Flash back to this evening's previous basement scene. "What's that?" Miss Sassy dismissively pffts. "You don't recognize them?" Bobby eyebrows. "They're yours." This time around, the camera dives down from Bobby's face to the burlap sack, which is packed with Miss Sassy's earthly remains. Bobby again torches the washtub -- "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" -- and Miss Sassy goes up in a pillar of fire, howling and wailing until her throat turns to ash, and when it's all over, Miss Sassy's blackened Vessel crumbles apart into a cloud of dust. Kick ass.
Back in the present, Bobby proposes the obvious trade: Crowley's bones for his soul. Knowing he's been beaten, Crowley peeves, "Bollocks!" and gestures to erase that series of symbols and ancient lettering from Bobby's skin. "You can go ahead and leave in the part about my legs," Bobby growls, so Crowley lets one bit of lettering subside back into Bobby's forearm, and with that, he's off to "Scotland" to pick up his bones. Dean, of course, threatens to burn them anyway, but Sam rather sniffily insists that a deal's a deal. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Moose!" Crowley snaps. "Get bent!" Heh. God love him. Crowley stoops to stuff his bones into a black valise, rises to bid them farewell, and disappears in an instant, leaving Our Intrepid Heroes alone in the plundered graveyard to gaze out at the "majestic" "scenery" until the "nearby" "ruins" get swallowed up by this evening's final CHOMP!-less commercial break.
"Scotland." Denouement. Sam and Dean have rather cutely crammed themselves into a tiny little British rental, and now chat via speakercell with Bobby while speeding back to the airport. I'll be ignoring the bit where Bobby attempts to make amends for his earlier tirade, because said tirade was both entirely justified and deeply awesome, and instead focus on the apologies Our Intrepid Heroes offer to him. "You've been cleaning up our messes for years," Dean admits. "Without you, I don't even want to think about where me and Sam would have ended up." Back in South Dakota, Bobby gets a little verklempt before gruffly clearing his throat and barking, "Okay, then -- let's roll credits on this chick flick." He wishes them a safe flight back, and they all hang up on each other, with Bobby settling back into his armchair in order to finally -- finally -- enjoy a bit of that cobbler. Of course, the first forkful's barely halfway from the plate when the phone bank starts ringing, so Beleaguered Bobby slings the cobbler off to the side, wearily heaves himself to his feet, and trudges around his desk to verify the counterfeit bona fides of yet another hunter as the screen cuts to black for the last time this evening.