Dean Winchester Is Not Amused

"That's not just a no, Sammy. It's a hell no. Uh-uh. No friggin' way. I knew this case would be a pain in the ass the moment you told me about it." With a grumble, Dean added with his head in his hands, "Next you'll be wanting me to prance around in nut-huggers, gold chains, and silk shirts."

Sam Winchester sighed. It was a heavy sigh, one filled with exhaustion, exasperation, and just a touch of amusement. Actually, it was more than just a touch. In reality, his inner self was rolling around with delightful glee at their conversation's current topic. Frazzled Dean was Sam's favorite side of his dear older brother after all.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," Sam grinned, crossing his arms while leaning back against a wooden headboard. "What do you have against homosexuals?"

Dean's head shot up from being cradled like a baby. Balking at his brothers words, he rebuked, "Dude! How many times do I have to tell you? I've got nothing against gay people, alright? I just—"

"Feel completely disgusted at the mere thought of playing the role as one even though we need to fit in at the club, right?" Sam helpfully finished.

"Yes!" Dean shouted, flinging hands up in the air as if such things should be obvious. And then they fell like rocks in water. "I mean, no! Not disgusted, just—" He fished for words, not unlike a goldfish sucking in water, "Just uncomfortable, ok? Look, I don't have problems with other dudes laying pipe … in other dudes, but I sure as hell don't want another guy eyeing my junk or feeling up my ass. Man, that's just..."

Dean shivered for effect and Sam laughed.

"It's not funny!"

"Yes, actually, it is, Dean. I had no idea that your homophobia was this bad." Before the other could react, Sam placated, "But, look, all you'd really have to do is drink a few beers, smile a few smiles, and maybe make a little small talk with a few patrons without completely freaking out and breaking our cover. It's not like we know anyone here in small town Mangrove, Ohio and it's definitely not like we have to go in there acting like some incestuous gay couple or something."

"Oh, hell no," Dean shook his head looking pale, green, and blue in the face all at the same time.

Sam nodded, saying, "My thoughts exactly," all the while wishing he had some brain bleach for the messed up mental pictures his own words had invoked. Then, stuffing down the urge to toss his cookies all over the floor, he pushed the envelope even further with a soothing tone, "You can drink some beer and talk some talk right, Dean? I mean, how much do we do that, huh? Everyday right?"

Dean, weighing his words, nodded, echoing, "Ok, yeah, everyday."

"Besides, it's not like every gay man, other than our purp, goes around raping and killing dudes, right? I mean, most aren't sexual predators or anything." Playing up to his brother's narcissism, Sam added, "Besides, you're always throwing it in my face how much of a bigger, stronger guy you are. You can handle a few 'little girly men' if they start getting too touchy feely right?"

"Right," Dean determinedly nodded, before adding as he was warming up to the idea, "Yeah, yeah, I mean, I can totally kick some sissy ass any day of the week for wanting to rub my perky nipples or something 'cause, you know, I'm a man's man." As if saying it to persuade someone else besides himself, he yelled, "I mean, come on! I like chicks! Not dicks!"

"Yeah," Sam agreed just for the hell of it. "Not dicks. And so?"

"So?" Dean echoed.

"So, alright then," Sam smiled, looking smug, "I guess we're going to the Back Door tonight."

Dean hung his head and sighed, before throwing back, "Alright, but if some guy tries to get into your pants, don't come crying to me."

Sam winked, "Right back at ya, bro."

After a scowl, Dean asked, looking nervously perplexed, "What should I wear?"

Sam shrugged. "Seeing as how this wasn't the first motel clerk that wanted to give us a room with a single queen, I'd say just wear what you're already wearing."

Dean, too relieved to argue, merely replied, "Point taken," before heading off to the bathroom to fix his hair.

Dean Winchester sat at the bar—drink in hand, forced smile plastered all over his sweating face. He was being chatted up by two guys at once. They were both young, in their early twenties, and obviously very eager to get to know the handsome older man who had smiled their way as he had sat down a few stools from where they had been talking. Dean had just been playing his role when he had done the deed—it was completely not an invitation to come over and start playing 20 questions about his love life and if he preferred being the giver or the receiver.

Sam Winchester, across the dance floor and sitting in a booth, suppressed a laugh from the fast you are so dead for talking me into this look from his cornered older brother. He tried not to double over with laughter from the hand Dean had not-so-nonchalantly beat off his thigh. Apparently the preppy, blue-eyed blonde was the bold one, while his shorter, dark-eyed friend was the shy one.

"And Gary is always telling me to add some highlights in my hair. But I told him that if I did, I'd end up looking like some pornstar or something, so— Laurence, are you alright?"

Sam quickly reigned himself in, playing off his laughing fit by coughing into his hand as he remembered that he wasn't without a companion himself, "Uh, yeah, sorry Peter—"

"Paul."

"Sorry, Paul, I was just—"

Thankfully, Sam was interrupted as Dean, having ninja'd his way away from his two interested suitors, slid into the booth beside him.

"Game over, Man! Game over!" Dean frantically hissed into his ear, "I can't do shit anymore, ok? I'm done! I'm seriously done here!"

"Um, Laurence," Sam's flamboyant conversationalist interjected. "Who's your friend?"

After giving Dean a friggin' chill face, Sam fixed his features, before going about doing the introductions, "Uh, Peter—"

"Paul."

