An announcer we know to be Jensen Ackles' father tells us that one year ago, Galveston's shoreline was pounded by a hurricane with 150 MPH winds with 10 foot swells, but things are beautiful now.

In his living room, Bobby has concocted a ritual involving candles, what looks like a pretty tasty stew, and his own blood. He tosses in a flame to finish it off and Crowley appears. "Been making merry, I see," notes the demon. "Bite me," offers Bobby. "If that's your thing," says Crowley goo... read more An announcer we know to be Jensen Ackles' father tells us that one year ago, Galveston's shoreline was pounded by a hurricane with 150 MPH winds with 10 foot swells, but things are beautiful now.

In his living room, Bobby has concocted a ritual involving candles, what looks like a pretty tasty stew, and his own blood. He tosses in a flame to finish it off and Crowley appears. "Been making merry, I see," notes the demon. "Bite me," offers Bobby. "If that's your thing," says Crowley good-humoredly, raising a hand to turn off the TV. "That swan-dive of Sam's, a thing of beauty--10's all the way 'round--standing O from the remaining judge--you should be proud, Bobby--as stats go, it wasn't too shabby. Cheer up, mate, we just saved the sodding world together! Me, I've been celebrating." "I'd hate to see what you call celebrating," says Bobby. "Yes you would," agrees Crowley. Bobby offers Crowley a drink, but the demon refuses. "Let me get this straight," says Bobby, "we just 'saved the sodding world together' (he imitates Crowley's accent) and you're too good to drink with me?" It's not that--Crowley has a more refined pallet in drink. "What's your poison, your highness?" asks Bobby. "Craig," answers Crowley, "aged 30 years at least--I've been drinking it since grade school." "Well," says Bobby, raising his glass, "I've got Old Rottgutt, aged six days." "Swill like that is going to burn a hole in your soul," says Crowley, "sorry, MY soul--but that's why you called--our little deal." "Yeah, well, it's about time you hold up your end," says Bobby calmly, "and give it back--our deal was, we ice Lucifer, you give back the lease." "You didn't read your contract," says Crowley, painfully searing the writing into Bobby's body (we see it on his arms)--in red ink (or blood)? "Paragraph 18, subsection B, which is by your naughty bits," says Crowley, "I only have to make BEST EFFORTS to give you back your soul, meaning I'd like to. . .but I can't." "You lyin' sack of--" begins Bobby. "Ten years," says Crowley blithely, "you come to Daddy--till then, I suggest you start drinking the good stuff." "I figured you'd say that," says Bobby, "so you can rot here till you change your mind." "Why, 'cause you asked nicely?" queries Crowley. "No, 'cause I'm going DATELINE on your ass," says Bobby, and turns off the lights to show the demon he's standing on a glow-in-the-dark Devil's Trap. Crowley says he hopes that's paint, "What am I going to do?" He whistles, calling up a hell hound. Bobby smells the hound's breath. "Doggy breath--bracing, isn't it?" asks Crowley, "Ball's in your court, Robert, ten years of living, or ten years as our (?)" Furious, Bobby opens a knife and scrapes up enough paint to free Crowley from the Devil's Trap. "This ain't over," promises Bobby. "I wouldn't have it any other way," says Crowley, stepping out of the trap, "happy hunting." Bobby stares after him, nearly snarling in frustration. read less

SUPERNATURAL

Kenosha, WI - Disturbingly close to a playground - Dean and Sam have found a claw they don't recognize inside a ripped- open corpse. No EMF, Sam announces. Dean immediately puts in a call to Bobby, who doesn't answer right away. "Maybe he's in the can," suggests Sam. When Bobby finally does answer, Dean asks, "What happened, you fall and couldn't get up?" Hilarious," says Bobby, "what happened?" Dean explains--Wisconsin, six bodies, chests cracked wide open, no EMF, no sulfur, no hex bags. He ta... read more Kenosha, WI - Disturbingly close to a playground - Dean and Sam have found a claw they don't recognize inside a ripped- open corpse. No EMF, Sam announces. Dean immediately puts in a call to Bobby, who doesn't answer right away. "Maybe he's in the can," suggests Sam. When Bobby finally does answer, Dean asks, "What happened, you fall and couldn't get up?" Hilarious," says Bobby, "what happened?" Dean explains--Wisconsin, six bodies, chests cracked wide open, no EMF, no sulfur, no hex bags. He takes a photo of the claw and tells Bobby to check his Wang (LOL!) "That's a new one," says Bobby. Dean says they need an ID ASAP, this thing's on a rampage--"Call as soon as you pick something up." Bobby tries to explain that he's a little busy. "Kick Bo Derek out of your bathtub," jokes Dean, "we've got a case here." "I'll call you back," sighs Bobby.

