Out in the parking lot, Sam -- trying to be helpful, don't you know -- suggests they chase down The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Totally Can't, as said Fucking Colt might be useful in the fight against Lucifer, but Dean -- God love him -- just rolls his eyes and tells Sam to cram a sock in it. All of that manly speechifying we just witnessed in Bobby's hospital room? Empty bravado on Dean's part, purely for Bobby's benefit. Dean knows -- and Sam would know this too, if he just resigned himself to the facts -- that Our Intrepid Heroes haven't "a snowball's chance" against the variously arrayed armies of Heaven and Hell, and from there, the conversation devolves into the same sort of chick-flicky, tail-of-the-episode heart-to-hearts these endlessly prattling tear jockeys have indulged in at least 60 times before on this show, and as they're certain to repeat this distressing behavior again and again and again over the course of the fifth season, you'll forgive me if I seem less than enthused about transcribing this particular variation's dialogue word for word, and you'll also forgive me for basically skipping to the end already. Long story short, Dean's not so much pissed that Sam offed Lilith and started The Apocalypse (though, you know: Irritating!) but rather, he's furious that Sam "chose a demon over [his] own brother," and are we done yet? "I certainly hope so!" Oh, excellent. It's over.
Next week: Ellen! Jo! Rufus! "Who?!" Exactly, my scaly friend. See you all next week! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
Demian hates your fan fiction, and really thinks you should stop wasting your time on that crap. Raoul, quite frankly, is mortally appalled at that attitude, as artistic expression of any sort should be nurtured and celebrated, for we are all unique, like tiny little snowflakes! You may reach the former at firstname.lastname@example.org. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon currently under house arrest on the Internet.