Chapter 5 - Best Laid Plans

The next morning, long before the sun had risen, Sam stood beside Clark in the younger boy's room. Dean and Lex were working on their own plans in the guest room. Sam couldn't hear Lex and Dean from next door, so he figured they wouldn't be able to hear Clark or Sam, either.

"Won't your parents worry about us?" Sam asked.

Clark shook his head. "Last night, I told them I was taking you all on a sunrise hike. As long as we're back by lunchtime, my parents won't think about it."

Sam nodded. "Dean and Lex are going to go after the pack. They figure werewolves aren't usually very active during the daytime."

"These ones are."

"Maybe. But yesterday, we only saw one of them. The rest were probably in that house."

"Lex and Dean are going to try to fight them?" Clark said.

Sam rolled his eyes. "They're being stupid. Guns or no guns, two guys can't take out a whole pack of werewolves."

Clark's eyebrows knitted. "I have to save our brothers."

Sam took a deep breath. He didn't want to send a ten-year-old into battle, but Clark had taken out one werewolf without a scratch on him. Meanwhile, without a miracle, Lex and Dean were absolutely going to get themselves killed. Clark was their only chance.

It was more than that, though. With Clark's powers, Sam was sure that he was going to fight a lot of evil over the years, and probably help a lot of people. Sam didn't feel right getting in the way of that. It was like . . . destiny.

Still, Sam couldn't help but say, "You don't have to do this."

Clark shrugged. "It'll be easy. And it will keep our brothers safe."

Sam looked Clark right in the eyes. "When you fought the werewolf before, what did you do?"

"Pushed him back, sat on his chest, and punched him in the face."

"Did you punch him as hard as you could?" Sam asked.

"Uh, no, I guess not."

"Werewolves are strong and fast. A regular bullet won't kill them, which is why we use silver bullets. But they're not completely invincible. A throat punch at your full strength should bring them down."

"Like . . . kill them?" Clark's eyes grew very wide.

Sam hoped it would, but he couldn't bring himself to say that. "Maybe not, but it should knock them out and make them very easy targets for Lex and Dean. If you can get out there ahead of our brothers and take out a bunch of werewolves before they get there, you can make it much less dangerous for them."

Clark nodded. "I won't let you down."

There was nothing Clark could have said that would have made Sam feel more guilty about this whole thing. He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "I'm going to do what I can to help, okay? I might be a few steps behind Dean, and you need to be a few steps ahead, but I'll catch up."

"Okay." Clark smiled. "I'll head out now."

Sam nodded, and they both left Clark's bedroom. Clark headed for the stairs, and Sam watched him go before heading into the guest room.

Dean and Lex sat on the floor, dumping the shot out of the shotgun shells and replacing it with bits of meteor rock. Sam wasn't sure when Dean had found the time to look for all of those pieces of meteor rock, but now wasn't the time to ask. Now was the time to do exactly what Dean was expecting him to do.

"Please let me come with you," Sam said.

"No way, man," Dean said. "You'll get yourself killed. And then Dad'll kill me."

"Those werewolves are going to kill you."

"We'll be fine," Dean said.

Sam knew there was no way Dean would let him come along, not when there was this much at stake, but Dean would be suspicious if Sam gave up too quickly. Sam let a hint of a whine creep into his voice: "You leave me out of everything."

"I'm keeping you safe, Sammy."

"Why'd you even bring me along if you were just going to leave me behind?"

"It looked like a straightforward hunt. I didn't know it was going to be this dangerous."

"You're putting Lex in danger. And he's not even a hunter."

"Lex is older than you and doesn't flinch when he shoots a gun. Now get out before you wake up the Kents."

"Dean—"

"Out." Dean stood up and shoved Sam out of the room, shutting the door behind himself.

Sam returned to Clark's empty room and smiled to himself. He was sure Dean wouldn't suspect him now.

Clark super-sped out to the cabin, where he'd seen the werewolf disappear the other day. The sun was just starting to rise, but according to Sam, that didn't mean they'd be waking up soon. More likely, it meant they'd have just gone to sleep.

