Delirious El Deano's Happy Inquisitionin' Hut. He's only just now getting around to interrogating that bald guy we last saw him with, and because he's so strung out on the caffeine and the booze and the horse tranquilizers and whatnot, he doesn't notice that the sole of his boot has scratched out a break in the Devil's Trap. D'OH! The bald guy more or less immediately rips free from his bonds while telekinetically flinging Delirious El Deano ass-over-end into a nearby van. The bald guy then hoists Dean up into the air in a chokehold, and great is the demonic speechifying that transpires until My Sweet Baboo flutters in from points unknown to fry the guy's brain clear out of his skull with one simple touch of his angelic hand. The bitterly feuding ex-boyfriends then just stand around, desperately attempting to avoid eye contact until the METAL TEETH CHOMP! trundles in to screech, "AWWWK-WAAAAAARD!" "Hey! He stole my line!" Drink your juice, Shelby. "Okay! [Slurp!]"

Delirious El Deano's Happy Inquisitionin' Hut. Aftermath. Dean's all, "Hey," and Castiel's all, "Hey," and then they sort of stare sullenly at each other for a while until Dean goes, "So...?" and Castiel's all, "Yeah," and then they stare at each other some more until we finally get to the point of this scene. Or something like that. After an eon of head-hammeringly dull chit-chat on The Grand Theme Of Familial Fealty, Castiel vows to free Bendy Lisa and The Brat. Of course, there's a condition attached, and that condition is for Dean to stand behind Castiel's decision to suck as many souls as he can out of Purgatory. Dean snaps back that Castiel's condition pretty much represents the "same damn ransom note" Crowley passed along during their earlier phone conversation, and he seethingly suggests that both Crowley and Castiel should kiss his ass. My Sweet Baboo realizes this scene is pointless, and silently flutters away, leaving Delirious El Deano to brood alone with nothing but his artfully lit Corpse Pile to keep him company.

Meanwhile, out in some rain-drenched wilderness, Bobby walks up to the front porch of a log cabin, where he warily eyes the Enochian sigil painted on the cabin's door before knocking. Soon enough, a petite blonde answers, and it's Doctor Visyak, and I'm getting sick of looking up her name every time I have to type it, so you'll forgive me if I skip ahead to the part where she admits she's the Eleanor from The Elderly Gent's surprisingly shocking photograph. "You're forgiven!" Thanks, Raoul. "Don't mention it! [Slurp!]" Yep, Doctor "Ellie," as Bobby familiarly calls her, is actually a 900-year-old Purgatorial beastie who's been inhabiting the body of The Elderly Gent's mother since that fateful night in 1937. "So, what's your game, then?" Bobby grumbles. No game, Doc Ellie claims, and no grand design on the Earth's inhabitants, either. She simply much prefers her current existence as a professor of Medieval Studies at "San Francisco University" to her previous existence as one of Mother's tormented offspring. "I happen to like it here," she shrugs, "and I don't want to see this place turned into some bloody wasteland." "So," Bobby prompts, "you killed H. P. Lovecraft?" "Please," Eleanor eyerolls. "That guy couldn't even write 'hello.'" And that's not an answer to Bobby's question at all, but perhaps this is: "I have spent seventy-five years trying to keep Purgatory closed." So, yeah, I'm thinking she took out Lovecraft and all of his besties in the year following her release. "Atta girl! [Slurp!]" You really didn't like that guy, did you, hon'? "I most certainly did not! Feh!" Well, we'll leave it at that, then, shall we? "We shall indeed!" Good.