Reminder that this story now updates every other week, usually on a Monday or Tuesday.
As always, gif makers and all fanart are welcome, as are ideas on ships, plots, and events.
Sorry for the brevity, but I had tonsillitis and mono at the same time last week, and my laptop is now officially busted :(
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Sam sighed, absentmindedly tapping his fingers on his leg. The car was silent, apart from Jess's country music playing quietly in the background, but he didn't mind, and neither did Jess. The rides were either spent with extremely loud and animated conversations about their day-mocking people they had seen and sharing information they had learned- or in complete silence, like today. If they didn't have anything to say, they wouldn't say anything at all. It worked, somehow.
Besides, he was in deep thought anyway. The night before last at the club had been progress, no matter how Dean may have been acting. But now Sam had to think of a way to make his brother see the pros of their situation instead of just the cons. Sure, it wasn't like Sam was bursting with excitement to be a male stripper, but at least he could see that it was the best opportunity they'd had in a long time. He'd seen how much those dancers had pulled in each night- it was probably more than Dean made in a week. This was a chance to maybe move out of their miniature apartment, and afford a place where Dean could have an actual bed. Sam could take more classes at Stanford, and Dean could stop working so many hours at Bobby's shop. They could stop sneaking into movies and stop committing credit card fraud.
It was more than just the money. Though, it would be incredible to not have to steal and cheat to make ends meet. It was the fact that, for one of the first times in his life, Sam could be doing something for his own gain and for his own reasons. In the past he'd always had to go along with his dad's plans, or listen to Dean, or- in more recent years- get away from his screwed up family. It wasn't life or death, it wasn't struggling to find food and shelter, and it wasn't running and hiding. For the first time, Sam was in complete control over his immediate future. He could choose to do what he wanted, and it was a heady sensation for him. 'Now if only Dean could see that.'
There was no reason he couldn't do it without his brother, of course. Sam was most likely going to accept the job, whether Dean did or not. But he knew that if he did, Dean would be furious and upset, and probably do something incredibly stupid. The last time Dean had gotten infuriated, he had taken a mallet to an abandoned shop on Bobby's property and ended up breaking his wrist and spraining his shoulder. Also, Crowley probably expected a package deal or something, and form what he'd seen, Crowley was not a guy he wanted to be on the shit-list of.
'This would be so much easier if Dean would just agree to listen to reason for once in his life.' he thought, softly bumping his head on the headrest behind him. Jess glanced over at him as she turned onto the street for their apartment. "You okay, Sam?" she asked, concern furrowing her brow.
Sam gave her a small grin. "Yea, I'm fine. Just thinking." he responded. Sighing, he elaborated. "I decided I'm going to take the job at the club, whether Dean does or not." He frowned. "It would be easier, though, if he did. I would feel better about it, too. I just wish that he wouldn't be so stubborn all the time." he huffed, shifting in his seat.
Jess made a noncommittal noise as she swung into the parking lot of the apartment. She put the car in park in front of the main doors. Turning in her seat, she had a soft smile on her lips. "Babe, you do what you want to do. Dean's not your dad, no matter how much he takes it on himself to be. And I think he'll come around. Eventually. Just stop worrying over it. It'll all be okay." She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his forehead, her hand coming down to grip his. He smiled, catching her lips in a kiss.
"Thank you." he murmured, leaning his forehead on hers. "What would I do without you?" he asked, bringing up his free hand to stroke her hair.
Giggling, she kissed him again, tongue darting out to run across his lips. "Crash and burn?" she suggested, pulling back. "I gotta get home and clean Bela's apartment. Who knew that housesitting would be so much work?" She rolled her eyes, squeezing Sam's hand once before letting go. "Good luck with Dean."
"Thanks. Love you." He kissed her cheek with a smile before hopping out of the car, waving as she drove off. Turning around he jogged inside, waving at the landlady behind the reception desk. She waved back, sending a wink and a blown kiss his way. Sam winced, hurrying past her to their apartment halfway down the hall. He twisted the knob, giving the old door a shove with his shoulder when it got stuck instead of opening.
He could hear the TV going as he walked in. "Hey, Sam. Dinner's on the table." Dean called over his shoulder from where Sam could see he was sitting on the couch. "I already ate, but you guys took forever to get here, so…." Sam chuckled, shaking his head. Typical.
Tossing his backpack into his room, Sam shrugged his coat off as he walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. Dropping it onto the back of a chair, he grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the fridge. "Dean, I gotta talk to you about something." he declared, not wanting to beat around the bush. Sam sat down at the table, reaching over to drag the plate of microwavable burritos towards him.
