Dean was sure Sam thought no one could see him in the living room as Mrs. Kent wrapped up his hand and pulled him into a mom-hug, but Dean could just make out the whole scene out of the corner of his eye from the dining room table. If the food hadn't been so incredible, it might have taken his appetite away. The summer before, Dean had been struck by the look in Sam's eyes when Mr. Kent embraced him, seeing how much Sam needed that kind of care and affection.

The feeling was even more powerful now, but it was also much more irrational—he felt a sudden urge to go back to his father but leave Sam here on the farm.

He couldn't do that. Even if it weren't for the fact that his father would kill him, and that Sam would never agree to it, and that Dean couldn't fathom separating from his brother, he didn't think the Kents could just adopt another kid. They'd taken Lex in for the summer, but he was sure that was different—they had some kind of arrangement with Lex's father or something, though Dean didn't know what the arrangement was.

But this kind of life, with two parents who made their kid go to school and do chores instead of training them to kill, who made home cooked meals and earned money honestly instead of through credit card scams, who stayed on the same land across generations instead of being on the road and hopping from state to state from one week to the next. Parents who patched up their kid's wounds instead of making them do it themselves. Parents who hugged their kid just because.

It wasn't a life for Dean. Besides, he was an adult now; his chance was over. But he couldn't deny the longing he saw in Sam's eyes after Mrs. Kent let go.

That night, Dean stayed awake a little while after the others had gone to bed. He caught Mrs. Kent just before she went up to get ready for bed herself. "Uh, Mrs—I mean, Aunt Martha . . . can we talk?"

Concern filled her eyes. "Is everything okay, Dean?"

"Everything's fine. It's just . . . you've been real good to us, and I don't know how to repay you, and—"

"Hey, none of that." She squeezed his arm. "You boys are family."

He closed his eyes for a second, feeling the warm softness of her hand. Her words brought him back to something he'd heard Bobby say: Family don't end with blood. "I'm just saying, I hate to ask for anything else."

She dropped her hand and raised her eyebrows. "What can I do for you?"

"It's just . . . my dad and Sam and I, we're on the road a lot. It's fine for me, but it's tough on Sam, and . . . it'd be good to know he has a safe place to go if it ever gets really tough on Sam."

"You're asking if you can send him here if there's ever an emergency and he needs help."

Dean's cheeks felt hot at the thought of what his dad would say if he knew what he was doing right now. "Yeah, I guess."

"Our doors are always open to you. Both of you."

Dean smiled. "Thanks, Aunt Martha."

She pulled him into a hug, and she let him be the first one to let go—he would have held on a lot longer if he hadn't been embarrassed. "Go on," she said, but her voice broke. "Up to bed. Early morning tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am." He turned to go. "Good night."

"Good night, Dean."

-------

Clark thought that as soon as the bullet was out of his shoulder, as soon as he was away from the action, he would be okay.

It wasn't that easy.

He jumped at shadows. The slightest rustle in the fields and trees made his skin crawl, and sudden movements and loud noises made his muscles tense. Every time it happened, he scolded himself on the inside—he should have been brave, like his older brothers.

But over the course of the next few days, he started to feel better.

His mom had him help with dishes after lunch while the older boys went out to start on chores. She said that Sam had said they'd been rough housing, and she wanted to make sure they'd been nice to him. He assured her he was okay, and that he was really excited to have his friends around. She let her breath out, relieved, and gave him a long, tight hug. He had really needed that.

He and his friends played basketball later that day. Lex and Clark played against Sam and Dean. Clark didn't have to pretend to be slow and clumsy; his shoulder was still killing him, and he and Lex didn't make many baskets. Clark didn't complain that it was unfair, even though Lex was smaller than Dean and Clark was smaller than Sam, but Sam and Dean did complain it was unfair when Lex lifted Clark onto his shoulders and let him dunk over and over again. By the point no one was keeping score, anyway, but it was really fun.

The next day, Clark and Sam woke up before the sun and met out in the loft, where Clark showed off his powers before his parents could wake up and find them. Clark was still sure he'd be on restriction for weeks if his parents ever found out he'd told someone his secret, not to mention the long lecture his dad would give him on endangering himself, and the worried, disappointed looks from his mother, but the risk was worth it. Sam was enthralled by everything Clark showed him, and he told him he was proud of him for saving them from the werewolves. Clark's throat felt so choked up, he couldn't even talk for a minute.

When Clark's dad decided they'd all played around long enough that they should start contributing with more of the chores, he told Clark that he was counting on him to help teach the older boys how to do everything right—they'd picked up some new equipment over the course of the school year, so there were things for even Lex to learn despite having spent the summer before with them. It felt amazing to know that even though he was the youngest, he had things to teach the older ones.

Later in the week, Dean caught Clark between chores and muttered a quick, "Sorry for accusing you the other day. We okay?" Clark gave him his brightest grin, and Dean grabbed Clark in a headlock and rubbed his head with his knuckles. Clark was always seeing Pete's older brothers doing that to him—Pete hated it, but to Clark, it just felt like confirmation that Dean saw him as a little brother.

On the night before Sam and Dean had to go back to their dad, Clark's dad set up a campfire and passed around marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate. Sam and Dean said had made s'mores plenty of times, but Lex never had, so Clark had to teach him how to hold the marshmallow just close enough to the flames to roast it but not burn it.

They talked and laughed and ate s'mores until they all felt sick and until the sun had completely disappeared below the horizon and a million stars filled the sky. Clark's parents went inside to go to bed, but the four boys stayed outside together, quietly watching the fire burn down to the embers. Clark saw Lex shiver, and he slid to sit right beside him, arms just barely touching, the way Sam and Dean were sitting on the log across from them. At one point, Clark caught Dean staring at him with something like suspicion in his eyes, but Dean looked away as soon as Clark's eyes met his. Clark was sure it didn't mean anything.

And right before they all went inside, Clark could have sworn he heard wolves howling in the distance. But he had to admit, he was still a little jumpy from the fight. He must have just been imagining it.