Dean gulped, and stared at little Alice. Both gazed into each other's eyes, trying to uncover what lay behind the other's stare. They stood this way for what seemed like an eternity for the two, until Sam nudged Dean on the side and whispered in his ear.

"You think the thing that killed our mom killed hers too?"

Dean's back jolted straight, and he turned to face Sam. With a moment's hesitation, although he was quite sure, he nodded. Sam's forehead creased with sadness, and he looked over at Alice. He walked up to her, and crouched down a little, since she was quite small.

"We know how you feel, Alice. Our mommy is dead too." Sam said softly, still with a pain stricken look on his face.

"Sammy." Dean warned, frowning at his brother.

"What?" Sam asked, turning around. "She deserves to know. She shouldn't have to suffer alone."

Biting his lip in response, Dean crossed his arms and mumbled something incomprehensible. Sam returned his gaze towards Alice, and gave her a small smile.

"You can trust my brother and me, though. My brother's a good guy. He'll make sure you're okay." Sam said, turning back to show his brother his smile. "We both will."

Alice stared at Sam, her facial expressions unchanging. Her right eye twitched, and her left blinked innocently, waiting for what was next.

"Dean, I think we should wash her. Her face is covered in a lot of... blood."

"K-kay." Dean mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll... get her some fresh clothes to change in. Bring her into the bathroom wash her dress in the tub." He walked to the edge of his bed, reached underneath and pulled out his duffle bag, with his small collection of belongings inside. Zipping open the bag, he rummaged through the mess, trying to find something appropriate. Pulling out a pair of his jeans, he surveyed them with his arms outstretched, and then quickly shook his head, murmuring, "Way too big." Throwing them back into the bag, he searched some more, until he pulled out a pair of his boxers. He grimaced, but agreed that they'd probably fit her better than anything else he owned.

Tossing them to the side, he began searching for a shirt, but decided that one of his brother's shirts would be more adequate. Grabbing the boxers, he walked over to Sam's bed and searched through his bag, until he found a plain black t-shirt that would be a bit baggy on Alice, but would do the job regardless.

Alice's new wardrobe in hand, Dean walked over to the small stuffy bathroom and eased the door open. Alice was propped up on the sink, shivering in only her underwear. Sam had taken off her red-stained cotton white dress, and was now wringing out excess blood into the bathtub. The little girl turned her head slowly as Dean walked in, and stared at him with those same lifeless eyes. Dean twitched uncomfortably.

"Should we bathe her?" Sam asked, snapping Dean out of his reverie. His gaze travelled from Sam, to Alice and then to the bathtub, which was now covered with splotches of red.

"For now, we'll just wipe her down with a cloth." He replied, reaching up for a towel from the rusty towel rack that hung above the toilet. Dean turned on the tap and let the water trickle through his fingers until it became lukewarm. He pressed down on the small lever below the tap, and stared absentmindedly as the water filled the basin. What in the hell is going on? He wondered, looking at Alice from the corner of his eye. She was merely inches away, her frail and blood-stained body still trembling. Whether it was due to fear or coldness, he didn't know.

While Sam was busy washing out Alice's dress in the tub, Dean soaked the face towel in the sink. After wringing out some of the water, he turned to the girl and wondered where he should start. Her face was in the most need of washing, so he decided to clean it first. Slowly, he stuck his hand out toward her face, and kept it a few centimetres away before saying, "I'm just going to wash your face now... okay?"

Alice stared at Dean as she had been from the beginning, and Dean took that as a good sign. He pressed his finger tips against her cheek to support her head, and began to gently wipe the wet cloth against her forehead, her eyelids, her nose and cheeks and finally down to her chin. All the while, she sat still, occasionally closing her eyes when the towel came close to her eyes. Dean was glad there was no struggle on her part, and for a moment, he felt a little more at ease.

A crimson coloured basin and several freshly soaked towels later, Alice had gone through a complete transformation. Her eyes shone a brilliant clear shade of blue, and though her skin still had a raw pink tint from the constant rubbing of a cheap motel towel, it looked as fragile and as clear as porcelain. Her wet hair fell in ringlets around her face, making her seem even more like an antique doll.

"She's cute." Sam mumbled, breaking the prolonged silence of the three. He and his brother were standing against the back of the cough, staring at little Alice who sat innocently on Dean's bed, in their oversized clothing.

"Mm." Dean replied, his mind miles away. Why did dad just leave her with us? Who is she? Why was she covered with blood? How old was she, anyway? His thoughts raced from question to question, new ones presenting themselves one after the other. Dean just wished for his dad to be home soon, and hoped that he would take over. He had been gone for days, and when he did come back, he set Dean up with a babysitting job and left right away. None of this is fair.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Sam asked, keeping his gaze on Alice. Alice, however, continued to stare at Dean. He blinked and looked over at his brother and sighed.

"I have no freakin' clue." He mumbled, while shrugging and shoving his hands into his pockets. "Alice? What do we do now? Will you talk?" Sam gulped at the slight edge in his brother's tone.

Alice stared at Dean, seemingly unaffected by his harsh words, and then lifted her hand. The boys widened their eyes with shock and held their breaths. She opened her palm so that it was facing the brothers like a high-five, then lowered her thumb.

"I'm Alice Baker, four years old. Who are you?" She said, pausing in between words as if she were reciting from a text book. Dean and Sam stood aghast, taking in the girl's small high-pitched voice for the second time this evening. Waiting for an answer, Alice cocked her head slightly to the side and stared so intensely at the two boys that she could've burned a whole straight through their skulls.

"Uh... I'm Sam." Sam said slowly, and then added quickly, "But you can call me Sammy. Oh, and I'm eight years old." He put up his hands and held down two fingers on his last hand as if to make it clearer to the girl.

Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother, and shook his head slightly. What a dork.

"I'm Dean, Sam's brother." He said in his best gruff, manly voice. Puffing up his chest slightly, he peered over at his brother who simultaneously jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. "Your age!"

"Don't make me hit-" Dean started, and then faltered, looking back to Alice. He cleared his throat and faced his attention to a spot on the wall, quickly mumbling the word twelve. This seemed to satisfy Alice.

"Okay. Oh. Kay. Sam-ee and Dee." Alice repeated, nodding her head over and over again as if it were a way to commit names to memory.

"Uh, no, it's Dean, you know, with an n at the end?" Dean exclaimed, while frowning and crossing his arms. Sam rolled his eyes.

The little girl shook her head. "Nah. Dee is better." Sam stifled a laugh.

"Hey, shuddup, Sam-EEE." Dean retorted, shoving his brother on the shoulder. Sam merely giggled and walked over to the bed to sit down beside Alice. She brought up her little knobby knees and hugged them tight against her chest.

"You seem better, Alice." Sam said, smiling at the little girl. Alice looked at Sam with a questioning look.

"Why?"

"Well, you're talking, for one." Dean said, still standing against the couch with his arms crossed. Alice turned her attention towards Dean and threw her hands in the air, looking quite exasperated. "Well of course I talk, dummy!"

Dean raised his eyebrow quizzically at the girl. Moments ago, she was so shocked into silence that not even an earthquake would shake her. Now, she was acting and speaking like a normal 4 year old girl. Had she completely forgotten what happened mere hours ago? Her mother died, after all, in what seems to have been in a very gruesome manor. Maybe her small mind just couldn't comprehend it anymore. And hell, he couldn't blame her.

Who would want to remember something as horrible as that?