STULL, KANSAS - NIGHT

Icy rain. High winds. No moon. It had been a bleak night in Kansas if there ever was one, and it was far from over. Despite the downpour, the ground in a certain field was hard and barren. There wasn't even dead grass, just earth and rocks - with all the large, broken stones, it might as well have been a quarry. Dean woke in a coughing fit, laying on his side in the mud, choking on rain water. His skin had gone purple from the cold, but he wasn't soaked. Couldn't have been out in that weather for very long. It took him a minute or two to get his head right, and once he had, he got to his feet and tried to get his bearings. He turned his maglite on the field.

"Sam?" Dean said.

He was going for volume, but his voice hoarse and broken. He dug his phone out of his pocket, said a quick "thank you" to the universe in general when he saw it still worked, and called Sam's cell. It took a few seconds, but it wasn't too long before Dean could hear something coming from a few yards away in the dark: the bridge from "The Way Life's Meant to Be." (In any other circumstances, that would've made Dean smile.) Limping on a numb leg, he followed the sound of ELO up a small incline until he found Sam on the ground, still out cold. Dean knelt down next to him and started shaking him awake.

"Hey," Dean said. He pulled Sam by the front of his jacket and sat him up out of the mud. "Come on, up and at 'em. We gotta go."

Sam was awake now, and shocked by the cold. "What happened?" he asked. "Where are we?"

"No idea," Dean said. "You okay?"

"Feelin' really creeped out right now," Sam said.

"Good that you're on topic," Dean said curtly. "But we need to get outta the rain, now, or we're both gonna freeze."

"Right."

Dean helped Sam up, but as he did, he saw something on the ground where Sam had been laying. He shined his flashlight on it.

"Son of a bitch," he said under his breath. "Don't turn around, Sammy."

Saying that never works. Sam turned around and freaked right out when he saw it: scorched into the rocky ground was the blackened silhouette of a man... with a pair of giant wings. The ash was so thick, it might as well have been asphalt.

"Jesus, what the hell?!" Sam shouted.

"I don't know," Dean said.

"Was that... mine?" Sam asked. "Did I do that somehow?"

"Come on," Dean said. He gave Sam's shoulder a squeeze. "We gotta move."

Just then, they heard gunfire. "You git on out from there!" a man shouted in a very distinct Texas drawl. "This here's a sacred place! Yes sir."

"Smitty," they said in unison.

Dean walked ahead and waved his arms. "Hey, Smitty!" he yelled, choking. They could hear the man pump the action on his gun. "It's the Winchesters!"

Another shot sounded.

Dean flinched and put his hands up, looking a bit sheepish. "We're not that bad," he said to himself. "Dallas Smith!" he hollered. "We need help!"

Up ahead, a flashlight came on and found Dean. He turned his flashlight back on the guy. He was an old man, about seventy, short and hunched at the shoulders, but with a hearty energy about him. And unlike some idjits, he was dressed for the rain and cold - he wore a long, red plaid wool coat and hat, and tall rubber chore boots. The man approached them, lowering his shotgun.

"You're Mary's boy," Smitty said. "Dean Winchester?"

"Yeah, it's me," Dean said.

"I heard tell you were dead."

"Well, you heard tell wrong," Dean said, smiling as friendly as he could manage. "Can you give us a ride?"

"What in God's name are you doin' out in the cemetery?" Smitty asked.

Sam blanched at that. That's why he was so creeped out - they'd woken up in Stull Cemetery...

Great.

"We, uh,... came to pay our respects," Dead said anxiously.

"In the middle of the night?" Smitty asked. "When I saw lights, I thought you were vandals. Or more of those devil-worshiping hooligans."

"There were hooligans," Dean said. "Total... actual hooligans. They were all hopped up on The Drugs,... and worshiping some kinda Satan, and they got the jump on us. Stole our car. And I think they broke Sam's coccyx."

Sam shot Dean an annoyed glare.

"Is that Sam?" Smitty asked, and shined his flashlight on him. "Christ Almighty. You got big, son. Yes sir, you are the spittin' image of your granddaddy, rest his soul. Real handsome."

"Thanks," Sam said.

"It's too bad about yer tailbone," Smitty said. "Goddamn teenagers. You boys come on with me, we'll get ya sorted out."

"We just need a ride," Sam said.

"Nonsense," Smitty said. "I know you two been down on yer luck since the fire. Come on, I live right across the road these days. You can do a wash, maybe spend the night if ya need to. Yes sir."

Dean and Sam shared a look. A night at old Smitty's... Double great.