IMPORTANT NOTICE READ THIS:

In order to force myself to update this story more regularly, I will be setting a biweekly update schedule. This means every other week (probably on a Monday or Tuesday) there will be a new chapter up!

I also just really wanted to write something fun, so there is some random Samjess smut in this chapter. It has no plot purpose so skip if you'd like.

Thank you so much to my beta 00skyfall! Also, thank you to my muse Anna (capincracker) for giving me ideas and motivation (aka not giving me the password to her internet) to finish this chapter.

As always, gif makers and all fanart are welcome, as are ideas on ships, plots, and events.

There is a new page on my tumblr for info on all of the dancers, including outfits, roommates, etc: destiel-lost-some-feathers. tumblr dancers

Follow me on Tumblr for new chapters, updates, fanart, and visual guides for the story at destiel-lost-some-feathers

Dean cracked open another beer, draining half of it on his way out. Grabbing his jacket and keys from the table by the door, he shouldered it open. Bobby scheduled him to work today, but had told him last minute. Apparently, Garth- another guy who works in the shop- couldn't come in today. 'Somethin' 'bout a fall and a busted melon.' Bobby had grumbled over the phone less than an hour ago. It was a situation that sounded exactly like Garth. Dean had agreed, obviously- money was money, even if it was his day off. Besides, it's not like he had anything else to do today. It was becoming a recurring problem, evidently.

Turning around to lock the door behind him, he almost backed into their neighbor, Andrew, in the narrow hallway. "Oh, my bad, man." Dean apologized, shoving the key into the lock and turning it. Each floor had five rooms on it, and the complex went up about ten floors. There wasn't an elevator, and some of the doors didn't even have locks anymore. The roof was pretty cool, though, and Dean and Sam often went up there to watch the stars. Luckily, they had scored a room with both a lock and that was on the first floor. It might have had something to do with the fact that the fifty year old landlady had a huge and not-so-subtle crush on Dean. He had learned her schedule to avoid her at all costs.

"It's all good. You in a hurry?" Andrew asked, leaning against the wall, hands in the pocket of his red hoodie. Dean didn't know how old Andrew was- probably no older than 19 or 20- and he didn't know why he was living by himself in the first floor of a sleazy apartment complex. This wasn't exactly a warm and friendly "bring your neighbor a house-warming casserole" neighborhood. He was a nice enough kid, though Dean was pretty sure he was high fifty percent of the time, from his perpetually-natty hair and constantly "irritated" eyes. He remembered those days….

"Yea, Bobby called me in. Garth busted his head doing something strange. Again." Dean chuckled. "Listen, if you see Sam at all, let him know where I went, okay?" Andrew nodded sagely and gave him a little wave, though Dean doubted the message would actually find its way to Sam. He turned and jogged out of the lobby door, jingling his keys in his hand as he went. The drive passed by in a blur of sunny weather and good music, and he pulled into the dusty lot of Singer Auto in no time.

The original Singer Auto had been in South Dakota, which was a recurring crash site for the traveling dysfunctional John Winchester & Sons. Bobby had been like a second father, and a stand-in father when John started drinking more and leaving longer. The boys owed their survival many times over to Bobby's care, and that was enough to make him family. When Dean had gleefully called him up to tell him about Sam's acceptance into Stanford, Bobby had readily agreed to pack up and move with them. It was more than Dean had asked for, but it was also exactly what he had needed. Bobby had found a tiny house with an enormous lot right outside the city and started his junkyard and auto repair ship from scratch, quickly getting a steady business as the cheapest and best auto place around. Now Dean worked for him five days a week, and he or Sam could often be found crashing on his couch in front of the TV.

Dean hopped out of the Impala, humming Metallica's Enter Sandman as he unloaded his tools from the trunk. He never quite knew what was waiting for him when he came to work at Bobby's, so it was always exciting in that sense. It wasn't exciting, however, that it involved long hours, getting sweaty and greasy all day. He came around the corner of the main garage, grinning as he saw four or five cars waiting for him in his "office". Also known as a circle of dirt in the middle of all the cars.

