In no time at all, Abaddon has found herself a black leather outfit befitting her status as resident demon badass. In the boarded-up house that serves as her temporary headquarters, she has assembled a small group of minions, including the one who revived her. "Jason tells me you're all violent, power-hungry opportunists," she says. She paces up and down the row like a drill sergeant inspecting her new recruits. Which, really, is kind of what she is. "So," she goes on, "maybe you can tell me what the hell happened to Hell." She paces over to a grandmotherly time. "And demons! You call that a meat suit?" Granny shows off her demonic red eyes. "I close 72 deals last year," she says. "Kids love grandma!" But Abaddon is sick of the deals. "We're paying for what we should be taking," she says. A youngish woman in a prim suit and tight updo looks at her like she's crazypants. "Who put Crowley in charge?" Abaddon wants to know. "He's the king," Granny sighs. Bull and shit to that! Abaddon makes for a great motivational speaker, telling them that a true king fights and conquers. "But the king is dead," she says. "Long live the queen."
The updo lady who looked so skeptical just moments ago is starting to look pretty turned on by all this. Abaddon promises those new bodies and special training. "We will march into Hell, where we will be greeted as liberators! And demonkind will rise up and sweep over the earth! And all the humans and all the angels with their clipped wings will bow to me, or they will burn!" They should be giving her a standing ovation about now, but Granny remains unconvinced. "What about Crowley?" she asks. "Crowley is dead," Abaddon says again. Were they not paying attention to her awesome speech? "Well, no offense, honey," Granny says, "but we all thought you were dead until a week ago." She wants proof that Crowley is really gone. Abaddon scoffs, so Granny disses the Knights of Hell. Abaddon grabs her by the throat and squeezes until black smoke starts oozing out. "You go to Hell, and you tell them I'm coming," Abaddon says. The remaining minions seem quite thrilled by this display of power.
Back at the LOL, Dean is on the phone with some heretofore unmet hunter named Irv. Dean advises Irv to use holy oil on any angel he runs across, because apparently holy oil is much more common than it used to be. Maybe now it's just, like, a jug of Wesson that you get a priest to pray over, like the fatty equivalent of holy water. "I know this is weird," Dean says. "Weird is what we do," Irv says. He looks, dresses and sounds like he could be Bobby's slightly younger brother. "I 'member this cash mean Bobby word up in Saskatoon," Irv mumbles. Translation: I remember this case me and Bobby worked up in Saskatoon. "The werewolf Siamese twins?" Dean asks. They prefer to be called lycanthropic conjoined twins, asshole. Dean tells him to get the word out to other hunters.