THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY

WOW: elf. One of Santa's elves in the bunker? Surely this can't end well?

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

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"What the hell is it?" Dean looked at Sam, then back at the little pointy-eared figure that stood between them. "Is it an elf?"

"Don't know," Sam shrugged; "I've never seen an elf before."

"Ugly little walnut, ain't he?" Dean's nose wrinkled in disgust; "I mean – damn! That's a face that only a mother could love."

The wrinkly little being jumped up and down on the spot and chattered angrily, shaking his gnarly little fist at Dean.

"More to the point," Dean mused, completely ignoring the little creature's outrage, "how the hell did he get into the bunker?"

"Hey … wait." Sam paused for a moment before speaking; "it's Christmas eve … you don't suppose he's one of Santa's elves do you?"

Dean paused, staring bug-eyed at his brother. "Sam. Really? How old are you?"

Sam shrugged. "Green and white pointy hat, jingle bells on his slippers … "

The little being folded his arms and nodded in Sam's direction, pointedly turning his back on Dean.

"Well, I ask again," Dean snorted; "how the heck did it get into the bunker?"

"Well, it-it-it… it's magic, right, Dean? Santa magic?"

"Yeah, well… damnit, where's the microwave when you need it? Okay, let's test your theory Sam!" Dean turned to the little frowning elf. "Okay raisin-face , now listen up. You tell the big guy that I'd like a guitar, and the latest Metallica album, a year's platinum subscription to Busty Asian Beauties, a new set of windscreen wipers for Baby and a pair of cowboy boots with a silver horseshoe tiepin to match. Okay? Right, now, Sam would like a set of hair curlers and a nice dress. Pink with flowers around…"

"Dean SHUT IT!"

"Sorry," Sam sighed; "my brother's an idiot. If you are one of Santa's elves, I'm sorry if we've offended you. Can you tell Santa that I'd like a new brown jacket, and a book about true crime would be great, thank you."

The little creature chittered irritably and vanished in a puff of glitter.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING

"Hey Dean, Merry Christmas! Look," Sam barrelled into Dean's room. "We were right, he was one of Santa's elves; I must have been good - look – I've got this awesome book; 'Great Crimes of the Twentieth Century' and this Jacket – it's great, it fits perfectly!"

"Well freaking fantastic, bully for you," scowled Dean.

"Did you get your guitar Dean?"

"No!"

"What about your boots?"

"No!"

"Well, what did you get?"

"What did I get? Dude, I'll tell you what I got."

"I got a sack of reindeer shit!"

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