Haghouse. Tween Emma is now Teen Emma, and she and her fellow acolytes together endure a ritualistic branding that's meant to confirm their identities as...oh, fuck it. I totally don't give a shit what's happening in this scene. Can I skip ahead already to the bit where Drunky El Deano shoots Teen Emma in the face? I can't? Crap.
This Week's Motel Room. Our Intrepid Heroes chit-chat about something unimportant for a bit until Drunky El Deano looks down at the tangle of Dead Bobby's papers they'd been riffling through and notices that several of them have moved, seemingly of their own accord. Action Sammy quickly scrambles for his backpack and hauls out his trusty little EMF reader, which obligingly goes, "VWEEEE-YORP!" the instant he waves it around in the air. Unfortunately, Sam realizes they're situated right next to a massive tangle of power lines, which is undoubtedly screwing with the reader's results. Oh, and their windows are open, too, so the papers were most likely shuffled around by the gentle breeze now wafting through the room. Dean's not buying it, however, and insists that The Spectral Presence Of Bobby Singer has attached itself to that battered old flask he's been carrying around, which means the ghastly hairball is now offering them a major research assist from The Great Beyond. Sam scoffs that they salted and burned Dead Bobby's corpse two months ago, but Drunky El Deano refuses to let it go, and yet another round of tedious bickering ensues until Sam snatches up the sheet of ancient Greek parchment unveiled either by the breeze or by The Spectral Presence Of The Ghastly Hairball (or, perhaps, by The Spectral Presence Of My Sweet Baboo because, if we're going to start resurrecting dead characters, then Castiel better be at the top of the goddamned list) and announces he's heading back to This Week's Nameless University to have it translated by the good professor. Sam also insists that Dean remain in This Week's Motel Room, alone, because nothing bad ever happens to either of these two dipshits when they split up like this. Dean agrees to this plan because he's as much of a fuckwit as Sam is at this moment, and with that, we head over to...
...This Week's Nameless University. Miraculously enough, even though it's the middle of the goddamned night, Sam finds the good professor still at his desk, and Our Intrepid Hero proceeds to shove the ancient sheet of parchment under the good professor's nose. "The FBI isn't paying me enough for this," the good professor protests. Sam thinks fast and replies, "I'll sweeten the deal -- we'll remove your wiretap." The good professor gapes.