Memos! Forms! Pencils! Smash! SAM SMASH! "VIOLENCE!" Yep, Sam Wesson pulls last night's fireplace poker from beneath his desk and gets Medieval on his goddamned telephone's ass, after which he announces quite simply to his shocked and appalled coworkers, "I quit." Atta boy.
Meanwhile, Dean Smith tries and fails to concentrate on his work until Mr. Adler -- remember him? Yeah, I didn't, either -- swings by his office to offer Dean Smith a retention bonus worth several thousand dollars if Dean Smith agrees to continue with his stellar performance as of late. Who knows? If Dean Smith keeps at it long enough, he could end up being the senior vice president of the Great Lakes division in "eight to ten short years" of "seven days a week." Dean Smith thinks that one over for a bit, then politely rejects the offer, tendering his notice at the same time. Mr. Adler's as shocked and appalled as Sam Wesson's fellow cubicle jockeys had been moments before. Why? Why would Dean Smith do such a thing? "I very recently realized," Dean Smith explains, "I have some other work I have to do -- it's very important to me." "This," he continues, indicating the office, his computer, his tie, all of it, "is not who I'm supposed to be." Mr. Adler gawps at Dean Smith for a moment in disbelieving dismay before allowing a broad smile to spread across his face. "Dean, Dean, Dean," he grins. "Finally!" And with that, Adler reaches across the desk to press two fingers against Dean Smith's forehead. Instantly, the color -- which had been comparatively saturated all evening -- all but drains from the scene as Dean Smith vanishes beneath the onrush of Dean Winchester's restored memories, and that was a very cool (and very simple) effect. Dashing El Deano, once again of his right mind, eyes his surroundings for the briefest of moments before muttering, "What the hell?" Seconds later, he realizes, "My God, am I hungry!" Heh. "Welcome back," Adler chuckles, and let's keep this brief, shall we? Adler's actually "Zechariah," yet another of My Sweet Baboo's superiors, who decided to pay a visit to Our Intrepid Heroes after the late unpleasantness with Uriel in order to -- as he puts it -- "get all of [his] ducks in a row." First on his list was Dean's understandable attitude problem, which Zechariah hoped to fix by tossing the boys into a "real place" with a "real haunting," "without the benefit of [their] memories" in order to prove to Dean that the path he's on "is truly in [his] blood." "You're a hunter," Zechariah explains, "not because your dad made you, not because God called you back from Hell, but because it is what you are, and you love it, and you'll find your way to it in the dark every single time, and you're miserable without it."