As soon as he was back at his motel room, Dean picked up the phone and called Bobby. And as always, Bobby picked up before the second ring. "Hello."

"Hey, Bobby? It's me. Dean."

"Hey, Dean. Everything alright?"

"Yeah, just . . . I'm out on a solo mission right now and came across something weird."

"Stumped your old man?"

"Uh. Yeah." Dean didn't want to admit that he'd called Bobby first. His dad would ask too many questions about the friends he was visiting and what this hunt had really been about in the first place. "Friend of mine took off on his honeymoon a couple of weeks ago. Jet went down, only the wife returned."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, he was a good man. Still is, I hope. Uh, search teams haven't given up hope yet, but that's not the point. Point is, I just dropped by the house to, uh . . . pay condolences, and I could swear I heard the wife slit someone's throat."

"Wow. What'd you do?"

"I got the hell out of there and came back to the motel to call . . . my dad. And do some research."

"Smart. Think the wife offed your friend?"

"I really don't know."

"How well do you know the wife?"

"Not well. But my friend's a good judge of character, and he loved her."

"Thinking demon possession?"

"That's why I ran. My gun's useless in that fight."

"Well, load it up with rock salt. It won't kill 'em, but it'll slow 'em down. And get some holy water, if you can. It's like acid to a demon."

"Roger that." This was why Dean had called Bobby and not his father. No badgering or pestering questions, just the information he needed to survive.

"You got an exorcism?"

"Always."

"Good. Get it memorized, if you haven't already. I'm also gonna send you a photo of a devil's trap."

"What's that?"

"It's a sigil you paint on the floor or ceiling. If the demon steps into it, they can't get out."

"Really?"

"Hide it under a rug or something. Not many hunters know about it, so demons usually fall for it."

"Wow. That's awesome."

"Anything else I can help you with?"

"No, this'll be good. I'll call you if I need anything else."

"Alright." Bobby took a breath, then he said, "Haven't heard from Sam recently, have you?"

Dean's voice caught. He did not want to have this conversation. "Uh . . . I've gotta go now, I really appreciate your help . . ."

Bobby scoffed. "Idgit," he said, then he hung up the phone.

Sam had had every intention of heading back to school as soon as possible, but it ended up being a good thing that he was at the Kent house.

It was clear that the Kents hadn't planned on raising their baby alone, without any help picking up the slack on the farm. Sam couldn't be as helpful as Clark would've been, and besides, Uncle John clearly didn't want to accept Sam's help, but he was weak after everything that happened. They were still mourning their son—or rather, both of their sons.

So Sam was able to do a little. He got up early and helped Uncle John with the morning chores to make them go quicker, since Aunt Martha was up with the baby most nights. He made runs to the grocery store to pick up formula and diapers and other supplies, since they hadn't expected the baby to be born so early. He helped with some of the laundry and cooking, since those were things Martha had done more often, and she was worn out and grieving. He stayed out of their way when they needed space, and he was there when they clearly needed someone to vent to.

He felt their suffering every day. It was exhausting. And still every day, he worried about how far behind he was falling in school—he had already contacted all of his professors about missing exams due to a family emergency, and they had been surprisingly understanding, allowing him to take an incomplete grade instead of an F.

At the same time, though, it was some of the best time of Sam's life. He felt like he was part of a family in a way that he had never felt before. Aunt Martha remembered to thank him a lot of days, but his favorite days were the ones where she forgot; he doubted she would've thanked Clark for each and every chore he did to help with the baby. It would've just been expected, since he was Ellie’s older brother. Even on the days Martha forgot to thank Sam, she remembered to hug him either in the morning or the evening. He had never had that from a mom before.

It was a comfort, since Sam was already overwhelmed with everything on his own mind. Each day that passed made Sam a little more worried about Lex, a little more frustrated with Dean, and a little more angry with Clark.

Everyone in town was talking about the disappearance of the LuthorCorp jet. Both Helen and Lex were on the cover of every newspaper in the stores; Helen had told a story about how Lex had selflessly sacrificed himself by giving her the last parachute on their plane. Sam had seen Lex do that kind of thing before, but he still wasn't sure whether to believe it. According to the newspapers, there were still search parties out looking for Lex. If they had found Helen, why haven't they been able to find him? Sam didn't share his suspicions with the Kents, since they seem to have enough on their minds and they were proud of Lex for his sacrifice, but Sam did wonder if there was more to the story than Helen had offered.

