...RAAAWWWR! The new flaming opening credits! "Eeeeeeeee!" shrieks The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon. With delight!

We crawl out of the blackness that follows the flames of the credits to find...more flames, actually. Daddy Shut Up's enshrouded corpse lies upon a bier atop a fiery pyre, and as the camera pans down from an overhead to the body's level, we can see Sam and Dean standing side-by-side on the opposite end of the clearing. I'll not be wondering how they managed to snatch away their father's corpse from the proper authorities, nor will I be wondering how they managed to pull off this middle-of-the-night DIY cremation without said authorities slinging their tantalizing asses into jail, because these are The Winchester Boys, and they can do anything. Sam's a watery-eyed emotional wreck, as one would expect, and Dean appears to be made of stone, which, you know, go figure. All is quiet save for the crackling of the fire until Sam at long last manages to choke out, "Before it...before he...did he say anything to you? About anything?" Dean takes a long moment before whispering, "No." LIAR! "Nothing," he mutters further, ignoring me. BIG, FAT, LYING LIAR! Sammy bites his lower lip and dissolves into a series of silent sobs as Dean stares stoically into the flames until -- wait for it -- one perfect tear drops from his right eye. Dean's a fucking pussy, y'all.

We get another eyeful of John's blazing corpse before the camera cross-fades to an overhead pan across various wrecks of the automotive sort in Bobby's sunnily bright junkyard as a title card appears at the bottom of the screen to inform us it's now "One Week Later." The opening guitar lines of Three Dog Night's "Shambala" rise tinnily from some unseen tape deck as the camera lands at last to hover over Metallicar's restored roof. Hooray! Still a long way to go -- including replacing, oh, the engine -- but progress has clearly been made. As a gentleman asks to have his troubles and pain washed away with the rain in Shambala, the camera pans down past the Impala's gutted interior to land on a sweat-stained Dean doing something manly with a wrench, on his back beneath the car. Sam lankily ambles over just as the gentleman implores the rain to do the same to his sorrow and his shame. No, I'm not reading too much into any of this at all. Why do you ask? "How's this car coming along?" Sam awkwardly opens, because, um, duh, College Boy. Are you blind? Dean's a bit kinder than I was just now, but his gruff, monosyllabic "slow" carries with it hints of increasing irritation. "Need any help?" poor Sammy tries again. "You, under a hood?" Dean snorts as he slings something chunky and metallic off to the side. "I'll pass." Because everyone is helpful and everyone is kind on the road to Shambala, Sam tries once more with, "Need anything else, then?" Dean rolls his grimy self out from beneath Metallicar, pointedly adjusts his socket wrench, and glares, "Stop it, Sam." "Stop what?" Sam flails. "Stop asking if I need anything," Dean sighs as he stalks over to his ramshackle work table. "Stop asking if I'm okay -- I'm okay," Dean insists, "I promise," but we know he is LYING just like he LIED when they were burning their father's corpse, because Dean is a LYING LIAR. "It's just that we've been at Bobby's for nearly a week," Sam exposits needlessly, for the title card already provided us with that information, "and you haven't brought up Dad once." "You're right," Dean admits apparently sincerely, and Sam allows his brother a sad smile. Then, just as McG's fucking name pops up in the credits at the bottom of the screen, Dean smarms, "Come here -- I'm gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry? Hug? Maybe even slow dance!" Shut up, Dean. Can't you see that Sam's mangled tangle of hair is in pain?