Sam and Dean exit into the hallway to strategize, and Dean ends up flipping Sam the pouch of graveyard dirt mixed with snakeskin, ash, powdered sulfur, salt, red and black pepper, powdered bones, powdered insect chitin, herbs, and iron filings, ordering him to lay down a protective circle of the stuff to keep the hellhound at bay for as long as he can. Dean, meanwhile, intends to head to the crossroads to summon the demon. He can trap it, his reasoning goes, and afterwards exorcise it, thereby buying them all enough time to map out a more permanent solution while the demon herself figures out a way to "claw [her] way back from Hell and into the sunshine." Darling Sammy objects vociferously, mainly because Darling Sammy has also realized that Daddy Shut Up made a similar deal to save Dean's life in the season premiere, and I'm sure I'd find the subsequent heartfelt discussion of Dean's true motives very touching indeed if I hadn't fallen asleep almost as soon as it began. In any event, Evan shouts that he thinks the hellhound's out in the backyard, so Dean books it out of there while yelling for Sam to follow his instructions.
Crossroads. Dean inserts his fake animal control ID into George Darrow's tin box and reburies it all with his hands. The camera swoops down on him from above, just as it did in the Robert Johnson flashback, and tracks around his body to reveal a diminutive brunette clad in a black shift, standing between Dean and the Impala in the blurry background of the shot. "So, what brings a guy like you to a place like this?" the crossroads devil saucily opens. "You called me?" she prompts when Dean doesn't answer. "I'm just glad it worked," he offers. "First time?" she coos. "You could say that," he replies. "Oh, come on," she smiles, sauntering on over to him. "Don't sell yourself short." "'Short'!" snorts Raoul. "Hee!" "I know all about you, Dean Winchester," she continues, allowing her eyes to flip blood-red for a moment before clearing them to twinkle at him. "You know who I am?" Dean smirks, and that was clever of the writers, making him as proud of his notoriety in the underworld as he is with his reputation in the FBI. "I get the newsletter," the crossroads devil shrugs, and I'd admit I'd gladly trade my immortal soul for a subscription to Hell's version of Tiger Beat, but the lovely and talented gang on the forum boards has already started providing it for free. Dean goads her into revealing what she's heard about him. "I heard you were handsome," she admits, circling around until she's almost right up against his bow-legged frame, "but you're just edible." And now I'd insert the requisite joke about how even dark demonic forces sent from the flaming maw of Hell are Deangirls, but again, the lovely and talented gang on the forum boards has beaten me to the punch. "What can I do for you, Dean?" the demon finally asks, at long last getting down to business. "Maybe we should do this in my car," Dean craftily suggests, just as craftily eyeing her cleavage as he does so. "Nice and private." "Sounds good to me!" the demon's boobs perk, and the two head off towards the Impala.