Over a wonderful montage set to "The Gambler," Bobby does research at home, cursing "BALLS!" when it doesn't come to fruition. He drives past his comely next-door neighbor, who waves eagerly at him. He stops at the Sioux Falls University Library; when it's locked, he breaks a window and crawls in to get the book he needs, falling on the floor on his face. "BALLS!" he explodes, and says the same when he leaves the library and his car won't start. Back home, he researches, falls asleep, pops aspirin, drinks coffee from one AM until five AM, and calls a face-stuffing Dean back at 5:09 to report, "You're hunting a lamia--juices hearts, chugs the blood--never heard 'o' one poppin' up outside of Greece, though." "This freak is emigratin'," says Dean, "snackin' on cheese heads, how do we gank it?" Yawning, Bobby answers, "Coupla ways, easiest is a silver knife blessed by a padre." "Sure," says Dean, and hangs up without waiting to hear any others. Bobby gazes at his phone, now with a dial tone, and tiredly says, "You're welcome."

"Hey, I'm still here!" calls a voice from his basement. He heads downstairs, where a pretty demon girl in a black cocktail dress tied to a chair awaits him. "You were gone so long, I assumed alcoholic coma," she teases. "Where were we?" he asks. "Your soul," she purrs. "Right. . .talk," orders Bobby. ""Look at you, all in a rush," she says, crossing her legs like Sharon Stone, "Foreplay gets you more play." "I want Crowley's name, his REAL name, back when he was flesh and blood," demands Bobby. "Does tying demons up in your basement make you feel better about that time you killed your wife?" she taunts. He brings over a sack. "What's that?" she asks. "You don't recognize them?--they're yours," he says. He dumps the sack in a metal barrel and lights a flame thrower. "It won't work," she says, "it's a myth." "Then you got nothin' to worry about," he says, staring, entranced, at the flame the way all hunters seem to do. He shoots the flame over the barrel. Her shoulder begins to burn and she screams, "I can't!" Shoulder sizzling, she says, "You don't know what he'll do to me!" "Right now, you better worry about me," warns Bobby. "You don't get it," she says, "he's the king!" Bobby applies more fire, wringing more cries of pain from her. "King of the Crossroads, I've heard the speech," says Bobby. "No, KING OF HELL!" she corrects. Bobby blows out the torch. The doorbell is ringing. "You gonna get that or what?" asks the demon, glad for any respite in the torture.

It's Bobby's neighbor of six months, Marcy, holding a towel covered something, self-consciously fixing her hair. Bobby does a little male primping, at least making sure his zipper is up, and opens the door. She wants to know why he hasn't welcomed her to the neighborhood and uncovers her famous ginger peach cobbler. "Take a whiff, I'm a genius," she urges. He does and rolls his eyes with pleasure. The demon downstairs is calling for help; Bobby claims he's watching a stupid horror flick--his guilty pleasure. Marcy loves them-- has Bobby seen DRAG ME TO HELL? "Trying to avoid it," he admits. "But it's fantastic," she insists, and invites him over to her house to see it Saturday, 7 PM, complete with her white chocolate popcorn. Bobby uncertainly says it sounds fantastic. No worries, says Marcy--her wood chipper is broken; could Bobby take a look at it? "I'll see what I can do," promises Bobby, and at her excited smile, they shake on that, Bobby holding the peach cobbler like it's made of gold.

