Tinkle, Tinkle RAAAWWWR! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I take it we're enjoying ourselves thus far this evening? "We are indeed!" Excellent. Should I continue, then, or do you have anything else to add at this juncture? "Nothing at all! Please go on!" No problem.

The following morning finds Darling Sammy loitering against the Impala in an overcast parking lot somewhere loud, rubbing at his aching brain while Dreary El Deano fetches some Danish and a couple of coffees for them at a nearby "pasteries" cart. "How you feel?" Dean asks the instant he's returned to Sam's side. "Like I got hit by a planet," Sam sighs before wondering, "So, how long was I out, again?" "Two or three minutes," Dean replies, furrows of concern creasing his forehead. "Why, what'd it feel like to you?" "About a week," Sam admits, looking pained, "give or take." The two perch on Metallicar's hood, with Dean offering his brother a friendly ear should Sam wish to chat about what just happened to him, but Sam of course declines, insisting he's fine, so they naturally launch themselves into a two-minute-long debate regarding the stupidity of Sam's decision to remain in Bristol even after the town and its inhabitants started triggering black-and-white flashbacks in that poor little mangled mind of his. It's as tedious as that description makes it sound, though Dean does manage to get in a good line or two here and there, especially when Sam whines as follows with respect to his now-obscured Slutty past: "So, I'm just supposed to ignore it? I might have done who knows what, and you want me to just forget about it?" "You shove it down," Dean replies without hesitation, "and you let it come out in spurts of violence and alcoholism!" "Atta girl!" Raoul rather predictably shrieks, for as we all know, the dear dizzy lizard is quite the avid fan of both the brutality and the booze. "It's true! [Slurp!] Hee!"