Dean launches himself from the car and plows through the diner's front door to find...the pick-up's owner face-down in a puddle of his own blood! "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" shrieks Raoul, simply ecstatic that he's getting so much of the stuff so early in the episode after what feels like a month-long drought for it on this show. "Absolutely!" Raoul agrees. "Though I must admit, that barely touched plate of home fries and scrapple next to the trucker's luridly bloody corpse looks almost as tempting! I think I'm feeling a little peckish!" By the way, the song playing inside the diner wants to be Tammy Wynette's "Stand By Your Man" so badly that we're just going to pretend that's what it actually is, especially because that song in this context is hysterical. Though now that I think about it, given the fact this series is meant to be an ongoing horror movie set in truck-stop America, I'm shocked we haven't heard Patsy Cline's "Walking After Midnight" by now. "Oh, Patsy!" Raoul sighs, smitten, before supposing, "I bet they're saving her for Season Three!" I do hope so, my scaly friend, because they're missing out on a terrific opportunity there. "Agreed!" In any event, Dean immediately pulls an automatic out of his waistband and calls out his brother's name. He scans the still-sizzling yet abandoned grill before edging over to examine the dead trucker a little more closely, then Tough-Guy Jazz-Hands his way over towards the diner's back door. Just as he clears the counter, though, he spots in the corner of his eye...the lifeless and bloody corpses of the graveyard-shift waitress and short-order cook, sprawled on the floor beneath the grill! The waitress's fatal wound is as obscured as the trucker's was by her corpse's position, but a quick close-up on the short-order cook's glazed expression reveals a deep gash through the gentleman's throat. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Careful, hon. You don't want to shriek yourself hoarse again, now do you? "Oh, let's not pretend tonight that we haven't already seen the episode, shall we?! We both know that nothing interesting happens after this for most of the evening, and that the entire hour's simply a set-up for next week, so let me have my fun, you silly little man!" Okay, but don't come crying your crocodile-adjacent tears to me when you blow out your vocal chords just because you've forgotten all about the spectacular immolation of Harvelle's and all of the crispy critters said immolation left behind. "Eeeep! I'll be quiet now!" Thought so.