Downstairs, the demon tells him that Marcy sounds nice--"Are you going to make sweet love to her before you stab her to death, Bobby?--that is your usual thing, right?" Bobby begins firing up the bag again, setting her to screaming as her shoulder fries up nice and black. "I want Crowley's name, NOW!" shouts Bobby. "Okay! Fergus MacLeod," she supplies, "I swear, we call him Lucky the Leprechaun behind his back." "MacLeod's Scottish, Einstein," says Bobby." "You got what you wanted," she says, "send me back." Bobby has other intentions, however, and she watches in horror as he applies lighter fluid to the bag. "No, we had a deal!" she protests. "Gave it my best effort," says Bobby, echoing the same cruelty Crowley spouted to him. "NO!" she screams, and keeps on screaming. Bobby watches, stoned-faced, until the screaming stops, then blows out the torch. read less

Bobby is checking out a map of Scotland. He answers the phone; it's someone named Garth. Bobby says he never heard of a vamp doing something like that; it doesn't sound like their thing, and he'd better drop a dime to the FBI. Next call comes to his FBI-Willis line, from Garth, but Bobby tells him to call the REAL FBI, not him--"How are you still alive?" More phone calls, proving the Winchester brothers aren't the only hunters riding Bobby's coattails for fake backup: "If she says she needs to d... read more Bobby is checking out a map of Scotland. He answers the phone; it's someone named Garth. Bobby says he never heard of a vamp doing something like that; it doesn't sound like their thing, and he'd better drop a dime to the FBI. Next call comes to his FBI-Willis line, from Garth, but Bobby tells him to call the REAL FBI, not him--"How are you still alive?" More phone calls, proving the Winchester brothers aren't the only hunters riding Bobby's coattails for fake backup: "If she says she needs to dig up that grave, she needs to dig up that grave!" He's trying to lift a cup of coffee to his mouth, over and over, and can't, because the phone does not stop clamoring for his attention!

A knock turns out to be Rufus: "Oh, good, you're home, you've got to help me bury a body!" (Isn't that what good friends are for?) Turns out the law is on Rufus' tail, which is why he came to Bobby in the first place. "They got lucky," insists Rufus. "Or you're gettin' slow," accuses Bobby. "So says Mr.- sits- on- his- ass- all- day- takin'- calls," counters Rufus, opening his truck to reveal what appears to be a woman. He peels back her upper lip to show some weird fangs. "Okami?" exclaims Bobby--"where did you shiv it?" "Get this--Billings," reveals Rufus. Since this vamp is indigenous to Japan, both men are baffled. Bobby tells Rufus about Sam and Dean tracking a Lamia in Wisconsin. "I thought they never leave Greece," says Rufus. "Monsters lately," says Bobby, perplexed, "Is it me or is it weird?" "It's definitely somethin'" agrees Rufus--"so, you got a shovel?" Bobby has something better--a backhoe. "Man, I know what I want for Chanukah!" chortles Rufus as Bobby digs deep into the dirt. They dump the vamp's body in the deep hole, and discuss Crowley while smoothing over the grave. "So, the SOB's name is Fergus MacCleod?" asks Rufus, "where you gonna look?" "Scotland," says Bobby, "Crowley let slip that he likes Craig." "It's Scotch," says Rufus, "only made and sold in a tiny area of the north tip of Caddishness County--it's potent and sharp, with a long finish of citrus and tobacco notes." Seeing Bobby's open-mouthed stare, Rufus asks, "What, am I a heathen? I know what Craig is!" Bobby thinks that's where Crowley lived and died as a human, a few hundred years before getting the big squeeze in hell and came out a demon. "I got contacts there," says Rufus, "I can make a few calls." "I ain't askin' for no help," says Bobby. "I'm not askin' for your permission," says Rufus with dignity. They stare at each other, still smoothing over the grave with rakes.

