So. Where were we? Oh, yes: METAL TEETH CHOMP! Well, sort of. First Dean has to wonder who The Woman In White is, then Dream Bobby has to gasp, "My wife!" and then The Undead Mrs. Bobby gets to lurch forward into the METAL TEETH CHOMP!, but whatever.
The Heroin Suite. Our Intrepid Heroes zonk out on their respective beds until a shuddery edit wallops us all into Sam's brightly lit version of Bobby's nightmare, and it's a terribly inviting place to be, what with its carefully manicured lawn and exquisitely precise landscaping, so Dream Ginormotron decides to amble lankily through the saturated primaries for a bit. ...Good for him?
Malibu Bobby's Dream House, and we have reached the part of Bobby's backstory I have never, ever cared about: Why Bobby Singer Became A Hunter In The First Place. Yeah, I said it. Never cared, never will. Stone me if you must. I don't give a shit. So, long story short, Mrs. Bobby had the great misfortune of getting her fool self possessed, and because Bobby didn't know from exorcisms at the time, he, uh, stabbed her to death? Wouldn't the demon have shrugged off the stabbing to snap his hairy neck with a mighty "MUAH HA HA HA HA HA!"? You know what? Screw it. Pretend that initial demon was just fucking with good ol' Bobby, here, and fled Mrs. Bobby's body after it had tricked Bobby into killing her, okay? "Okay!" Excellent.
Lawn. Sam luxuriates in his relaxing ramble until...Dream Jeremy nails him in his remarkably broad chest with a baseball bat! "KILL HIM!" shrieks Raoul, understandably distressed. "KILL THE ONE WHO WOULD HARM THE CHEST!" Calm down, dude. We're getting there. "Oh, goody!" By the way, we get a couple of quick inserts of Sleepy Sammy reacting physically, first to the blow itself, then to the force of his entire fifteen-foot frame hitting the ground. So, you know, what happens in Malibu Bobby's Dream House doesn't necessarily stay there. Just so you're aware. "You don't belong here," Dream Jeremy crazies, and they're pulling this cool, disorienting effect with the editing by letting the shots, for the most part, unspool in real time, with occasional and subtle fast-forwarded blips punctuating the natural flow, the better to indicate the insanity of this dream world now that Batshit Jeremy's in charge of it. For yes, gentle reader, Jeremy -- in both Dream and Real forms -- is both in control and most certifiably batshit, indeed, but more on that later, for first we have to leap back into...