The next morning, Sam opens the closet door to wake the now-cured Maddie, and she really did a number on the inside of that thing during the night with those claws of hers, didn't she? "In the process ruining her manicure! Silly woman!" Maddie rises to her feet and slowly spins around in place, taking in the thousands of gouges her claws ripped into the walls while finally realizing Sam's been telling her the truth the entire time. She turns back to thank him, or something, but he's already vanished for good, as he promised he would during that little pep talk the previous evening.
And it turns out that Sam's concept of "vanishing for good" leaves something to be desired, for after Our Intrepid Heroes banter a bit in the front seat of the Impala, Maddie raps on the passenger-side window, and the shot pulls back to reveal they've parked the damn thing right in front of her frigging house. "What are you still doing here?" she rightfully demands. "Honestly?" Dean replies. "We're pretty sure you're not gonna turn tonight, but we gotta be 100%, so we're, you know. Lurking." Heh. "Well, if we're gonna wait it out," Maddie offers, "we might as well do it together." The three retire to Maddie's apartment where, after she apologizes for not believing them, the three settle in to sit through yet another night. A few strips of time-lapse stock footage of the Bay Area later, and we cut back to the trio standing in front of one of Maddie's windows, watching as the sun finally rises the next morning. Maddie enthusiastically thanks Sam with a hug and rather less enthusiastically thanks Dean with a smile, so Dean gets the message and skedaddles back to the motel with his fist pumped into the air "for a little pay-per-view." And now? A little pay-per-view of our own. Bamp-chicka-bow-wow.
"That was smooth," Maddie remarks regarding Dean's choice of exit gestures. "He means well," Sam needlessly apologizes. "You mean he thinks you're gonna get laid," she corrects. Sam, dumbfounded, looks back at her and bumbles for a bit before flatly stating, "Look, I know I scare the crap out of you, all right?" "I mean," he continues, adding an "um, duh" eyeroll, "I tied you to a chair." Maddie counters, "That's right up there with me scratching up your face." Sam nods a bit at this before dropping his head and sighing, "There's just no way we can go back, you know? Before it happened?" "You're right," she allows solemnly enough but with a hint of a twinkle in her eye. "There's just no way." Sam shakes his head slightly and sadly, looks down at the floor, then focuses The Super-Special Pleading Puppy-Dog Eyes Of Extreme Horniness And Doom on her face. Maddie immediately shoves her tongue down his throat. As one does. Oh, and then little mister pissypants goody-two-shoes bitchface here -- our very own Saint Sammy Of The Celibately Afflicted -- tosses her up against a wall and starts humping. Freak. And then there's clothes torn off and bodies falling into bed and fingernails scraping across remarkably broad backs and mouths and sweat and lips, and all of a sudden Bedtime Action Sammy's got a piece of flesh in his mouth, and he doesn't know whose it is or what it is, and he doesn't give a good goddamn about it now because the sheets are in the air! And the mattress is out the window, and boxspring is in the closet, and the next thing he knows, his ass is jammed between that bedframe and that wall, and shoulders! And biceps! And neck and moles and pores and Screaming Trees screaming "Look At You" and, no, really, look at them! Just look at them! I have never been so disgusted and appalled by a piece of televised trash in my entire life!