Somewhere south of River Grove, Duane asks Mark to pull over to the side of the road. Mark, clearly thinking Duane needs to take care of a little personal business, complies, and seems more than a little put out when Duane reveals, "I gotta make a call." Mark rolls his eyes and snorts, "No phone out here." "I got it covered," Duane assures his companion, rooting around in his knapsack for...a tiny dagger he slices through Mark's jugular vein! And oh, man! I completely forgot how totally gross this was. "Hooray!" Raoul enthuses. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" As the mortally wounded Mark thrashes about, choking on, like, his own severed tongue, or some damn thing, Duane thrusts a silver chalice beneath the gout of blood spurting from the hole in the guy's throat to collect a cupful of fresh good stuff from poor, dying Mark. And I believe you already know the drill from here: Duane dips his fingers into the thing to activate some kind of whirlpool through which he communicates with Daddy Demonic, or whomever. "It's over," Duane tells Whomever. "You'll be pleased -- I don't think any more tests are necessary." After a pause during which he receives some message, Duane replies, "The Winchester boy -- definitely immune, as you expected." Pause. "Yes, of course." This with a leering smirk. "Nothing left behind," he assures Whomever, and here he turns to face the now-dead Mark, his eyes flipping beetle-black as he does so. And unless there was some massive script error during the production of this episode, he also just confirmed that the good Doctor Lee was in on the entire experiment as well. Which, you know, would go a very long way towards excusing her pitifully sloppy explanations of the contagion's attributes, but there's still the tiny little matter of OUR INTREPID HEROES' RAMPANT STUPIDITY THIS EVENING WITH REGARD TO SAME. GOD!
And with that we...fall into the METAL TEETH CHOMP? With less than two-and-a-half minutes to go? Uh. Okay. We can play it that way, show. "I can assure you the wait will be worth this tiresome and unnecessary interval," Raoul insists. "After all, we'll finally learn what Daddy Shut Up whispered into Dean's ear all those many episodes ago, won't we?" Nobody likes a smartass, Raoul.
The camera pans along the shiny, sunlit Impala as a soothingly anonymous piano melody plinks away in the background. I hate this scene already. Birds chirp in the lush foliage overhead as the camera continues its journey to discover the boys silently enjoying each other's company after their latest scare over a couple of beers by a ridiculously scenic lake. Sam swallows a mouthful of beer...and The Angst begins. "NOOOOOO!" shrieks Raoul, futilely clapping his paws over his ears. "NO MORE WITH THE ANGST! PLEASE! DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN I'M BEGGING YOU, NO MORE WITH THE ANGST!"