"Eat first. Doctor Sexy ends in like, fifteen minutes." Dean countered, waving his hand in the air. Sam chuckled, digging into his food. He didn't know what was with Dean and those daytime soap operas. They sounded ridiculous, if the dialogue he had heard meant anything. The lovesick confessions and the dramatics alone made him want to vomit.
As he ate, he tried to think about how to approach the topic with Dean. If he eased into it, Dean might see what was coming and pull a Houdini act. If he dropped it on him like an A-bomb it might work, though it might also just get him angrier. 'Like a cornered animal.' Maybe if he casually slipped it into a conversation… 'No… Dean is expecting a talk, you already told him.' God, you'd think pre-law would have prepared him better for things like this. What if he tricked him into listening with a promise? It had worked before…. He worked his way through the plate of microwaved Mexican food, thinking of ways to present his opinion without Dean going apeshit.
Too soon, it seemed, the credits were rolling on the TV and Sam could hear him standing up and stretching, complete with joints cracking and loud groaning. Dean walked back over to the table with a bottle in his hand, dropping into the seat across from Sam. "So. Talk to me." he said, raising his hands in the air. Looking expectantly at Sam, he took a sip of his beer.
Taking a deep breath, Sam decided to just jump into it. "Look, Dean." he started, playing with his fingers. "I know how you feel about this, so all I'm asking is for you to hear me out, okay?" He looked up and found Dean's eyes, waiting until he had gotten a nod from Dean to continue. Clearing his throat, he looked back down at the table again. "I want you to consider taking the job at Supernatural." Sam braced himself for the inevitable explosion, but it never came. Cautiously he looked up and across the table.
Dean's expression had darkened considerably, and his jaw was clenched, but he remained silent. 'Well that's a surprise.' Sam hesitated, and Dean supplied, "Sam, just keep talking. Not gonna promise that it will make a difference, but I said I would hear you out." He took a deep breath and another swallow of his beer, before waving his hand around. "Continue." he prompted, sighing.
Nodding, he cleared his throat again. "Okay…. Anyway, I know that you don't want to, and I understand why. But don't you think you're overreacting just a little?" Sam reasoned, going for a diplomatic tone. Dean's face showed him nothing but resignation and annoyance, so he couldn't tell if it was working or not. Regardless, he forged ahead. "It is not a terrible job. The place is snazzy, it's well run, it's safe….Crowley was right. We could definitely use that kind of money. Those guys are pulling in almost a thousand dollars a night, which is about as much as you make in a week and a half at Bobby's. Just think about it. We could rent a bigger apartment upstairs, maybe, one where you can have your own bed instead of a shitty couch. You could stop working so many hours at the car shop. I could take more classes!"
At his last few points Dean's countenance has softened a bit, the hard lines on his face smoothing out a little. Sam took this as a good sign. Taking a deep breath, he decided to go for the heavy route. "I haven't gotten the chance in my life to make many of my own decisions." he began haltingly. "It was always whatever Dad said, we did. And then it was whatever you thought that we should do, and I always went along with it. Obviously, it all worked out, we're still here, aren't we?" He kept his eyes downcast, not wanting to see Dean's reaction to his words. "Going to Stanford was one of the first times I've been able to do anything for myself. It hasn't happened very often since, and I want to take advantage of when it does. And this is another one of those times.
"I'm not complaining. You and dad took care of me, and basically made sure I survived. But now I'm old enough to make my own decisions and do what I think is best, and this job is I, Dean. I… I'm going to accept, whether you do or not. In five days- which is when Crowley wants his answer- I'll go down to the club and sign up, or whatever, with or without you." He paused. "I'd rather you be there with me, though." he stated firmly, clenching his jaw. He glanced quickly up at Dean, inwardly wincing at what he saw.
Dean looked like a kicked puppy, if he was being honest. His eyes were downcast, a frown tugging at his downturned lips, and his whole face was just screaming "I'm blaming myself for this and now I hate myself". Sam hated that he had put that look on Dean's face, but he had to get his point across. "I'm sorry. But… that's my opinion, like it or not." he uttered, a frown of his own coming over his face.
Shrugging, Dean listlessly drank more of his beer. "No, Sammy, I get it. You're old enough to do whatever you want, and I guess I have to accept that." He toyed with the lip of his bottle, not meeting Sam's eye. "Don't mean I have to like it, it is what it is." Sighing, he ran a hand down his face, finally looking up at Sam. "Just… I can't just sign up for this… I promise I'll think more on it, okay?"
