Bobby's Emporium, somewhere deep within the lush coastal rainforests of central South Dakota. I think. I mean, that looks like Bobby's Bad-Ass Panic Room behind Dean and Castiel, who lean wearily against the walls while Crackie The Crackheaded Crack-Crack cracks out at them from within, so I'm guessing My Sweet Baboo whisked Our Intrepid Crackheads up to Bobby's after that last scene. Dean swigs from a bottle of generic Kentucky bourbon while his angelic boyfriend offers him some tender words of consolation, but Dean's not having it, and he flees topside to bow-leggedly amble amongst the automotive wrecks in Bobby's yard for a bit until he reaches the rain-streaked Impala. Openly despairing now that he's alone, and with thunder subtly rumbling over his head, Dean lifts his anguished face up to Heaven and pleads, "Please! I can't... I need some help! Please?" And this time, despite the repeated hitch in his voice, there are no tears.
Whew. That was pretty fucking awesome, wasn't it? "...!" Crap. "...!" Does this mean I have to fetch my own goddamned cocktail this week? "...!" I guess it does. Hell, if the mention of booze doesn't wake him up, nothing will.
Next week: The 2010 Winter Olympic Games in Vancouver! The men's figure skating free skate's scheduled for the evening of the 18th, so be sure to tune in so you can point and laugh with the rest of us. The next new episode of Supernatural won't get here until March 25th, so until we see you here again, have fun!
Demian CRACK! Raoul glalalalalalaalallalalalllaalalalah. You may crack the cracker at firstname.lastname@example.org. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon currently comatose from The Awesome, so don't bother trying to write.