Bobby is about to cut a slice of Marcy's peach cobbler when his phone rings. It's Dean, a dead priest at his feet. He needs another way to kill a lamia, which at that moment is throwing poor Sam all over the room. "C'mon, Bobby, get the lead out!" demands Dean. Bobby's got cops at his door, however, and asks where Dean is. Church rectory, says Dean. Bobby asks if there's a kitchen. There is. Get salt and rosemary, orders Bobby. The knocking at his door becomes more insistent: "Open up, Singer!" Still on the phone, Bobby opens the door to Sheriff Mills and Agent Adams of the FBI. "My Mom," says Bobby, "just a sec." The creature is still having at Sam, tossing him everywhere as Dean scours the cabinets for rosemary and finally finds it. "Blend the herbs, saute over a high heat," instructs Bobby, "cook WELL." Dean disconnects the hose from the back of a gas stove, warns Sam, "Fire in the hole!" and sets flame to the herb mix he just tossed at the creature. "Great, enjoy the roast, Mom," says Bobby, and hangs up. Agent Adams shows Bobby a drawing of Rufus, aka Luther Vandross, aka Ruben Studdard. "No, never seen that dick," says Bobby. "How do you know he's a dick?" asks the agent. "Lucky guess," answers Bobby. Well, a couple of guys say they saw him pull in here, the agent says, carrying a body. Ridiculous, says Bobby, and it's a workday, so. . . The agent wants to look around. I want to see a warrant, son, says Bobby. Do I need one, SIR? asks Agent Adams. Sheriff Mills tells them to put away the rulers and zip up. (Tee hee!) She explains to Adams that Bobby's kind of a crank and not a fan of Big Brother, but the two of them go way back and she's been arresting him for what, ten years? Thereabouts, says Bobby. We got a history, she says, so let me scope the place out, you just wait outside. Five minutes, says Adams, and leaves. "Why did you send him outside?" demands Bobby. "Cause I didn't think you'd want him in here!" says Mills. "I don't," admits Bobby, "I've got a body in the basement--but I've got another body buried in the yard." She stares at him. "Damn it!" she says. She looks outside. "He's not there," she says. "BALLS!" says Bobby. They both go out there and find Adams. "Mr. Singer," he says, "come with me, please." Bobby and the Sheriff exchange concerned glances. Adams is standing over an empty hole, where Rufus and Bobby buried the vamp. "You mind explaining this?" Adams asks. "You never had a septic tank explode on ya?" says Bobby--"I got it pretty well cleaned up, but watch where ya step." Adams takes a step back and lifts his foot, grossed out.

Bobby calls Rufus, who is driving his truck, two states over. Turns out he used a bamboo dagger, blessed by a Shinto priest, but he only stabbed the vamp FIVE times instead of the required SEVEN, so that's why it escaped the hole. Rufus tries arguing the five versus seven stabs with Bobby, who points out that the empty hole says it all. Learning that this vamp was feeding off single white females while they were sleeping, Bobby realizes Marcy is in immediate danger and breaks into her house while she's getting ready for bed (and the vamp has already passed by her bedroom window outside). "Where's your bedroom?" he demands without preamble. He bursts in there and looks under her bed. Marcy comes in. "I'm trying to keep my cool here," she says, "what are you doing in my house with a shotgun??" "Have you seen anything weird?" he queries. "You mean besides you?" she asks, voice trembling. Then she spots the woman hovering on her ceiling like a malevolent spider and gasps. It leaps on Bobby, sending him crashing through the window. Standing, the vampire turns to Marcy, fangs bared. Marcy closes her bedroom door and runs away. The vampire leaps out the window and battles with Bobby, going for his throat. He fights her off wildly, the two of them really getting into it. In the midst of the melee, a wood chipper is turned on. Marcy comes out as the vamp has Bobby on his back, about to go into the wood chipper, and screams his name. Bobby turns the tables and sends the vamp through the wood chipper instead. Blood gushes everywhere, covering Bobby and Marcy. Bobby turns off the machine. "I though you said the wood chipper was broke," he says quietly. Marcy, in shock, gazes down at her blood-drenched night dress. "I just said that to get you over here," she admits. "Oh. Well, I guess I could come over for dinner some night," he says, "might be fun." Marcy, face covered in the vamp's blood, ardor cooled, says, "I don't think so." "Story 'o' my life," says Bobby with a grim smile.
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On the phone, Bobby tells Rufus he used a wood chipper to dispense with the vamp, which Rufus admits trumps pretty much everything, even the dagger. Rufus apologizes for screwing up, and Bobby says he figures he still owes Rufus more than the latter owes him. Rufus has more info on Crowley, aka Fergus Rodrick MacCleod, born in Cannisbay, Scotland, 1661. While that doesn't impress Bobby much, the fact that Crowley had a son, Gavin, does, and Gavin's signet ring is part of the treasures at the Mar... read more On the phone, Bobby tells Rufus he used a wood chipper to dispense with the vamp, which Rufus admits trumps pretty much everything, even the dagger. Rufus apologizes for screwing up, and Bobby says he figures he still owes Rufus more than the latter owes him. Rufus has more info on Crowley, aka Fergus Rodrick MacCleod, born in Cannisbay, Scotland, 1661. While that doesn't impress Bobby much, the fact that Crowley had a son, Gavin, does, and Gavin's signet ring is part of the treasures at the Maritime Museum at Andover, MA. "I need that ring," says Bobby. "Are you askin' for my help?" wonders Rufus. "I'm askin' for that ring," says Bobby, adding reluctantly, "and I'd appreciate your help gettin' it." "I'm way ahead of you, brother," says Rufus, "I'm headin' for Andover now, should be there around midnight--you're thinkin' hostage exchange, aren't ya?--get the ring, summon junior's ghost--get the ghost, you can swap Crowley his son for your soul." "Somethin' like that," says Bobby. "Let's hope it works out," says Rufus.

