As always, thank you so much to my awesome beta 00skyfall 3

Still searching for a gif maker, because I would love to have scenes gif-ed at some point.

Opinions on plots, events, and ships are welcome any time. If you draw any fanart or anything you an send it to me and I'll link it to the story and put it on my Tumblr!

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG D: School and jobs and sports have kept me so busy :(

ALSO: I have decided that, later on in the story, there will be Samifer. If you're not a fan of the ship I apologize, but I have really come to like it. I'll warn you when it is featured in a chapter. I'm not objeced to throwing in other ships for Sam, however ;)

Here is a new visual guide for the layout of the club: post/61980033975

Follow me on Tumblr for new chapters, updates, fanart, and visual guides for the story at itsfnickingawesomeness

Dean paced around the kitchen, his old staticky radio blaring a Led Zeppelin song as he hummed along. It was around five on a Friday night, and what was he doing? Making dinner for himself and his kid brother, with no plans for the night. This was definitely not how he imagined his adult life to play out. In his teenage dreamings, there had been a lot more hot women and awesome cars. At least he was eating good food tonight instead of greasy take-out.

"Son of a bitch!" he cursed as the portable grill, perched on the stove, spat hot grease onto his hand. He stuck his fingers in his mouth, glaring at the offending burger patties sizzling innocently on the charred metal. Turning around, he opened up the tiny fridge, reaching in and grabbing another beer. The chill of it soothed his irritated skin as he snapped the cap off and took a long drink.

He sighed as he looked around at the tiny empty apartment. Sam should be home any minute from class... Glancing over at the old clock situated on the wall, he sighed again as he saw it had stopped once again, reading 3:38. He'd have to fix that up- it was really getting ridiculous. It seemed like everything was breaking in this place. The kitchen was only about fifty square feet, the radio didn't go louder than sixty decibels, and the hot water ran out after five minutes. But, hey- who was he to complain? It was somewhere- a roof over their head, a (relatively) soft place sleep, and food to eat. It was a lot better than they'd ever had. Besides, with Sam going to Stanford, it was all they could afford.

Dean wiped his hands on his jeans, burger grease sliding on top of the engine grease and motor oil already smeared on them. He had spent the entire day working at Bobby's garage, throwing around car parts and practically bathing in sweat and car juices. He was itching for a shower, but he was starving, and food always came first. Besides, he was a messy cook, so there was no use in getting cleaned up twice.

Poking the cooking meat, Dean grunted approvingly and lifted them off of the grill and onto the waiting buns. He set the paper plate of food on the table, glancing yet again at the door. He was going to wait two minutes tops before chowing down, Sam or not. You snooze, you lose. Sitting down at the table he sipped his beer, waiting impatiently for Sam to get in so that the food didn't get cold. Just as he was debating eating all of the burgers- just to teach him a lesson- he heard the familiar sound of Jess's little Toyota pulling in the driveway.

A few seconds later, the enormous frame of his little brother banged through the front door, still waving at his girlfriend. Throwing his backpack through the doorway to his bedroom- the only bedroom in the apartment- Sam walked into the kitchen, face brightening at the sight of food. "You made burgers? Awesome." He sat down and took a bite, and then started wolfing it down.

Dean raised his eyebrows before starting his own food. He made a groan of satisfaction at the greasy warmth. "This hits the spot, doesn't it." he said through a mouthful of food.

"Chew and swallow, Dean." Sam reprimanded, earning an eye roll in return. "But yea, it's really good. Don't suppose there's any fruit or veggies to go along with them?" he added hopefully.

"Please, Sam, I'd much rather use my hard-earned money for hamburger meat and alcohol than for gross green stuff." Dean retorted, scrunching up his face. Sam sighed, but didn't pursue the subject.

The rest of the meal passed in silence, punctuated by the occasional quip, threat, or appreciative noise (mostly from Dean). After the table was cleared of all food, Dean stood up and headed over to the couch. "Let's find some Star Trek on TV- I'm sure it's on somewhere."

Sam froze at his spot standing next to the table, his eyebrows raised. "It's a Friday night, and you don't have any plans? Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?" he asked, only half joking.