The day before, Clark had taken out a werewolf that was awake and ready to fight; he was sure he could take out a whole bunch if they were asleep. Even if some of them woke up, they couldn't hurt Clark, not really. And even if Clark couldn't get to all of them, he could make things a lot easier for Dean and Lex. He had to make sure everyone was safe.

He crept as silently as he could into the cabin; he was lucky the door didn't creak. He didn't know what he'd been expecting. He thought of a pack like a family, so he'd thought about the sizes of the families he knew. That meant four, five, maybe six werewolves?

He'd been wrong. There had to be at least twenty of them.

Clark also hadn't thought about whether he would find them in their wolf form, or in human form. They all still had the claws and fangs. Clark was thankful he wouldn't have to fight a bunch of monsters that looked like ordinary humans, but they might also be stronger in this form. He wished he could fight them individually outside so that he didn't have to risk waking them all up.

Maybe he could.

Clark tiptoed as quietly as he could over to the closest werewolf to the door—this one looked like a woman. If he could somehow take her outside without waking up the others . . .

Using all of the strength and speed he could muster, he scooped her up and bolted out of the door.

In his hurry to get her far from the cabin before she could stir and fight back, he didn't quite watch where he was going. A half second later, fifty feet from the cabin, he accidentally bashed her head against a tree. He stopped short, dropping her to the ground.

She lay limp.

Clark's heart pounded hard against his chest. He could see some blood under her hair, but he didn't want to look at it. He didn't think a blow to the head would kill a werewolf, but he had been running pretty fast. Was it possible she was trying to trick him by pretending to be asleep? Then she could wake up and attack him as soon as his back was turned.

Better not to take any chances. Sam had said to punch them in the throat. Clark punched her as hard as he could without looking, then he ran back to the cabin.

He did the exact same thing with another one, and then another one. He was on the fifth monster, and he'd dropped a line of bodies by the tree a little ways from the cabin, but he was starting to get exhausted and out of breath. He pushed through, though—he didn't know how long it would be before Dean and Lex arrived, and he had to make sure the monsters were all knocked out first.

Sweat dripped down the back of his neck, and Clark was a little too slow with the sixth one. The werewolf woke up halfway to the tree.

A searing pain raked across Clark's upper arm, and blood soaked his shirt sleeve. Clark screamed and dropped the werewolf, and it scrambled to its feet, lunging at Clark's face.

It threw him backwards, knocking the wind out of him as he landed hard on his back. He pushed himself up, took a deep breath, and ran back toward the werewolf. He expected it to attack him again, but it didn't—it ran for the cabin.

Clark's heart skipped. It was going to wake up the others. He chased it into the cabin, only to find the place mostly abandoned.

Three werewolves remained, teeth bared and growling.

Clark swallowed hard and weakly raised his fists.

It took the better part of an hour to assemble the shotgun shells. Dean couldn't help but think with more time and different equipment, or with backup, he could have done a much better job. But they didn't have time. And they couldn't get backup.

Dean didn't want to confess to his dad that he couldn't handle his first solo mission, but it was more than that. The bigger problem was that he'd never actually told his dad what had happened the summer before, with Clark and the Djinn. If Dean started telling his dad about meteor-infected monsters, he'd have to confess to everything he did the summer before—losing sight of Sam, letting Clark get kidnapped, using Lex as bait. Dean's father would be sure to make him painfully aware of exactly how disappointed he was.

It didn't matter. Dean didn't need his father's help. It was just another job. A little too dangerous to bring Sam into, but still. It was what he did.

He went back over bits of the plan with Lex as they walked. "Chances are," he said, "last summer was a fluke thing. Most supernatural creatures have some variation, you know? Silver should be enough to take these guys out."

"And if it's not?" Lex asked.

"Well, that's why we have the meteor rock slugs. But . . . gotta warn you, they're not quite . . . safe."

"Not safe how?"

"The pieces of meteor rock we used are weird shapes. It's bad for the gun. Could cut up the inside of the barrel, might not go very far if they get caught on the inside. Could destroy the gun. Probably won't, but, uh . . ."

