Reminder that this story now updates every other week, usually on a Monday or Tuesday. Many thanks again to my lovely beta 00Skyfall! As always, gif makers and all fanart are welcome, as are ideas on ships, plots, and events.

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Sometimes Dean wondered how his life ended up like this. Sam and Jess were both in the backseat of the Impala- doing only God knows what- while he was driving them all to a strip club. A gay strip club. On a Monday night. One at which they were being offered a job. He ran a hand down his face, trying not to think too deeply about his current situation for fear it might give him a complex. "Wait- don't you guys have class tomorrow?" Dean suddenly remembered. 'Maybe this could be my way out….'

"Not 'til noon." Jess chirped, her hands presently roaming over Sam's chest. 'Well, crap.'

Dean huffed and rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Hey- no funny business back there, or else you're cleaning the car up." Sam pulled a bitch-face in response, hand snaking around Jess and leaning them back against the seat. Dean could say or think whatever he liked, but Sam could see that Dean was actually nervous about going back here. It made him suspicious of Dean's thoughts, and wished that he could have mind reading abilities or something. Or a less emotionally-constipated brother. Either one would work.

The drive took half an hour, enough time for Dean to consider turning back around at least a dozen times. But once he reached the inner city, he knew there was no going back. Besides, he wasn't completely sure that Sam wouldn't just bodily throw him in the trunk and take over driving. That kid was scary when he was determined.

It took a few minutes to find the correct dirty, sketchy, and run-down street where the club was located, but eventually Dean spotted the small and impossibly bright neon sign. He reversed the Impala into a spot (careful to leave extra room between her and the other cars dotting the street) and turned the engine off. He made no move to get out of the car, though, instead looking back at Sam and Jess. "I'm still game for anything else you guys want to do, if you've changed your minds…." When that comment got him nothing but a sarcastically sweet smile from Jess and Bitchface #28 from Sam, he huffed, throwing himself out of the car.

"It seems… gross. And seriously sketchy." Jess commented as they walked behind Dean towards the club. Sam chuckled, hooking an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, babe. The inside is fantastic. Trust me." Once he reached the door, Dean paused, looking back towards Sam. He jerked his head towards the door, trying to silently tell Sam to knock. Sam, realizing a second later what Dean was doing, rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Dean? Just knock on the damn door."

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to come!" Dean protested, taking a step backwards.

"Why does it matter who knocks?"

"It doesn't! I'm just saying-"

"If it doesn't matter, then just go ahead and knock!"

"I'm not gonna knock. If you guys want to go, you should knock."

"You're being such a child, Dean."

"You're a child! I-"

"Are you guys coming or what?" Jess called from the open door to the club. They could see the monster body guard standing off to the side, who glanced blankly at Jess before turning and narrowing his eyes at Dean and Sam. Dean fidgeted underneath the glare, 'cause that dude was probably five hundred pounds heavier than him. Sam sighed before hurrying forward, practically dragging Jess and Dean into the club by their wrists. Jess gave a little wave to the bouncer, who raised an eyebrow in response. Dean couldn't resist, so he waved too, but all he got in return was a low growl. Dean quickly ducked around Jess so that she was in-between them, trying to act nonchalant. From Jess's snort, he guessed he didn't succeed.

Sam heard Jess's gasp of amazement and grinned to himself. 'Impressing the girlfriend? Check.' She took a step away from him, looking around her in a circle before turning back towards the boys. "This place is amazing! Oh, I love this color scheme…." Sam loved how much she enjoyed the simple things- it was hard to find someone who paid attention to the small details when looking at the big picture.

The club looked exactly how it had last week, all dark wood and clean white cloth. It was barely 9:30, so the club didn't have too many patrons yet, although Dean could see Balthy behind the bar, cleaning something with a rag. He had looked up when the trio walked in, and gave them a little wave- accompanied by the biggest smirk Dean had ever seen in his life on his face. There was a group of three college-age girls sitting in a booth, and there were a couple men settling down into chairs spread out among the room, but otherwise the club was empty. Unfortunately, that meant it was that much easier for a certain suited bastard to find them.

Crowley came up to them seemingly out of nowhere, a large grin on his face. "Hello boys! So nice to see you again! How are you?" he greeted, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. "And who is this lovely lady here?" he questioned, not giving them time to answer his previous question.

Sam smiled thinly, arm working its way back around Jess's waist. "This is Jess, my girlfriend." he answered, using his height above Crowley as an advantage to stare him down.

