Clark changed clothes quickly before running home, jogging when there was any chance he might be seen. He didn't go into the house right away, instead swinging by the little extra cabin that had been added to the property and knocking on the door.

Sam came to answer it. He smiled and opened the door wider, so Clark could step inside. "You hunt today?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Rakshasa."

"Gesundheit," Dean called from the stove, where he was mixing up Kraft macaroni and cheese—Clark was pretty sure that was the second time this week.

"Basically, evil clowns," he clarified.

Sam shuddered. "Glad I missed that one."

Clark hadn't known Sam had an issue with clowns. Sam and Dean didn't hunt out of state so often. They had basically switched positions with Clark—these days, they dealt with meteor mutants, and Clark dealt with monsters around the country that weren't infected by kryptonite. It was safer this way, since Sam and Dean weren't weak to Kryptonite, though Dean often grumbled about how he missed actually killing things. None of them did much killing these days.

Clark wandered over to Dean, grimacing at the pot of processed noodles and too-orange cheese sauce. "Sure you don't want to eat with us? Ellie would love it."

"Mooching off your family once a week is enough," Dean said.

Clark shrugged. "We'll send over some pie."

"Thanks."

He directed his hearing toward the house, where he could hear dishes being set on the table and Ellie's happy chatter. "Dinner time," he said. "Talk later?"

"Yep," Dean said as the microwave beeped, and he took out a stack of hot dogs.

Clark was so thankful to live under his mom's roof. He walked into the house to the smell of homemade tomato soup and ran to help his mom carry a huge plate of stacked up grilled cheese sandwiches to the table.

"Looks great, Mom," he said.

"Cark!"

Clark looked down to see Ellie tugging on his pant leg. Her little purple dress was badly dirt stained, and her curly red hair was matted, but she had a huge grin on her face. He bent down and scooped her up, throwing her into the air and catching her, and she shrieked with laughter.

"I help Daddy!" she cried as he settled her into her high chair.

"Yeah?" Clark looked over at his mom.

She nodded. "He was teaching her to milk the cows."

Clark frowned. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"She hasn't shown any signs of strength or speed in months."

"Not strong," Ellie said, sighing dramatically.

Mom went over to put a bib on Ellie. "I really think it might have just been some residual power from the ship."

"You're willing to take that risk?"

"If she can have a normal life, I'm happy, Clark."

"Happy!" Ellie kicked her little feet.

Clark looked away. It stung.

His mom took his arm a second later. "You know I'm proud of you. You made the best of the impossible. But she . . ." They looked over at Ellie, who was chewing on her thumb. "She might not have to."

Clark sighed, but he knew what his mom was saying, and he couldn't really disagree. He bent down to brush his sister's hair back and kiss her on the forehead, then he sat down at the table in time for his dad to come into the house.

"Colorado today, huh?" his dad asked.

"Yeah. It's hot out there. Guessing you don't want any stories?"

"Later tonight." His eyes went from Ellie, to Mom, who was bringing the pot of soup over from the stove. "Looks great, sweetheart."

"Thanks." She smiled and sat with them, and they ate together.

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean sat down to macaroni and cheese and hot dogs for the third time in the same week. He took the lettuce, cucumber, and grilled chicken from the day before out of the fridge and went into the pantry for a tomato.

"Dunno how you eat that rabbit food every day," Dean muttered with his mouth full.

Sam rolled his eyes, not bothering to comment on what he thought of Dean's processed garbage. "That lead turn up anything on Lionel?"

"No, waste of time. Find anything on Azazel?"

"Don't even know where to look at this point."

Dean sighed. "Where are we at with, uh, that girl who . . . she was what, shattering glass with her mind?"

"Got into her records from the school. She's too young to have been there during the meteor shower."

"Bona fide monster?"

"Not so sure. I'm still looking into her family members. I think her dad might have been infected, but he's not in the picture anymore. I need to check a couple more things."

"Great. Good."

Sam nodded, but his heart wasn't in it. They were hunting, which Dean was happy with. And they were anchored to one place, which Sam was happy with. They were even financially stable—Lex subsidized Sam and Dean's work, officially as "off site security guards," since mutants had a habit of going after Lex, his property, or his employees. And living in their own space on the Kent property was really nice—they both had to admit that.

At the end of the day, though, it just wasn't where they wanted to be. Dean didn't like being tied down, or accepting money from Lex. Sam hadn't wanted to be a hunter at all—and he missed Jess more desperately with each day that passed, wishing he could go back to her and at least better explain why he'd had to leave her so suddenly. But those were small complaints in comparison to the sheer daily frustration of having nothing on the monsters who had killed their parents.

Sam sat down across from Dean with his salad. "Lex tell you about that, uh, serum that came out?"

"No?"

"He thinks it's Lionel's doing, but, uh, it puts its victims in a sort of a coma and lets them talk with their loved ones. Deceased loved ones. Apparently some people have developed addictions."

"Yikes. Any chance we can trace it back to Lionel and figure out where he is?"

"It's possible." Sam didn't say it with a lot of hope. They'd had so many leads fall through.

They ate quietly for a few minutes, then Dean looked up and said, "Heard Bobby's coming into town?"

"Yeah, why's that again?"

"Luthor invited him."

"Just . . . to visit?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah."

"Huh."

"Can't figure that guy out," Dean said, and Sam stood with his dish.

That's when it happened.

Blinding pain, retinas on fire, whole head bursting with impossible pressure, blackness on all sides. Sam dropped to all fours, grabbing the sides of his head and gripping with all his strength, if only to keep his brain in his head . . .

Then he saw it.

A girl. No, a woman. Running, running from someone chasing her—or maybe something. A street, late at night, and alleyway. It was hard to make out—all he saw were glimpses.

She turned back and slashed with a knife, and the thing bit her. She screamed, and he recognized her face.

Helen. No—Madison.

Sam sucked in a breath and opened his eyes, and suddenly he could see their kitchen again, and the pounding in his head was down to a light migraine, and Dean was standing over him, crouched, hand on his shoulder.

"Sammy?"

"I'm okay," Sam gasped, pushing himself to his feet—he swayed, and Dean steadied him. "I—I'm okay. I'm okay."

"What was that?"

"I don't know. I think it's gone now."

"No, no, that wasn't nothing."

Sam straightened up. He wasn't sure whether to mention the vision he'd had. "Well, what do you want to do, call a hospital?"

"Maybe we should call Lex."

"I just got a headache for a second. I don't need to call Lex."

"You're sure?"

"I'm good, Dean."

Dean stared at him for a long minute.

Finally, Sam winced. "I'll call Chloe."

"Good," Dean said, and he picked up his own dishes to bring them to the sink.