Mr. Kent yelled for a long time. He talked about how the Kents had rules and expectations for people under their roof, and how Dean and Lex had taken advantage of their hospitality, and how disappointed he was because he believed they could do better.
Lex barely processed any of it. He was still thinking about that scream. From the few glances he snuck at Dean, he could tell Dean was still thinking about the same thing. Lex considered interrupting Mr. Kent to say something, but he knew from experience how badly interrupting a scolding could go. It would almost be better to take off into the night after Mr. Kent was done lecturing. Besides, the more he thought about it, the less sure he was that the scream had meant anything. He'd heard teenagers at his school scream louder while they were playing around. This was Smallville—nothing ever happened in this town.
Meanwhile, the longer Lex sat, the more his abdomen and ribs were hurting. He expected Mr. Kent to tell them they were going to have double the workload the next day, but he actually said the opposite—told them they were grounded to the house tomorrow, and they would be helping out Mrs. Kent while they healed. Lex was surprised, but he was thankful for that much. They were getting off pretty easy for fighting. Even the ear pulling had been more uncomfortable than truly painful.
When Mr. Kent was done shouting, Mrs. Kent came in and placed down two mugs of steaming hot chocolate, then she left and came back with a first aid kit and a stack of cold compresses. She gave them a little time to drink and warm up—the hot chocolate was thick and sweet, but Lex barely tasted it.
Mrs. Kent told them to take their shirts off so she could patch them up. She didn't scold or yell. She was silent as she patched up their bleeding knuckles and iced their bruises, her fingers gentle even as her eyes pierced them with daggers. When she was finished, she looked from Lex to Dean and said, "Clark and Sam were worried sick about you. You should be ashamed of yourselves."
Stolen story; please report.
That hurt more than anything Mr. Kent had said.
The lights were on when Lex got back to Clark's room, and Clark was sitting up in bed. "I saw you out the window," Clark whispered. "Sorry I tattled on you."
"Oh. It's okay." They should have paid better attention to where they chose to fight.
"Are you mad at me?"
"No, I'm just tired."
"Does it hurt?" Clark asked.
"I'm fine," Lex said, but he realized it might have been a little more effective if he hadn't just been limping and wincing with every other step.
"Is Dean okay?"
"Yeah."
"You said you were going to be friends with Dean." Clark's eyes were wide and shining.
"I know."
"Can you try harder?"
And Lex had thought Mrs. Kent's words had stung. "Okay."
Clark jumped out of bed. "You should take the bed. He punched you really hard." He crawled into the mess of blankets on the floor, but then he looked up and pouted. "But you punched him, too."
"I know. I'm sorry." Lex was in too much pain to argue about the bed. He climbed into the warm softness, and his eyes fluttered closed.
"You'll say sorry to Dean tomorrow, too?"
"Yeah, sure." Lex was already drifting off.
----------------------------------------
Sam had already fallen back to sleep by the time Dean arrived in his room. Dean was thankful to get to save that conversation for the morning, but Sam had also taken the bed—Dean grimaced all the way down to the hard floor.
That scream still echoed in his mind.
Had Dean brought his gun with him when he went out to fight Lex, he probably would have run in the direction of the scream right away. But he knew better than to bring a gun to a fistfight. And he knew better than to run into a hunt unprepared or alone.
It definitely hadn't been a playful scream. Dean had been trained to know the difference. And of course, if the screaming continued, he would probably have run for it anyway. But if you didn't already have a plan and a weapon, a single scream wasn't worth running after.
A single scream meant you were already too late.