Lex checked every single room of the suite while Dean and Sam called out Clark's name. He couldn't have lost Clark. Uncle Jon would never forgive him, for one thing, but he'd also never forgive himself. He had to have just fallen asleep somewhere strange, and he must be sleeping deeply enough that he wasn't hearing the racket they were all making.

Dean opened the door to the room Lex was searching. "He's not in the suite. He probably followed me out."

Lex's heart sank even further than it already had. "What do you mean, followed you out?"

"He caught me going to investigate after our room service never came. He wanted to come have a look around with me."

"And you didn't make him stay back?"

"I told him I'd kick his ass if he followed me."

Lex could have throttled him. "You didn't think to mention that?"

"Not until we knew he wasn't in the suite."

Lex could get upset with Dean later. Right now, they needed to find Clark. "Let's split up and search the hotel. "

"No way," Dean said. "I'm not splitting us up with an angry spirit on the loose."

"We'll cover more ground."

"Sam's not eighteen yet."

"I am."

"Luthor, you're not a trained hunter. I'm sorry, but you're not."

"I got through the werewolves alright. And the Djinn."

"We had time to prepare then. Anyway, this isn't a discussion."

Sam peeked his head in the room just then. "Anyone find him?"

"Not yet," Dean said. "We're going to search the hotel. Together."

"Fine," Lex said. "Sam and I will go together, and you can go by yourself."

"Yeah." Sam nodded emphatically.

"Nice try. Can't trust you two to stay together."

Lex sighed. It was worth a try.

"Let's get out of here," Dean said, and all three of them went out into the living room.

The front door opened just before they reached it, and Clark ran inside. He jumped when he saw all three of them. "What are you all doing awake?"

"Looking for you! Where have you been?" Dean stepped forward and punched him in the arm, but it was a lot lighter than Lex had seen Dean punch Sam.

"Hey!" Clark frowned and grabbed his arm.

"Lay off, Dean," Lex said, stepping toward Clark. He threw his arms around his little brother and squeezed hard. "Don't scare me like that," he said, giving him a little shake.

"I'm sorry." Clark hugged back just as tightly. Again, Lex was impressed by his strength.

"Clark? Are you okay?" Sam asked.

Lex let go of Clark and got a better look on his face. It was clear he had been crying. "Clark, what's wrong?"

"My dad was here."

Lex blinked and looked over at Dean, who was staring at Clark, bewildered. "Your dad?" Dean asked.

Clark nodded. "He found out I lied to him about cleaning my room, and he yelled at me. And he dragged me by the ear, and . . ." Clark looked right at Sam. "It hurt."

Sam gasped. "He hurt you?"

"Yeah!"

Lex didn't know what they found so astonishing about that part. Jonathan had grabbed Dean and Lex's ears when he'd caught them fighting that first summer they'd stayed at the Kents. He was a good dad, and he seemed to be kind enough, but that didn't mean he didn't get angry. The much, much stranger part was that Jonathan was here in the first place. The Kents didn't have money; they couldn't just buy a plane ticket because they were angry with Clark.

But the look on Dean's face was far from confusion. "Clark, did you notice any cold spots?"

"Um, it felt like the air conditioning was turned up way too high in the hallway."

"Flickering lights?"

Clark's eyebrows knitted. "How did you know?"

Dean looked over at Sam.

Sam shook his head. "His dad's not dead, Dean, and even if he was, he didn't die on this island."

"Well, it's clearly a spirit of some kind."

"A spirit?" Clark's breathing sped up. "Do you mean . . . that was a ghost?"

Lex put his hand back on Clark's arm, as much to comfort himself as to remind Clark that he was safe now.

Sam frowned. "If that was a ghost, it's something we haven't seen before. We've seen some spirits read minds, but most of them can't shape shift like that, especially if they've never actually seen the person they're shifting into."

"I dunno," Dean said. "We've seen ghosts that had all sorts of weird powers."

"Yeah, but . . ." Sam turned to Clark. "What did he do to you? Did he say anything?"

"A lot. He took me into a staff room and yelled at me about skipping chores and stuff, then he made me stand in a corner."

Sam gave Dean a look. "A ghost made Clark stand in the corner?"

"Well, it wasn't his dad."

Sam rolled his eyes and looked back at Clark. "Sorry. Go on."

Clark took a deep breath and continued. "He left me there for awhile. I was feeling really guilty. He called me . . . a disappointment . . ." Clark's eyes watered.

