So: "Margaret and me are the same," Jimmy asserts. "We're the real thing, but guess what? Sometimes the real thing just isn't pretty or entertaining enough." "When I show people what I'm capable of," he seethes, "it scares them -- I can't pay my rent!" "Margaret's happy to kill for me," he insists, adding, "She likes the leash." "You're sick!" Sam hisses. "You know what else I am?" Jimmy eyebrows. "A real psychic, you dickbag." And with that, he flips a little telekinetic mojo at the gun, which promptly zips out of Sam's hands to go skittering across the room, eventually landing at Jimmy's feet. He wastes not an instant retrieving the thing from the floor, of course, and as the unhinged loser aims directly for Sam's remarkably broad and healthy chest, Our Intrepid Hero cries out, "These people don't deserve to die!" "Are you kidding me?" Jimmy howls. "I live in squalor, 'cause I can't put on a show like them?" Sounds about right to me, pal, but who am I to say? Super-Smart Sammy wisely decides to change tacks, and asks about the rest of Margaret's bones instead. Jimmy, like, involuntarily twitches, or something, and something in that twitch tells Sam he's stashed the remainder of the remains in the bedroom. Just go with it. Jimmy then accidentally squeezes off a round, startling himself and giving Sam the opening he needs to whip out Dean's trusty pearl-handled automatic from the waistband of his jeans. Jimmy flails around with his own revolver for an instant, so Sam -- without hesitation, I should note -- plugs the guy full of holes.
Meanwhile, back at The Manse, the action never stops. After dumping Dean on his tantalizing derriere, Spectral Margaret unleashes one of her terrifying grins and proceeds to back the cowering Melanie into a corner. She reaches out with one of her bony claws to wrap it around Melanie's useless neck, and just when we think Spectral Margaret's actually going to throttle her, Dashing El Deano blasts the disquieting spirit into a spray of wispy ghost bits with a round of rock salt. Dean and Melanie then retreat into the relative safety of The Manse's kitchen, where Melanie gets busy lining the room's threshold with salt. Spectral Margaret, entirely undeterred, rematerializes and easily cracks the threshold apart with a little more telekinetic mojo, breaking the salt barrier just as Dean realizes he's out of shotgun shells. D'OH! Thinking fast, he flails at her with a length of iron chain, but it doesn't dissipate her supremely creepy form for very long, and she's back to kicking that tantalizing derriere of his from one end of The Manse to the other in no time.