That yappy yet admirably restrained golden retriever snaps at Our Intrepid Heroes' heels, the distracted blonde body-checks Li'l Stumpy, and those fuckwits with the fucking desk unleash that stupid fucking Pulitzer line again while Darling Sammy completely spazzes out about The Mystery Spot and magnetic fields and the space-time continuum and God alone knows what else, until Dean agrees that they'll break into the place that evening after it closes, but the very idea sends Sam into a wild-haired panic, and he bats at Dean repeatedly until he finally forces himself to get a goddamned grip already. Dean realizes their after-hours trip to The Spot resulted in at least one of his deaths, so he's all, "Okay, let's go now," and would clompy-stomp right into oncoming traffic were it not for The Ginormotron's mighty lunge forward to haul his imperiled brother out of the intersection. Old Coot Pickett, once again at the sedan's wheel, Alzheimers what I'm certain is meant to be his angered impatience with Dean's apparent stupidity as he barrels merrily on his way. Dean chuckles, until he gets a look at Sam's ashen expression. "Wait -- did he...?" "Yesterday," Sam confirms. Dean mulls that over for a moment before grinning, "Did it look cool, like in the movies?" Heh. Sam, who's thisclose to beating Dean to death himself at this point, bitchfaces, "You peed yourself." Dean's grin falters at that bit of unwelcome news, but he pulls himself upright to offer this rousing defense: "Of course I peed myself! A man gets hit by a car, you think he has full control of his bladder? Come on!" He then carefully looks both right and left before crossing the street. Hee!