In the midst of the fighting, gunshots, and howling, Sam almost didn't hear the tiny scream that followed seconds after Lex's first shot from the meteor rock gun.

If Sam hadn't been listening and watching for Clark, he was sure he would have missed it altogether. Dean didn't show any signs of hearing, and neither did Lex.

Sam waited for Dean to turn his back, then he bolted in the direction of the scream.

A moment later, he could hear Dean calling after him, but there was no way either Dean or Lex could chase him. They had their own problems to deal with. The last thing Sam had seen before he took off running was one of the werewolves transforming back into its human form.

The cabin was only a short distance away, though it had been hard to see through all of the foliage. Clark lay curled up on the ground just outside the front door, panting and whimpering. His shirt had been torn away, and blood dripped down his arm from a gaping wound in his shoulder. His veins around the wound were swollen, almost green.

Sam dropped to the ground, propping up Clark's head. "What happened? Did the werewolf—"

"Got shot," Clark choked out. "Please . . ." Tears poured down the sides of his face.

The meteor rock bullet. If meteor rocks could mutate regular people, maybe they could poison Clark. Already, sweat was breaking out on Clark's forehead.

"Okay, hang on, I'm going to help you." Sam's throat tightened. He had no idea what to do. Dean would probably be trying to get the bullet out—maybe Sam should try that, too. The cabin was abandoned, but lots of people left a tool kit in their cabins. There might be a pair of pliers or something.

Clark's eyes rolled back, and he fell limp in Sam's arms.

Sam picked up Clark—he was awfully light, considering his strength—and hurried into the cabin. He stepped around a few fallen werewolves' bodies and laid Clark's body down on a dusty, beat up couch. He gave Clark's hand a quick squeeze, then he ran to start searching the closets and cabinets for a tool box.

He couldn't find one anywhere.

Sam checked back through places he'd already looked, growing more frantic by the second, but there was nothing. Finally, he stood in the center of the cabin and raked a hand through his hair, heart racing—he had no idea what to do.

"Sam," Clark whimpered.

"I—I'm trying!" Sam's eyes wandered over to the kitchen. He ran over and grabbed a pair of tongs. He picked up a knife as well—he'd have to widen the wound quite a bit to fit the tongs.

No. It wouldn't work. He'd have to widen the wound too much. Powers or no powers, Clark would bleed out before Sam could remove the bullet.

Sam racked his brain, then got a new idea—he ran for the bathroom, rummaged through the drawers, and finally got lucky. He found a pair of tweezers.

He ran back toward Clark and knelt beside the couch. "Okay, I'm gonna try to get the bullet out." Sam hovered the tweezers over the wound for a second, cringing, then pierced the metal into the open wound.

Clark screamed, kicking and slamming a hand into the back of the couch, his torso jerking upwards.

Sam pulled back—he couldn't see what he was doing while Clark was thrashing around. "Y-you have to hold still."

"I can't, it h-hurts!" Clark let out a couple of sobs.

Sam held out a hand to Clark, tears stinging his own eyes. "Here, hold on as tight as you want. But keep still."

Clark clung onto his hand so hard, Sam could feel his joints cracking and his muscles straining. But he knew whatever Clark was feeling was a hundred times worse, so he ignored the pain and focused on getting the bullet out. He had to pierce the tweezers in deeper than he'd wanted, but they finally struck something hard, and he pulled it out—a glowing green slug, which Sam tossed as far away from himself as he could.

Clark's grip on Sam's hand immediately loosened, his breathing slowed, and he swiped at his face with his arm, wiping away the tears. "Thanks," he whispered.

"Don't mention it." Sam gently pried his hand away from Clark's, massaging the muscles and wincing.

"Oh no! Did I hurt your hand?"

"I'll be okay." It hurt quite a bit, and it might have been sprained, but it didn't seem broken to him. He'd had enough broken bones to know what that felt like. "We need to get you to the hospital."

"I can't go to the hospital. They'll find out about my powers and experiment on me."

"You were shot, Clark."

"I'm okay. I'm healing, see?" Already, the swollen green veins were fading back to the color of his skin, and the flesh was starting to seam itself back together. "I'll be okay."

Sam's eyes just kept widening as he watched the skin grow back, covering over the wound.

"Sam?"

Sam blinked a couple of times, forcing himself to look up at Clark's face. "If the meteor rock bullets work on the werewolves, Dean and Lex are going to be here any minute."

"Do I need to help them?"

"I think you've done enough." Sam gently touched the smooth skin where the bullet had been, wiping away a bit of the blood.

"I'll go back to the house. I'll wash up in the creek, then I'll speed into the house and changed before my parents can see me." Clark's eyes fell on the few werewolves' bodies in the cabin. "Please don't tell Lex and Dean I killed those ones."

"I'll tell them I did it."

Clark smiled. "See you in a little while," he said.

"Yeah," Sam said, feeling a little sick to his stomach. "See you."