Lex felt a wave of envy pass over him at the mere fact that that word still had any effect on Clark at all. Lex had stopped feeling it long ago. Still, sympathy for Clark's pain outweighed the jealousy, and Lex gently squeezed his shoulder.

"There was a phone in the room, and I didn't see him coming back any time soon, so I called my mom. She said she wasn't upset, and that my dad's forgotten to do chores, too, when he was a kid, and she made me feel better. So when my dad . . . or, um, whoever that was, when he got back, I told him that I'd talked with Mom, and he said I could come back here."

Dean stared at him, as if waiting for more, then his face twisted in confusion. "It just . . . let you go?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Dean looked again at Sam. "What the hell kind of ghost leaves its victims standing in the corner then just lets them go?"

"I'm still a little hung up on the shapeshifting," Sam said.

"That too." Dean paced, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, we know what we need to do."

"We do?" Lex asked.

"Work the case," Sam said. "And that means research."

Dean grimaced. "The one thing that was missing from this vacation. We just made Sammy's night."

-------

Sam didn't exactly like research. Dean always teased him for liking it, and Sam couldn't explain exactly what his feelings were, so he just kind of accepted the teasing. Research could be really tedious and frustrating and boring, but it also felt safe. It was the easier part of hunting, the part where you didn't have to run headlong at something that was trying to kill you or worry about your friends' or family's safety. It was also incredibly important, easily the difference between life and death on most hunts. And sometimes you learned interesting things along the way.

So yeah, maybe Sam did like research. The same way someone might like their job. It was definitely the part of hunting he disliked least. That did not mean he wanted to be doing research in the middle of the best vacation he'd ever had in his life, especially not in the middle of the night. Dean had told him multiple times he could go back to bed, but he always followed it up with, "The adults can handle this one," so Sam didn't feel like he really had the choice to go back.

Besides, Clark was up. He was reading a dusty old book, but his eyelids alternated between drooping and shooting open and awake, like he was terrified. At some point, Sam went over to sit beside him to try to make him feel a little better. He couldn't imagine what that attack had been like. Clark was usually invulnerable; even the werewolves had barely been able to hurt him. For his dad to suddenly show up with that kind of strength, not to mention taking it out on Clark . . . Sam couldn't even imagine.

Lex had had a bunch of books delivered, as well as a couple of computers and some files on local history—it never ceased to amaze Sam what money could do, even in the middle of the night. It was nearing five in the morning now. Soon, the sun would rise, and they'd all get a little shuteye. Most monsters tended to be more active at night. Of course, this one might be an exception, in which case they'd have to handle it before they could go back to bed. Then, of course, they could all sleep peacefully. Sam daydreamed about sleeping on the beach, maybe with a smoothie or something, even a beer if Dean let him, though he doubted that.

"Think this might be something?" Lex asked, looking up from a file. "History of the island. Before it was a resort, it was a deserted island. There's a story about a man named Charles Leery, who was shipwrecked here and died of starvation in 1899."

Dean looked up from the computer he was working on. "Dead guy on the island sounds promising, though there's no telling how many people have died here over the years."

"Yeah, but he wasn't just anyone. Apparently he was a part of a navigation team for an exploration team that was sent out here, it was kind of a big deal, and based on the remains, the investigators who found his body said he'd survived for almost a month before he died. He's kind of a legend. There's a museum exhibit dedicated to him."

Something sounded off to Sam. "If he was such a big deal, why leave him to die? Why didn't anyone come after him?"

Lex looked down at his file again. "It looks like someone was supposed to come with him on the ship. His sons. Unfortunately, they never showed. They were out partying and got drunk the night Charles set out, and then they were never able to find him.

Clark looked up at Sam, terror in his eyes. "So the guy who looked like my dad, he was actually . . . the ghost of Charles Leery?"

"It's one possibility," Sam said gently. "Clark, I need you to think back. Did you say or do anything to convince Charles to let you go?"

"I—I don't know," Clark said.

Sam nodded. "Keep thinking about that. In the meantime . . ." Sam glanced at the window. The first few rays of sunlight were starting to peek through. "We're going to need to talk to the hotel staff about the guy who died last night. See if anyone else has seen anything. But most of them won't be working yet."

"Take a few hours, get some rest?" Dean said.

Lex and Sam nodded, and Clark yawned. Then the four of them all adjourned into separate rooms.

Sam wasn't sure if he would be able to sleep, but he knew from experience that some rest was better than none. He forced himself to lay still and limp, and he closed his eyes.