Oh, yeah: Dean's a bit surprised that Sam would so willingly abandon the search for Ava in favor of driving halfway across the country to investigate a couple of mysterious deaths in some random hotel. "It's not the patented Sam Winchester Way, now is it?" Dean notes when pressed on his attitude. "I just figured after Ava, there'd be, you know, more angst and droopy music and staring out the rainy windows." Sam glares. "Yeah, I'll shut up now," Dean fidgets, averting his eyes. Heh. Though, of course, El Deano's the one who's been driving us fucking insane with The Almighty Angst all damn season long, so I don't know where he gets off criticizing poor Sammy for indulging in the exact same sort of behavior, but whatever. The important part of the blathering that follows is Sam's sincere vow to "save as many people as [they] can." They've hit a dead-end as far as Ava's concerned, so it's time for them to head back out on the road. "That attitude is just way to healthy for me," Dean teasingly deadpans as Sam cracks an appropriately amused grin. "I'm officially uncomfortable now," Dean continues, figuratively clutching at his pearls. "Thank you." Sam starts all-out snickering as Dean finally drops the act to agree to Sam's plan.
The next thing we know, Metallicar's grumbling down a wet backroad somewhere as anonymous, composed-for-this-episode, wocka-wocka "rock" "music" plays in the background. Our Intrepid Heroes quickly enough arrive at The Pierpont, and good goddamn. The place is even more gorgeous in the daylight. Dean apparently agrees with me, for when the boys disembark, the first words out of his mouth are, "Dude! This is sweet!" "Who knew he had such good taste?" Raoul wonders. Indeed, Raoul, especially after he made such a mess in his jeans over Andy Gallagher's psyche-scarring atrocity of a van a few episodes ago. Oh, wait. He's not reacting to the manor itself, but rather to the prospect of spending the evening in accommodations so swank after God knows how many nights in those dreadful-looking motels they somehow always manage to find. "I never get to work jobs like this," Dean explains. "Like what?" Sammy buhs as he slings his backpack over a shoulder. "Old-school haunted houses, you know?" Dean elaborates. "Fog, secret passageways, sissy British accents -- might even run into Fred and Daphne while we're inside." "Good God, I hope not!" Raoul shrieks. "The second the odious Freddie Prince, Jr., and his sharp-angled baggage appear on this program is the second I stop watching it for good!" Yes, yes, Raoul, I'm certain we're all in agreement on that, but do you mind? There are plot points to describe. "My profuse apologies. Do continue." Thanks. In any event, the boys have made it to the front steps during all that, and are halfway up towards the door when eagle-eyed Sammy spots something suspicious on a nearby decorative urn. "I'm not so sure 'haunted's' the problem," he begins, drawing Dean's attention to a set of five interconnected dots on the urn's rim. "See this pattern here? That's a quincunx -- a five-spot." Dean correctly identifies it as holding a rather prominent place in traditional hoodoo whatever, and Sam agrees, noting, "You fill this thing with bloodweed, and you've got a powerful charm to ward off enemies." "Except I don't see any bloodweed," Dean counters, adding, "Don't you think this place is a little white meat for hoodoo?" "Maybe," Sam shrugs, and the camera shoots in on the five-spot as strings laden with portent thrum on the soundtrack. Shut up, Portentous Strings. That is nowhere near a DUN! Have you no sense for your own genre? Get with the program.