Dean let his breath out as he and Lex quietly finished the last of the dishes from dinner. The day's work had been easy enough—washing eggs, sweeping floors, making sandwiches at lunchtime, and taking care of his and Sam's laundry had given him some time to think things over. After some reflection, Dean was more embarrassed that he'd let the rich kid provoke him than he was actually upset with Lex himself.

Once the dishes were done, Mrs. Kent told them they could head to bed early. Dean wondered if it was supposed to be part of the punishment, but he appreciated it. He had barely slept the night before, and even the easy house chores were starting to exhaust him. Mrs. Kent gave him a smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder before he headed up to his room, and something in Dean's chest twinged as he remembered his own mom.

No sooner had his back hit the mattress than Sam came charging into the room, his face pale. "Dean, I'm so sorry, I messed up, but we have to hurry, it's got Clark—"

Dean shot up, fatigue forgotten. "What happened?"

"I took Clark to do some recon out where you heard the scream, and—"

"You took Clark?"

"He was just showing me the way. I was just going to look for clues—"

"He's nine years old, and you're only thirteen!"

"I know, but I wasn't gonna fight it! But I was just gonna see if I could figure out what kind of creature it was—"

"Sammy!" Dean resisted the urge to smack his little brother upside the head. Sam knew better—the thought of something happening to Sam was enough to make Dean want to pummel him for putting himself in danger.

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"Something came and grabbed him. He passed out as soon as it touched him. It tried to come after me, too. I shot at it, and it slowed it down enough for me to get away, but it was still alive."

"And you're sure Clark was, too?"

"I—I think . . . but I don't know . . ." Sam's lower lip trembled, and Dean was glad he hadn't hit him.

"The thing that took Clark, what did it look like?"

"Like a man, mostly, but it was covered in tattoos, some of them were glowing." Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "We have to do something, Dean!"

Dean swallowed hard and stood. "We are not doing anything. You're going to stay here this time."

"You can't go into a hunt alone!"

"Well, I'm not bringing you along. It's too dangerous."

"The Kents won't let you leave the house."

"I'll leave after they fall asleep."

Sam winced. "What do we tell the Kents about Clark?"

"Think of a cover story. They'll call the police if we tell them he was taken."

"I know. Maybe they should."

Dean shook his head. "No, the police can't help. You know that."

"But you can't fight this thing on your own. It's super fast, and bullets don't stop it!"

"Let me figure that out. Did you see Mr. and Mrs. Kent on your way in?"

"No, I think they're getting ready for bed."

Dean grabbed his jacket from the bedpost, where he'd hung it. "Be ready to cover for Clark. I'm going to get him."

"Let me help! I'll follow you, and—"

"You do that, and I'll tell Dad all about what you did today."

Sam's eyes sparkled. "You wouldn't!"

"Try me."

Sam's nose wrinkled. "Fine. Come back quick, okay?" He took the gun out of his pocket and handed it over. "It's low on ammo."

Dean pocketed the gun. He was torn between throwing his arms around his little brother out of gratitude that he was safe, and punching him in the arm until he swore never to run off and do something so stupid ever again. He settled for a stern glare and a clap on the shoulder before stalking out of the room.

He glanced in both directions before bolting for the front door.