...gasps his actual, corporeal self awake in the depths of someplace very dark. Uh-oh. Good thing College Boy was smart enough to stow Dean's thoroughly flayed and rapidly decaying ass away with a Zippo in the pocket, isn't it? "I'll say!" Raoul agrees. "Though I must admit," he adds, tossing a skeptical side-eye at the television screen, "why that dear little boy failed to immolate his equally charming brother's corpse upon a thoroughly festive and warming pyre is beyond me!" Because they're both in the opening credits, and The Kripkeeper needed a reasonably intact Dean Corpse to resurrect in this season premiere? "Oh, pish!" Raoul exclaims, two perfect circles of mortally offended smoke popping from his outraged nostrils. "I'll thank you not to insult my intelligence!" I think you do a pretty good job of that your... "SILENCE! Even that hairy little Bobby creature remarks upon the delightfully grotesque condition of Dean's corpse later in the episode, so I really don't know wh...!" And I really must stop you there, my scaly friend, because not only are you threatening to spoil later events with this entirely justified outburst of yours, but I'm also on a deadline, here. "Oh, I do apologize, I'm sure!" Raoul exclaims, an appropriately mortified paw clutching at his nonexistent pearls. "Please carry on! Right away!" Thanks. I believe I shall.
Now, where the hell was I? Oh, yeah: Dean gasps his actual, corporeal self awake, and it's a very good thing indeed that Sam thought to stow his brother's thoroughly flayed ass away with a Zippo in the pocket so that, on the off chance Dean did manage to resurrect himself, Dashing El Deano would then have just enough light to illuminate the mad, mindless panic he'd hurl himself into once he realized he'd been buried alive. Way to go, Sam. But of course, Dashing El Deano doesn't go for any of that touchy-feely self-help panicking crap, bitch, and after rasping out a few feeble Heeeeeeeelp!s through his freshly resuscitated and decidedly parched pipes, Our Intrepid Hero sets to freeing himself, first by punching through an upper panel of his exceedingly shoddy coffin, then by punching through the very dirt that covers his exceedingly shoddy coffin to emerge, roaring, into the almost blinding sunlight that's currently flooding his gravesite. And if I think too hard about this -- if I remind myself, for example, that even if Sam did inter Dean under no more than six inches of dirt, there'd still be no way in hell all of that desiccated vegetation would have overrun the spot in a mere four months -- I'd accomplish little more than ruining the moment for myself, so whatever. Dean hauls his unexpectedly creaky body out of the earth and flops over onto his back upon the thick carpet of dried-out grass that covers what should have been his final resting place for a moment before he hauls himself to his feet to squint around through the brilliant light. What is it that he eventually focuses upon? A hundred or so recently living trees that up until a few moments ago had been sheltering his grave from view. And now? Each and every one of them has been violently ripped from and flung to the ground in a sunburst pattern around that grave, as if a tremendous force had simply exploded into the air above them. The camera quickly spirals up to give us all a birds-eye view of the generalized destruction with Dean a tiny speck at the center -- his shadow, like that of his cross-shaped grave marker, stretching out behind him -- before it jumps back down in time to catch Dean going, "Buh?" And then?