Sam broke into a full run, Dean following close behind. Most of Sam's hunting instincts had gone dull with time, but one had remained sharp: he knew when a gunshot was bad news.

And this one was bad news.

A door hung slightly open, in the direction of the shot. Sam threw it open to find his father standing across from Lionel. His father had a smoking gun in his hand, and for a second, Sam thought he'd been wrong about the shot being bad news.

Then their father fell to his knees.

"Dad? Dad!" Sam ran over to him, supporting him before he fell forward. Only then did he see the blood spreading across his shirt.

His dad looked up at him, sweat beading on his forehead. "Hey Sam," he said. "Good to see you."

Dean rushed forward as well, kneeling in front of him. "Dad, you're gonna be okay. You're gonna . . ."

Dad lifted a hand to the back of Dean's neck, looking him in the eyes. "Dean. Take care of Sammy."

Then his head dropped.

"No no, Dad . . ." Sam pressed one hand to his neck. No pulse. "Dad!"

Dean shot to his feet, whirling around to face Lionel. "You bastard!" Dean raised his gun and aimed at Lionel.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut.

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Dean shot three times, but Lionel didn't so much as flinch. If anything, he smirked.

The bullets didn't hit him, and they didn't miss him. If anything, they just seemed to disappear altogether.

"Son of a bitch," Dean whispered, and he shoved his gun in his pocket. Lionel must have had something on his person, maybe some kind of mojo bag that generated a force field.

It was two against one. And Lionel had already lowered his gun. Dean lunged for Lionel with his whole body instead.

And his entire body seized with excruciating pain.

Dean sprang back, screaming, and the pain was gone in an instant. "The hell?"

Lionel chuckled. "Do you like it? It's a trick I picked up from, ah, an ally of mine, you could say. Anyone or anything that approaches me with the intent to harm . . ." He clicked his tongue and shook his head disapprovingly.

"How did you . . ." Dean took a cautious step closer. No pain this time. Intent to harm . . . he would have to be trying to attack to be affected.

"Ah, well, unfortunately, that's not something I'm willing to share at this time. I didn't intend to have witnesses, either. I'm afraid you'll have to go the way of your old man."

"How do you know who we are?" Sam asked.

Lionel laughed aloud this time. "Isn't it obvious?" he asked, and he raised his gun, aiming for Sam. "Who else would run in here to save him, guns blazing, but his own family?"

Lionel cocked the gun, and Dean jumped out in front of it, but he never had the chance to fire.

A blur shot past them, and a gust of air filled the room, and the next thing Sam knew, Lionel was on the floor, pinned by Clark, who knelt over him.

Lionel gasped. "You can't . . . how . . ."

"I've got a few tricks up my sleeve, too."

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Lionel looked afraid for a moment, then his face broke into a grin. He snapped his fingers.

Two men appeared in the space beside them, flanking Clark and grabbing his arms. The men blinked, and their eyes were like dark green marbles.

Dean took a step back. Lionel had demon guards. Not just any demons—kryptonite infected demons.

How the hell—

Clark wrenched one of his arms away. He punched one of them and threw off the other one.

Dean doubted all of them had the same spells active that Lionel did. He rushed in, and a half second later, Sam did, too.

Then, for a moment, it was just another fight.

It took his strength and Sam's to hold off one demon. He could just make out Clark holding his own against the other—Dean figured it would have been a lot easier for him if the demons weren't infected with Clark's weakness.

The moments Dean saw Lionel, out of the corner of his eye, the man was just standing there, watching.

"Finish them," he said in an almost bored tone, and the demons fought with renewed strength.

Dean knew he was only landing a blow for every four or five he took. It wasn't an even match. They were going to lose.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

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Lex knew Chloe wouldn't stay away from the mansion. He knew that, short of tying her up in his lab, there was probably nothing in the world he could do to keep her away. That didn't mean he didn't hope.

Lex was on his way to the mansion, anyway. He'd received a call from Dean saying he was almost there, so he'd headed out. He pulled up at the well-hidden side entrance he'd once told Chloe about, and it was open—that meant she was there.

But as soon as he was in the mansion, he heard blows and shouts.

Lex raced through the halls in the direction of the fighting. He hardly had time to take in what was happening before he was in the middle of it.

Two men Lex had never seen—one fighting Sam and Dean, one fighting Clark. Lex's father standing, watching. A dead man on the floor. Broken glass and spell work in the space behind them.

Then he caught a glimpse of one of the guards' eyes.

Lex hesitated a half second. There had to be a better tactical choice than merely jumping into the fight. His hand-to-hand combat skills were nothing compared to Sam and Dean's, or Clark's—though judging by the way Clark was sweating, there must have been trace amounts of kryptonite in the room.

Dean pulled away from the fight, pulled a gun from his pocket, and pointed it directly at Lex, bolting toward him.

Lex froze. The demon Dean had been fighting hit Sam hard enough to knock him to the floor, and Dean grabbed Lex in a headlock and pressed the gun to his temple before Lex could respond.

Lex struggled against his hold—Dean had always had him beat for raw strength, and he'd caught Lex off-guard—and Dean turned to Lex's father. "Let us go."

The fighting in the room stopped all at once.

Sam was still down. Clark yelled, "No! Dean!" The two guards looked to Lex's father, as though waiting further instructions.

Lex knew what Dean was doing. But Dean should have known better. Should have known Lex's father would never lift a finger, let alone risk losing an investment, to save his son.

Lex's father laughed aloud. "Or what? You'll kill my son?"

"You killed my father."

Lex swallowed hard, looking his father in the eyes. On the microscopic chance they survived this, Lex was going to murder Dean.

"A son for a father," Dean said, pressing the gun harder to Lex. "Not quite a fair trade, but, well, you killed your own father."

Lex felt his heart pounding a mile a minute. Felt sweat beading on his forehead, felt his collar choking him.

Then, all at once, he realized he wasn't helpless. He had no idea what it cost to hire—or just as likely, enslave—a demon guard, but he doubted his father wanted to lose them.

Lex cleared his throat, straightening up despite the headlock. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus."

Immediately, the demon guards began to writhe, grabbing their heads.

"Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio—"

"Lex!" his father hissed. "What are you doing? They're on our side!"

"I'd rather die than leave you with demon guards. Omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii, omnis legio—"

"This isn't over," his father said. He ran over to the two demons and grabbed a shoulder of each.

Then all three of them disappeared.

Dean let go of Lex, giving him a couple of rough slaps to the back. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Lex said, as Clark rushed over to Sam, rolling him over. Sam groaned and sat up, and Clark helped him to his feet.

Dean took a deep breath and went over to the dead body of his own father, lifting him in both arms. His expression had gone numb.

Lex let his breath out. "Let me help you," Lex said, but Dean ignored him.

"Get Chloe," Clark called back. "The guards took her."

Lex nodded, and he followed them out of the room, but not out of the mansion.

He checked a few rooms that he knew weren't being used when he lived there, and finally found her on the floor of an open, empty room. Out cold, undoubtedly by his father's guards.

Lex knelt beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Chloe," he whispered.

She didn't stir.

"Chloe." He pulled a little on her shoulder, rolling her over.

That's when he saw the pool of blood under her head.

"Oh no. No no no . . ." He pressed his fingers to her neck. Her skin was cold. There was no pulse.

She was gone.