Meanwhile, back at Rage Manor, Dean bodily flings Rage Daddy onto the hall runner, relieves the gentleman of his automatic, and backs up to Latinate. Imagine Dean's surprise, then, when Rage Daddy easily steps out of the Devil's Trap. D'OH! Again! Some more!
Dungeon. Darling Sammy, who normally suh-huuuuuuucks at the hand-to-hand, actually manages to wrestle The Croc over to a peg board that's simply bristling with eight-inch hooks, and at exactly the right moment, Our Intrepid Hero rams the palm of his hand into Clark's nose, propelling The Croc's head backwards with such force that it has little choice but to -- wait for it -- SPLAT! "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Oh, wow. This is, like, an embarrassment of riches after so meager an episode, isn't it, Raoul? "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Yep, not only has a spray of brain matter fanned out across the peg board from the base of Clark's skull, but The Croc's gagging up gouts of blood through his mouth whilst twitching about uncontrollably due to that spike he's got lodged in his head. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" And with that, I do believe Raoul has passed out. "I have!" Wait a min...oh, never mind.
Rage Manor. After a bit more manly tussling, Dean somehow convinces Rage Daddy that it's all been a tremendous misunderstanding, and whatever minimal interest I had left in this storyline vanishes along with everything else into the final METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Motel. Dean dabs at a cut above his eye with a wet washcloth as Sam wearily trudges in from his own battle. Dean takes one look at his brother's battered reflection in the bathroom mirror and smirks, "I see they improved your face." Sam's quite literally, "Right back atcha!" before the two tiredly cross to the twin beds, where they perch -- each on his own -- for a moment until Sam gifts Dean with a quiet, "I'm sorry it wasn't [our worthless bastard of a so-called father].""I gave you a hell of a time on this one," Dean admits, shaking his head a little bit with regret, despite Sam's assurance that they can both just forget about it. "I wanted to believe so badly that there was a way out of this," Dean sighs. "I mean," he continues, "I'm staring down the barrel at this thing -- you know. Hell. For real, forever, and I just..." He trails off, unable to finish the thought, so Sam offers a consoling "Yeah" that's clearly meant to let Dean off the emotional hook once again, but this time, Dean presses on. "I'm scared," he confesses. "I'm really scared, [and] I guess I was willing to believe anything -- you know, last act of a desperate man?" And here he lets loose with a self-deprecating chuckle until Sam counters, "There's nothing wrong with having hope." "Hope doesn't get you jack squat," Dean snorts. "I can't expect [Sucky John] to show up with some miracle at the last minute -- I can't expect anybody to, you know? The only person that can get me out of this thing is me." Sam gazes bleakly into the middle distance for a moment until he amends his brother's statement with "And me." He turns his head to meet Dean's eyes with a look of steely determination until Devil-May-Care El Deano cocks a brow and repeats, incredulously, "'And me'?" "Deep revelation, having-a-real-moment, here," Dean teases, "and that's what you come back with? 'And me'?""Do you want a poem?" Sam deadpans. "The moment's gone!" Dean insists, all but indignantly tossing his hands into the air. Hee. "Unbelievable," Dean continues, shaking his head in mock dismay as he flicks on the television while passing Sam a beer. "I have a lot of work to do!" a jaunty gent's voice calls from the TV set as Sam wordlessly accepts the bottle with a small smile on his face. "Oh, at the rate you're going, it won't take long!" the woman on the set chimes in by way of response. "You'll have everything tidied up and be off again before we even get used to you!" "Oh, I'll be around long enough," the gentleman counters as the shot jumps to an overhead of Our Intrepid Heroes silently enjoying each other's company. "I'll be around."Aaaaaand....blackout!