Trailer park. Aftermath. Crowley gamely prepares to be smote, or smited, or smitten, or whatever the hell that stupid word should be, but Castiel's got a bit of a surprise. You see, he's determined it's in his best interest to keep Hell going -- you know, as a threat to those who would cross him -- and he'll thus be needing Crowley to return to his day job, pronto. Of course, the usual distribution of souls will be altered effective immediately, with Heaven receiving the far greater share from now on, as Castiel would hate to see Crowley amass enough power to mount an effective rebellion. Crowley has little choice but to accept Castiel's proposal and scurries back to the bar to offer his new boss a friendly little cocktail, but alas! My Godly Baboo's developed an irritating rash on his hand, and so must skedaddle, now. Next!

Deep within the lush coastal rainforests of southeastern BORING!, ominous tinkly noises once again assail the soundtrack, and before we know it, a massive chain rattles down from the kitchen ceiling, snakes itself tightly around Darling Sammy's remarkably healthy neck, and violently yanks The Ginormotron skyward, where Darling Sammy kicks and flails and chokes and struggles until...

...he abruptly snaps awake atop a pile of research, a long string of drool connecting his slackjawed mouth to one of Bobby's no-doubt priceless antiques. Sam freaks, and bellows for both his brother and his host, but unfortunately, they're out in...