Contrary to popular belief, Bela Talbot was not one of the many, many women whom subsided on a diet of white wine, no dressing salads, egg whites and nonfat, low calorie yogurts. No, despite what people seemed to believe, Bela Talbot was a woman with an appetite for bacon, French fries, steaks, Caesar dressing, and cheap pizza.

Oh, don't get her wrong, she loved crunching down on crisp, fresh lettuce leaves, adored the natural sugar of fresh fruits, and would take brown rice or whole grains over their white counterparts any time of day. And six days out of seven, Bela ate like a nutritionist, worked out like a trainer, and did everything she possibly could to stay as healthy as possible.

After all, if you only had ten years to live your life, wouldn't you like to spend it healthy and happy? Of course, it was also important seeing as her…career demanded the fittest, strongest body and mind possible.

But on this particular day, which happened to be a Thursday, a rather random urge for red meat kicked into her system, distracting her throughout her evening chores and finally, dragging her away midway through her daily workout.

She managed to jog through three miles of juicy, steak filled daydreams before finally admitting defeat. Stopping a few miles short of her usual distance on the treadmill, Bela hopped off, and, not bothering to change, shrugged on a light cotton warm-up jacket over her sports bra and tight running shorts, and tucked her keys to the penthouse into her pocket.

Bela stroked her cat behind the ears before heading out the door, her mind on the cheap diner a few blocks away. She could take a cab, of course, but this was New York City and she would rather walk.

Humming an old eighties tune under her breath, Bela walked the few blocks to the corner diner, intent on her soon to be dinner. Steak with fries and a strawberry milkshake sounded like her drug of choice for tonight, she decided. As she sped through the packed streets, she filched a filthy rich teenager's wallet while he was distracted showing off for his snooty looking girlfriend.

Just to stretch her fingers a bit.

As she waited in the short line in the diner, Bela examined the contents of the wallet. Gucci, she noted with amusement. Receipts to Bergdorf Goodman's, Dior, Bendel Chanel, stack of fifties, stack of hundreds, two twenties, and a movie ticket stub.

Bela selected two twenty dollar bills before sliding the undoubtedly overpriced wallet into her pocket with her penthouse keys. At least, she was going to before she realized that her penthouse keys were missing.

She checked her other pocket, then the same pocket again before a voice said amusedly, "Looking for these?"

Bela's emerald eyes widened dramatically as her head snapped up to come eye to eye with none other than Dean Winchester. "Dean," she purred. She was furious with herself for letting him get one over on her but it wasn't as though she wouldn't get her keys back. "You've got an odd way to say hello."

His eyes glittered with pleasure at his victory. "You didn't strike me as the type who'd walk out the front door without about three layers of makeup on, Bela. Then again, you didn't strike me as the type to eat here."

She held back an impatient sigh. "I'm full of surprises. Give me my keys back."

"You didn't say please."

Bela dangled the keys to the Impala that she'd just filched in front of his face. "Give me my keys back."

"Next," the short Italian man taking orders shouted at them.

"I'd like two double decker cheeseburgers, an extra-large fries, a steak and salad, and a large strawberry milkshake with whipped cream, please," Bela ordered before Dean could open his mouth.

"Coming right up. Next!"

Bela exchanged two twenty dollar bills for a receipt and claimed a table for herself, anticipating her cholesterol filled dinner. When Dean slid his jean clad butt into the seat opposite, she didn't blink, but leaned forward instead. "Dean. Keys. Now."

"I'll give you yours back if you give me mine," Dean bargained.

"Fine. On three, we'll both put them on the table. One."

"Two."

"Three."

Neither of them let go.

"This is stupid," Bela sighed. "Do you want something of mine or are you just following me around?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Sammy and I are hunting some witches down in Miami. We need your mojo bag."

"What makes you say that I have a mojo bag," Bela asked skeptically.

"Gordon gave it to you a few days ago," Dean replied impatiently. Then winced. "Wow, that came out wrong."

"Dean."

"In any case," Dean digressed. "I know you have it and Sammy and I need it so…hand it over."

