And look at that. While I'd been screaming at the television screen, my dear houseguest returned from his den with a cunning little trolley cart positively bursting with brimming flagons of every imaginable variety. Raoul? "Yes!?" I love you more than my luggage. "Oh, you!"
So, where was I? Oh, yeah: Little Lord Pissypants throws another tantrum up there in Heaven, and for whatever reason, Joshua doesn't brain him with a hoe. "VIOLENCE!" I said "doesn't," friend of friends. "Phooey! [Slurp!]" Joshua does, however, admit he's been rooting for Our Dead Heroes since the beginning, but that's unfortunately all he can do for them. Finally, he tells them he must now send them home, but this return trip will be different from all of the others in that Sam and Dean will remember everything about their latest Heavenly jaunt. Boss's orders, you see. With that, Joshua raises a hand, and a terrible white light engulfs Our Dead Heroes, battering them into this evening's final CHOMP!-less commercial break.
This Week's Motel Room. In a shot duplicating the one from the top of the episode, the camera eases into a slow, sweeping pan across that carefully arranged still life of semi-crushed beer cans and empty liquor bottles until it lands upon Dead El Deano's violently mutilated corpse. Meanwhile, over on the other bed, Darling Sammy gasps to life. Dean himself follows quickly enough and, barely giving himself time to recover from the journey, he leaps towards his cell phone on the dresser to call My Sweet Baboo.
A short time later, Castiel slouches against one of the room's decorative pillars, clearly stunned by Joshua's confirmation that God refuses to intervene. "Maybe Joshua was lying," the sad little emotionally battered Castiel bleats. The boys are all, "Nope! Sucks to be you, I guess! HA-ha!" Only they're a bit more polite about it than I was just there. Castiel, crushed, lingers just long enough to lift his pretty blue eyes up to Heaven and blaspheme, after which he tosses Dean's "worthless" amulet into Our Intrepid Hero's chest before fluttering away. Aw. Poor Baboo.
Meanwhile, because THE THIRTY-ONE-YEAR-OLD MAN IS STILL BEING A PISSYPANTSED LITTLE BITCH ABOUT SHIT HE SHOULD HAVE DEALT WITH A DECADE AGO, Dean does not immediately place his just-returned super-special magical amulet around his neck, but rather throws it away because DEAN SUCKS. Yeah, I said it: DEAN WINCHESTER IS A SUCKY LITTLE PISSYPANTSED SUCKHEAD WHO SUCKS. What the hell are you gonna do about it, huh?