In any event, Darling Sammy escorts The Busted Bastard back to the kitchen table, where Darling Sammy attempts to initiate The Busted Bastard into the many joys and splendors of The Winchester Family's Patented Chick-Flick Moments, but Adam -- to his immense credit, I am compelled to note -- is having none of that bullshit. "Do you know how full of crap you are?" he asks, absolutely amazed at the copious amounts of unfettered drivel spilling from Darling Sammy's mouth at the moment. Atta boy. Next!
Panic Room, and oh, fine: They've locked Dean in the panic room, but they've given Michael's other Angel Condom free run of The Emporium. Shut up, Supernatural. ANY-way, Castiel and Sam arrive so a furious Castiel might offer Deeply Depressed El Deano a cunning pair of hairy eyeballs. "Not for nothing," Dean smirks, "but the last person who looked at me like that? I got laid." So, Dean's last one-night stand amounted to little more than raging amounts of seething hate sex? And with whom, for Christ's sake? I don't know why I'm bothering to ask, as I'm certain we'll never find out, so I'll skip all of the pleasantries to note that Sam sends Castiel upstairs to babysit the bastard, thereby leaving the legitimate brothers alone for a lengthy Winchester Family Patented Chick-Flick Moment of their own, and the long and the short of it -- 'cause, you know, Sam is long and Dean is short -- is this: Dean refuses to let Adam "take a bullet" for him by serving as Michael's Muppet, and nothing Sam can say or do at this point will change his mind, because Dean has lost all faith in his legitimate brother. "I don't know if it's gonna be demon blood," he states, "or some other demon chick or what, but I do know they're gonna find a way to turn you." Oooh! Burn! "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" That, too. "You're angry," Dean continues, "you're self-righteous, and Lucifer's gonna wear you to the prom, man. It's just a matter of time." "Don't say that to me!" Darling Sammy cries, girly tears threatening to pour from his already overmoist eyes to drag unmanly channels down his heretofore remarkably healthy and entirely masculine cheeks, but Stubbornly Remorseless El Deano will not relent. "It's the truth," he insists, "and when Satan takes you over, there's got to be somebody there to fight him, and it ain't gonna be that kid, so it's gotta be me." DUN! Sam chokes back a sob or two and flees the panic room, slamming the door shut behind him as he goes. Wimp.