"Charmed." Crowley smarmed, dropping a kiss on Jess's hand, making her laugh. Sam's face twitched, but he held his tongue. Dean edged closer to Jess, feeling serious creeper vibes coming off of Crowley. "And where is your lovely lady?" Crowley continued, turning to Dean, a smile just barely visible on his lips.

'Dick.' Dean chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm, ah, currently on the market. Who knows, maybe I'll find a girl here tonight."

Crowley chuckled heartily at that, making Dean frown. What was up with this guy? "Yea, who knows. Well, Jess, boys- enjoy your night." They all nodded, smiles ranging from barely there to genuine. As they were about to turn away to go find a seat, Crowley reached out and grabbed Sam's elbow. "Oh, and boys? My offer still stands. Come and find me after the show and we can talk." Then he left, seeming to vanish into the slowly growing crowd of well-dressed men and chattering women.

"God that guy gives me the creeps." Dean muttered, rolling his shoulders. He led the way towards an empty table on the side of the club, sliding into the booth across from Sam and Jess.

Jess shrugged. "I thought he seemed nice enough." Sam snorted, replying, "Babe, on a scale of creepy from one to clowns, he's definitely up there with midgets."

Dean grinned widely. "Or a midget clown." Sam wrinkled his nose and faked a shudder, making both Dean and Jess laugh.

Glancing at his phone, Dean saw that it was almost 9:45. What did Crowley say? The club opened at ten? They had a little bit of time to kill… unfortunately, there was the issue of not having anything to kill the time with. He settled into the extremely soft booth seat, blowing a breath out through his mouth. Next he started tapping out some drum rhythms on the table, nodding his head along. A minute later, Dean resorted to making noises, head swiveling around to look at the fancy decorations on the wall.

Sam kicked Dean's leg under the table. "Quit it. What are you, like five?"

"Maybe." Dean retorted.

Sam sighed, holding back a smile. Sliding back out of the booth, he said, "How about I go get us some drinks." After Dean's enthusiastic agreement and Jess' "Thanks, babe", he meandered through the tables and chairs, going over to the sleek-looking bar. He waited for a moment for the blonde bartender- Dean had said his name, but it was extremely weird, so no one could blame Sam for not knowing it- to finish eye-fucking a female patron before he flagged him down.

"What can I get for you?" he asked in a posh British accent, leaning over the counter into Sam's personal space. He was well-dressed, in a way, in extremely tight jeans and an extremely low-cut dark blue vee-neck.

"Just three beers, please." Sam responded, subtly leaning backwards.

The bartender smiled and reached down and to the side, pulling three bottles from some hidden alcove behind the bar. "Aren't you Sam Winchester?" he suddenly asked, halting in the process of opening the first of the bottles.

Sam tore his gaze from the painting that was on the wall beside him. It looked like a scene from the bible, but it was no scene that Sam had ever heard of. It looked like there was an angel dragging a man from the ground, while other angels stood by and waved their arms in excitement. When did that happen? "What? Uh, yeah, that's me." he intoned, confused. He'd never met this guy before in his life….

The bartender chuckled, deftly opening up all three beers in quick succession. "I recognize you and your brother from last week. I'm Balthazar, by the way, if Dean didn't tell you." He passed the bottles across the counter with a wink.

Sam grinned, taking the three bottles by their necks in one hand. "Yeah, he did mention you. Balthy, I think is what he said." He looked down at Balthazar with a teasing smirk. Immediately Balthazar dropped his smile and thinned his lips, eyes narrowing. Sam lost his smile as well, because damn… Dean wasn't kidding when he said this guy looked like he was about to kill you with one hand.

"Well, you can tell Mr. Bowlegs that it would be much appreciated if he would stop using that god awful nickname." Balthazar snapped, rolling his eyes and turning away to help another customer. Sam blew out a breath before retreating back to their booth. He wove his way back towards the table, a now quite steady stream of people coming through the door.

When he reached the table he laughed, handing the drinks out. "You weren't kidding Dean. The bartender- Balthazar- actually scares me almost as much as Hellhound does." he said, jerking his head towards the door, where the massive bodyguard was checking the IDs of a gaggle of young girls.

"I know, right!" Dean agreed, shooting a look over at the blonde. He was currently in deep conversation with a mildly attractive woman, and he was giving her the bedroom eyes like no other. From the woman's coy attitude and loud laughter, it was working. Dean raised an eyebrow- maybe he could get some lessons.