Hard labor was exactly the kind of distraction Dean needed for days like this, when his head was murkier than his dad's during a booze-binge. He was shoulder deep in an old Chevy pickup truck, a flashlight between his teeth and a wrench in each hand. Sure, he was also up to his elbows in oil and grease, but it wasn't so bad. At least it was a job he genuinely enjoyed doing. It was simple, too. Car's broken? Spend an hour or two on it and it won't be. Dean was a simple guy at heart, who had simple needs and enjoyed simple pleasures. Moral dilemmas, emotions, thinking… he didn't enjoy those one bit.

Which is why he was currently so cranky. Here he was, just trying to get some work done and be a normal guy, and these confusing thoughts had to come prancing through his mind every five minutes. Just when he thought he had squashed all remaining points and musings about the club, every few minutes, it snuck back in. It was really starting to irritate him.

So maybe he was cranking the monkey wrench a little bit too hard on the rusty valve in the engine, and maybe he was a bit too focused on attempting to self-erase his brain, but really, Bobby shouldn't have snuck up on him like that! As soon as a hand thumped onto his shoulder, Dean spun around, wildly swinging the wrench in his left hand at his attacker's head. Bobby simple stepped backwards, bracing an arm against Dean's shoulder to keep him from falling on his face. "Boy, you sure you're doin' okay? You're all sorts of messed up today." Bobby's callous words didn't hide the sliver of real concern in his face. "I've been hollerin' your name for the past ten minutes!"

Dean sighed through his nose, dropping the two wrenches into the tool box by his feet and taking the flashlight out of his mouth. "Sorry, Bobby. Lot on my mind today." Dean gave him a small smile, leaning his weight back on his other foot.

"Obviously!" Bobby retorted, looking Dean over. "I came over to see if you wanted a drink. You've been workin' out here for a while now." Bobby held out his right hand, which had two beers hanging from his fingertips. Dean took one, snapping the can open with a nod of thanks. Of course, Bobby took the exact moment that Dean started to drink it to ask, "So, how was that strip club the other day?" Dean sputtered and choked, coughing loudly. He had completely forgotten that he was even supposed to report back to Bobby about that.

Bobby stared at him with a raised eyebrow until he wasn't suffocating anymore. "Um… yea. It was good. Real snazzy. Nice interior, awesome bar, classy… dancers…. Owner's a bit of a creep, though." Dean stumbled his way through the explanation, studiously avoiding eye contact with Bobby.

Bobby guffawed. "Yup, that's Crowley, alright. Felt like I could never turn my back on him, or I'd risk getting a fancy blade between my ribs." Dean chuckled along with him, hoping the conversation would soon be over. He had no such luck, of course. "But there's somethin' you're not telling me." Bobby added, his face now serious.

Dean pshed, waving his hand around. "What would I have to hide about the strip club?" He laughed, though it didn't sound quite right, even to him. Bobby simply leveled him off with a stare, bushy eyebrows raised and accusing. Dean lasted all about ten seconds before groaning loudly. "Okay, okay. All of the strippers are guys. It's a gay strip club. Or a chicks' strip club. Or both."

Bobby simply stared at him for a few more seconds, suspicion and confusion warring in his features. He finally turned away, shaking his head before taking a sip of beer. "Always knew Crowley would end up doing something weird." he grumbled. Dean made a noncommittal grunt, hoping the attention was now off of him again. But, yet again, when does he ever have that kind of luck? "Still doesn't explain why you're all spacey and jumpy. Didn't upset you that much, did it?" Bobby prodded.

Huffing a sigh, Dean toyed with the rim of his can. "I'm fine, Bobby. Just… in thought, you know. I mean, yea, it was a surprise, but it didn't end up being so bad, I guess. It really is a nice place." He cleared his throat sharply. "But, yeah, I'm totally fine. Don't worry about me." Bobby's eyebrows had slowly crept upward through his response, and it was seriously making Dean uncomfortable. Where does Bobby get off on knowing him so well?

"Boy, I swear, if you don't come out with the whole story right now, I will march right in there and grab my shotgun, and you goan' lose a limb." he threatened. Dean glared at him, before pointedly looking away.