Sam had wanted to reach out to Dean to see if he felt the same way, since Dean had always been closer to Lex while Sam had been closer to Clark, but Dean wouldn't even pick up his phone. Sam knew that he had pulled the same stunt on Dean when he first moved out, but circumstances were different now. They had two friends who might be in real danger. Now wasn't the time for pettiness. Sam knew that Clark and Lex had alsobeen fighting before the wedding. Now, he wondered if either of them regretted the fighting. Sam would've been happy to put differences aside for the purpose of peace.

But more than anything, Sam was filled with disbelief over the way Clark was acting. Aunt Martha and Uncle Jon explained the effects of red kryptonite, and their suspicions that Clark had found some before running away, which explained why he wasn't feeling much guilt now, but Sam couldn't believe that he had made that choice to go seek out red kryptonite in the first place. In the mornings, when Aunt Martha went to eat breakfast and Uncle John was still working on chores, Sam held little Ellie in his arms. He had never been much for babies, but her wide trusting brown eyes made it impossible for him to imagine running away from her. And every time Aunt Martha cried for her son, desperately hoping he was okay and he would come home soon, Sam just wanted to punch Clark for doing that to his mother.

One day, a couple of weeks after the wedding and the explosion and Clark's disappearance, Sam went to the grocery store for baby wipes and realized Lex wasn't on the front of the Daily Planet anymore. Instead, there was a photo of a bank vault. There had been a robbery in Metropolis.

Sam knew the Kents were counting on him to get back to the farm with those supplies, but something about the article grabbed his interest, and he picked up the paper to read the full story. Apparently, someone had snuck past a full security team and made off with hundreds of thousands of dollars. There were photos of the vault after the robbery had taken place. It didn't look like the person had employed clever methods or hacked the computers or picked the locks.

It looked like someone had literally broken through a foot thick steel door. The dents in the metal almost look like handprints.

Sam snatched up the paper and made his way out of the grocery store as fast as he could. He would bring today's supplies to the farm, but they would have to do without him for a few days now. He was headed to Metropolis.

Because enough was enough.

He was getting them their son back.

Dean didn't break into the mansion this time. He waited until Helen was out, then he went straight to the front gate.

"I need to get in," he told the head of security. A big guy named Darius—Dean had been seeing him there for years.

Darius looked uncomfortable, even as his stance remained unchanged. "My orders have revoked your clearance to entrance."

"The password is Julian. But it shouldn't matter. You know who I am."

"You're a friend of Lex's, but he's dead."

"Is he?" Dean kept his face completely straight.

Darius stammered. "Ah . . . Listen, my orders come from Helen now—"

"You're really going to play loyal to her? What's Lex going to say when he gets back?"

"Look, man, I'm just doing my job—"

"And how's that going for you? You notice your boss—your real boss, not that skank in there—just conveniently disappeared, and now for some reason, your coworkers are disappearing. Maybe it's Helen. Maybe it's not. But either way, you should know this. I'm the only one who's going to get any of you out of this. And if you know anything about Lex, and you know I'm someone he trusted with the password to get into this house . . . you know I'm telling you the truth."

Darius stared at him a long moment, then his voice lowered. "Think I should quit?"

"I think you should run. You and anyone else you can convince to get out with you. I'll make sure Lex hires you back if he's alive."

Darius nodded. "Okay. But whatever you're doing, you should get out of there before Helen gets back."

"I will," Dean said, and he walked into the mansion.

Dean carried two containers of paint. One was a plain black ink; the other had meteor rock ground into it. One could never be too safe in Smallville.

Helen seemed to like the study just as much as Lex had. Dean started there first. He pulled up a rug in the center of the room, took a second look at the symbol Bobby had sent him, and began copying it as best as he could, using the plain black paint.

Then, he put a meteor rock infused devils trap under each rug on either side of the doorway to the study. The only way she would avoid all of the traps was if she avoided the study altogether. If she was an ordinary demon, all of the traps should work on her, since Bobby said it didn't matter what was in the ink. If she was infected with the meteor rock, the ones in the hallway might be the only ones that worked.

He waited for her in the study, either way.

It was over an hour. He heard her coming, calling through the halls for the servants that, hopefully, Darius had convinced to quit. He heard her heels in the hallway, but the footsteps just kept coming. The devils traps weren’t doing anything.

Damn it. Maybe she wasn't a demon after all.

The door to the study swung open, and her heels clicked toward him, her arms crossed. "I thought I told you you weren't welcome here anymore."

"Is there any way to greet your late husband's friend coming to offer condolences?"

"You've offered plenty. Now get out of my house."

She tried to take another step toward him, but it was as though invisible force field held her back. She longed forward again, only to be pushed back again.

Dean nodded and pulled a flask of holy water out of his back pocket.

"Now," he said, unscrewing the cap, "let's talk about Luthor."