"Ha ha, very funny Sam." Dean responded scathingly. "I'm just not in the mood. Besides, what is there to do anyway?" Dean plunked down on the ratty couch that doubled as his bed, propping his feet up on the low coffee table (which wobbled dangerously). "We're banned from the movie theater for sneaking in, we can't go to most of the bars 'cause the bikers hate us for pool sharking, and there aren't any good strip clubs close by." he continued, ticking them off on his fingers. 'Well…' There was one good strip club, but he sure as hell wasn't going back there. 'Not yet, anyway.'

Sam furrowed his brow, seeming to read his thoughts. "Well, if you wanted to go to a strip club, why not Supernatural?" he offered, settling down next to Dean on the couch. It had seemed like Dean had really liked the performance, more than he was letting on. Sam had seen the lack of tension and the half-cocked smile Dean sported when he was enjoying himself. At least Sam wasn't afraid to admit that the club had been pretty awesome.

Dean scoffed, throwing a hand in the air defensively. "Dude. We went there two days ago. Even if the show was… not bad, it's not going to be like an every night thing. Besides, Mr. Creepy Suit Monkey is still there, trying to get us to strip for him. No thanks, I'm good." He reached over and grabbed the remote, stony countenance signaling that the conversation was over.

Sam sighed, leaning back into the couch cushions. Something had to be done eventually about that club, although how it would turn out remained to be seen. It had been riding on his mind the entire day, just little bits and pieces of it. The snazzy decorating, the pounding music, the graceful spins of the dancers- it all distracted him and pinched his brain during every class. He wasn't sure what it said about his inner psyche or whatever (his Psych 105 class didn't exactly cover gay strip clubs), but he found he was actually interested in working there. Dean had always been afraid of change, whereas Sam was more willing to give things a chance. He stole a glance at Dean- who had calmed down a bit and was now enjoying an old episode of Star Trek- and sighed again, wondering if this was all going to resolve itself anytime soon.

Castiel was, as usual, one of the first dancers to arrive at the club. They were supposed to report at 8:30, so that they had enough time to get dressed and stretched and so on. Most of the dancers showed up at 8:45 or 9, and a few- such as Gabriel and Lucifer- usually didn't show up until 9:30. Crowley either didn't notice or didn't care, so long as they were ready by show time.

Knocking at the metal door, he looked around him as he waited for Hellhound to open it. The street was mostly deserted, except for a homeless man lying unconscious at the other end of the block. It was not an ideal location for a club, but they got enough business just by word of mouth that it made up for the less-than-desirable location. And it was out of the way of interference, which was probably the main reason for Crowley picking it.

The small window in the door creaked as it swung open, and Hellhound gave a grunt of recognition before shoving the door open. Castiel wasn't sure if he had ever heard Hellhound say anything; as far as Castiel knew he only grunted and growled. It was… slightly unsettling. He gave a tight lipped smile as he skirted around the bouncer, heading down the spiral staircase to his room.

He could hear Camael's booming voice coming from below as he descended the stairs, a questioning tone ringing through it. A quieter, crisper voice answered back, becoming understandable as Castiel entered the small hallway. "You should have seen this woman, Cam. I swear she hadn't brushed her teeth in days, and I think she had bugs living in her hair. It was disgusting."

Poking his head in Camael's room, he saw that they were still in their day clothes, just talking. "Hello." Castiel greeted, giving a small wave. Camael grinned slightly and waved back, while Uriel merely nodded his head, lights glinting off of his pale blonde hair. Uriel was always the one to complain about the less than ideal customers- he had a bit of a germ problem. It was always something with their hair, or their clothes, or even their tipping methods. He was actually incredibly picky about those kinds of things. 'Not the best thought process for having a job like this.'

Moving on, Castiel heard Raphael humming to himself in his room. It was a waltz, probably one of Strauss's. He smiled when he heard it- Castiel got tired of the pounding music from the club sometimes. He reached his door, pulling out his keychain to unlock it. He placed his bag on the countertop as he walked in, relaxing into a chair with a sigh. Tonight was solo night, meaning each dancer got a song by themselves. It was always more stressful, not having anyone else on stage with you; but it was also thrilling, getting to have the spotlight on you and you only.

Castiel checked the clock above the door, the red numbers reading 8:45. He had a good hour to get dressed and stretched, so he could take his time. It was one of the reasons he always was here on time- not feeling rushed to get ready and having time to relax before dancing upstairs. He spent the next forty minutes meticulously stretching, hearing the occasional greeting and conversations as someone else came in for the night. Time ticked away as Castiel finished his ministrations and began changing into his costume. It was a routine that he found relaxed him. Spending some time alone each night gave him some time to think and process and wonder.

