STULL, KANSAS - MORNING
Right about breakfast time in Smitty's dingy Winnebago. As he was an older man, he kept the heater a little too high and one could smell several aromas unavoidably associated with dog-ownership. All the shades were drawn. A Tommy Edwards mixtape played quietly enough not to wake anyone. In the "living room," Dean sat under a blanket in the only armchair, trying in vain to get some extra sleep, frustrated by how uncomfortable he was. Sam didn't seem to be having the same problem, as he slept lightly on the far more comfortable couch, which he seemed content to share with Smitty's scruffy old white shepherd.
"Sam," Dean said. "Sam. You awake?"
"No," Sam said, his eyes still closed.
"Switch with me," Dean said.
"No," Sam said. The dog started waking up and nosing it's nose in a nosy way on Sam's face.
"Come on, I can't sleep," Dean said. "This ain't your motor home. Don't bogart the couch."
Sam scratched the dog behind his ears and they both sat up together. Sam was wearing one of those good-for-almost-nothing free t-shirts from a morning zoo show and Bermuda shorts while his clothes were in the wash.
"I got the couch because you told Smitty I broke my ass-bone," Sam said.
"So get a butt donut and quit your bitchin'," Dean said, a note of hostility creeping into his voice.
The dog tensed up and began growling at Dean, looking at him like he was an especially provocative squirrel.
"I know," Sam said to the dog. "He's like this every morning."
Dean threw his blanket off in anticipation of having to make a strategic exit. He was wearing old army sweats from god knows when. The original "Morning Side Of The Mountain" began playing on the sound system. Sam and Dean both made a face.
"How long is this tape?" Sam wondered aloud. He took his phone off the counter and started scrolling through his address book.
"I dunno how much more of this old guy music I can take," Dean groused, putting his boots on.
"Now you know how I feel," Sam said, then turned to the dog. "I'm so understood this morning." The dog licked his nose.
"Zep's timeless," Dean said. "And unlike your whiny chick-rock, their songs are actually about something."
"If by 'something' you mean 'hobbits,'" Sam said snottily.
Dean took a deep breath in through his nose, glaring like he wanted to wring Sam's neck. "That was symbolism," he said. "Shut up."
"Oh," Sam said. "So not literal hobbits? More like pretend ones."
"Shut up," Dean said.
Sam and Dean stared at each other for a moment.
Sam smirked. "Did they go to Metaphordor?" he asked, trying not to laugh.
"I'm an inch away from goin' Tarantino on your ass," Dean grumbled.
"So what?" Sam asked. "You're gonna play crappy, Old Guy music until I'm super-bored? You're already Tarantino, Dean."
"You want an authentically broken coccyx?" Dean asked, getting to his feet. "Keep it up."
"I think my buddy Goose might have somethin' to say about that," Sam said, and turned to the dog, feigning excitement. "Right, Goosey? Goose!"
Goose let out a happy little woof (someone was saying his name!) and Sam grinned.
"Enjoy your honeymoon," Dean said, and he went in back to get his coat out of the dryer.
As Dean stood in the little hallway, something in the bedroom caught his eye. There was a big watercolor over the bed. It was simplistic, highly stylized and not very good, but pretty easy to make out: it featured people separated by a stone wall. On one side, a green woman, weeping, surrounded by little farm animals in a pasture. On the other side, a blue man and a gold woman embraced in a black room. There was a scroll held above the scene by cherubs that said, "St. Louis."
Dean shook his head in disapproval. "Yikes," he said to himself. He put his coat on and went out, leaving Sam staring at his phone's address book.
Dean started to say, "Hey, you need any help out here?" as he came down the little stairway. But as his eyes adjusted to the winter sun, Dean finally saw Stull in the light of day, a sight that slapped the words out of his mouth. The place had been devastated. Where they were parked, there wasn't a lot in the way of houses to begin with, mostly just farmland, but there wasn't a building within sight that wasn't demolished. Trees were bent and broken, the road was cracked. The Winnebago was berthed in a gravel driveway by the ruins of a farmhouse.
