Cemetery. Aftermath. Frankendean mourns the loss of his killer good looks for a very long period of time, but then My Thoroughly Restored Baboo pops up from out of nowhere to heal The Pretty with a mere touch of his fingertips. "Are you God?" Dean honestly wonders once the healing is done, and while many thousands on the Interwebs would happily accept Misha Collins as their personal Lord and Savior, Castiel's forced to reply with the truth: "That's a nice compliment, but no." "Although I do believe He brought me back," Castiel admits. "New and improved," he adds, almost as an afterthought as he strides across the lawn to resurrect Bobby.

And once Bobby's choked and sputtered and hacked himself back to life, Chuck starts in with this evening's closing narration, sounding quite frankly far more like a whiny television writer than A Prophet Of The Lord. "Endings are hard," he insists. "Any chapped-ass monkey with a keyboard can poop out a beginning, but endings are impossible." We've cut over to the interior of Chuck's ramshackle hovel by this point, and The Prophet has suspiciously changed from his expected tatty striped robe into a crisp, clean white button-down shirt. This should suck. "You try to tie up every loose end," he continues, "but you never can -- the fans are always gonna bitch, there's always gonna be holes, and since it's the ending, it's all supposed to add up to something. I'm telling you, they're a raging pain in the ass." You wanna know what's even more of a raging pain in the ass, Chuck? Sitting through shitty endings like this one.