Tonight's thoughts were on the future of the club. Two dancers had been killed already, and had not been replaced yet. The police hadn't gotten involved, and the murders went unreported. No one cared about the neighborhood strippers. The routines every night were a little bit off, and the performance parts of the night were little shorter, without Sandalphon and Metatron. Crowley had, apparently, found people to be put in their place, but the only problem was that the brothers were not agreeing to the proposition.

If he had to be honest, it irked and confused Castiel. The Winchesters obviously lead a rough life, that much was obvious from their ratty clothes and prickly attitudes he'd heard about. The money would be welcome, and he'd seen their faces in the crowd last night- they loved every minute of the show. The offer, in his opinion, was brilliant. Automatic acceptance, no auditions, and previous knowledge of how the club worked. These were things that no other dancer here was offered, no matter how good they were. They should have leapt at the chance. His thoughts turned round and round in circles, chasing after each other like Lucifer chasing after Gabriel after a prank.

As usual, Gabriel was extremely late getting into the room. He waltzed in at exactly 9:24, munching from a bag of skittles. "Heya Cas!" he greeted cheerful, tossing his bag onto the floor and flopping into a chair.

Castiel's lips twitched from his seat, unable to hide his fondness at Gabriel's infectious presence. "Hello, Gabriel." he replied. "You're a few minutes early tonight." he added, a small smirk creeping across his face.

"Why yes I am. Thank you for noticing!" Gabriel responded, grinning largely, crumpling up the now-empty bag of candy and tossing it into the trashcan. "Did Lucifer beat me here?" His demeanor changed into one of intense focus- apparently this question was of extreme importance.

Nodding slowly in confusion, Castiel answered, "Yes, he arrived a few minutes ago." He flinched back slightly as Gabriel swore loudly and kicked his bag. "DAMNIT! We had a bet that I would get here before him tonight. That fucker…." Gabriel mumbled into angry silence, leaving Castiel to wonder why these two dancers insisted on antagonizing each other so much. He supposed there was some sort of amusement to be found, but he personally didn't see it at all.

After a few more sullen moments, Castiel cleared his throat to get Gabriel's attention. "You should probably get dressed and ready, you know how Crowley can get." Gabriel merely made a flippant noise, waving his hand in the air, before stripping off his jacket and shirt to get changed. Castiel sighed, before walking out of the room. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable around Gabriel changing, but it wasn't necessary to stay in the room. Besides, he might be caught in another fight between Gabriel and Lucifer.

He found his way into Raziel and Haniel's room, where the two were conversing quietly. Castiel knocked before coming in, settling into an empty chair as he greeted them. "So, Cas, we were just talking about Azrael's haircut. He got it a bit shorter than normal, and it's really fluffy looking. It fits him a bit, doesn't it?" Raziel replied, getting immediately to the point.

Haniel shook his head, his lips a thin line. "I don't think it looks good at all." he argued, pointing for emphasis. "When his hair is longer it makes him look more serious, and now it looks like a child's hair. Don't you agree, Cas?" Both dancers stared imploringly at Castiel, and he worked to keep a smile off of his face.

"I, for one, don't have any opinion on Azrael's hair. Firstly, I haven't seen it yet. Secondly, I don't wish to be on the wrong side of Azrael for gossiping about him." Castiel pointed out. Sometimes he felt like the only reasonable one in this building.

"Yea, good point." Raziel pouted.

"You're no fun, Cas." Haniel added, crossing his arms and tilting back his chair. Raziel's eyes flicked to the doorway behind Castiel, and half a second later, a shoe was launched straight through it at Haniel's chest, causing him to fall backwards with a crash. Cas chuckled as Raziel laughed hysterically, and Haniel picked himself up off the floor, sputtering and mumbling. "Who did that?" he asked crossly, glaring out the door.

There was no answer, but Castiel could hear the tell-tale sound of Gabriel's giggle all the way down the hallway. Rolling his eyes, Castiel announced, "I believe it was Gabriel that just ran past. You could probably return his shoe by throwing it at his head." Haneil smirked at that, picking up the show and dashing out the door. A yelp could then be heard, followed by Haniel's snickers as he raced back into his room.