"Okay." Sam replied, nodding. It was more than he had hoped for. He gave a small smile. "Thanks, Dean." he added. He could sense that Dean needed some space now, so he stood up and walked over the couch, flopping down to watch some brainless game show. He sincerely hoped that Dean would keep to his word and think on it, because it would be so much easier to do this with a clear conscience if his brother came with him.
Dean sat alone at the table, draining the rest of his beer. 'Well if that conversation didn't make me feel like shit.' Now he understood why Sam wanted this job so much. It was about choice, it was about control. The poor kid has been following others around all his life, and now he finally wanted to make a decision for himself. Who was Dean to keep him from doing that? Why should Dean be able to take that choice from him? The answer was, of course, that he was nobody, that he shouldn't take it from him. For god's sake, the kid was on his way to law school, he could take his job matters into his own hands. His older brother shouldn't be able to keep him from doing that. Dean's inhibitions and worries shouldn't bleed over into Sam so much. He didn't have the right to keep him from something that was obviously important to him.
Not to mention, Sam had good points. It was obvious this issue had been on his mind for a while, because he knew exactly what to say. He'd been thinking over this for days probably, the way only Sam can get fixated on an issue. Sam was totally convinced that this was the right thing to do, and he was just trying to make Dean see it from his point of view. He wasn't even forcing him or giving him an ultimatum- he just wanted Dean to understand.
And there was Dean feeling like a dick-monkey again, because Sam was just so good deep down. His little brother wasn't weighted down or cynical by their hard life, and he managed to always do the right thing and try to make everything alright. All he wanted was to do what he thought was best for both of them. Running a hand down his face, Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair. The way Sam had talked about it made it sound a hell of a lot better than Dean had been viewing it in his mind this past week. Lots of money, glamorous setting, an easy job…. Of course, that was all sugar coated, but it was what it boiled down to. Maybe… just maybe… he could get this to work.
Then, images from two nights ago flashed through his mind, adding negatives to the growing list in his head. Dancers leading random strangers up to the private rooms, dancers shamelessly working the laps of even more strangers…. Yes, Dean loved sex, and was known for leaping at the chance when it presented himself. And yes, he was also known for one-night stands. But looking back on what he would have to do at this club, it just didn't sit right with him. He couldn't connect the dots in his mind to see the good side of it.
Most of the dancers had looked happy enough, especially when they were collecting up the wads of cash being thrown up at them. And none of them looked like strippers- like, if you were passing them in the street, you wouldn't be able to pick them out from John Smith. So how did they get where they were? Were they like him, and just got roped into it because of outside circumstances, and had learned to enjoy it? Or where they willing, excited, and sex-crazed fiends, completely ready to do whatever it is people wanted? He hoped that it was the first option, and that if he agreed to this, then he would come to enjoy it.
One part that still rankled him, however, was the part where guys would be half of the people trying to feel him up. Yes, he had had that happen a few times before, and a couple times it had even gone further (shit happens in community college). He wasn't a complete stranger to that side of things, but there was a reason he'd had sex with nobody but women since. He'd tried it… and it wasn't for him. So he wasn't jumping at the chance to rub up against male strangers. 'Wish I knew how Sam was making that okay in his head.'
He decided to make a list of pros and cons to this. It had always helped him in the past. Pros were: more money (way more money), guarantee of employment, working less hours at the car shop, and letting Sam do what he believed was good. He refused to acknowledge the treacherous thread of thought, containing a certain extremely talented, trench-coated dancer, that intruded. Cons were: creepy as hell boss, being sexual with strangers on a nightly basis (though that one was… debatably a con)… and that was all he had.
The longer he sat there, the more tangled and confused his thoughts became. Every positive aspect of the job brought along another negative aspect, and he was no closer to figuring this out than before. He didn't know what would happen if they didn't have an answer for Crowley by next Monday- or if they said no- but he wasn't looking forward to finding out. 'There's probably not much he can do, right?' The guy was creepy, but he wasn't about to murder them or anything.
Looking over at Sam, who was fully invested in the fame of Jeopardy on the TV, Dean felt another twinge of guilt. He was doing this for Sam, and he'd done some pretty shady things for the kid in the past. What was this comparatively? 'Certainly more personally demanding.' He fisted his hands in his hair, thunking his head down on the table. Well, he had fulfilled his promise to Sam. He had thought about it, and thought about it some more, and his answer was… that he still didn't have an answer to give to either Sam or Crowley. 'Shit'.