"You're lucky I've got a soft spot for lost puppies with long faces," The Little Queen Of Boobs simpers. "I just can't leave you like this." She slings a hand onto one of the water tower's crossbeams and outlines the terms of her proposed deal: In exchange for Dean's immortal soul, she'll bring back Daddy Shut Up "just as he was" to "live a long, natural life, like he was meant to." In return, Dean gets "ten long, good years with him" -- "a lifetime" during which "the family can be together again." "The Winchester Boys," she whispers, "reunited." She then swivels her hips around to join him beneath the tower's tank. "Your dad's supposed to be alive," she reminds him, drawing a perfectly manicured nail down the front of his jacket. "You're supposed to be dead. This will just...set things straight -- put things back in their natural order. And you get ten extra years on top! That's a bonus." Dean looks conflicted and paces a few feet away from her, edging himself out from underneath the tower's tank in the process. "You think you could," he begins with his back still to her. He turns to smirk, "Throw in a set of steak knives?" The Little Queen Of Boobs snots about Dean's "smart-ass self-defense mechanism" for all of a second before she realizes there's some sort of invisible barrier preventing her from reaching the grass. She narrows her eyes at him and slowly looks up to find a devil's trap chalked onto the bottom of the tower's tank. "Dean?" she peeves, drawing out the E sound in his name. "Let me out, now!" Dean reiterates his earlier demand for Boring Evan's permanent release. The Little Queen Of Boobs insists she "can't break a binding contract," so Dean pulls Daddy Shut Up's demonic day-planner from the back of his jeans and flips it open to start with the latinating.
Chez Snore. The hellhound's huffed and it's puffed and it's blown its way through the outer ring of graveyard dirt mixed with snakeskin, ash, powdered sulfur, salt, red and black pepper, powdered bones, powdered insect chitin, herbs, and iron filings, and now gouges its invisible claws through the floor, leaving long grooves bristling with splinters in their wake. Action Sammy throws himself in front of Boring Evan to protect the latter with his remarkably broad chest.
Crossroads. Latinating. The latinating continues as we cut back to Chez Snore, where the hellhound is huffing and puffing and whatnot again. Meanwhile, The Little Queen Of Boobs flips into some skip-frame shuddering as Dean makes his way through the exorcism. Back at the ranch, the hellhound's huffed and it's puffed and it's blown its way through the circle, so Sam yells, "Come on!" and drags Boring Evan into the hall. Latinating, running, latinating, running, latinating, barricading the laundry room's door, latinating, shuddering, latinating, pants-pissing, latinating, latinating, latinating, "WAIT!" The hellhound stops pounding on the laundry-room door, likely because its mistress has hiked her tongue down El Deano's throat for an angry snog. The two break apart, panting and snarling at each other. That was hott. "Don't you ever quote Paris Hilton again!" Raoul shrieks. "What the hell was that for?" Dean buhs. "Sealing the deal," she states rather flatly. "I usually like to be warned before I'm violated with demon tongue," Dean snits. "That's not what I...." Raoul, drop it. "But...." Drop it. You think that joke hasn't been made seventeen thousand times since last Thursday night? "Well...fine, then." Oh, don't sulk. "[Mew.]" Raoul, do not give me those eyes! "[Wibble.]" Oh, for Christ's sake. Go ahead! Do it. "I'll need my cue again." Why bother? You missed your first one. "[Meep.]" Gah! Fine! "I usually like to be warned before I'm violated with demon tongue," Dean snits. "That's not what I heard, little mister!" You happy? "Eeeeeeeeeeeee!"