...The Tragic Bachelor Pad Of Lousy Yet Remarkably Accurate Writing, and the place is a dump. Well, it's always been a dump, but after Castiel's late run-in with The Prophet's Archangel, it's even more so. The camera pans down from the mangled venetians to rake across various shattered appliances now littering the kitchen linoleum, each and every one of them coated with... "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Yep, the toaster's positively crimson with the stuff, and someone's arterial spray apparently made it all the way across the room to soil Chuck's carefully tended copies of the Supernatural book series. The Stumpy Little Bow-Legged Lamb Of God and The Ginormotron Antichrist tippy-toe through the wreckage for a bit until...a mysterious creaking noise creeps up on them from behind! DUN! Sam turns to warily approach the apparent source of the noise, and just as he crosses the threshold from kitchen to living room... "VIOLENCE!" shrieks Raoul with delight, for indeed, The Prophet Chuck has sneaked up on The Ginormotron Antichrist and whapped him upside the head with the business end of a toilet plunger. Hee. "Ow!" Sam yelps, hopping back a few feet and rubbing his freshly bruised freakish Cro-Magnon forehead as Dean flips a far too nonchalant "Hello" in Chuck's direction. The grubby author of crappy paranormal pulp fiction, of course, is both stoked and surprised to see them alive -- stoked because, well, look at them, and surprised because his most recent premonition involved a vision of Sam going "full-on Vader" down in the chapel of St. Mary's, with a body temperature of 150 degrees and a heart rate approaching 200. "Your eyes were black!" Chuck bleats for emphasis, and as this is news to no one except Dean (who offers a mild eyebrow pop at the revelation, by the by), I'll be skipping ahead to the bit I care most about. "Where's [my angelic boyfriend]?" Dean grunts. "He's dead," Chuck reluctantly admits. "The Archangel smote the crap out of him." Dean, stricken, desperately wonders, "You sure? Maybe he just vanished into the light, or something!" Chuck shakes his head. "He, like, exploded," Chuck elaborates, gesturing with the plunger to illustrate his point. "Like a water balloon of chunky soup," he adds, deploying perhaps the first truly effective simile of his entire authorial career, and wait for it: "WHY were we not witness to THAT?!" howls Raoul, understandably feeling terribly thwarted at the moment, and Raoul, darling, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. We were not witness to that because this show has no budget for special effects. "Oh, poop!" Raoul pouts, sinking into the depths of his overstuffed armchair in a righteous snit. Cheer up, friend of friends -- they've made sure to toss you a tiny little bone in a few seconds. "Really!?" Really. "Hooray!"