Seattle. The chatty gentlemen have just now concluded their negotiations, and Richard Roman summons his ever-helpful personal assistant, Leviathan Sue, to make triplicates of the much-amended contract prior to the formal signing of same under the watchful eyes of a few Leviathanically-enhanced notaries.

Lush Coastal Rainforests Of Montana's Rocky Mountains, Ridiculously Scenic Rustic Homestead Subdivision. Our Intrepid Heroes attempt to summon Crowley and fail, of course, because Crowley's still ensnared in that Devil's Trap over in Seattle, though neither Sam nor Dean is aware of that fact at this time. The two proceed to bitch at each other for a couple of minutes until a certain someone comes a-knocking on the cabin door, and it's Meg, who enters to state, "You deal with him -- I can't anymore." Dashing El Deano's all, "And this would be regarding...?" so Meg seethes, "I was laying low halfway across the world when Emo Boy pops up out of nowhere and zaps me right back here." "Why?" Dean thinks to inquire. "Go ask him," Meg retorts, adding, "He was your boyfriend first." Point to Meg, I suppose, but that's not important right now because we must follow along as Dashing El Deano traipses out into...

...the sunshine flooding the ridiculously scenic rustic homestead's dooryard, where he finds My Mellow Baboo sitting in a car that is not this week's crapped-out piece of automotive trash, listening to Don McLean's "Vincent" on the radio. Dean takes a very long moment to gather what little remains of his increasingly strained patience, and then wonders what gives. "Well, Dean," My Batshit Baboo replies, "I've been thinking: Monkeys are so clever, and they're sensible in that they leave the skins on the bananas that they eat -- is it really necessary to test cosmetics on them? I mean, how important is lipstick to you?" "Not very," Dean admits before inviting Castiel inside for a chat, so it's back to...

...the ridiculously scenic rustic homestead's parlor, where Castiel reminds those assembled that he no longer participates in "aggressive activity" before wandering over to the kitchen table, where he hoists the shattered femur the boys stole the previous evening into the air so he might get a good whiff of dead nun. "Mmmm!" My Batshit Baboo croons. "Sister Mary Constant! Good choice!" Dashing El Deano gently urges Castiel to get to the fucking point already and, after babbling about the flowers for a bit, Dean's angelic boyfriend finally admits that the members of his former garrison have fallen silent. This, of course, is A Very Bad Thing, so Castiel fluttered on over to Neighbor, Michigan, to check in on that sniveling, snot-nosed teenager from a couple of episodes ago, only to find the place deserted. Well, deserted except for the two dead heavenly custodians who were likely still littering that kitchen's floor. Castiel claims that the members of his former garrison either have been slaughtered or are in hiding at the moment and, after veering off on yet another monkey-related tangent from which the snappish El Deano must drag him, My Batshit Baboo announces, "It's in your hands now."