This Week's Crapped-Out Piece Of Automotive Trash. Where it is now nighttime again, by the way, even though it normally only takes all of five minutes to drive anywhere on this show. Go figure. And after several long, blissful moments during which nobody says anything to anyone, Castiel announces, "This silence is very uncomfortable." No, it isn't, and shut up, asshole. Next!
Nuthouse, and it's about time to wrap up Wispy Marin's utterly insubstantial subplot, such as it was. Under Lucifer's insistently intrusive eye, Batshit Sammy and Wispy Marin lay down a circle of salt using the shakers Batshit Sammy had apparently been stashing away from his various uneaten meals, and once it's complete, the two step inside so Batshit Sammy might torch that twee little blood-soaked friendship bracelet with a lighter Wispy Marin swiped from Marcus The Friendly Orderly's pocket. Wispy Marin's dead pyromaniac brother quite naturally materializes to put a stop to it all, but the ineffectual twit finds he can do little more than blow out the overhead fluorescents before Batshit Sammy sets lighter to bracelet, and Dead Pyromaniac Brother soon finds himself blazing his merry way down to The Waste Land, or wherever. Catch you on the flip side, whatever the hell your name was!
And when it's over, Wispy Marin hightails it on out of there right before Marcus The Now Not-So-Friendly Orderly arrives with one of his colleagues to strap Batshit Sammy to the bed, after which The Good Doctor Kadinsky pops up to inform Batshit Sammy that they'll be pursuing a surgical option in a desperate last-ditch attempt to put an end to The Ginormopsycho's unfortunate nervous condition. Lucifer, of course, delights at this news, but all Batshit Sammy can do is gaze at his ruined manicure for one very long and stomach-churning moment before lapsing into a blurry approximation of semi-consciousness.
Meanwhile, this week's crapped-out piece of automotive trash has finally -- finally -- arrived at The Nuthouse, and Dashing El Deano disembarks with My Amnesiac Baboo and Meg to find the asylum's front door guarded by a veritable platoon of demonically-enhanced security guards. "Oh, gracious!" Castiel mouths upon getting an eyeful of their adversaries, because even though he's lost all memory of who he once was, My Sweet Baboo is still a tremendous dork. "How many of those knives do you have?" Castiel thinks to ask. "Just the one," Dean grumps. "Then, forgive me," Castiel politely inquires, "but what do we do?" "Yeah, Dean," Meg sneers, "got any other ideas how we could blast through that?" Dean drags Meg off to one side and starts berating her -- loudly, because he's an idiot -- about the unknowns involved in triggering Castiel's memory, and because My Amnesiac Baboo's ears still work, he quite sensibly wanders over from the car to wonder what gives. "You're an angel," Meg snaps. "Is that a flirtation?" Castiel blinks. "No, it's a species," she emphasizes before adding, "A very powerful one." This leads to a round of chatter -- ANEURYSM! -- regarding My Amnesiac Baboo's true identity and nature until Meg assures him, "You got the juice -- you can smite every demon in that lot." "But I don't remember how," Castiel protests. "It's in there," Dean insists. "I'm sure it's just like riding a bike." Pause. "I don't know how to do that, either," My Amnesiac Baboo sighs. Hee. "All right," Castiel eventually glooms, "I'll try." And with that, he dutifully trudges towards The Nuthouse's main entrance, leaving Dean to squint, "This ain't gonna go well." "I don't know," Meg practically sings by way of reply. "I believe in the little tree topper." "Tree topper"? Shut up, Meg.