"Good Lord, you're charming. It wouldn't kill you to say please, you know." She rose to collect her smoothie, cheeseburgers and fries, apparently still waiting on her steak and. Sitting back down again, she gazed earnestly at Dean. "I don't have a mojo bag, Dean, as much as I'd like one." Bela sighed regretfully, weaving her fingers together and resting her chin on them, elbows on the table. "Really," she added, catching his look of disbelief.

"Please, you had it just a few days ago. Not even you could manage to-"

"I sold it last night to a very wealthy gentleman living in Kenya. We cannot hope to get it at this point," she shrugged, swallowing a mouthful of fried potato. "Oh, that's good."

Frowning, Dean observed her oh-so-nutritious dinner. "How are you still so skinny?"

"I work out and I only eat like this when I really feel like it," she replied, dipping a fry into a tiny cup of ketchup. "Besides, what is it to you?"

"That wasn't very gracious," Dean smirked. "In any case, I'm going to need you to help me track down the bag."

"What makes you think I would be helpful in finding it?"

"Seeing as you're the one who sold it, you probably have a good idea of where it is," Dean explained impatiently.

"Okay. Different question: why would I help you?" She eyed him over the cheeseburger in her hand.

Dean eyed her back shrewdly. "There must be something of mine that you want."

"Believe it or not, you're really not that handsome, Dean," Bela purred, catching her tongue between her teeth at his indignant expression.

"Whatever," he snapped, clearly still irritated. "What do you want, Bela?"

"Give me the bag once you're done with it and I might consider finding it for you," she offered.

"Oh, no, Bela. You think we're going to trust you to find it? No, you're working with us." Dean's eyes had narrowed again as he regaled her with something close to challenge.

"That strikes me as impractical." She chewed calmly on her second cheeseburger.

"Listen, I-"

"How did you find me," Bela asked suddenly, cutting him off. "Did you follow me to this restaurant?"

She looked so cute, Dean thought suddenly, with a cheeseburger halfway to her mouth and a smear of ketchup on her chin. He leaned forward and wiped it with the pad of his thumb and licked it off, keeping eye contact. Bela's heart sputtered in response and she cursed herself for being ridiculous. "No. We did, however, track you to New York. I had to come back here because Sam forgot my damn pie. Again."

She bit back a smile at the intense ferocity he wore regarding his undoubtedly beloved apple pie. Dean's scowl was increasingly endearing and while she didn't know exactly what that meant, Bela was fairly certain it could not be good. "Would you do me a favor, Dean?"

"Depends," he replied warily, leaning back in his seat.

Bela smiled widely. "Would you get my steak and salad, please?"

His scowl deepened as she laughed.

Later, they were walking back to her apartment (God only knew how that had happened) and she was laughing about a story he was telling her about Sam's first hunt.

"The poor bastard didn't have a chance against that old shotgun…"

Bela's laughter rung out through the dark streets as she turned to smile up at him. And felt her heart slam into her ribcage at how close they were.

Bela pressed her palms against his shoulders to steady herself. "Damn," she swore quietly.

"What?" His eyebrows were raised and his emerald eyes gazed down at her (damn, but he was tall) in concern. "What's wrong?"

"Dean, just because we are working together doesn't mean that I'm going to sleep with you."

His eyebrows drew together. "Really? Because I seem to recall you suggesting we have angry sex?"

She gave a huff of frustration. "It was the heat of the moment. And you looked good in a suit."

The corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smirk that she found impossible adorable. "Just because we stopped fighting doesn't mean that I want to jump your bones. We could just be cautious friends."

For reasons she did not understand, the words felt like a slap to the face. "Well, alright then." Bela wet her lips then continued walking with Dean to her apartment.

A smile quirked her lips as she chatted with him, realizing that she had gone out for cheap food and cholesterol but come back with much, much more.

A/N: Thank you for reading! This was written mostly because I have a long-term love affair with both cheeseburgers and fries, and shipping Bela/Dean. I hope you enjoyed and please review! Thanks again!