Graveyard. Aftermath. As a few demonic stragglers emerge from the now-gaping crypt, Dean bellows, "What the hell just happened?" Ellen shouts back that Jake just opened "a damned door to Hell."

Meanwhile, one of The Ceiling Demon's cloudy minions tears across the ground somewhere nearby, ripping a section of The Fucking Colt-Built Rail Lines apart. Our Yellow-Eyed Acquaintance calmly and deliberately steps through the fresh gap.

Back in the graveyard, Ellen, Bobby, and Zombie Sam race to shut the crypt's doors, but Dean hangs back long enough to check The Fucking Colt's cylinder for The Last Magical Bullet That Can Kill Anything Except When It Can't, and just as he's confirmed The Last Magical Bullet's presence in the chamber, The Ceiling Demon himself materializes behind Our Intrepid Hero to snap The Fucking Colt out of Dean's hand with a quick flash of telekinetic energy. "Boys shouldn't play with Daddy's guns!" The Demon grins, right before hurling some more of that telekinetic mojo directly into Dean's torso. Dean hurtles through the air a good fifteen yards before his thick skull connects with one of the headstones, and Dean crashes the rest of the way to the ground semi-conscious. Over at the crypt, The Ginormous Revenant seems to be having undue amounts of trouble slamming shut the gates. "It's the creeping rot!" Raoul excitedly exclaims. "His overdeveloped musculature is disintegrating as we speak! Wheeeee!" I was just going to guess that shutting The Gates Of Hell was a little more difficult than closing a bank vault, but I think I like your explanation more. In any event, after much manly struggling, Zombie Sam spots The Ceiling Demon menacing his brother, and with a mighty roar, he...completely abandons the fabulous Ellen Harvelle to all the imps of Hell? Yep, pretty much. Oh, Sam. "Quite ungallant of the dear boy, I must say!" Raoul notes before giggling and clapping his paws together with delight. "Perhaps the creeping rot has reached his brain!" Again, I was simply going suggest his unhealthily overdeveloped sense of fraternal duty is to blame, but your explanation is far superior, my scaly friend. "Thanks!"