...this week's motel room, where they tiredly lope through the door and switch on the lights only to find... Uriel and Castiel, lurking in the shadows! "Oh, come on!" Dean growls, unbelievably annoyed to see them when he'd been hoping for a nap, or something. "You are needed," Uriel enunciates, ignoring Dean's mood. "We just got back from 'needed'!" Dean spits. "You mind your tone," Uriel cautions, but Dean's having none of it, and advances upon -- what did Castiel call him in the THEN!? Oh, yeah -- The Specialist with unalloyed loathing in his expression before Darling Sammy, ever the peace maker, interposes himself between the two of them to explain the entire Dead-Barnes sitch, which only leads to more furious ranting on Dean's part regarding the late psychic's seared eyes and whatnot until he finishes with, "Maybe you can stop pushing us around like chess pieces for FIVE FRICKIN' MINUTES!" "We raised you out of Hell for our purposes," Uriel coldly reminds Dean, which is exactly the wrong thing to say at the moment, for it leads to little more than some additional manfully aggravated screaming from Our Intrepid Hero until Castiel tries to calm everyone down by acknowledging, "Dean, we know this is difficult to understand..." "...and we," Uriel interrupts, shooting his colleague one supremely hairy side-eye, "don't care!" Heh. Dean gets this hysterical "Uh oh! Mommy and Daddy are fighting again!" look on his face at Uriel's smackdown of Dean's supposed protector, but Uriel's snappish behavior does finally get Dean to keep his mouth shut long enough for all of us to receive this week's necessary exposition: That dead blonde from the pre-credits sequence was the seventh member of Uriel and Castiel's "garrison" to be slaughtered in the last couple of days, and while the angels are quite capable of taking out the dark demonic force responsible for the mass killing by themselves, thank you very much, they haven't a clue who that dark demonic force is. They do, however, have Alastair imprisoned elsewhere -- so much for that delightful and beautifully timed lightning bolt from last week reducing him to an itty pile of ash, I suppose -- and expect to beat the perpetrator's name out of him within the next couple of hours, but here's the catch: They expect to beat the perpetrator's name out of Alastair by using Dean's Hell-learned talents as a torturer. "You happen to be the most qualified interrogator we've got," Uriel allows, even though you can tell it pains him to offer that compliment. Equally pained is Dean, who flat-out balks at revisiting the skills he acquired during his forty-year sojourn in the land down under, even after Castiel pleads, "You're our best hope." "You can't ask me to do this," Dean seethes. "Not this!" Uriel smirks. "Who said anything about asking?" And as the camera jumps from Uriel's face to Dean's and then on to Sam's, a tiny, thumping flutter hits the soundtrack, and by the time the camera's leapt from Sam's face to the far side of the room, the angels have absconded with his brother. Kick ass. "DAMMIT!" Darling Sammy rages, stamping his foot, and awwwwwww! He's so cute when he's angry! "I agree!" Raoul shrieks, having recovered from his earlier bout of gore-induces breathlessness. "Wholeheartedly, even!" Thanks for backing me up, friend of friends. "No problem!"