Once again, Bobby tries for some of Marcy's peach cobbler, but his phone rings. Caller ID says it's John P Jones, but it's actually Dean, who tells him the lamia grilled up fine, but he wants to discuss Sam--"He's different. I get it, you go through somethin' like that, you change, but, something's not right to me. I got a few questions about that year you saw him and I didn't. . ." Bobby tells Dean he has to get his call waiting, it's important. "You what? More important than Sam? Bobby?" demands Dean. Rufus is on the other line, being chased by the police. The good news is he snagged the ring. "Don't swallow it," says Bobby. Rufus swallows the ring. "Damn it!" exclaims Bobby, listening as Rufus is pulled over. He returns to Dean. "Still there?" "Bobby, what the hell?" says Dean. Bobby apologizes. "You know," says Dean, "you are the one person I can talk to about this stuff, about Sam, about leavin' Lisa and Ben, I mean, I don't even know which way is up right now. . .Bobby? Hello?" "I hear ya, son," says Bobby, "it just ain't a good time." "Yeah, okay, ya know what, forget it," says Dean, hurt, "I'm barin' my soul like a freakin' girl here, and you got stuff to do, that's fine, seriously, though, a little selfish-- it's not all about you." "Where's your brother?" asks Bobby, an edge in his voice. "Outside," says Dean. "Get
'im," says Bobby. "You're on speaker," says Dean as the older man pours himself a stiff drink. "Sam, Dean," he says, the brothers sitting facing each other on hotel beds, "I love you like my own, I do, but sometimes, you two are the whiniest, most self-absorbed SOB's I ever met! I'M selfish? ME?? I do EVERYTHING for you! EVERYTHING!! You need some lore scrounged up, you need your asses pulled out of the fire, you need someone to bitch to about each other, you call me and I come through, every damn time, and what do I get for it?--jack, with a side of squat!" Bobby," begins Dean guiltily. "DO I SOUND LIKE I'M DONE?" demands Bobby--"now look, I know you got issues, God knows I know, but I got a news flash for you--you ain't the center of the universe! Now it may have slipped your mind that Crowley owns my soul!--and the meter is runnin'! I will be damned if I'm gonna sit around and be. . .damned! So how about you two sac up and help ME for once? "Bobby," says Sam, "all you gotta do is ask." "Anything you need, we're there," agrees Dean.

Sheriff Mills pulls up in her police car and tells Bobby that Marcy reported a home invasion. "Told her I'd look into it, didn't bother filing a report," she says. "Thanks," says Bobby, "need a favor." "Luther Vandross turn up?" she asks, grinning, "tell him I'm a fan." "His real name's Rufus Turner," says Bobby, "he's being held in Andover, Mass., on a burglary charge. Need you to get him extradited here on a murder charge." She thinks he's joking, but he isn't. "Do you know what it takes to extradite a prisoner?" she asks, "I'd have to call in every marker I've got and hand out a few to boot." "So you're sayin' there's a chance," sums up Bobby. If by some miracle they can do it, she says, Rufus is here on a murder charge; how is Bobby going to get him out from under that one? "Let me handle the B-side," says Bobby. "I like you," she says, "but this could nuke my career." "I've done a lot for this town," he reminds her, "some you know about, some you don't, and I'm not so good at this askin' for help thing, but. . ." "I'm sorry, Bobby, I can't," she says, and drives off. Bobby sighs, dejected.