"Fine. Crowley offered Sam and me jobs there." Dean burst out. When there was no reaction, Dean turned his head minutely to see what Bobby was doing. He frowned when he saw Bobby shaking with silent laughter. When Bobby saw Dean's face, he burst out into extremely loud guffaws.

Through his chuckles, Bobby got out, "That is the damndest thing I've ever heard in my life! The Winchester Brothers Pole Dancing Team. Oh god!" Bobby bent over his knees while Dean scowled, crossing his arms.

"Yea, yea, laugh it up. Real funny. Gave me the creeps. Big time." Dean raised his voice over Bobby's laughter, looking away again.

Slowly Bobby calmed down, a smile still on his face. "Is that what's got you all bent outta shape? A job offer? Boy, if you don't want it, don't take it. If you do, well… I guess I can't tell you what to do." he advised, shrugging and taking another drink of beer.

Dean choked on his beer again, doing a spectacular spit take. "Bobby, I am not taking the damn job! Do I look like a stripper to you?" After a pause filled with Bobby's dubious staring, Dean snapped, "Don't answer that." He kicked at the dirt, snorting a bit through his nose. "I'm not gonna become a stripper just because some greasy dick-monkey says I look pretty enough to be one." he groused, looking off to the side.

Bobby sighed, draining the last of his beer. "Look, boy, I'm not tellin' you what you should or shouldn't do. I ain't your dad, an' I can't tell you what you can an' can't do. Just… do what's best for you. And your brother."

Dean sighed. "Yea, thanks for that Bobby. Real helpful." It hurt his brain to sit and try to think through this mess. It was obvious that Sam was open to the idea. The kid was too trusting- and a bit naïve- if you asked him. Obviously they would make incredible money, and it really was a well-run club. It's just… he couldn't get the notion of being a goddamn stripper out of his mind. He just… couldn't do it. Not in good faith. He drank the last of his beer, tossing his can to the ground near his tools. He sighed again, looking up at Bobby. "Alright, thanks for the beer. I'm gonna finish up this car now, all that's left is to replace this one valve over here. Is there anything else after that?" he questioned.

Bobby peered at him with narrowed eyes, looking like he wanted to say something. Finally, he replied, "Naw, that's it. Thanks for comin' in today, Dean." He gave a nod before walking away, whistling tunelessly as he wandered back through the maze of junked cars. He really worried about that boy sometimes…

Dean quickly finished up the old truck, grinning when the engine fired up first try. Dumping his toolbox into the trunk of Baby, he motored out on the dirt parking lot, giving a wave as he passed Bobby and his crazy old friend Rufus talking on the front lawn. The drive home took a mere twenty minutes on the highway, and Dean was driving down the block towards the apartment in no time. He was starving and exhausted, and was looking forward to sitting on the couch with a good movie and some greasy takeout.

Of course, that brought back memories of Sam's remark a few days ago about Dean never going out anymore, and that lead to memories of the strip club, and goddamnit Dean had had enough of thinking about that fucking club. He pulled into the parking lot, stomping on the brakes roughly when he saw almost-too-late Jess's Toyota in his spot. He was momentarily confused, before realizing that they were probably in the house right now, taking advantage of his absence.

He groaned and turned off his car and sat back in the seat, deciding to wait a little while just in case they were still going at it. Which wouldn't surprise him, actually- those two were known to have wild sex. Unfortunately for him, that meant that he now had time to himself. To think. 'Awesome.'

Dean tried, he really did, but no matter what he thought about- women, cars, meals he wanted to cook- wisps of thought about the club crept back into his brain. He gave up trying to avoid it, angrily hitting his steering wheel. He might as well give in and figure this whole mess out now.

Okay, first thing's first….' he thought, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. 'Pros and cons.' Pros would be mad cash, getting to entertain women every night… and, for some reason, bright blue eyes and a deep raspy voice flashed through his mind. He furrowed his brow, giving his head a small shake. Castiel had nothing to do with him working there. Cons… well, working under Crowley (who he didn't trust as far as he could throw him), being known as a stripper... and there wasn't anything else, really. Call it morals or ethics or even self-preservation, but Dean just couldn't get over the fact of being a stripper. He'd been to plenty of strip clubs and seen plenty of strippers, and he couldn't see himself being on the other end of that. His thoughts ran around and around in circles, and he groaned aloud when even resorting to thinking didn't help solve his problem.

