Montage! Oh, I do so love a good montage. This one, set to the ongoing Seeger, features brief vignettes of Dean's present-day apple-pie life (ugh) interspersed with sudden flashbacks to his far more gruesome -- and therefore far more awesome -- past, and the present-day scenes are so incredibly boring, I want to kill him to put him out of his obvious misery, then kill myself for having sat through this trash. One good bit about all of this, however, is that it's clear Dean's present-day actions are triggering the flashbacks, so, you know. Nice, quiet little psychological insight into Dashing El Deano's post-hunting mindset, here. Not that we particularly needed to start the sixth season with a nice, quiet little psychological insight into Dashing El Deano's post-hunting mindset, but whatever. It is what it is, I suppose. And, just to be thorough: When Present-Day Deano salts the scrambled eggs he's preparing for Bendy Lisa and her suddenly gargantuan son, Our Intrepid Hero flashes back to multiple instances of laying down salt lines to keep the beasties at bay; when he opens the toolbox in the bed of his pickup, he flashes back lifting the false floor in the Impala's trunk; when he slams the toolbox shut, he remembers the end of the second-season finale; when he backs out of his driveway, he remembers Metallicar; when he hammers a spike into a plank at his construction job, he thinks of the time he nailed that vampire to a log at the sawmill; and when he draws a bitty little power saw down on a two-by-four, we get a shot of him most spectacularly drawing that massive industrial-strength power saw down on the above-mentioned vampire's neck. God, Dean's life sucks now. The remaining bits of this sequence involve Dean surreptitiously reminiscing about various chick-flick moments he shared with his gargantuan and shaggy-haired brother, so I'll be skipping to the end, where we watch as Dean, at the end of another excruciatingly dull day, methodically locks all of the doors and windows on the main floor of that fabulous house he's sharing with Bendy Lisa and The Brat before heading up to bed because, you know, old habits die hard. And once he's checked in on Brobdingnagian Ben -- who's already asleep beneath the glow-in-the-dark constellations Dean no doubt affixed to the gargantuan monstrosity's ceiling, natch -- Dean crawls back underneath the expensive-looking comforter with Bendy Lisa, who throws an arm around his neck and snuggles up close as Our Dear Boy settles in for what promises to be yet another sleepless night, if that jar of holy water and sawed-off shotgun he keeps under the bed is anything to go by. Dean might be totally fucked in the head, but I swear to God: Bendy Lisa is one lucky bitch.