At home, Bobby pours another drink (how does he remain standing?) and gets up to answer a knock at the door. It's Sheriff Mills--and Rufus! "Miss me!" he smiles and enters the house. "Don't ask," warns the sheriff as Bobby starts to ask how, "you got one hour, then I call the Feds and tell them he busted out." "Thanks," says a stunned Bobby. "I lose my job over this, I'm takin' it outta your ass," she promises. Turning to Rufus, Bobby says, "Tell me the ring is still in your stomach." Rufus pulls it from his pocket and offers it to Bobby, who says, "I'll go boil some water." "Why?" asks Rufus. (LMAO!) read less

A salt circle, candles, a board with the ring floating in the center, Bobby reciting Latin--I could be rocked to sleep with that lullaby! The air Bobby breathes turns frosty and a ghost flickers into view--Gavin MacCleod, who asks, "Is this hell?" "That's going to depend on you," says Bobby--"you Fergus MacCleod's boy?" When the ghost nods, Bobby says, "You 'n' me, we're gonna have a nice, long chat."

Later, Bobby re-summons Crowley. "You look like hammered crap," says Bobby. "And you... read more A salt circle, candles, a board with the ring floating in the center, Bobby reciting Latin--I could be rocked to sleep with that lullaby! The air Bobby breathes turns frosty and a ghost flickers into view--Gavin MacCleod, who asks, "Is this hell?" "That's going to depend on you," says Bobby--"you Fergus MacCleod's boy?" When the ghost nods, Bobby says, "You 'n' me, we're gonna have a nice, long chat."