As Jess pulled her car into the parking lot, Sam tilted his head in confusion. The Impala wasn't there, which meant Dean was out somewhere on his day
off. Which meant he had the apartment to himself…. He grinned widely, turning towards Jess. "So… Dean's not home. You doing anything any time soon?" he asked, giving what Dean liked to call his 'puppy dog face'.

Jess giggled, deftly turning off the car and tucking the keys away in her purse. "Well now I am." Sam hurriedly jumped out of the car, winding around to grab Jess as she stepped out of her side. He slid an arm around her waist and half dragged her to the door, making her protest laughingly.

Unlocking the door took a bit longer than normal, since he wouldn't unwrap his arm from Jess. Once they were finally inside the small apartment Jess glued herself to him, kissing him heatedly. Their tongues tangled together, and Sam ran a hand through her hair, pressing her face into his. She dropped her hands to his waist, slipping a few fingers a bare inch down his pants. Sam groaned quietly, bringing his arms down to wrap tightly around his girlfriend's body.

Sam dropped his head, burrowing into Jess's neck. He kissed from her shoulder up to her jaw and back down again, giving her earlobe a small bite on the way up. Returning to where her neck met her shoulder, he kissed there repeatedly, running a tongue along the soft skin. He nipped and sucked, a red spot quickly forming. Jess slipped a hand underneath his shirt, tracing teasing patterns along his abs and chest. She made fluttery, breathy noises at the hickey he was giving her, and he could feel the heat burning through his stomach. Jess grabbed his chin and brought his head back up, licking along his mouth before shoving her tongue back in. He eagerly sucked, teeth grazing against her lip.

"Hey." Jess said breathlessly, breaking apart the kiss quickly. "Bedroom. Go." She grinned devilishly, eyes sparking, and Sam all but ran after her into his small room. They fell onto the bed in a tangle, Sam hovering over her. He immediately reached down and pulled her shirt up and over her head, her bra quickly following. Jess swiftly unbuttoned Sam's plaid shirt and threw it across the room. They barely broke contact, tongues and lips hungrily moving and crushing against each other's.

Jess slid her hand down Sam's torso, eliciting a soft moan from him, and went down to his half-hard dick. She ghosted her hand across it before taking it away, a noise of protest sounding from Sam. Her giggle turned into a gasp as Sam's hand crept up and kneaded her breast, thumb just barely brushing her nipple. He leaned back and grinned teasingly, reaching up and tracing a hand down her flushed cheeks. Quickly, she turned and caught one of his fingers in her mouth, giving it a quick nip. His cock throbbed, and he moaned before grabbing her head and crushing his lips to hers again.

Grinding his hips into Jess's, Sam reached down with one hand and started tugging off her jeans. She immediately helped, wriggling out of them far quicker that he would have thought possible. His hand then crept lower, slowly tracing back and forth between her thighs. She moaned deeply, hips rolling in time with Sam's. He quickly dragged down the hem of her panties, sending them down to her knees. Sliding down a bit, he took her nipple in his mouth, simultaneously sliding a finger into her, giving it a little twist. She cried out, her back arching slightly. Sam continued to finger her, turning and crooking his finger every so often. Every new movement brought a new sound out of Jess, and Sam was already achingly hard.

He sat up on his knees, quickly unbuttoning his jeans and shucking them off. He leaned down and kissed her as he finally pushed into her, letting out a groan at the feeling. Jess brought her legs up and wrapped them around his waist, rolling her hips into his, the friction causing them both to breathe even harder and hold each other tighter. Sam began thrusting, a steady rhythm at first. He could feel nails raking down his back, and his hands were gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises, but neither one of them cared. They were both moaning loudly, and his old bed squeaked in protest. Sam began thrusting faster and harder, the fire in his stomach burning hot. Their kissed became fiercer and sloppier, filled with heavy breathing and bruising lips.

