Ornately Decrepit Victorian Interior Of My Despair, which might actually be an abandoned theater, but who cares at this point? "I certainly don't! [Slurp!]" The massacre is over, and Lucifer-In-Sam sits upon a dais above the scattered corpses, ruminating, until he turns to address his reflection like so: "Are we having fun yet?" Hopelessly Ensnared Sammy And His Miserable Hair shudder with self-loathing and revulsion until they get gobbled up by the next METAL TEETH CHOMP!

Ode On A Melancholy Metallicar, Part The Third, and this is just gross. Chuck would have us believe that Our Intrepid Heroes, during their rare moments of downtime, would park the Impala out in the middle of nowhere, "sit on the hood, and watch the stars for hours without saying a word." I feel vile just typing that out. Shut up, Chuck. Fortunately, the phone rings. Unfortunately, Chuck answers expecting a certain "Mistress Magda" to be on the other end, so it's even grosser than that crap about Sam and Dean staring at the stars. In any event, Chuck's caller is, of course, Dean, looking to see if Chuck knows where this whole Armageddon thing's supposed to be going down. Luckily for Dean, even though the angels have been attempting to mask the battle's location, Chuck's already had an appropriate vision and so knows that the chosen field is actually the infamous Stull Cemetery just outside Lawrence, Kansas. "Why Lawrence?" Dean squints. "It all has to end where it started," Chuck guesses, for as we all know, The Prophet's always been a big fan of "literary symmetry." And that, unfortunately, is the extent of Chuck's foreknowledge on the subject (or is it?), so Dean hangs up after thanking the drunken scuzzball for his help.

Moments later, Dean's prepping the Impala for his 800-mile suicide cruise to Kansas when Bobby and Castiel wander on over, presumably from the bar in which they've been imbibing copious amounts of alcohol whilst waiting for the inevitable blast wave to arrive. "Hooray! [Slurp!]" "You going someplace?" Bobby calls out. "You're gonna do something stupid," he realizes as he and Castiel move closer to Dean. "You got that look." Heh. Dean remains tight-lipped about his foolish intentions for a moment before finally admitting he wants to talk to Sam, and Bobby and Castiel's derision is as immediate and heartless as the audience's. Dean tells them they can rot in Hell for all he cares, and Metallicar grumbles off into the night. Well, you know. More or less.