Later, Bobby re-summons Crowley. "You look like hammered crap," says Bobby. "And you're a vision, as always," counters the demon, gazing up at the Devil's Trap painted on the ceiling. "Don't we both know how this game ends? Really, Bobby, you got to know when to fold 'em." "Word on the street is that ever since Lucifer went to the pokey, you're the Big Kahuna downstairs," says Bobby. "I see you've been reading the Trades," says Crowley. "Trouble in Paradise?" asks Bobby. "Mate, you have no idea," says the demon, pouring a drink from a flask and adding something to it, "I thought, when I got the corner office, it was all going to be rainbows and two-headed puppies, but if I'm being honest, it's been hell." "I thought that was the point," says Bobby. "You know what the problem with demons is?" asks Crowley--"they're demons--evil, lying brats, the whole lot of them, and STUPID! Try to show them a new way, a better way, and what do you get--bugger all! You know, there's days when I think Lucifer's whole 'spike anything with black eyes plan' was not bad. Hmm! Feels good to get it off my chest. We should make this a thing." "Do I look like Dr. Phil to you?" asks Bobby. "A little," answers Crowley, "anywho, obviously you're not here for a social call--so on with it." Crowley offers to do the shorthand for him, putting on an insulting, mimicking accent: "I want ma soul back, ya ijit!" Pointing to himself, he says, "'Fraid not." "But I'm surly and I've got a beard, gimmee! Blah blah blah, homespun cornpone insult. Witty retort from yours truly. The bottom line is, you get bupkus. Are we done?" "Just gettin' started," says Bobby, turning to Gavin's ghost. "Gavin? Is that you?" asks Crowley emotionally--"it's been so long! I love you so. . ." The demon laughs. "Sorry. Your soul for my boy, that's it, right? I gotta give you credit for thinkin' outside the box on that one, but, problem is, I loathe the little bastard--you wanna torture him, let me pull up a chair and I'll watch--hell, burn his bones, send him down to me, we can have a family reunion, that's right, son? You picked the wrong bargaining chip this time, my friend." "He ain't a chip," says Bobby, "I was just usin' him to dig up dirt on you, and since Gavin hates you maybe even more than you hate him, he was more than happy to squawk." "What did you tell him, son?" asks Crowley nervously. "Everything," says Gavin delightedly, before winking out. "I know it all now--Fergus," says Bobby, advancing on Crowley, "now you may be king of the dirt bags here, but in life, you were nothin' but a two-bit tailor who sold his soul in exchange for an extra three inches below the belt." Just tryin' to hit double digits," smirks Crowley--"so, you got a glimpse behind the curtain. . .and?" "And now I know where you're planted," says Bobby, and hands the phone to him. "Hi," Dean greets him. "It's been a long time," says Crowley, "we should get together." "Sure," agrees Dean, "we'll have to do that when I get back--me and Sam, we've gone international, in fact, we're in your neck of the woods. Did you really used to wear a skirt?" Sam and Dean are standing in the gorgeous Scottish countryside. "A kilt," corrects Crowley, "I had very athletic calves--what's the game?" "Dominoes," answers Dean, "in fact, we just dug yours up." Sam and Dean are standing over a dug-up grave, bones gathered in a neat pile at their feet. (Minor quibble--would there still even BE bones so many years later?) "This is ridiculous," says Crowley, "the whole burning bones thing--it's a myth." "I know an employee of yours who'd disagree," says Bobby. We flash back to what we did NOT see originally--what was inside the bag Bobby set on fire--the demon's bones. When those burned, so did her meatsuit, and so did the demon herself. "That's where she got to," realizes Crowley. "You demons," says Bobby, "you think you're somethin' special. but you're just spirits--twisted, perverted, evil spirits--but, end of the day, you're nothin' but ghosts with an ego. We torch your bones, YOU go up in flames." "Ya hear that, Crowley," says Dean, lighter in hand, "that's me, flickin' my Bic for you." "Your bones for my soul," offers Bobby, while the sound of Dean opening and closing the lighter continues relentlessly over the phone, "going once. . .going twice. . ." "Bollocks! exclaims Crowley, and raises his hand to remove the writing of the contract from Bobby's body. "You can go ahead and leave in the part about my legs," Bobby warns him. Crowley does so. "Pleasure doin' business with ya," says Bobby. "Now if you don't mind," says Crowley, focusing his eyes on the Devil's Trap on the ceiling.

Crowley appears behind Dean and Sam in Scotland. "I believe THOSE are mine," he says, indicating the bones. "You know, now that I think about it, maybe I'll just Napalm your ass anyhow," says Dean, flicking his lighter. "Dean, he's a dick, but a deal's a deal," insists Sam. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me, moose," says Crowley to Sam, "get bent." (Ouch, that was uncalled for!) Crowley kneels and picks up his skull. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a little hell to raise," he says, and is gone. We get a view of a beautiful castle sitting in the Scottish hills, peaceful and apocalypse-free.

Dean and Sam are heading back to the airport in Scotland, on speakerphone with Bobby. "I appreciate you boys lendin' a hand," he says. "Anytime we get to punk Crowley works for us," says Dean. Sam agrees. "I know how much you love flyin' the friendly skies," says Bobby, "I know flyin' nine hours was no picnic--what, did you drink your way through it?" "I was fine!" insists Dean. "He white-knuckled his way through four puke bags," says Sam. "At least I was sober," says Dean, "some nut job decided to try somethin', I was ready--I had a fork!" "Listen, about the things I said earlier," begins Bobby, "I was in a tough spot, and I guess I was--" "You're right, Bobby," says Sam, "we take you for granted." "You've been cleanin' up our messes for years," says Dean, "without you, I don't even wanna THINK where Sam and me woulda ended up." "OK, then," says Bobby after a few moments near tears, "let's roll credits on this chick flick. You boys have a safe flight--and try some of the local grub, I hear it's. . .exotic." "Yeah, no, definitely," says Dean, "I hear they've got an Olive Garden!" Bobby rolls his eyes. They hang up. Bobby sits down, finally ready to dive into some ice cream and peach cobbler. The phone rings. Bobby answers. "Yeah, he is. One of our best agents, in fact," says Bobby.

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Ending credits