Chez Snore. Sam lines the den with graveyard dirt mixed with snakeskin, ash, powdered sulfur, salt, red and black pepper, powdered bones, powdered insect chitin, herbs, and iron filings, then lays down an extra circle of the stuff around Boring Evan, just to be sure. And...scene? Excellent. Scene.

Crossroads. Still walking towards the Impala, Dean gets to the point: In exchange for Evan Hudson's permanent release from his contract, Dean is offering himself. "Well, well, well," The Little Queen Of Boobs marvels, "you'd sacrifice your life for someone else's?" "Like father, like son!" she grins. Dean gulps. Or, you know, he has an incredibly complex reaction to the shocking confirmation of the worst of his most wretched fears, all of which manifests itself in a series of skillfully summoned facial tics beneath a pair of hooded, yet deeply guilt-ridden eyes as movingly emoted by Jensen Ackles, but as I believe I mentioned before, I DO NOT CARE ABOUT THE GODDAMNED ANGST ANYMORE. "Amen to that!" Raoul agrees. "Where's the gore?"

Chez Snore. Sam completes the circle. Also, the snare drum's taken over timekeeping responsibilities from the tick-tock clock, so, you know. Things could get loud.

Back at the crossroads, Dean recovers quickly enough from The Little Queen Of Boobs's taunts, and chivalrously opens the Impala's passenger-side door for her. "Such a gentleman!" she croons. And then she gets a look at the dirt beneath the car. "A devil's trap?" she sneers. "You have got to be kidding me!"