Moments later, as The Emo Oboe Of The ANGST That Is Going To Kill The Recapper continues on the soundtrack, Metallicar grumbles up to a suburban curb, and Dean -- still with this expression of incredulous shock on his face -- disembarks to hoof it on up to the house he would have grown up in had The Ceiling Demon not intervened all those many years ago. Incidentally, sharp-eyed and long-memoried people on the forum boards noticed yet another indication That Things Are Not Quite Right With El Deano: The house's number's been reversed, from 1481 as seen in "Home" to 1841 here. Very clever, show. In any event, Dean raps on the front door, then rings the bell a couple of times until the porch light unexpectedly snaps on above his head, startling him a bit. And when the door opens and Dean gets a look at who's answered, his voice catches in his throat to the point that he can barely stammer out, "Mom?" For yes, gentle reader, the woman at the door is an entirely unflambéed Mary Winchester, clad in a death-defying white nightgown over which she's fastened a pink robe. Perhaps wisely, the makeup department's made no effort whatsoever to age Samantha Smith for this evening's festivities, but I do resent the resultant fact that I'm supposed to believe this 38-year-old woman is actually 53. Shut up, Supernatural. In any event, Mary's all full of concern for her elder son's well-being, what with him popping up on her doorstep unannounced in the middle of the night, but when she asks him if he's okay, Dean, on the verge of tears, can muster no more than a truthful, "I don't know." Sign Number Three That Things Are Not Quite Right With El Deano: If the LYING LIAR WHO LIES extraordinaire can't pull together a simple "Oh, yeah -- I thought I'd just, you know, check in on you on my way home" for the benefit of his suddenly uncrispified mother, something really fucked up is going on here.