So they drive for untold hours to reach Garth's "house boat," making it seem even more glaringly weird that they didn't bring Kevin to the hub weeks ago. They skulk around, guns drawn, and find the place ominously silent. Suddenly, something crashes behind a closed door. Dean pushes it open and finds Kevin retching into the toilet. "Found him," Dean says. Sam joins him and they watch Kevin vomiting for a while.
After Kevin is done evacuating his innards, he sits down to tend to his still-bleeding nose. "You look like hammered crap," Dean says. Kevin says he's been getting nosebleeds and headaches, and may have suffered a small stroke. "But it was worth it," he says. "I figured out how to close the gates of Hell." He gives them a woozy smile. "Come here, you smelly sonofabitch," Dean says, scooping him up off the floor for a big hug. Season 8 will forever be known as the Season of Dean Hugging. Kevin is too stinky to hold onto for long, though, so they move on to the matter at hand.
Kevin says he's found the spell they need. "It's just a few words of Enochian, but the spell has to be spoken after you finish each of the three trials," he says. "Trials like Law & Order?" asks Suddenly Stupid Sammy. "More like Hercules," Kevin tells him. He goes on: "The tablet says whosoever chooses to undertake these tasks should fear not danger, nor death, nor a word I think means 'getting your spine ripped out through your mouth for all eternity.'" The Winchesters aren't too fazed by this possibility, since they go through something like it at least once a season. Kevin also says that God designed these tests. Somebody should probably ask why God would make it so difficult to close the gates. Like, is there some even more horrible thing that happens if you close them? Because it seems like God would want to make it pretty easy, right? There has to be some horrible catch, of which the Winchesters should be highly suspicious. Alas, they seem to readily accept Kevin's "God works in mysterious ways" explanation.
Kevin describes the only trial he's been able to translate so far: "You've got to kill a hound of Hell and bathe in its blood." Sam is horrified. Dean is totally game. "Hey, if this means icing all demons, I got no problem gutting some devil dog and letting Calgon take me away!" He thinks it'll be easy to find one, since they "only" have to track down someone who made a crossroads deal 10 years ago. He tasks Sam with getting online for the search while he goes on a supply run for goofer dust and something besides hotdogs. Or, as Dean eloquently describes them, "ground-up hooves and pigs' anuses." His inner chef is really coming to the fore.