Jess leaned forward, a small smile on her face. "So- on a scale from one to the sun, how hot are these dancers?" she posed. Dean and Sam choked harshly on their first swigs of beer, and Jess laughed loudly. "I'm kidding! You know I only have eyes for you." She booped Sam on the nose before leaning in for a kiss, which lasted much longer than they had planned (and Dean had wanted). They came up for air only after Dean had cleared his throat four times already, both smirking like assholes.

"I'm gonna vomit. Cut it out."

The lights suddenly dimmed, and Sam, Jess, and Dean glanced at each other; mischief, excitement, and anxiety showing themselves respectively. "Welcome ladies- and gentleman- to Supernatural. Remember, no touching, and keep it in your pants. Get ready for the best night of your life… our boys have a celestial touch, and they're all yours." There were some cheers from the crowd, including a "Whoop!" from Jess. Like before, bass-heavy music started leaking out of the speakers, growing in volume until Dean could feel it in his ribs.

Up on stage, a thin, white-blonde dancer strode out, wearing a black leather jacket (which was partly open to reveal a bare chest and stomach) and deep red shorts. Snowy white wings could just be seen poking out of the bottom of his jacket, and a cool smirk was on his face. Dean immediately pegged him as a pretentious dick. When he voiced his opinion to Sam, however, Sam just rolled his eyes and turned his eyes back to the stage. Dean did the same while sipping his beer, only somewhat sullen.

This kid looked younger than Sam, but damn he was holding his own up there. Dean didn't specifically remember him from last week, but he seemed to have sharper, more elegant movements. It looked like everything he did was clean cut and purposeful, and he had it all under control. He realized he was still just holding his beer in the air, and immediately put it back on the table, clearing his throat. Stealing a glance at Sam and Jess, he shook his head when he saw that they were both already utterly engrossed in the performance, intently focused.

It turned out that each dancer only did one song tonight, because once it ended, the dancer gave a small bow, efficiently gathered up the bills still being thrown at him, and exited the stage. The song melded effortlessly into the next, and the next dancer was jogging onto the stage. This one had brown hair that stood straight up, a blue bow tie, and deep red wings somehow attached to his bare torso. He immediately sprung up on the pole, seemingly more excited and energetic than the last one.

The longer Dean watched these dancers, the more he noticed small things that differentiated them. For instance, this one had an exuberance about him, like a puppy or a child- he bounced around everything he did. The one with golden hair, a white shirt, and light brown wings seemed to think this was all extremely amusing, as he was constantly grinning hugely and would often laugh and wink at the customers. The dancer in a black tank top with curly black hair and gray and white wings seemed somber- he rarely ever grinned, and every move he made seemed deliberate and important. Whoever was in the white shirt collar and golden brown wings was sneaky; he would surprise the audience with a surprise drop or a roll of his muscles at any moment.

If Dean was giving this much thought into a strip show, he was in trouble. He moved his head for what felt like the first time in an hour, looking away from the dancer in the white tie with brown and white wings (who, by the way, moved like he was a fighter- every move was forceful and- 'For fuck's sake….'). Sam and Jess across the table looked like they hadn't moved, drinks virtually untouched in front of them. Dean had lost count of the number of dancers that had gone, but it had to have been at least ten. He drained his beer for lack of anything else to do and resumed watching the show, the fighter dancer being replaced by a taller blonde one with a dog collar and coal black wings. Well, this one would certainly be interesting.

Across the table, Sam was forming a plan in his mind as he watched the performances. He had been sneaking peeks at Dean throughout the last hour, and he was definitely mentally involved in this. Like, he had his "I'm actually thinking about this so help me God if you try to interrupt me" look on his face. And he only ever got that look on his face either when asked an involved question about cars or when he was reading a new novel. Sam knew his brother better than anyone else, and no matter how hard Dean tried to deny it, he was extremely interested in this show, probably more than he knew or cared to admit.

Meanwhile, on stage, there was a spectacular performance going on. The dancer- who Sam was pretty sure he remembered was named Lucifer, because it was an awful strange name for an "angelic" dancer to have- was burning up the pole, and had probably hundreds of dollars on the stage beneath him. If Sam had to describe the dancer's movements and body language (and his inner lawyer was constantly doing things like this)… he would probably use the words 'pure sex'. There was nothing "angelic" about Lucifer, and that was obvious as he shamelessly ground against the pole, limbs swaying and flexing in time to the music. From the shouts of the customers at the edge of the stage, they agreed wholeheartedly with Sam.

Soon enough his song was over, and instead of melting together the songs like they had been, there was a beat of silence as Lucifer collected the bills beneath his feet. He got quite a few arm and legs strokes as well as he ventured towards the very edge of the stage. Then Crowley's voice flowed out from the hidden speakers. "Ladies and gentleman, for the last performance of the night, please welcome Castiel to the stage."