"Start with the silver bullets, then?"

"Yeah. Hopefully we won't have to use the shotguns, but we have them if we need them."

"Meteor rock shotgun as a last resort only. Got it."

Dean looked over at Lex, whose face was pale, his steps hesitant as though his knees were shaking. "Nervous, Luthor?"

"No," Lex said a little too quickly. "You?"

"Course. Nervous is good. Keeps you alert."

Lex shrugged, and Dean smiled and turned back toward the trail. Dean should have known Lex wouldn't admit to being afraid; the guy's pride was the size of the moon sometimes. Lex was too stuck up for his own good. Not to mention, he could be manipulative, snarky, and downright annoying. And his fingernails were way too clean. But Dean hadn't called Lex into this hunt because he liked the guy. Lex had guts, he knew his lore, he could fight as well as Dean could despite being smaller, and his reflexes were fast. He was a natural hunter. Aside from all of that, his heart was in the right place—he knew what family meant. Dean trusted Lex with his life.

A soft rustle in the trees behind him. Dean whirled around, whipping out the rifle with the silver bullets.

"Heard something?" Lex asked.

Dean didn't respond to Lex. "Who's there?" he called. "Show yourself!"

Silence.

"Okay, I'm coming to you."

"Darn it. Hang on," a voice said, and the bushes rustled.

Sam stepped out, carrying a rifle of his own.

Dean rushed forward and grabbed Sam by the arm. "Were you following us?"

"I—maybe. I wanted to help!"

Dean let go of Sam's shoulder, only to deliver a hard left hook to his arm a second later.

"Ow!" Sam rubbed his arm furiously. "Dean!"

"When I say stay back, you stay back! You follow orders or you don't come with me on hunts, Sammy!"

"You weren't going to bring me anyway!" Sam's cheeks flushed. "And you two are being stupid! You can't take out a whole pack of werewolves on your own, Dad would never let you try."

Dean was gearing back for a second punch when Lex grabbed his arm.

"Hey. You can have your little power struggle later." Lex turned to Sam. "I'm guessing if we send you back to the farm now, you'll hang back for a minute and then continue to follow us?"

Sam cringed but nodded.

Lex glanced at Dean. "Best way we can protect him now is to keep him in sight."

Dean glared at Lex, then at Sam. If they all made it out of this alive, he was going to pummel them both. But right now, he was outmatched.

"Fine," he growled. "Keep up."

Sam smirked and followed along.

Dean's stomach churned. He was worse than dead if his father ever found out about this.

Sam took deep breaths as the three of them approached the cabin to which Clark had given them directions. Dean and Lex showed almost no signs of fear at all, though Sam knew from experience that the tightening in his jaw meant Dean was terrified. Sam didn't know how to sense fear from Lex, but he guessed Lex felt about the same way.

Sam wished he hadn't been caught—his arm was still sore from the punch, and he was definitely going to be hearing it when they got back to the house—but it was a good thing that he was going to be able to fight without worrying about being seen, unlike Clark. Aside from that, it felt good better to know that they would have more people on their side. Three guns firing at once meant fewer injuries to the hunters, and three pairs of eyes meant fewer blind spots.

"How close are we?" Sam asked.

"I dunno," Dean snapped. "I'm just following the directions you gave me from Clark."

Sam rolled his eyes and looked over at Lex, who shrugged. "Should be getting close," he said.

The cabin wasn't quite in sight yet when three figures came charging toward them, snarling. Sam caught his breath and fumbled with his gun—Lex and Dean had already raised theirs. His heart hammering, Sam didn't get a good look at the monsters, other than their teeth and their glowing green eyes, before trees rustled behind him and four more werewolves stepped out.

All around them, more of them were stepping out from behind thick bushes and trees, completely surrounding them. Sam couldn't count the monsters—definitely more than a dozen, though. Sam had to wonder if Clark had managed to take out any of them at all. If he had, Sam was thankful. A dozen was already going to be more than enough for three guys.

Sam said a silent prayer that Clark was okay, and he cocked his gun.