Somewhere else, The Ginormotron Antichrist sidles past a canoodling twosome of the heterosexual variety before darting into this week's decrepit motoring lodge, the "Regent Inn Hotel." He quickly cuts up to their room with the camera, and bounds through the door to find Disgusted El Deano loading slug after slug into the latter's trusty pearl-handled automatic so he might then blast that hideous fucking wallpaper clear off the drywall. "It's appalling!" Raoul gasps, clutching at his nonexistent three-strand while directing a horrified yet elegantly honed claw towards the television set. "Where did they find that?!" Relax, friend of friends. It's probably just another sign of The Apocalypse. "HATEFUL!" I'm so glad we agree. "Me too! Please continue!" As you wish. So, in any event, barely has Disgusted El Deano had a chance to aim his weapon at the offending decor -- and don't you dare giggle at that, Raoul -- when Sam bursts through the door to flip a couple of angel- and demon-blocking hex bags into his brother's face. "I made them all by myself!" Six-Year-Old Sammy basically announces with a chipper and bright smile on his face, but Dean -- perhaps finally exacting revenge for Sam's first-season pissing on that cute little EMF Walkman Dean knocked together -- simply snaps, "How?" so Six-Year-Old Sammy's face falls, and he mumbles something about Princess Embolism explaining the finer points of hex bags to him in between bouts of blood sucking and corpse fucking, and poor Sam looks like he's about to cry, expecting as he is a mighty smackdown from his brother over the whole Princess Embolism sitch, but Dean instead quietly wonders whatever happened to Sam's ridiculous addiction issue, anyway, and Sam's forced to reveal that The Kripkeeper decided to pull some ludicrous non-explanation out of his almighty ass like so: "It's like whoever put me on that plane cleaned me right up." "That's awfully convenient, n'est-ce pas!?" "Convenient" is probably the most polite term I could use for it, my scaly friend. "Naughty! Hee!"
Anyway, with his ridiculous addiction issue thus dispensed with, Sam next attempts to apologize for unleashing his Mighty Hands Of Discontent back in Ilchester, but The Dean Of Denial loudly announces he doesn't have time for any of that touchy-feely apologetic crap, bitch, and shouts Sam down in favor of analyzing their current deeply dire predicament as if it were any other hunt. "We just gotta find the devil!" Sam sends his eyebrows up to the ceiling, all, "Are you fucking crazy?" but Determined El Deano is determined.