"Uh, yeah, Paul," Sam smiled with a few forced laughs. "Paul, this is my old friend Fabio. Fabio, this is my new friend Paul."

Paul put out his hand for Fabio to shake.

Dean, completely dismissing the gesture, just gave the guy with an A-line cut and too much eyeliner a curt nod, saying gruffly, "Nice to meet you. Now take a hike."

"What?" Paul replied, looking uncertain and confused under his mass of hair-sprayed hair.

Dean nodded at a sighing Sam. "He's going home with me tonight, pal." A wave, " So bye-bye."

After the poor, disgruntled guy got up and disappeared into the crowd, Dean got a punch to his shoulder.

"Dean, what the fuck?"

"What? Don't get your panties all in a bunch, Laurence," Dean replied, pulling at his collar. "Not like I lied to the douche. I mean, you are going back to the motel with me later tonight right? Don't tell me that cockblock was out of order, Sam, 'cause the friggin' Apocalypse I can handle, my fudge-packing little brother, not so much."

Completely forgetting what he was going to say, Sam began with a quirked brow and an incredulous expression, "Wait, wait, wait. You're seriously saying that your homophobia is so bad that you can handle the fact that millions of innocent people will die by horrible monsters when the end of the world rolls around, but not the fact that someone related to you might actually enjoy a close relationship with someone from the same sex as opposed to continuous one night stands with big-chested waitresses from dirty, rundown truckstops?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean took a swig of his beer. "And your point?"

"My point, Dean," Sam said, shaking his head, completely questioning the validity of their bloodline, "is that you just said you would drop me like it's hot if I thought Johnny Depp was hotter than Angolina Jolie."

"I wouldn't drop you like it's—"

"Dean, you just said—"

"Excuse me," a too tanned Italian looking man with an opened shirt interrupted, "but I was just wondering if you would like to dance. I spotted you from across the crowd and it was like God himself had spoken to me. I just had to come over."

"Oh, I think his dance cards all punched out for the night, Pal. Sorry," Dean replied, his glare saying he was anything but. Apparently his protective older brother instincts had arrived. But to a laughing Sam, Dean looked more like the jealous boyfriend.

"Um," Sam managed behind an upturned beer, "I think he's talking to you, Fabio."

Dean spit out the swig of beer he had just taken—all over the poor guy—as Sam turned away to laugh. Dean's drenched suitor looked down to his ruined silk shirt, his gold chain gleaming under the clubs flashing lights. He was slightly appalled, but he figured if he could get into this hot guy's pants at the end of the night, it would be all worth it.

Deciding to take one for the team, Dean immediately put his arm around Sam's shoulders, digging his little brother into his side, which abruptly made Sam's laughter silence and his lanky body stiffen like a pulled out ironing board.

"Look, I get it alright? Apparently my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard," Dean replied, suppressing a shiver, "But this guy's my butt-buddy for the night and if I'm going to be leading anyone around the dance floor, it'll be old sasquatch here. I don't know about you, but I like 'em tall, dark, and girly, emphasis on the girly."

"Dude, get off me," Sam chastised after Dean's disappointed beau all but slithered away. "…and I'm not girly."

"You could have fooled me with that pout you got going on there, Samantha. Now sack up and take a look around. Any of these guys our monster?"

And just like that, the case continued.

"A little help here," Dean groaned from his place chest-down on the ground.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, legs muscles pumping as he ran down the club's narrow, back alley. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, I don't know," Dean moan, stretching his eyes wide as he tried to shake the clouds from his brain, "Sort of got drugged, kidnapped from the john, and almost got it hot and dirty in the back alley of a club. Bastard didn't even offer dinner and a movie first. All things considering, though, I think I'm doing pretty good. " Looking off to the side as Sam kneeled beside him, he asked, "Could you pull up my pants, please? Don't think I got enough energy to do it myself at the moment. "

"Sure thing," Sam replied before going about doing just that. "So what happened?" he asked as he finally went to help Dean up off the ground. "Where's our guy?"

Dean managed to nod at the pair of penny loafers sticking out of a pile of trashbags beside the overflowing dumpster.

"Staked and about to be baked," Looking more than a little weary, Dean hung his head as his brother hurriedly helped him down the alley. "Sammy, you're gonna have to do the old salt and burn routine yourself this time. Way too drained to flambé anything right now."

Dragging his brother back to the Impala parked at the curb, Sam's concerned face kicked into high gear.

"Drained? Dean … did you stake him before or after he started playing hide the sausage?"

Dean scowled, voice an angry whisper, "Hey, hey, hey! I poked him way before he even thought about poking me with anything, alright?"

"Dean, your pants were down," Sam deadpanned, before going about opening the passenger side door.

"Yeah, but he only got a quick look at my sweet ass, before he got the money-shot in the chest."

Sam just made sure his brother was all the way inside the car before shutting the door. With one last look at his exhausted sibling, he said, not knowing if the other was telling the truth—a part of him not wanting to know, "Alright, if you say so, Dean," before turning away, ready to go get the body and put an end to the whole sordid affair.

"Dude, I'm telling you! My ass is still virginal!" Dean hissed after him … before adjusting himself in his seat. Hoping the burn would go away soon, he grumbled to no one in particular, "Goddamn gay incubus."