One bolt of lightning in particular finds little Kevin Tran absolutely irresistible, and it zaps down out of the sky to slam into his head, the force of the impact jolting him up into the air while shattering every single pane of glass in his bedroom. DUN!
Warehouse. Dashing El Deano brushes a few stray crumbs of prehistoric clay away to run his fingers across the jet-black piece of intricately carved rock the clay had been covering.
Michigan. Zapped-out Kevin drops to the carpet, unconscious, his eyes glowing white. A vision of the Our Intrepid Heroes' intricately-carved rock flashes through his brain for a couple of seconds, hurling the kid into a brief series of spasms, after which he lies still on the floor of his now-ruined bedroom for a moment until his wispy little form gets obliterated by this evening's...
...SNOT ROCKET!, and as there has been no change in the depressing situation that's been plaguing me since mid-January, I'll be jumping right into the episode proper, if that's all right with all of you. It is? Good.
Northern Indiana Home For Temporarily Disabled Baboos. Comatose Castiel lies atop his bed while Snarky Demonette Meg peruses a copy of We Couldn't Afford The Rights To The Us Weekly Logo nearby. Suddenly, My Temporarily Disabled Baboo bolts upright to open his eyes. Snarky Demonette Meg reacts to this entirely unexpected development with decidedly mild surprise.
Vast Swath Of Northern Wisconsin. Latino Leviathan Whose Name I Can't Remember consults with a Leviathanically-enhanced architect over the latest plans for Richard Roman's primary people slaughterhouse until his cell phone bleeps, and -- wait a minute, let me look this one up -- "Edgar" remarks about Richard Roman's unfortunate nickname before answering with a simple, "Yes?"
Michigan. Kevin Tran snaps awake at the sound of a voice mail his Type-A Tiger Mother is just now leaving him, and to his horror, he realizes he's slept on his floor in the middle of all that broken glass for about fourteen hours, thereby missing the SAT he doesn't need to take because it's May of his senior year, for Christ's sake. And just as I'm about to wonder why the hell Tiger Mom wouldn't have noticed the fact that her pride and joy spent the entire night unconscious on the floor in the ruins of his bedroom, Tiger Mom babbles something about her flight back to Michigan that evening, so I return my focus to Kevin's mad scramble to get out the door and salvage what little remains of his mostly-wasted morning. Unfortunately for Kevin, just as he's about to bolt from his room, an afterimage of Our Intrepid Heroes' intricately-carved rock flashes through his brain, and all of his frantic flailing grinds to a halt as he stands, practically paralyzed, in the center of his room while his eyes once again glow white.