Jonathan barely slept that night. He wasn't used to having so many people in the house—thanks to the need to keep Clark's secret, they didn't have a lot of visitors, and they almost never let anyone use the guest bedroom.

Having Lex hadn't been as bad as he might have expected. What the kid lacked in muscle, he made up for in determination to prove himself. He also put up with Clark, though that wasn't particularly impressive, considering Clark worshipped him.

Going from one kid, to two, to four, was more than a bit of a shock. Having more people in the house meant more work, but it also meant more hands to help with that work. And according to Martha, Sam and Dean were very well-mannered boys—they'd probably be willing to do their part, once he'd convinced them that they needed to stick around.

On some level, Jonathan's greatest objection to having them all on the farm was less about the extra work or even the risk to Clark's secrecy, and more about the fact that he was being coerced into cleaning up the messes of fathers who neglected their children. Lionel was bad enough, but he couldn't imagine leaving his kid alone in the woods. Just in the past couple of days, there had been three separate missing persons cases in Smallville. He wasn't sending those boys back to an abandoned cabin to wait alone.

Jonathan pulled himself out of bed even earlier than he usually did and walked down to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.

Sam and Dean were already up. Sam held a pillowcase open, and Dean was busy loading it up with items from the pantry.

Jonathan drew himself up to his full height, cleared his throat, and gave them the sternest look he could muster.

Sam was the first to glance up. He gasped and dropped the pillowcase, but didn't say anything. Dean only noticed when he looked over and saw the pillowcase on the floor—his eyes shot up to meet Jonathan's.

"Mr. Kent," Dean said. "This isn't what it looks like."

"So, you're not trying to make a run for it before the rest of us wake up."

Sam hung his head. "Sorry, Mr. Kent."

"You should be." Jonathan crossed his arms. "My wife was very kind to you last night. You should have known we would have given you anything you need."

Sam blinked a couple of times, and Dean's brow furrowed.

"That's right. You didn't have to steal." He stepped over into the kitchen and held out a hand—Sam gave him the pillowcase. "But you've got to understand, I can't let you go back to that cabin to wait all by yourselves."

Dean shook his head. "I'm almost—"

"Eighteen, I know. But you're not eighteen. And seeing as you've been left alone with no food, I see that we have two options here."

Dean swallowed. "Uh, what options?"

"If you think your dad might be in trouble, we can call the police. The sheriff is an old friend of mine, I'm sure—"

"That won't be necessary," Dean said quickly. "I'm sure our dad is fine."

"Dean," Sam whined softly. "You don't know . . ."

Jonathan frowned. "Okay. Well, the other option is for you to stay here on the farm until your dad gets back."

"No, no," Dean said. "Look, we really appreciate everything, but our dad will be expecting to find us back at the cabin—"

"You can leave him a note so he knows where to go," Jonathan said.

"I don't think this is a good idea, Mr. Kent."

"Well, I don't think it was a good idea for him to leave you alone without enough food."

Dean looked away. Sam's eyes darted back and forth between Dean and Jonathan.

"So what's it gonna be? Am I calling the police or leaving a note?"

Dean still didn't meet his eyes. Sam took a deep breath and looked right at Jonathan. "We'll stay, Mr. Kent. Sorry we tried to steal from you. Uh . . . can we help you with chores or something?"

Jonathan smiled. "Well, since you're already up."