In any event, an argument ensues, and as they're basically reiterating a couple of nasty, spite-filled bitchfests we already saw last season, let's cut to the chase, shall we? "Let's!" Excellent. Long story short, the two snipe at each other until Zachariah finally proposes they let bygones be bygones as, after all, "The Apocalypse is now," and they'd best dispatch Lucifer before the fallen angel finds his Vessel. Dean's response to Zachariah's proffered truce? "You listen to me, you two-faced douche -- after what you did, I don't want jack squat from you!" And with that, Our Most Intrepid Hero, Indeed -- who's left hand has been bleeding all this time, don't you know -- spins around to yank open a hidden sliding door, upon which he'd oh-so-craftily smeared Anna's Angel-B-Gon sigil at some point after his arrival from Baltimore. Oh, Dean. Oh, clever, clever Dean. Zachariah howls, "NO!" but it's of course too late, and the instant Crafty El Deano slams his bloodstained paw against the thing, Zachariah and his meatheaded backup dancers explode backwards in a gout of terrible white light. Once the angelic screaming is done, The Prophet darts his eyes from one Winchester to the other before announcing glumly, "This sucks ass." "Well!" Raoul opines. "It certainly hasn't been the most enthralling season premiere this delightful little Thursday evening divertissement's ever offered, you adorable little hairy person, but I wouldn't go that far!" Oh, Raoul. "Yes!?" Such a card you are. "Hee!"