Jess was the first to orgasm, her head thrown back and legs tightening around Sam's waist. The sudden clench around his cock combined with Jess's high-pitched wail drove him crazy, and he gave a few last violent thrusts before he came too. His vision flashed white and red, and he moaned so loudly that their entire floor had probably heard.

Breathing heavily, Sam pulled out, dropping to lay down next to her on the bed. They both wore bright grins on their faces, and Jess ran a hand lazily through Sam's hair. Their legs tangled together, and Sam slid his arms around her to tug her closer. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly, idly drifting her hand up and down his arm and chest. Sam's eyes drifted shut, his nose buried in Jess's hair, which smelled like melon. "I never get tired of this." Jess murmured. Sam snorted a soft laugh, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

"Me either, Jess."

Dean heaved himself out of the car and trudged towards the door. Of course, now all that was on his mind was going back to the club and watching another performance. Which was totally not an option. He had more dignity and self-control than that. Plus he didn't want to encourage Crowley any more. He banged open the door, making it hit the wall loudly so that Sam and Jess knew he was here. Hey, he's nothing if not courteous. He heard a grunt from Sam's closed door, so at least they were done. At least, he hoped so. Leaning down to grab a bottle of beer from the fridge, Dean called out, "Hey, I'm just gonna go get some Thai takeout from down the street. You guys want anything?"

"The usual." Sam responded groggily.

"I'll eat whatever." Jess yelled, sounding slightly more coherent.

Dean leaned against the counter, his lips turning up at the scene. They were the definition of a happy couple, and Dean wouldn't be surprised if he was a best man at a wedding at some point in the near future. He'd be damn proud of it, too. Sam deserved to be happy at some point in this miserable life they'd been stuck with, and Jess was exactly what the doctor ordered. He was happy for his brother, though in his lower moods (or drunken ones) he was a bit jealous. Sam has it so much better than he did, but it was the only way Dean would want it. He wouldn't allow Sam to deal with the shit Dean has his entire life- if that meant shouldering it all and sucking it up, then it was more than worth it.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam and Jess came out of his room, both looking tired and sexed up. Jess was definitely wearing a pair of Sam's shorts, 'cause they were a hundred sizes too big, and Sam's shirt looked like it had been dragged behind a truck for two miles. Dean rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he took a swig of beer. "Jess wants to see the club with us some time."

For the third goddamn time today, Dean choked on his beer. Maybe Fate was trying to tell him something. As he coughed and spluttered noisily, Jess and Sam looked on, slightly concerned expressions on their faces. As soon as he could breathe again, Dean took a deep one, shaking his head slightly. "Sorry- what?" he shot at them.

Sam's lips twitched, and he slowly responded, "Jess. Wants to see. The club. With Us."

"Yea, that's what I thought you said." Dean muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, Sam, I don't think we should go back there. You know what Crowley wants- it'll only encourage him." he explained.

Jess piped up from where she was glued to Sam. "I heard about Crowley's offer. I wouldn't freak out about it, Dean. I mean, I don't know if it's a good idea or not- it's all up to you, I guess- but it's nothing to get your panties in a twist." she counseled, a small smirk on her face by the end.

"You told her?" Dean demanded Sam, and he was sure his ears were bright red. Damnit.

Sam scoffed. "It's the most interesting thing to happen to us in a while, Dean, of course I'm gonna tell her." he snarked, a hand running up and down Jess's left arm. Dean rolled his eyes, already getting sick of the love-fest. "I'm serious, Dean, I think you're over-reacting. The least we could do is go back and check it out again. Don't even try to deny that you enjo-"

"So help me if you finish that sentence I will kick your ass into next Tuesday." Dean snapped, plunking down into one of the mismatched kitchen table's chairs. He sulkily drank his beer, trying to think of an argument. Sadly, his previously highly-hyperactive brain seemed to be on vacation at the moment. Typical. He glanced at the couple waiting his reply, before groaning and dropping his beer onto the table. "Ugh. Fine. Fine, goddamnit. We'll go after dinner." He ignored the snickers and grins in favor of heading right back out the door to go get food. No, he did not want to go back to that club, and hell to the no he was not slightly anxious about what might happen there. Nope. Not at all.