Ruby paces in the background. "I don't think you all appreciate how completely screwed we are."
Anna agrees. "Ruby's right. Heaven wants me dead."
Ruby lets out a bitter laugh. "And Hell just...wants her. A flesh and blood angel that you can question and torture -- that bleeds." Dean's eyes dart around the room, as Ruby continues, "Sister, you're the Stanley Cup, and sooner or later, Heaven or Hell, they're going to find you." Come on, Kripke. Either finish the hockey metaphor or don't start it in the first place.
Anna says, "I know," but to Ruby, not Kripke. That's why she's going to retrieve her grace. Dean makes a bad half analogy about bong hits, Shazam and Roma Downey, then asks Anna where her grace is. She says, "I lost track. I was falling about 10,000 miles per hour, at the time."
Sam says, "You mean falling like...literally?" She does. He asks, "Like the way a human eye can see -- like a comet, or maybe a meteor?" Yep, or my estimation of this episode, for instance. After doing some astronomical research, Sam exposits that in March of '85, a meteorite vanished in the night sky over northwestern Ohio. It was sited nine months before Anna was born," oh, so she was a Christmas baby, Show? Subtle. "And she was born in that part of Ohio." Away in a manger, no crib for her bed....
Ruby raises her eyebrows. "You're pretty buff for a nerd." Thank you, fair Ruby, for bringing my mind back to the pretty. Anyhow, Sam thinks Anna was that meteor, and that another meteor, which fell over neighboring Kentucky at the same time, may well be her grace. Ruby's hardly encouraged that the search for Anna's grace has been narrowed down no more keenly than an entire state. She then apologizes for bringing this mess upon him. Sam says they'll muddle through, but Ruby is adamant that they stay out of it. "You do not want to get between these two armies. It's like Godzilla and Mothra." Heh. She'd be willing to dump Anna and run, but Sam won't hear of it. It's not even the angels who scare her most. It's Alastair, who she explains is practically Hell's Grand Inquisitor, "Picasso with a razor." She says Sam should pull him out and send him back to Hell, if he weren't getting so out of shape. "Your abilities -- you're getting flabby." When Sam asks her how he can tone up, she says, "You know how. You know what you gotta do."
Sam looks away from her. "No, I'm not doing that any more?" What Sam, what? No more Pimp Hand of Ipecac on lesser demons? No more bumping uglies with Ruby? No more drinking the blood of newborn babies. What? What? What?