Dean, apparently, for he proceeds to argue with My Sweet Baboo for what seems like several hundred years until Castiel -- by now most thoroughly browbeaten -- agrees that should any complications arise from the act of reuniting Sam's soul with his body, Castiel will do whatever is in his power to fix them. But what's this? Darling Sammy's been eavesdropping on their conversation this entire time? DUN!
Crowley's Home For Wayward Monsters. Our Intrepid Heroes, My Sweet Baboo, and Meg And The Remaining Minions have all arrived -- by car, for Christ's sweet sake -- and now stand outside the gates, examining the property. "Seems pretty quiet," Dean observes. "It's not," Castiel insists. "I can feel it." The angel instructs the others to meet him at the side door, which he easily opens for them after teleporting himself into the prison's interior. "This all seem a little too easy to you?" Dean asks. "Way too easy," Sam agrees, but because they are all idiots, they step inside anyway.
The building's interior, by the way, more closely resembles that of an abandoned asylum than an actual penitentiary, with several years' worth of leaf litter skittering around in the hallways, blown about by the breeze coming in through the broken windows. The rooms leading off on either side all feature iron bars or reinforced steel for doors, and they spot a couple of monster corpses before stumbling upon that kidnapped genie from this season's first episode. "Please!" she pleads, all battered and bruised and chained to the floor. "You gotta get me out of here!" The stumpy little bow-legged douchebag's heart melts at the piteous sight, but Awesome Sammy keeps his eye on the prize, and he drags his sappy brother into the next hallway, where Castiel suddenly tells everyone to hold up for a second.
My Sweet Baboo, like, sniffs at the air, or something, clearly sensing the presence of something unwelcome, but it's not until the others hear the first distant growls that Meg realizes what's coming for them. "Hellhounds?" Dean guesses. Actually, Dean, the Hellhounds are second in line, after the METAL TEETH CHOMP! that's just latched onto your tantalizing derriere to drag you into the next commercial break. "[A-him!] 'Dear Miss Gamble! It has recently come to my attention that you have chosen to follow my sage advice, and have retained the charming and reliable Metal Teeth Chomp's services for the remainder of this evening's presentation! While I am still deeply disappointed in your decision not to kill all the infants, it pleases me to note that you have successfully avoided the severe consequences discussed in my previous missive of ten paragraphs ago! Keep up the excellent work! Ever yours, Raoul T. DelMarvino, Esquire! P.S.! Don't worry! I'm certain some lovely young gentleman of means and maturity will soon be arriving to sweep you off your feet! Never give up hope!" You're not serious with that sh... "Stamps, you fool! Where are the stamps?!"