Back from the break, Dean eyes the sheriff's now-headless corpse -- "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" -- through the two-way mirror for a bit before turning to his fellows and distributing four of the ash-enhanced shotgun shells he banged together all those many scenes ago. Moments later, the quartet is approaching 25 Buckley Street, and it's...Ervin's Diner, where they just had breakfast! D'OH! "She's been in there this entire time?" Dean squeals, outraged. Sam wonders why she ever allowed them in -- or out, for that matter -- in the first place, while Bobby questions the sanity of entering so strategically disadvantageous a location. Dean quickly proposes he and Sam head into the diner to draw Mother out into the others' line of fire, and while Bobby makes with the expected whining about how stupid Dean's plan is, he has little choice but to loiter there under that streetlight with My Sweet Baboo while Our Intrepid Heroes stride purposefully across the street with a satchel filled with their various implements of demonic destruction. "Well, at least it ain't complicated," Bobby sighs, for no particular reason at all. Next!

Diner Interior. Sam and Dean enter, warily eye the ten patrons and two staff members arrayed in various positions around the joint, and seat themselves at the counter. Sam whips out his trusty Blackberry or Android or iPhone or whatever it is and surreptitiously sweeps the thing's video camera around the room. Of course, every single damn local in the place has unnaturally glowing eyes, so Our Intrepid Heroes are pretty much fucked. "Let's get the hell out of here," Dean whispers once Sam has confirmed they're the only two present who are not flesh-eating monsters. Unfortunately, as they rise to go, the waitress places a couple of platters in front of them, and the waitress is Mother. The instant she's revealed herself, an array of her obedient Starship underlings rise from their seats to secure the diner's windows and doors, blocking the view inside from across the street, where Bobby and Castiel have the unmitigated gall to fret at this entirely unexpected development.

Next, the largest of Mother's obedient Starship underlings retrieves Dean's Duffel Of Doom from the floor and presents its contents to Eve. "Phoenix ash?" she asks after getting a whiff of one of the cartridges. "I'm impressed -- I bet you had to go a long way for that." "You have no idea," Dean sighs as Sam allows himself a doleful little chuckle. Mother instructs the largest of her underlings to destroy the boys' weapons immediately, and once the underling's vanished into the diner's kitchen to do so, she settles herself in for a little chat with Our Intrepid Heroes. Mother urges them to relax -- she's not there for a fight, after all -- and she refuses to rise to Dean's snarled bait about her supposed intentions, even when he openly mocks her for relying upon such déclassé beasties as "those half-assed Spider-Men" and -- get ready for this -- "Dragons." "What's that?!" Raoul shrieks, his sharp little ears pricking up. "Is that charming little bow-legged midget-man referring to me!?" I believe he is, Raoul. "Hmph! Well, I never! You try to be nice to some people during those interminable hours on the set -- divert them with a few harmless little games -- and this is how they repay you! Is there no justice in this world?! Hmmm!?" Well, I can't really... "HMMM?!" I suppose not, my scaly friend. Now, don't you think it best that I hurry along past this unpleasantness so we might enjoy whatever violence this evening has left to offer? "Oh, indeed! Especially if even a tiny little bit of that violence is directed against that...! That...! That ingrate!" We can but hope, Raoul.