Anyway, Sam decides that the only way to prove they're uninfected is to electrocute themselves, so he strips the remaining insulation from the cranial saw's cord and asks for a volunteer. Dean goes first, and he's clean, as are Sam and Rufus. Bobby, however, balks, backing slowly away from the live wire Rufus is now holding in his hands, and when Rufus foolishly presses the issue, Bobby...jams a nine-inch hunting knife into Rufus's chest! "ZZZZZZZ -- nooooooooooooo! -- ZZZZZZ!" Dreary El Deano's eyes widen in shock as soon-to-be-dead Rufus slumps back against Sam's remarkably broad and healthy chest, and while Infected Bobby makes a run for the door, Darling Sammy gently eases Dying Rufus down into this evening's next METAL TEETH CHOMP! "ZZZZZZZ -- [sob!] -- ZZZZZZ!"
Cannery. Immediate aftermath, again, some more. Darling Sammy and Dreary El Deano corner Infected Bobby, and the second Sam pins Infected Bobby's arms down against his sides, Dean punches his lights out.
Sometime later, Infected Bobby awakes to find he's been lashed to a break room chair with duct tape. Dean threatens with the live cranial-saw wire while Sam sits, stone-faced, on one of the nearby tables. "Hey, there, ya little herpe!" Dean perks, applying the wire to Infected Bobby's neck. "Why do you keep talking about herpes?" Sam side-eyes. "I don't!" Dean insists, adding for good measure, "Shut up!" Okay, fine: That was moderately amusing. I'm still giving this episode a D, though. In any event, Dean informs the homicidal demonic dump now infecting Bobby Singer that they've sealed off the room, so the thing has nowhere to run to, baby, and nowhere to hide. "You really wanna kill me?" The Homicidal Demonic Dump Now Infecting Bobby Singer growls in tones that might have been run through a processor or two to make them sound a bit more eerie and menacing. "Then take him with me," The Homicidal Demonic Dump continues, "but haven't you lost enough pals today?" Well, I'm counting only one pal, myself, but maybe The Homicidal Demonic Dump has a different way of looking at things. "We'll do what we have to do," Dean assures The Homicidal Demonic Dump, "and we've got some questions for you, so you can either play ball, or we can fry up a little shrimp on the barbie." On those last excruciatingly-painful-to-hear words, Dean wiggled the wire around between his fingers, but The Homicidal Demonic Dump isn't having it, and challenges them to ask away, as It's been waiting for quite a while to offer Its side of the story.