Out on the sidewalk, the boys chat about Brennan's decidedly suspicious behavior, and Dean quickly determines that Sam should stake out the store "to see what happens when the sun goes down" while he himself heads out to the pre-credits cornfield to check out the apparently still-extant crop circle. "But!" Dean stresses. "Do not engage with, maim, or in any way kill Brennan -- in fact, I don't want you making any judgment calls whatsoever. Anything happens? Call me." "You know, Jiminy," Sam frowns, "I was on my own for a whole year, and I did fine without you." Dean snots that he doesn't want to know what Sam's definition of "fine" entails, and he clompy-stomps off towards the Impala, leaving poor Soulless Sammy alone to sigh and clench his remarkably healthy jaw.
Sometime later, Dean tears off into the gloaming, eventually reaching the pre-credits crop circle just as night has fallen, and as he tiptoes around the apparently empty spot bathed in the glow of the Impala's headlights, his cell goes off. It's Sam, of course, calling to note he's followed Brennan from the shop to a bar, where Brennan is now drowning his sorrows with shot after shot of whiskey. Unfortunately, the Impala's headlights choose this very moment to buzz and blink and flicker out, and Dean finds himself stumbling about in the darkness until a brilliant white light opens up overhead. Temporarily stunned into silence at the sight of the apparently enormous thing now hovering above him, Dean waffles a bit before pulling himself together and, whipping his trusty pearl-handled automatic from his jacket pocket, he takes off into the corn, shouting "UFO! UFO!" into his phone.
Soulless Sammy remains rather amusingly unconcerned despite his brother's audible distress, and he casually orders another beer from the comely waitress as Dean screams, "Close encounter! Close encounter!" This bit of information rouses Soulless Sammy's interest, and he excitedly wonders, "What kind? First? Second?" "They're after me!" Dean bellows, still racing through the corn, that brilliant white light following him every step of the way. "Third kind already?" Soulless Sammy marvels before sagely advising, "You better run, man -- I think the fourth kind is a butt thing." "Empathy, Sam!" Dean howls. "Empathy!" Dean eventually reaches another segment of the crop circle, and he hastily discards his cell to slide a silvered knife from his waistband, choosing to confront his still-invisible attackers with all of the weapons currently at his disposal. "Come on!" he foolishly challenges, and in response, that brilliant white light expands and intensifies until Dean just vanishes from the screen. Back at the bar, Soulless Sammy makes indifferent note of the abruptly disconnected call, shrugs slightly to himself, takes a swig of his just-arrived beer, and admiringly examines the waitress's derriere before dropping into this evening's first CHOMP!-less commercial break.