHT
Bobby was still on the phone.
"Dean, you hear me? Damn it, Dean!"
Bobby and Elena spotted something inside the building and turned to look. Someone came out the door; it was Dean, thirty again. He held out his arms, grinning, and did a little dance as he approached the van. Bobby and Elena stared. Dean jumped up, clicking his heels in the air.
"Idjit.:
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Patrick and Lia sat at the poker table. Patrick spoke in a whisper. "I can't do this, Lia."
"Yes, you can," Lia told him.
"Don't make me. I don't want to win."
Lia opened her locket. There were two photos inside. "I buried my daughter."
The right-hand photo was decades old, of a very small child. The left-hand photo was more recent, of an elderly woman.
"And she looked like this," Lia added as she shook her head. "It's not natural." She closed the locket.
"You knew," Patrick said. "When you decided to come with me." Lia looked down. "This is what you wanted. You're still young. You're so beautiful. You have me."
"I miss my family. I'm sorry, Patrick."
"I thought you loved me."
"I do. Sweetheart, of course I do. I thought I was cut out for this, but I'm not."
"I don't think I can do this without you."
"You got on okay for a long time before you met me."
"Check."
Lia pushed her stacks of poker chips, spilling them over the chips already in the middle of the table. "All in."
There was a long pause. Patrick did the same with his chips. "All in."
The face-up cards were the nine of hearts, queen of diamonds, king of clubs, and six and seven of spades. Patrick hesitated, then turned over his face-down cards, the king and queen of hearts, for two pair. Lia turned over her cards, the three of clubs and five of diamonds.
Lia aged rapidly and said, "Thank you."
Patrick put his head in his hands.
INT. MOTEL ROOM – DAY
"No tricks—you actually beat the guy?" Bobby asked as Sam spread his hands. "How the hell?"
Sam smirked. "Just lucky." He headed for the door, passing Dean and Elena, the former of who was on the way in with a burger. "Hey. I'll see y'all guys later." Sam grabbed his jacket.
"Where you going?" Dean and Elena asked.
"Uh... mm, nowhere."
Bobby, Elena and Dean looked at him.
"A booster shot. Don't say it."
Sam left. Dean and Elena came in and he put his burger down.
Bobby groaned and said, "Well, I guess we can get the van loaded."
Dean held up a finger and cleared his throat. "I shouldn't have called you an idiot."
"Which time?"
"I'm sorry. I mean, I actually—I, I—I get it. Getting old ain't a bachelor party. And dealing with the crap you got to deal with—"
"Don't you go on pity patrol."
"I'm not. I'm not. I'm just... I'm saying, you know, if I was in your shoes..."
"You'd never stop complaining."
Dean stared for a moment. "Fair enough. You're not useless, Bobby."
"Okay. Good talk."
Bobby went to roll away and Elena began walking towards the door.
Dean stepped in their path and said, "No, wait a minute. Listen to me." He sat and sighed. "You don't stop being a soldier 'cause you got wounded in battle. Okay? No matter what shape you're in, bottom line is, you're family. I don't know if you've both noticed, but me and Sam, we don't have much left. I can't do this without you two. I can't. So don't you dare think about checking out or killing me just to bring me back again. I don't want to hear that again."
There was a long silence.
"Okay," Bobby and Elena agreed.
"Okay. Good."
"Thanks," Bobby said. "Now, we done feeling our feelings? 'Cause I'd like to get out of this room before we both start growing lady parts."
Elena frowned. "Hey!"
Dean chuckled lightly before saying, "Yeah, we're done."
Dean got up. He picked up his burger, looked at it, and put it back down. He picked up his bag.
"Let's go, Ironsides, Elena," Dean said as he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the door.
"Oh, that one's sticking, huh?" Bobby asked.
Dean looked back, smiling, and left. Bobby and Elena sighed, though the latter had a more amused expression.