Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and co. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This is for entertainment purposes only; no financial profit has been gained from this story. This story is not mean to infringe upon the rights of the above-mentioned establishments.

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After the thrill of a hunt subsided, and the comfort of a long sleep passed, Sam was accustomed to the lazy morning that followed, full of the stale smell of peeling hotel walls and cigarette-burned rugs. It wasn't the best thing to wake up to in the morning, but at least it gave him some small comfort that everything was okay for one more day.

He sniffed and frowned.

He smelled bacon.

Sam rolled over in his bed and turned to the sound of bacon sizzling in the kitchen. He half-expected to see Dean, as ridiculous as that sounded, standing over the stove fixing some breakfast. Instead, he saw the shadow of a figure much too small to be a man hovering over the kitchenette.

He looked to his side. Dean was out like a light, not even the aroma of morning bacon rousing him from sleep. Ever since Dean had come back from Hell, he seemed to sleep more often. Sam could only guess the burdens of Hell were wearing him down more than he'd thought. Sam shook his head, wiped the last vestiges of sleep away, and reached for his gun.

Whoever she was, she wasn't Ruby. She wasn't anyone Sam recognized. He slid off his bed and crept closer to the kitchenette, gun drawn, keeping his gaze steady on the girl's back.

She spun, nearly catching him off-guard. Sam leveled the gun at her head, and stopped, blinking as she held out the tray.

"Good morning! I made you breakfast!"

Sam stared at the girl. She hummed happily as she placed the tray down on the small table by the window side.

"Who are you?" Sam asked.

The girl didn't answer him. She bobbed her head from side to side, her spiky reddish-blonde hair catching the rays of the early morning light. She clapped at her masterpiece of eggs and bacon and waved Sam closer. "Come and eat before it's cold."

Sam didn't know what to say. She didn't act like a demon or an angel or anything else they'd encountered. Sam wondered if she was just insane and had wandered in their room, but before he had much time to dwell on it, Dean finally woke up.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, tossing off the bed covers. He looked to Sam, to his gun, and immediately sprung to his feet.

"No, you sit down." The girl waved her hand, and Dean toppled over the side of the bed and crumpled on the floor like a rag doll.

Sam's senses instantly heightened, he aimed the gun right between her eyes.

"Oh, you don't need to do that," she said with a bright smile. "I made you eggs."

"I don't want your eggs," Sam said. While he didn't want to tick the thing off, he needed answers. "Now, who are you?"

"I'm your wife, silly."

"Wife?" Sam blinked.

"Wife?" Dean grabbed onto the side of the bed and pulled himself to his feet, his angry eyes never leaving the girl. "Dude, she's like twelve."

Sam shook his head. "No, this is a mistake."

"Hell, yeah, it's a mistake," Dean muttered. "What's with you and jailbait?"

Sam clenched his teeth, but never took his eyes off the smiling girl. "She's obviously not human."

"Oh, and that's supposed to make it better?"

"Dean." He hoped the sharpness of his voice would be enough to shut his brother up for five minutes. Neither of them had any idea what this thing was or what its motivations could be. So far, it hadn't even attacked them, aside from Dean's little harmless mishap. It just kept staring at Sam in a way that made him very, very uncomfortable.

"What's your name?" he asked the girl.

"What do you want to call me?" She twirled in a little semi-circle as she grinned.

"No, your name."

She said nothing.

"Okay…" Sam cleared his throat. "What do you want?"

"For you to have breakfast." She pulled out a chair and patted the seat. "It's very good. I promise."

Sam glanced at the plate she had made him. He had to admit it looked more appealing than any of the food they kept grabbing at early morning cafes and diners.

Dean came to his side and peered over his shoulder. When he reached out his hand to touch one of the bacon strips, he received a hardy slap on his wrist.

"Not for you!"

He winced and rubbed his hand. While Dean did everything to salvage his pride, Sam could see right through him.

"Come eat now." The girl grabbed a fork and dangled a chunk of scrambled eggs in front of his nose.

Sam had no intention of eating its concoction. While she seemed harmless, he didn't want to inadvertently bind himself to the creature or get himself poisoned.

"Why don't you start without me?" Sam flashed her his best grin and took a step back. "Dean and I just need to talk about something real quick."

She eyed them suspiciously, but finally nodded. "I can do that."

"Great," Dean mumbled. "You sit tight, Red."

The girl's face turned crimson and she jumped to her feet, startling Sam and Dean into drawing their sidearms again. In a rage, she threw her chair, her whole body shaking. "You don't get to name me!"

"Okay, okay," Sam said, stepping between the two. "We just need to talk for a moment…." He searched the room, looking for anything to name her, before finally settling on a coffee cup on the tray. "We'll be right here, Hazel. Okay?"

She nodded again, seeming pleased with his response. With a sigh, she eased into one of the seats at the table.

Sam watched Dean mouth "Hazel," but just blew off the silent remark and grabbed him by the arm. When they had stepped far enough from the girl to have a conversation, Dean reamed into him. "What the hell did you do last night after we finished that job in Vegas?"

"If you're implying I ran off with a twelve year old…"

"Look, I get it," Dean said. "It's Vegas. I don't expect anything less. I had myself some good times, too. But usually when people do the Vegas marriage thing, they do it with a drive thru Elvis, not go pedo."

"Dean, enough. I didn't run off with an underage girl. I don't even know where she came from. It's not like she was in the car with us last night or even in the motel room when we checked in." He glanced at the girl and lowered his voice. "I think maybe it's a brownie or some kind of house-elf."

"This isn't freakin' Harry Potter."

"But cooking, service…even the hot temper are all signs of a house-elf."

"Problem is this is no house," Dean said. "It's a motel."

Dean had a point. When a house-elf settled into a home, it usually was a permanent one. The fact that they bounced from motel room to motel room would make it impossible for a house-elf to ever get comfortable. The only permanent fixture they had was…

"Uh oh."

Dean frowned. "Uh oh, what?"

"What if it's attached to the Impala?"

He blinked. "I don't think so. Over my dead body."

"Be careful what you say," Sam warned him. "I heard these things can be nasty when they want to be, and for whatever reason I don't think it likes you very much."

"What was your first clue?"

"I'm just saying let's try to play this cool until we can figure out a way to get rid of it." Sam watched as she played with a bug on the windowsill. He still had a nagging feeling this was going to turn into trouble, but he also knew they couldn't act until they knew exactly what they were dealing with. "Let's see what we can find in Dad's journal or through Bobby."

Sam hoped they would find something quick and easy, but knowing their luck, it wouldn't be that simple.