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When Dean woke up the next morning, he immediately regretted opening his eyes. Colors and lights swirled around blearily, making his already pounding head feel like a herd of elephants was doing a marathon through his gray matter. His mouth tasted worse than Bobby's cooking, and he had to piss like a racehorse. It looked like he was in the same clothes as last night, he didn't remember how he got here, and stomach was practicing contortionism apparently. Overall, he felt like shit.

Dean Winchester didn't get hangovers. He'd been drinking beer since the time he hit double digits, and hard liquor since before he could drive. But, apparently, the equivalent of an entire bottle of whiskey within two hours was beyond his limit. Moaning and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he quickly tried to run through the events of last night.

The last thing he remembered clearly… was heading back from the bar, the rest of the bottle of whiskey in his hand. He had sat there through the performances, and even through most of the floor time. Until… he groaned at his stupidity, recalling in flashes the three college guys he had almost beaten up over Castiel. Or Cas, as he had drunkenly deemed him. So much for trying to be apathetic about the dancers if he was already trying to fight people for one of them. That just send out a shining beacon over him. 'Dean Winchester, Defender of Strippers.'

Everything around and after that event was mostly a blur, though he remembered leaving soon after. He wasn't sure if he was glad that he had taken a taxi back, or incredibly pissed that his Baby was still sitting in the alleyway outside of the club. He was leaning more towards the latter. It had been a while since he'd been that drunk.

Why did he ever think that going to a place where, as he has come to find out, he has severely confused feelings about, and getting insanely drunk- alone- was a good idea? When he wanted to get drunk, he got drunk, and often- like now- he had trouble recalling specifics. Which usually- especially like right now- really would have been appreciated. No wonder Sam always said how he had to keep him in line when they went out to bars.

Well. That was a spectacularly shitty way to spend a night. What day was it today? Friday? 'Damnit!' Dean had work at Bobby's at eleven thirty, and he didn't even have a car. What time was it? He looked around the living room, squinting against the sunlight streaming in through the window. They really needed to get a clock in here or something.

Squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stand up. He felt the room sway dangerously around him, and his stomach did a jump worthy of a skydiver. Dean slowly opened his eyes, taking a breath once he didn't feel like recoloring the carpet of the living room. Shuffling down the hall to the tiny bathroom, he turned on the light, immediately screwing his eyes shut once again. When tiny needles weren't being stabbed into his corneas, he opened them to look at his reflection.

'Well, if I feel like shit, then I look like a plane crash.' He winced at the dark shadows under his eyes and the drool on his chin. Rubbing his face, he used the other hand to attempt to bring some order to his hair. A dark spot on his neck caught his eye, and he froze, finger drifting down from his hair to trace over the bruise. 'What the fuck?' Who the hell had he let give him that? He didn't remember hooking up with any women last night…. Of course, there always were the dancers…. 'Shitfuck. This is bad.'

First thing was first, though- he needed a shower and to change out of yesterday's clothes. Shrugging out of his jacket and t-shirt, he heard Sam trip over something outside, probably just waking up. "Sam- what time did I get home?' Dean called hoarsely, wincing at the loudness.

A moment later Sam popped his head through the door, giving no thought to the fact that Dean was half naked. "Oh, good! I thought you had died!" he said cheerfully.

Rolling his eyes, Dean replied, "Haha, so funny. Seriously, though, I actually can't remember." Turning back to the mirror, he made a face, scratching his shoulder. He hated not being able to remember things. He needed control over his life, and this was not helping at all.

Smirking, Sam said, "About one. You tripped twice on the way to the coach. Luckily I was still up, so I could prevent you from braining yourself on a table or something."

Dean frowned without looking at him. "What time is it?" He fingered the hickey on his neck again, his brow furrowed.

Leaning against the doorway, Sam answered, "Ten."

"Right. Good." So he still had time before he had to go to work. Although he's not sure he could keep anything down besides coffee at this point. "Why aren't you at school?" Dean asked, undoing his belt from his jeans.

"It's Friday, remember? My class doesn't start till noon today." came the response. 'Right.' Sam then continued, "Nice hickey, by the way."

Immediately slapping a hand over it, Dean turned and glared at Sam, hissing, "Shut up."

