Metallicar growls out of the blackness that follows to leap down a brilliantly sunlit stretch of road. We hear Dean's bitching long before the camera knocks it off with the car porn to join Our Intrepid Heroes inside the Impala. Apparently, Sam deployed his mighty puppy-dog eyes to persuade his brother to travel back to Lawrence to visit their mother's final resting place, and now Dean's having second thoughts about the entire adventure. "She doesn't even have a grave!" he grumbles. "There was no body left after the fire." And if I cared about the matter at all -- which I most certainly do not -- I'd offer my gratitude to The Kripkeeper for clearing up what had been a point of contention on the boards during the first season. The Ceiling Demon's immolation of Burnt Mary left Shut Up Daddy with no remains to inter. Check. Now I'm going to have to deal with all of the overinvested wondering how her ghost was able to wander around for twenty-three years without benefit of a corresponding set of bones moldering away in the ground. Thanks for nothing, Kripke. ANYWAY, where was I? Oh, yeah: Sam protests that Burnt Mary has a headstone in place for visiting purposes, but Dean craps all over that with, "Yeah, put up by her uncle, a man that we've never even met, so you want to go pay your respects to a slab of granite put up by a stranger? Come on." Sam blusters something about Burnt Mary's sacred memory and how, after the loss of Daddy Shut Up, "it seems like the right thing to do." "It's irrational, is what it is," Dean snarls. One would think Darling Sammy would now artfully change the subject just to get Dean to SHUT UP ALREADY, but alas. He chooses instead to snit back, "Look, man, no one asked you to come!" conveniently ignoring the fact that Dean's the one with the ride, so whether he was invited or not, he didn't really have much of a choice, and WHATEVER, and you can shut up, too, Sam. Oy. Can I ignore Dean's unsuccessful ploy to convince Sam to hit up Harvelle's instead and just jump ahead to the bit where darling Sammy lovingly inters his late father's dog tags at Burnt Mary's headstone? I can? Good.
Somewhere in or near Lawrence, Sam kneels in front of a headstone engraved, "Mary Winchester 1954-1983 In Loving Memory." Or however you're supposed to punctuate tombstone epitaphs. The headstone, by the way, is pink granite. ("Taaaaaa-kaaaaay!" sings Raoul, whose taste in memorials tends towards the traditional. Don't get him started on those coffins you can write on, either. You'll never hear the end of it.) Sam uses a small pocketknife to cut away a patch of sod, then lovingly inters his late father's dog tags while whispering through tears, "I think Dad would have wanted you to have these. I love you, Mom." Awww. Though, you know, I'm sort of on Dean's side as far as this gesture is concerned. Don't hit me.