The next day, apparently, Our Intrepid Heroes strategize in their dingy motel room at The Erie when Dean's cell phone starts dancing across the table. It's Bobby, calling from his Dakota junkyard with news that a gentleman of his acquaintance by the name of Rufus Turner in Canaan, Vermont, has just been approached by Posh Bela regarding a possible deal. Word of warning, though: If Dean intends to track Rufus down for more information, he'd best bring along a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. "Right-o!" chirps El Deano, who hangs up and immediately starts shoving dirty laundry into his duffel. Sam's all, "Buh?" so Dean explains the sitch. Sam clears his remarkably broad throat and repeats, a bit more pointedly "Buh?" so Dean's all, "What gives?" And the screamy, hair-pulling slapfight may start...now. Seems Darling Sammy knew from the moment he read of Dead Kavan's unfortunate demise that they were tracking down Doc Benton, and he tricked Dean into going along for the ride because Frankendoc's obviously discovered the secret to eternal life, and if Our Dear Boys can get their hands on the formula, then Dean's Crossroads Demonette issue is moot, for if Dean can never die, then Dean can never go to Hell, and there goes College Boy again with the not thinking things through to their logical conclusion. Oh, Sam. Did you ever stop to consider what it'd be like dragging Dean's undying carcass around for the next sixty years after the hellhounds got their shot at him? And did you further consider what it'd be like for Dean's undying carcass after you finally bit it yourself? Obviously not, but in The Ginormotron's defense, his dimwitted little brother fails to consider that aspect of the plan as well, choosing instead to RANT! and RAGE! and BETRAYAL! and whatnot until he finally calms down enough to order Sam into the Impala for a road trip to Vermont, pronto. "I'm staying here," Sam quietly replies. Dean attempts to argue further, but Sam's resolve remains unyielding, so Dean shoulders his duffel and bow-leggedly clompy-stomps out the door, alone. At the last minute, though, he turns to offer a mumbled, albeit sincere, "Sammy, be careful." Sam, fighting back tears, forces himself to meet Dean's gaze so he might respond in kind, "You, too." Aw. Don't cry, Sammy! You're the two leads! Of course everything's going to be okay! "Indeed! By the way, your mention of those darling little hellhounds has made me wonder: What do you call a Dean with no arms and legs hanging on a wall?!" That joke is benea... "ART! Hee!" Oh, Jesus Christ.