Meanwhile, the Impala's one hundred miles away from a town called Twin Lakes. Your guess is as good as mine on the state.
No sooner have I typed the above than Dean's pulling into a motel parking lot and pumping his stumpy little bow legs down a hallway inside until he arrives at room 109 and starts pounding on the door. Sam, inside the room, makes not a move to answer, instead choosing to remain perched on the bed, looking somewhat overwhelmed and lost. Dean eventually tries the doorknob and, finding it unlocked, eases into the room with a worried, "Hey." "Hey, Dean," comes Sammy's hushed response. Dean crouches down at Sam's side and, noticing Sam's hands, demands, "Are you bleeding?" "I tried to wash it off," Sam begins before trailing off, absently rubbing his fingers together, like he's Lady Macbeth all of a sudden. Meanwhile, Dean's caught sight of a massive and nearly dry bloodstain on Sam's shirt, right across the stomach, and murmurs, "My God!" "I don't think it's my blood," Sam rather dimly notes, adding that he hasn't a clue to whom it actually does belong. "What the hell happened?" Dean growls. Bleakly befuddled Sammy slowly raises his head, crinkling his brow in utter confusion while deploying a pair of Super-Strength Super-Special Puppy-Dog Eyes, and whimpers, "Dean? I don't remember anything!" The camera leaps around to zoom in on El Deano's frantic expression right before the METAL TEETH CHOMP! bites down to drag El Deano away.
RAAAWWWR! "Eeeeeeeeeeeee!" Oh, hello, Raoul! Nice of you to join us. I must admit, I find it difficult to believe you had absolutely nothing to contribute to that opening sequence. "Well," Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon snorts, those two perfect little rings of smoke popping from his nostrils, "I was of a mind to slap Darling Sammy silly over that asinine 'I don't think it's my blood' remark, but this week's exciting installment is so much better than last's, I felt it would be churlish of me to do so." I see. So, shall we carry on, then? "Yes, let's!" Raoul shrieks enthusiastically. "I can't wait for the violence and the gore!"
Back from the break, Dean reenters the motel room with a bag of take-out and a two-liter bottle of Coke, and I'm just going to note right now that we initially see his entrance as a reflection in the room's mirror, much as we initially laid eyes upon Darling Sammy in the same. I can't remember at this point if they keep playing with reflective surfaces like that all the way through, but I'll be sure to keep you informed. In any event, Sam, who'd been waiting there the entire time, immediately asks, "What'd you find out?" "You checked in two days ago under the name Richard Sambora," Dean reveals as he sets their dinner on the room's table. "Of course," he remarks, teasing, "I think the scariest part about this whole thing is the fact that you're a Bon Jovi fan." "I wouldn't be so quick to jump to that conclusion, my dear!" Raoul shrieks with glee, nearly blasting out my eardrums. Dude! Shhhhh! Foreshadowing's all well and good, but you really don't need to be deafening me at this point in the evening. "I do apologize!" Raoul shrieks again. "But I just can't wait until we're through all of this exposition and into the juicy, gory heart of the episode proper!" Okay, okay! I'm getting there! Now shush! "You'll get no promises from me tonight! Hee!" Oy. Anyway, where was I?