Short Lip tilts her head and baby-coos, "Does that make me a bad person?" Pastor Jim gets on his feet and backs away saying he knows "what you are." He argues that "you can't be here. This is hallowed ground," but Short Lip is like, pastor, please. Pastor Jim takes off for the church basement, where he gets himself some bug juice. Wait, no, that was what we used to do in my church basement. He locks himself in a room with an arsenal of weapons in the closet. Short Lip busts through the barricaded door; Pastor Jim whips a knife at her which she catches right up by her ear. She says, "You throw like a girl." As always, her locution annoys me to no end. She's still all mucklemouthed and affectedly bemused. Short Lip wants the Winchesters. Pastor Jim says he hasn't spoken to John in over a year, and "even if I did know where they were, I'd never tell you." Sign that death certificate on the dotted line, pal. Short Lip responds, "I know," and then slashes his throat right where he stands. He gurgles and spurts, then falls down dead. Metal Teeth Chomp.
Zappy credits. Back in Manning, Colorado. Quick shots of all kinds of crazy scribblings tacked on a wall. Weather reports, topographical maps, pictures of scary Egyptian-looking demons, everything scribbled all over with notes like "sulphur trace" and Xs marking the spots. The camera pans over to John, who is telling Dean and Sam that "this is everything I know." More papers are strewn about the desk in the cabin. Poor Jared Padalecki's hair has continued to get worse and worse, as it seems he is now coming very close to some sort of Prince Valiant action. Which...is not okay. ["It's bad, but I think it's better than it was at the beginning of the season." -- Sars] John says that he'd been searching for the thing for their whole lives but hadn't found anything. Until a year ago. Dean realizes that this is why John took off. John thinks the demon came out of hibernation. So, the trail:It's moved from Arizona, to New Jersey, to California. It leaves a house burned to the ground and it goes after families with infants on the night of the baby's six-month birthday. Sam's eyes widen: "I was six months old that day?" He does some huffing and puffing: "So, Mom's death, Jessica? It's all 'cause of me?" Dean tries to derail the choo-choo train chugging down the one track of Sammy's mind: "We don't know that, Sam." Sam gets heated, and Dean heats up in response: "No, it's not your fault." Sam: "Yeah, you're right, it's not my fault, but it's my problem!" Dean: "No, it's not your problem, it's our problem!" John finally stops them, just a moment too soon, because I sort of wanted Sam to return with, "Well, actually, it's not our problem, it's our time to dance!" Also: don't we all agree that all this is Sam's fault?