Apparently the regulars here knew what this meant, and there were a good few that edged closer to the stage to watch. Dean immediately focused his wandering gaze back onto the stage; he hadn't even realized that the blue-eyed dancer hadn't been seen yet. Subconsciously he leaned forward in his seat, chin resting on his hand. A new song started, and Dean was surprised to find that he recognized this one. "Royals", it was called- Jess had been singing it in the car on the way over. It sounded like it had been remixed, though, with a bit of speed and some extra bass.

Castiel looked calm and serene as he walked up to the pole and gripped it. Almost effortlessly he gripped up it, wrapping a leg around it and spinning back halfway down. He did this several times, each time varied with a different limb or added flair. Everything was timed perfectly with the music, and everything was perfectly executed. Castiel had a seriousness about him. Not a depressed or angry seriousness, but a calm and focused one. Every move he made was deliberate and graceful, and there was no surprise in Dean's mind that he was the closing act.

As the song was nearing the end, Castiel left the pole and came towards the front of the stage. He began to peel off his trench coat, earning shouts of encouragement and more bills from the crowd below. His hips and shoulders swayed to the music, and a miniscule smile was on his face. The sweat on the dancer's body made him shine, and his glossy black wings shone in the stage lights. Castiel was swiveling his hips and rolling his body like no other dancer had tonight, and his hands that sometimes crept down his skin weren't helping. 'Well that just isn't fair.' he thought as Castiel slowly untie his dark blue tie and began using it in his dancing. All in all, Dean was confused, awed, and maybe even a little bit turned on. Maybe. A little bit. Sam and Jess were both watching him, smothering a few snickers with their hands.

The song ended both too fast and too late, and Dean blinked himself out of a kind of stupor as Castiel gracefully walked off of the stage. Dean immediately went to down his beer- god did he need a drink- but was disappointed when it came up empty. 'Son of a bitch.' Without giving Sam or Jess time to respond, he muttered, "I'm gonna go get some more drinks." and abruptly stood up and walked over to the bar. He barely heard Crowley's announcement about "floor time", and he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost fell face first into one lady's boobs.

By the time he had wound his way through to the bar he took a seat, propping his elbows on the bar and raking a hand through his hair. His face sunk down onto his hands, and he sat there a minute, just breathing, his mind and heart racing. This is why he shouldn't have come back here- it made him confused and anxious and a tiny bit out of breath. Why was the thought of Castiel dancing enough to make his blood pound faster, and muddle his thoughts up beyond belief? Why couldn't he simply appreciate a good show? Both times he had had trouble tearing his eyes away- he was amazed, blindsided, awe-struck. Sam wasn't affected like this- he just liked to watch (or maybe even join in). Next time Sam wanted to go to this damn club he was going alone, screw him and Jess.

"Hey. Mr. Down in the Dumps! Are you just gonna sit there or are you gonna have a drink?" An accented voice made its way over the somewhat-muted music to Dean. Lifting his head up, he rubbed a hand down it before sticking a smile on his face. Balthazar was in front of him, his entire face screaming 'I'm enjoying your pain'.

Chuckling, Dean replied, "Uh, yeah. Gimme two beers and a whiskey."

Balthazar raised an eyebrow, smirking as he reached down and grabbed two bottles. "Rough night?" he asked, reaching over to the left of himself for a faded old Jack Daniels.

"You have no idea." Dean mumbled, watching disinterestedly as he poured two fingers into a fancy glass tumbler. He took it, immediately swallowing half of it, relishing the burn it had in his throat. Across the wood counter, Balthazar made himself comfortable, crossing his arms underneath him as he leaned forward.

"So. I heard that Crowley has offered you a job at this snazzy place. I don't really care how or why, but my questions is- what's the delay? Why haven't you decided?" Balthazar narrowed his eyes, and he seemed much more serious than before.

Dean shook his head, looking off to the side as he finished the rest of his scotch. Was nothing private anymore? "Yea, he did. The delay is that he won't take my no for an answer." he responded, passing his glass for a refill. Balthazar acquiesced, but still looked thoughtful.

Handing his glass back over, Balthazar murmured, "He seems very adamant in thinking that you guys will take the job. He insists that you both will be here in less than a couple weeks, and that he won't have to find new dancers."

Dean studied him, glass half raised to his lips. This was news to him. "Why?"

