Clark was running faster than he'd ever run in his life.

He was only supposed to run this fast if he was close to the house. Out here, someone might be watching. They might see Clark running faster than a race car. Clark's dad would kill him if he found out he'd been risking his secret by running through other people's corn fields.

But Clark couldn't help it. He was scared. He'd been out exploring in the trees by his parents' property, and he'd found a dead body.

It was nothing like in the movies his parents didn't want him to watch. Those movies were stupid—he was ten, far too old to be afraid of actors splattered with red paint—but this was real. The man's eyes were wide open and glazed, his clothes were soaked in reddish brown blood, and there was a huge gash in his chest, like someone or something had torn him open.

So Clark was running. He crashed through a couple of fences on his way, but the splintered wood didn't even hurt. His heart was set to pound straight out of his chest, and he felt like he could run forever.

Luckily, he didn't have to. He slowed himself to a light jog once he reached his parents' land, and he was just speed walking by the time he reached the house.

His mom was making lunch in the kitchen. Clark hurried right past her, up the stairs, and to his bedroom, where he hid under the covers, shaking.

A light knock came at the door, and a moment later, the soft creak of the door swinging open. The other side of Clark's mattress dipped, and his mom's warm hand came up to rub his back over the blankets. "Hey. Everything okay?"

Clark poked his head out of the covers. "Yeah. I just . . . got tired, so I was going to take a nap." No way was he telling her that he had seen a body. She might think he'd just been imagining it, and then she might guess that Clark had been sneaking out of bed at night to sit on the staircase and watch the scary movies his parents were watching.

Even if she did believe him about the body, he didn't want to tell her he'd risked his secret just because he was startled. A dead body couldn't actually hurt him. Even if whoever—or whatever—killed the person was around, it probably couldn't hurt Clark. He was almost strong enough to lift the tractor now.

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Still, Clark hoped he wouldn't have nightmares.

"You sure you're okay?" His mom frowned down at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"I see," his mom said. That was the voice she used when she didn't believe him, but wasn't going to say anything about it. "Well, do you want a hug, just in case?"

"Um . . . no, I'm okay . . ." Clark shifted a little under the covers.

"That's too bad," his mom said. "I've been working really hard today, I could use a hug."

Clark hopped out of bed and jumped into his mother's arms, silently letting his breath out in relief. That body had been scary.

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Sam never would have admitted it to anyone, but his dad's broken ankle was almost a relief.

They'd been hunting without a break for months. Something about Dean turning eighteen had spurred a new determination in their father to hunt, like he believed the three of them were capable of more now that there were two adults in the family. Of course, half the time he still left the two of them—or even just Sam—at the motel or cabin. But these days, he usually left them in charge of doing research while he was gone. They hadn't been able to catch a break since January, and it was summer now. Sam was getting burned out.

But his dad had taken a bad fall in his last hunt. He couldn't walk without crutches, which definitely meant hunting wasn't an option.

Sam was surprised at first when Dean suggested a solo hunt. That was something their father had never allowed before, even since Dean had turned eighteen. But Dean had pitched the idea to his father as a fairly straightforward case in Kansas, involving a body in the woods whose heart had been torn out. Sources had seen a figure run past at lightning speed nearby the kill site, and there was apparently a trail of smashed corn stalks and broken fences leading right to the place where the body was found. Whatever the creature was, it might have been incredibly strong and fast, but it was also sloppy. It would be an easy hunt. His dad had agreed without too much argument, and he'd even been okay with Dean taking Sam along.

Dean completely ignored Sam's protests that he was looking forward to the break, barking orders to get in the car—orders their father followed up, so Sam really didn't have a choice.

Only when they were on the road did Dean tell Sam that the body was found in Smallville, and the Kents had given them permission to stay with them. What's more, he'd also done enough research to find the contact information for Lex Luthor, and he'd managed to get message to him—and Lex had agreed to meet them at the farm.

Sam grinned until his cheeks hurt.