Dead Rufus's Ridiculously Scenic Rustic Homestead Deep Within The Lush Coastal Rainforests Of Montana's Rocky Mountains, later that evening. I guess Castiel finally remembered he could zap everybody over there immediately, because last I heard, they were somewhere on the outskirts of St. Cloud, Minnesota. But whatever. Upstairs, Darling Sammy and My Sweet Baboo busy themselves painting sigils specifically designed to ward off Hester and Anaias while Dashing El Deano escorts Addled Kevin down to the cellar to commence with The Metatron Stone's translation. Unfortunately, Addled Kevin takes one look at the cellar's massive stockpile of various demon-destroying implements and bleats, "This looks like a sex torture dungeon. Is this a sex torture dungeon?" Exasperated El Deano, who's currently wielding a rusty hand-scythe, begins to disabuse Addled Kevin of that particularly silly notion of his, then rolls his eyes and orders his skittish houseguest to get to work, pronto. Heh.
Up in the parlor, Sam and Castiel have finished with their furious bout of sigil-scrawling and now settle into a pair of chairs to wait. "You seem troubled," Castiel casually observes after a beat. "Of course," he goes on to admit, "that's a primary aspect of your personality, so I sometimes ignore it." Hee! You and me both, sweetie. You and me both. The two then launch themselves into a chat regarding The Nature Of My Sweet Baboo's Guilt And Insanity, and it's so dreadfully boring that even Meg has to slug back a shot of healing booze and bail on the whole tedious thing to go play in the surrounding woods by herself before her brain implodes from ennui. Or something like that.
Cellar. Dashing El Deano rests his weary eyes off to one side of the room while Addled Kevin diligently applies himself to The Metatron Stone's translation. Suddenly, Addled Kevin's vision goes all blurry and such, and he rises from the table to whinge some more about his miserable lot in life. Alas, Dean does not rise from his comfy seat to smack the ever-living crap out of the snot-nosed whiner, but instead wastes several precious minutes trying to talk the kid back from the edge. Of course, he succeeds, and Addled Kevin gets back to his translation. That was fucking pointless.
Elsewhere, the camera finds the apparently wayward Meg sauntering on up to a just-arriving tractor-trailer rig, the latter of which presently disgorges those demonically-enhanced truckers from three or four states ago. Of course, we're meant to believe she's more than willing to sell out both Our Intrepid Heroes and My Sweet Baboo at this point. And of course, we don't believe that at all, because we've been watching this show for seven godforsaken, never-ending years, and that's not the way things work here. So, long story short, Meg toys with these two idiots for a couple of minutes, then ganks them both with The Knife That Can Kill Anything Except When It Usually Can't, which has decided for whatever reason to work as it should this evening.