Next thing we know, he's over at the station's old-fashioned outdoor payphone, slamming the booth's door behind him to plug quarters into the slot. The first number he dials has been disconnected, but the second connects, and it's Bobby, who of course instantly hangs up the second Dean announces his name. Dean, as always with the persistence, calls back, and this time Bobby vows to kill him if he dials the number one more time. So Dean, in typical Dean fashion, scoops up his remaining change and hotwires the battered 1950s-vintage Cadillac he spots over at the side of the garage for a little road-trip up to the lush coastal rainforest of central South Dakota, or wherever the hell Bobby's finding himself nowadays. Also? That was a fantastically entertaining -- at times even suspenseful -- seven minutes of airtime that just went by, especially considering the fact that only three words were spoken during the length of it, and those three by the only character who appeared on screen. Bravo to everyone involved.
And I'm not just saying that because I made it through the first fourth of the episode in less than 1700 words, either. Promise.
The Lush Coastal Rainforest Of Central South Dakota, Or Wherever The Hell Bobby's Finding Himself Nowadays. And it's shortly thereafter, apparently, because Dean is now Jesus Christ and can therefore slip battered old 1950s-vintage Cadillacs through wormholes in time and space in order to travel eight hundred miles in three minutes. Dean knocks at Bobby's door, and when that door opens, the camera pulls a slow and loving pan up to his pretty, pretty face, where it lingers for a moment until Dean -- a little breathless, here, what with all of the effort it took him to blast open those wormholes and such -- smiles, "Surprise!" Bobby lunges at him with a knife. Hee! Bobby then biffs Dean in the schnozz, sending Our Intrepid Hero reeling through the first floor until Dashing El Deano manages to latch onto a swivel chair, which he wheels between himself and Bobby -- again: Hee! -- until he can prove his identity, which he accomplishes by addressing Bobby as "Robert Steven Singer" while reminding this "closest thing [Dean's] had to a father" of the latter's uxoricidal entrée into the wonderful world of hunting. Bobby lunges at him with the knife again. HA! "I'm not a shapeshifter!" Dean insists. "Then you're a revenant!" Bobby roars, and Bobby, darling. Have you not been paying attention? He's Jesus Christ. Of course he's a revenant! Sigh. I hate it when they write Bobby dumb. In any event, to further prove his identity, Dean snatches the knife -- it's been forged from silver, don't you know -- from Bobby's hand and proceeds to slice open a thin and bloody gash upon what had heretofore been his entirely healthy bicep. Dammit! Bobby, thus convinced, envelops Our Dean And Saviour in a crushing embrace, and their reunion is very touching, indeed. Well, I'm pretty sure, because chick-flick crap like this always makes my eyes glaze over with boredom, but going by the rather indelicate sniffling sounds emanating from the depths of Raoul's overstuffed armchair, I'm guessing we're witnessing A Moment Of Great Depth And Feeling, here. "[HONK!] It's true!" Oh, Raoul. You big softy. "You leave me alone, missy, and get back to your little story!" As you wish.