Stately Dickbag Manor. Aftermath. "How'd you know that ghosts are scared of wrenches?" Sam Wesson asks. Hee! Dean Smith returns the compliment, wondering if Sam Wesson got his mad Jet Li door-kicking skillz along with a black belt in karate. Sam Wesson, like Dean Smith, hasn't a clue how he knew to do that, but thinks it's almost as if they've done this sort of thing before. No. Really? Go figure. But it's time for Sam Wesson to elaborate upon that epic identity crisis of his, so I suppose we should shut up and listen to him. Well, let's not and say we did, because this isn't the funny part of the epic identity crisis, so I'll simply note he hates his job, this town they're in, his clothes and his last name, and we'll keep moving from there, okay? "Okay!" Oh, hello, Raoul. Back from the flagon hunt so soon? "Where are your eyes, you silly little man?!" Where are my eyes, indeed. I didn't notice you'd wheeled an entire drink-cart of flagons into the living room while I was dealing with that last scene. That's very industrious of you. "[Slurp!] Thanks!" Don't mention it. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah: There are some in-jokes about funky blood and destiny and "Sammy" and Dean being the resident expert at research when he's really, really not, before they finally get down to business, and oh, shit. Whilst Googling ghosts on the intertubes, Dean Smith lands upon the homepage of They Who Will Not Be Named During This Recap Because Your Faithful Recapper Hates Their Worthless Homophobic Asses With The Blazing Passion Of A Thousand Fiery Suns. So, long story short, Smith & Wesson do research on the Internet and learn all about salt, iron, and burning a ghost's remains. Got it? Good.