"Oh, thank God," Molly sighs once Greeley's vanished. "Call me Dean," comes the reply, and that's a bad, bad line, my friend, especially given the way you've been so contemptuously treating this woman all evening, so we'll be ignoring it entirely in favor of noting that Grisly Greeley seems to have recovered from that last round of rock salt awfully fast, for he now menaces his way back into the frame behind Dean to toss a little mad slasher mojo directly at Dean's cheek. Um. The one on his face. I mean, I didn't quite word that last sentence properly, so you might think I meant Greeley slashed Dean's...you know what? Let's keep this moving, shall we? "Good idea!" Dean spins around to launch another round of rock salt into Greeley's face, but Greeley quite unexpectedly hurls a bit of telekinetic mojo into Dean's chest, and Dean hurtles backwards through the air to slam into the far wall of the cabin, hard. As he bounces down to the floorboards, he loses his grip on the sawed-off shotgun, which goes skittering away from him, just out of reach.