The cemetery across the road looked like the hypocenter of an explosion. The fence around the place it was knocked back and any headstones within were reduced to rubble - that's why the place had looked like a quarry the night before. The site was almost hypnotizing. Even as far away as they were, Dean could still see the winged silhouette clearly. But in the daylight, from that vantage point, he noticed something he'd managed to miss before. There was another silhouette.
"You come to help me back out?" Smitty asked.
"Ahh." Dean cringed a little. He hadn't noticed Smitty was there. "Can I just ask, what the hell happened here?" Dean said.
"You just answered yer own question," Smitty said. "Hell came and went. Yes sir, this is where The Lamb touched down."
"The Lamb?" Dean asked. "Wow, that's either the lamest nickname for a hurricane I've ever heard, or-."
"The Lamb of God," Smitty said kindly. "He that liveth and was dead. The one with the keys of Hell and of Death."
"Wait a minute," Dean said, profoundly confused. "Are you saying that this place was nuked... by Jesus?"
"My Elma always knew this was gonna be where the Second Woe would peal off," Smitty said.
When he mentioned Elma, something in his voice trembled, but whatever wackadoo thing it was he was talking about, it seemed to make him proud.
"Sure," Dean said skeptically. He looked at the cemetery out of the corner of his eye. "God knows, I've seen weird."
"It only gets weirder," Smitty said. "You watch TV?"
"Not in a while," Dean said.
"Good," Smitty said. "Stay away from it. That's where you'll see him. He walks the earth with the face of a man. Swallows the stars of heaven. They'll bring that filth right into your home if you let 'em."
"Right," Dean said in a heavily patronizing tone. "That's how they getcha."
Smitty arched a brow at him. "I'm talkin' about the Beast, sonny," he said. "I know what it sounds like, but it ain't no laughin' matter. The dragon gave him his power, and his seat, and great authority."
Dean frowned. Some of this was starting to ring a bell. "What exactly did Elma say?" he asked.
"Enough to get her excommunicated," Smitty said. "It's one thing to believe the Lamb will come as in Revelation, but it's a whole other to say it's happenin' in Kansas within a year. Yes sir. Especially for a Mormon. They're a bit particular about things like that. I supposed they were sorry for how they cast her out when the Woe sounded. Some men from the government came in the next day, tellin' people it was a plane crash. But there weren't no wreckage. You could tell the older one was a practiced liar." He added confidentially, "The young one was a bit touched, if ya ask me."
"So, you saw this happen?" Dean asked, zipping his jacket up. "This 'woe' thing?"
"Elma saw it," Smitty said. "She didn't make it through, as you can imagine. Burned her eyes right out of their sockets, poor thing. But she insisted on bein' here, and no one ever got that woman to change her mind."
"I'm sorry," Dean said.
"She was a hard one," Smitty said. "Mean, she was, and smart as a whip. And life ain't the same without her. That's why I moved us over, so I could be near her. Yes sir. That, and someone has to watch over this place. They let the Beast loose, God only knows what'll jump out of that old pit next."
Dean looked a bit sick. "Shudder to think," he said.
"I'm gonna start the motor-home," Smitty said. "You guide me while I back out."
It took them about ten minutes, but eventually, they got on the road.
SMITTY'S WINNEBAGO - MINNESOTA HIGHWAY
Smitty drove his old motor-home east on I-70, ten minutes outside Lawrence. The dog was laying on the floor by his feet, practically under the gas pedal. Sam and Dean sat on the couch.
"You boys got family nearby?" Smitty asked.
"Not really," Sam said. "We're gonna take the bus."
Dean frowned at that.
"Well, the buses don't run down here no more," Smitty said. "But I can give ya'll a ride to the station in Kansas City, yes sir, ain't but an hour's drive from here."
"That'd be great, thanks," Sam said.
"Not that it's any of my business," Smitty said, "but where ya headed from there?"
"Sioux Falls," Sam said. "We got people there."
"Good to hear," Smitty said.
Dean gave Sam a look. "We do?" he whispered. "And since when do you know where we're going?"
Sam looked a little anxious, a little sad. "I wanted to wait 'til we were alone to say anything," he whispered. "But,... while you were out talking to Smitty, I... I called Bobby. And he answered."