Now, where the hell were we? Oh, yeah: The ANGST. In a sign that things are singularly unwell with Our Remaining Intrepid Hero, when Bobby arrives back at his shack with a bucket of chicken, Dean declines the offer of free food. Yep, under Bobby's vaguely disapproving eye, Dean eschews the tasty deep-fried bits of Original Recipe in favor of slugging back a mouthful of Johnnie Walker Black, so it's a little perplexing when Bobby -- clearly aware of Dean's fragile mental state, here -- inquires as to Dean's plans for the disposition of Dead Sam's remains. I mean, I'm expecting Dean to crack that bottle of scotch right across Bobby's craggly face simply for bringing it up. As it is, though, when Bobby asks, "Don't you think it's time we buried Sam?" Dean simply shoots him a look that promises impalement should Bobby continue along such conversational lines and spits, "No," before settling into a chair. Bobby, foolishly not dropping it, goes on to hint that they might want to pull a little DIY cremation job on The Dead Ginormotron, then, but Dean's adamant: They will not be doing any of those nasty things to the humongous Sammy-shaped mass of corpse flesh currently occupying Bobby's guest bedroom. Bobby finally all but throws his hands in the air at it all and insists that Dean get his ass out of the shack now to help Bobby hunt down the yellow-eyed monster truly responsible for Darling Sammy's demise, but that's no good, either, for Dean just angrily snaps that if the world wants to end today in a rain of hellfire and brimstone, then fucking let it, because El Deano is done, do you hear him? DONE. Angry El Deano goes so far as to leap up out of his chair -- pouncing upon Bobby with a ferocity the latter was clearly not expecting -- while screaming for the older gentleman to get the hell out of there and leave him the hell alone, and, oh dear. I'm afraid I'm going to have to correct Raoul, here. Seems the fifteen-foot-tall corpse is not actually laid out upon the unmade mattress in Bobby's guest bedroom. "It's not?!" Nope -- Sam's actually reposing in one of the rotting cottages of long-abandoned Cold Oak, it seems. "But...but...that makes no sense at all!" Which bit of no-sense do you mean, Raoul? The part where they've stuck around Cold Oak despite the fact that The Ceiling Demon and G.I. Jake are likely still haunting the place? The part where they've magically procured a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black for El Deano's Manfully Pained Swig Of Mourning And Grief? The part where Bobby's about to stomp off and leave Dean alone when Bobby has no other means of transportation back to his junkyard? Which? "I was actually talking about the fried chicken! Does The Colonel still have a franchise in Cold Oak?!" I fear we shall never know, Raoul, for Bobby has exited, and Dean, now alone with the gigantic corpse, slumps against a bit of furniture in despair, the better to allow a single, perfect tear to drop from his right eye, race down his cheek, and disappear into the METAL TEETH CHOMP!