Balthazar shrugged, leaning away to head towards another customer. "I don't know. I'm just a humble bartender- why don't you ask him yourself?" Then he left without another word, smiling and chatting up the other patrons right away. Dean finished his drink and set down the glass, standing up from the chair. Spotting a piece of paper in front of him that wasn't there before, he snorted as he picked it up and saw that it was the tab. He quickly threw down enough money before grabbing the two beers and heading back to the table, carefully avoiding touching any of the half-naked people strewn about the room.

Of course, it had to be Lucifer, the 'pure sex' dancer, who came over to their booth and offered a dance. Sam hadn't even seen him come up to their table, and jumped when a cool hand landed on his shoulder. Jess giggled as Sam flinched against her, and waved shyly at the dancer. He was taller and stronger in person, and Sam was right at eye level with his bare chest. Sam swallowed, now extremely uncomfortable. Not only was the dancer right in his personal space and touching him, he was offering a lap dance to either him or his girlfriend, neither of which wouldn't end well.

"So, what can I do for you?" the dancer had asked. His voice was quiet and more subdued than Sam would have guessed, but it still had a quality to it that made you want to listen to him. 'What do I do? How do you politely dismiss a stripper? I could pull a Dean and snap at him, but I feel like this guy would just drop onto my lap out of spite. Shit.' Luckily, he was saved by having to answer by Jess.

"We're here together, so thank you, but no. You were really great up there though!" she chirped, handing over a twenty that she had fished out of her pocket. Lucifer took it and grinned, grabbing her hand and placing a kiss on it. Jess smiled and turned pink, making Sam sigh. He would be more upset if this wasn't their job to flirt with everyone.

The hand on his shoulder tightened once before it released, and now Lucifer directed his gaze to Sam. "If you change your mind, let me know." he murmured quietly, winking before melting away into the dim club and the crowd. Sam turned towards Jess, hand finding hers under the table. "Well that was interesting." he breathed.

Jess laughed. "Babe, you looked like a deer in headlights. Between you and Dean it's a wonder that you don't spontaneously combust." She leaned her head on Sam's shoulder, hooking a leg around his. "I can see why Dean didn't want to come back, though. I can see that he's horribly confused by all this. He wants to enjoy it, but he doesn't want to admit that he does."

She was completely right. Now if only Dean would have some sense and listen…. Sam smiled and dropped a kiss on her head. "I love it when you get all deep like that."

Jess snickered. "So do I." They both started cracking up, and were still laughing when Dean walked up with two more beers. Dropping them on the table, he slid into the seat, tilting his head at them. "Did I miss something?" he asked.

Sam just waved his hand, trying to swallow the rest of his laughter. "Not much. Jess was being perverted. Oh, and Lucifer came over and offered a lap dance." he deadpanned, hoping to get a reaction out of Dean. He wasn't disappointed- his eyes widened, he took a deep breath, and ran a hand through his hair and down his face.

"Look- you guys ready to go? Unless you want to us- SON OF A BITCH!" Dean jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder, flailing an arm. Crowley stood there calmly smirking, like always.

"Hello boys. Jess." he greeted, nodding. "Boys, could I have a word with you? Up in my office, perhaps?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other, making a decision together. "Whatever you want to say can be said here, with Jess." Sam replied, a smile on his face.

Crowley's smile didn't change, but his gaze hardened a bit. "Very well then. I would like an answer to my- rather generous- offer. These spots are worth more than you imagine, and right now it's holding up my business." he said, all business.

Sighing, Dean said, "Look, we already said. We're flattered, but the answer is still-"

"Can you give us one more week to decide?" Sam interrupted, kicking Dean's shin. He violently ignored to returned kick and the daggers being glared at him.

"Sam, come on." Dean snapped.

Clearing his throat, Crowley shifted his weight towards Dean. "Look, moose and squirrel. I know that you can barely afford the tuition for Sam's school. I know you can't keep down a steady job and that you live in a dilapidated old apartment sketchier than a prison Laundromat. I know you need the money, I know that you need this job, and I know that you can't keep your eyes off of the dancers." The entire time, Crowley had remained cool and collected, voice barely rising. But his words cut through the space between them like a knife, and all three sitting at the table stared at him in varying degrees of astonishment or anger.

Crowley studied them all for a second, before giving them a cold smile. "I want my answer within a week." He strode away, becoming lost from sight within a few seconds.

Dean and Sam looked at each other. Dean scoffed, throwing a napkin he had been shredding to the table. "Let's scram." he ground out, quickly walking towards the door. Sam and Jess followed after a moment, Sam biting his lip. He was determined to make Dean see that this was a good idea, but now he had less than a week to do it. 'Fantastic.'