So, was it worth the wait? "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--" I'll take that as a yes. "--OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--" Careful, Raoul. Remember to breathe, or you'll pass out again. "--OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--" Fine. It's out of my hands. Just remember I warned you. "--OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE! [GASP!] Whee!" He's so cute when his brain's been deprived of oxygen for so long.
Back from the break, Sam Wesson -- somehow freed from The Elevator Of Runty Canadian Death Most Spectacular -- recovers his senses while wiping the blood from his face and agreeing to meet Dean Smith up on the executive floor because...
...the executive floor contains a display devoted to Sandover Bridge & Iron's history, and within that display are encased a pair of P. T. Sandover's gloves, which Dean Smith correctly believes are the items still lashing the menacing spirit to the physical plane. And so, after they steel themselves for what they're about to do, Smith & Wesson... get their asses kicked by P. T. Sandover himself! "VIOLENCE!" Yep, P. T. Sandover unexpectedly materializes behind Dean Smith and throws the guy ass over end into a wall before hurling Sam Wesson into a corner at the opposite end of the room. He's about to zap poor Dean Smith's tangled mind with a little of that flickering blue mojo of his when Sam Wesson snatches up the container of salt he'd been fortunate enough to grab pre-tussle and lashes the ghost with its contents. P. T. Sandover vanishes instantly, of course, leaving Smith & Wesson to congratulate each other on their intrepid derring-do, or whatever, until he reappears just as quickly as he'd left, and there follows a brief round of The Gentleman Strangers beating the gentleman specter with fireplace pokers before P. T. Sandover briefly gets the upper hand. Dean Smith -- in an odd little parallel to the last time we saw an alternate universe on this show -- is about to take a faceful of flickering blue mojo when Sam Wesson finally manages to set the gloves on fire, and P. T. Sandover howls and wails and blazes his merry way down to The Waste Land, or wherever the fuck these things go on this show. The ghost thus destroyed, Sam Wesson checks in on his new pal, and Smith & Wesson agree: That shit was amazing!
Later, over in Dean Smith's office, The Gentleman Strangers tend to their minor wounds, still enthusing over recent events until Sam Wesson quite seriously proposes they quit their jobs immediately to hit the road, chasing after other dark demonic forces that go bump in the night. You know -- saving people. Hunting things. Together. That kind of a deal. Dean Smith, of course, objects. "You don't want to go fighting ghosts without any health insurance!" Point to Dean Smith. Sam Wesson, though, plays his remaining card, confessing the role that Dean Smith played in his earlier dreams, and admitting that he longs for the sort of companionable -- brotherly, even -- ass-kicking existence they seemed to be living. He also argues that perhaps P. T. Sandover "scrambled" their brains the way he did with all of the building's suicides, and that these "Smith" and "Wesson" identities they've been laboring under might not be who they actually are. Dean Smith rejects this outright as crazy talk. "I went to Stanford," he recites, "my father's name is Bob, my mother's name is Ellen, and my sister's name is Jo." "When's the last time you talked to them?" Sam Wesson challenges. Dean Smith hasn't an answer for that, so Sam Wesson explodes, "I only moved here because I just broke up with my fiancée Madison, but I called her number, and I got a damn animal hospital!" HA! Hee hee hee hee! Poor Madison. Arf. Dean Smith, unfortunately, quite simply cannot -- will not -- believe that his family doesn't exist and that they've been "injected with fake memories," and eventually, he asks Sam Wesson to leave. Sam Wesson unleashes The Super-Special Puppy-Dog Eyes Of Pleading And Despair, but even these have no effect on Dean Smith, so you know something's really fucked up, here. And in the end, Sam Wesson dejectedly trudges out of Dean Smith's office, leaving Dean Smith to face the mighty METAL TEETH CHOMP! alone.