Lex could talk to meteor-infected monsters. He could understand them when no one else could.

He tried, at first, to convince himself that he had been hearing things. After Julian's death, he'd had quite a few hallucinations; maybe he was predisposed to them. But Lex had also learned his lesson in those days. He had to keep a firm grip on his senses, had to trust that he knew the difference between fantasy and reality. Memories of Julian post-death always had a dream-like quality to them. His conversation with the werewolf didn't have that quality.

He thought about talking to Dean about it, but he decided against it at the last minute. Dean knew, vaguely, that Lex had been infected with the meteor rocks, but Lex didn't want anyone to think too deeply about what that meant. From what he could tell, monsters who had been infected became stronger, faster, more vicious, and harder to kill. As far as Lex knew, he had just lost his hair. But if there were any other effects, he couldn't be completely certain that Dean would consider him as someone worthy of protection, rather than as something others needed to be protected from.

Lex wasn't even sure himself.

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Sam had a hard time picking up his fork at lunchtime—Clark had really done a number on his hand. Aunt Martha noticed within seconds, and she pulled him away from the table to wrap up his hand and his wrist. She didn't ask what had happened, but she gave him a bit of a pointed look, and he mumbled, "Rough housing." She gave him a little bit of a nod, wrapped his wrist tightly and gave him a painkiller, and she offered him a hug when she'd finished. The table with the other guys wasn't in view, so he took it. It was easily the best hug he'd had in years.

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The others didn't greet them when they returned to the table. They were too deeply immersed in the food. And Sam didn't have long to wait before he found out why.

It was the best meal he'd had in months, and he wished he could feel happier about it. The hunt had lasted for all of twenty-four hours. Sam and Dean were going to have to go back to their dad now.

It felt pretty pointless to go back so soon. It was going to be at least a week before their dad could be on his ankle again. Here, there was warm food and family and safety. They could be safe and loved and have fun with their friends for a little while. Sam didn't dare bring it up to Dean, though. Dean would probably punch him again for even suggesting telling a lie to their dad, even though it wouldn't be much of a lie—more a lie of omission.

As the meal wrapped up, Uncle Jon turned to Dean and asked, "So, how long do you think you'll stay?"

"Oh, I'm afraid we can't . . ." Dean glanced back at Sam, who gave him the best puppy eyes he could possibly muster. " . . . uh, we can't head back for a little while, I . . . need to do some maintenance on the car. Is it okay if we stay for a few more days?"

Uncle Jon smiled. "I was hoping you'd stay at least a week. It's nice having everyone around."

Dean nodded. "It's good to be here, Mr. Kent. I mean, Uncle Jon."

Sam grinned until his cheeks hurt.