"Done and done." Haniel proclaimed as Raziel continued laughing from the floor. Cas laughed as well, both at Gabriel and Haniel's little pranks. It was a much better atmosphere than in the days beforehand. A shout could then be heard throughout the lower level.

"Okay guys, up and at 'em. Showtime." As they peeked out from their rooms, Camael herded all of the blabbering and stretching dancers, putting them into the line-up for the night. Castiel slid through the crowd to the front, where he was every night they did solos. He was one of- if not the- best dancers at the club, according to customers (and Crowley), so he was always opening act or finale. It was flattering, but Castiel didn't see why it mattered who was better than who.

As he heard Crowley make his nightly announcement about the club and its rules, Castiel begins making his way up the stairs and towards the stage. The rest of the strippers followed him, filing into a small space behind the stage that served as a hallway. He could hear people whispering and waiting excitedly for the first act, and it made a little thrill of something like pride go through him. If he could choose the most important redeeming quality of working at a strip club, it would be that people still genuinely watch and enjoy what you do, and that it is still a performance, for both the dancer and the crowd. Stepping onto the stage, Castiel paused, waiting.

As the first notes trickled out of the hidden speakers, Castiel stepped up to the pole and pulled himself up, starting his routine. It was one he'd performed many times, and it was one of his favorites to show. The music changed every time depending on the mood Crowley wanted to set for the club- tonight the song was Demons, which he thought an ironic choice for an angelic-themed club. It had both upbeat and slow verses, however, and it was a good tempo to dance to.

He always felt powerful when he danced. Strong, graceful, free…. It was a strange, but elational, feeling that he enjoyed immensely. The harsh training, the battered body, the bad reputation of the job- none of that mattered to Castiel. All that mattered was this- the act, the performance, the show. It was a simple thing, but it made him happy, and he enjoyed every minute of it. It was… hard to explain, even to the other dancers. But that was okay with Castiel, because he didn't need to explain it. It was his experience, and it didn't matter if others shared it. Not to him, anyway. Not right now.

He swung and hung from the pole, sliding and pulling, spinning and dropping. It was a heady rush, one that he couldn't seem to get enough of. He was always somewhat reluctant to step away from the pole and towards the edge of the stage. There he had to finish his act by stripping for the customers, "giving them a proper show" as Crowley calls it.

As the music finished, he slid to the ground at the edge of the stage. breath heavy, extremely up close and personal with the customers closest to the stage. A few brave ones reached up and tucked twenties and even a few fifties into the waist of his shorts, before falling back and giggling. He sent them a small smile, standing back up, collecting bills as he went. He swept up the last few as Jophiel hopped into view, flashing a dazzling smile to the crowd. "Good luck." Castiel murmured as he slipped past him. Jophiel winked before walking to the middle of the stage, ready to perform.

Castiel walked behind the stage, wanting to put away the money before having to go out for "floor time". He sighed as he turned into his room. It was definitely his least favorite part of the night, and his least favorite part of working as a stripper. He didn't mind the dancing, but being skin-to-skin with strangers was definitely something he did not particularly look forward to. Castiel was glad, though, that he was not forced to entertain in the private rooms. He had very rarely done so, and every time he did he was reminded just how much he disliked it. Luckily, there were plenty of other dancers willing to make the extra sums of money in the locked rooms upstairs. Uriel, Haniel, Raguel, Azrael, and Camael were the favorites for private sessions.

Passing by Zadkiel on his way back up the stairs, Castiel ducked behind the stage to sit and wait in the little hallway there. He sat patiently through the other dancers' acts, dancers leaving and entering the small area as their acts came and went. An hour passed before it was time to walk out among the customers, where they would spend a good three hours. As the 'angels' scattered around the room, Castiel grinned to see Balthazar giving his own private show over by the bar. He did that from time to time, whenever he felt like making more than just a few tips.

A hand caught his thigh and slid upwards as he passed a table. He smiled softly at the bold young girl, taking a step backwards. "Sorry, no touching allowed. Not yet, at least." The girl grinned back, handing him a folded up hundred. Tucking it into his pocket, Castiel stepped forward again, straddling the girl's legs. Her friends at the table giggled and cheered as Castiel danced for her, teasing her and allowing small and quick touches. Well, Castiel thought as he ran a hand down the girl's long brown hair, it definitely could be worse here.