The camera drops away from the poster to hit Dean as he slowly enters the room to menace a frightened, grimy, and somewhat battered-looking blond guy with the automatic. The blond guy -- who's sporting a fresh, angry scar on the right side of his forehead -- twitches a bit and babbles, "No, no, no, no, no, no, I mean, you're not gonna..." Dean allows the door to latch shut. "No, I swear!" the blond guy panics, in a close-up so extreme I can practically count the individual hairs in his eyebrows. "It's not in me!" "Oh, God," a thin-lipped bleach-blonde nurse with enormous dark eyes whimpers in yet another extreme and harshly over-lit close-up, "we're all gonna die!" "Maybe he's telling the truth," the nostrils of a middle-aged gentleman of color offer, for the camera's practically crawled up this poor guy's nose in order to take in that line. Slo-Mo El Deano's having none of the gentleman's nostrils' reasonable-sounding arguments against his current plan of action. "He's not him," Dean growls, advancing with murder in his eyes upon the apparently restrained blond guy, cocking the gun as he goes. "Not anymore." "No, NO! STOP IT!" Blond Guy pleads. "Ask her!" he screams, manically jerking his head at someone off-screen. "Ask the doctor -- it's not in me!" Tonight's Good Doctor -- a tense thirtysomething in desperate need of a hot-oil treatment -- stammers helplessly (in yet another violently extreme and harshly over-lit close-up, natch), "I...I...just...I can't tell." "No, please," Blond Guy shakes his head, almost crying now, "don't, don't -- I swear it's not in me, I swear!" He continues babbling on like that as Dean ices, "I got no choice." The automatic's muzzle gets all up in our collective face for a moment before we snap back over to Blond Guy, who's scrunching his eyes tight shut in fear. "Don't!" he sobs repeatedly as Dean's upper lip twitches spastically before we slam back to the gun for...BAM! BAM!
The screen smears blood-red for an instant until we realize we're now looking at a blurrily down-sliding shot of a motel room's lamp before the camera whips over to Sam, who's snapping himself awake from yet another of his nocturnal death visions. The camera lingers on his gasping face for a moment before flying back up away from him towards the ceiling so we might note that this particular vision either knocked him directly to the floor from his feet, or it sort of bounced him off the bed he'd been resting upon while the just-arriving Dean skipped out for a six-pack of longnecks. "Oh, we should have seen Sam bouncing off the bed onto the floor due to the force of his nocturnal death emission," Raoul opines. "You know how giggly that would have made all of us." Dean, coddling the six-pack in the crook of his left arm, is comically enough in mid-gnaw on a massive slab of jerky when he finally notices his fifteen-foot-tall brother thrashing around on the vile motel carpet. "...Sam?" Heh. Sam pops up into sitting position to pant and huff and pant some more through his unbelievably alluring and porny O lips as the camera swings in close on his face before everything gets gobbled up by the METAL TEETH CHOMP!