Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes: Meanwhile, Sammy's been growing increasingly tense. ("No wonder." Shut up, Raoul.) Linda, you see, has hit the point where we all entered the story a little over a year ago. "There was a fire in your apartment," she notes. "One fatality: Jessica Moore, your girlfriend." Sam clenches his jaw and averts his eyes from hers, fighting back girly tears. "After she died," Linda continues, "you fell off the grid -- left behind everything." "I needed some time off," Sam frowns, "to deal." "So," he rouses himself from his defensive slouch against the far wall to continue, a bit condescendingly, "I'm taking a road trip with my brother." "And how's that goin' for ya?" Linda smirks. "Great!" Sam retorts as he slides a chair up to the table. "I mean, we saw the second-largest ball of twine in the continental U.S.!" The fifteen-foot-tall ginormotron straddles the seat, thereby bringing himself down roughly to Linda Blair's eye level. "Awesome!" Linda cuts through the crap to inform Sam that the Baltimore police scored over a dozen possible hits when they ran Dean's fingerprints through AFIS. "What're we gonna find when we run yours?" "You be sure to let me know!" Sam faux-perks, banging his cast enthusiastically on the table before snatching up the cup of coffee to brood. Linda Blair leans very close and snarls, "Your mother sucks cocks in Hell!" Oh, no she doesn't, but given how craggy her face has become over the last three decades, it wouldn't have surprised me in the least. Instead, she assures him that he "seems like a good kid," and she good-cops, "It's not your fault Dean's your brother -- we can't pick our family." Sam shoots her an annoyed side-eye as Linda informs him that the St. Louis police are exhuming Dean's doppelganger at that very moment while trying to figure out how, exactly, El Deano managed to fake his own death "after torturing all those young women." "Dean's a bad guy," she asserts. "His life is over -- yours doesn't have to be." "You want me to turn against my own brother?" Sam asks, one incredulous eyebrow shooting up towards the ceiling. "No!" Linda smiles, moving away from him to take a seat on the detective-sized highchair opposite. She's short, is all I'm saying. "We already caught him cold -- red-handed at the Karen Giles murder scene. We just need you to fill in some missing pieces." "Why would I do that?" Sam gulps, hinting through his tone at depths of angst related to his sense of fraternal loyalty, or something just as noble that's entirely irrelevant, for this is all a ruse, as we shall presently learn. "I can talk to the D.A.," Linda soothes, "make a deal for you. You can get on with your life. Dean's is as good as gone."