Sam's smirk grew bigger, and he raised his hands, standing up straight. "Hey, I don't judge. Did Castiel give it to you?" Dean slammed the door shut on him, though the giggles could still be heard through the thin wood. As he yanked on the shower curtains and turned the water on the hottest setting (which was only lukewarm anyway), Dean realized that he had never told Sam where he had gone. So how did he know that he had gone back to the club?

Sam laughed to himself all the way back to the kitchen, a bit smug at how irritated he had managed to make Dean within a few minutes. He hadn't meant to reveal to Dean that he knew about the strip club, but so far it looked like Dean hadn't even picked up on that. Hey, it wasn't Sam's fault that Dean had come in here- stumbling drunk- muttering about the club and "Cas". It had taken every ounce of will that Sam had not to simply drop Dean on the floor and go to bed laughing, and Sam was taking his time enjoying it now.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Sam was clicking away at his laptop, finishing up an assignment for his Ethics class. Everything was quiet in the small apartment, the only sounds the tapping of keys and the humming of the old fridge. Dean had left a note, saying that he had "gone out" and would be back by midnight. It was almost one though, and Sam was confused. Dean never just left, especially without telling Sam where he went. He had already tried Dean's cell, but he hadn't picked up.

Suddenly, there was a thump at the door, like someone had fallen onto it. Sam jumped, the loud noise startling him. Walking quickly to the door, Sam looked through the peephole, frowning when he saw the familiar spiky hair of his older brother. He opened the door, hurriedly throwing out an arm to catch Dean as he sagged inwards when the support disappeared. "Dean?" he asked, concerned. It wouldn't be the first time Dean staggered back home, injured or bleeding from a fight or something….

As he kicked the door shut, half dragging Dean away from it, Dean's head suddenly shot up, and he grabbed Sam's collar. His eyes were wide and bleary, and his breath reeked of alcohol. "Sam… the club… I almost… guy a hit. Wait… no… I almost hit a guy. Yea." Sam could see that Dean was piss drunk, and his previous concern evaporated, replaced with annoyance and slight amusement.

"Yea yea yea, let's get you inside, hm?" Sam replied, bodily moving Dean towards the couch. Dean protested weakly, swatting at Sam's arms as he slid over the carpet. He kept up a steady stream of mumbling, which Sam chose to ignore. It had been a while since Sam had to deal with a completely fucked-over Dean, and he had hoped that he had outgrown this sort of thing. Sam had. But, of course, since Dean was the most emotionally constipated person he knew, it figured he'd rather get completely hammered instead of face his problems.

When Sam had finally wrestled Dean onto the couch, he kneeled down next to him with a sigh. "So, what were you saying about the club?" he asked, not needing to feign interest. As soon as Dean had mentioned the club, Sam's ears had perked up. What was Dean doing back at the club? Sam had been planning to go Saturday night to talk to Crowley, to arrange his schedule and what-not. Did Dean say something to Crowley about it?

Dean, with his eyes closed, slurred, "Oh yeah. Um… I wen' back to the club. I' was pre'y nice. I drank a lot. Balthy has good booze. Saw Cas… he did really good. Bu'… I almos' punched a guy out 'cause he was touchin' Cas an' Cas didn't wan' him to. Then I drank sommore an' then I came home." He nodded, satisfied he'd gotten out the whole story. It was obvious from his increasingly incoherent talking that the conversation was over, and Sam wasn't getting anything else out of him.

As Dean shifted to get more comfortable on the couch, Sam sat back on his heels, digesting the story. So… Dean had gone back to the club? Not only without him, but while trying to keep it from him? Why would he do that? What was he hiding? Again, he was torn between irritation over being left out of the loop, and amusement at seeing the disheveled and concerned state of his brother. As his eyes alighted on a certain dark mark sucked onto his throat, Sam snorted, slapping a hand onto his mouth to keep it from waking Dean. Shaking his head, he stood up and walked back to his computer, committing this to memory for future blackmail material.

Leaning against the counter, Sam took a swig from his glass of water, listening to Dean cursing lowly in the shower. Sam knew Dean better than anyone else, and he could tell that Dean had gone to the club and gotten so drunk for a reason. His brother knew how to handle his liquor, and that he got wasted said tons about his current state of mind. It was a bit worrying, but Sam was going to get to the bottom of this. As soon as Dean had some coffee.

Sam sat alone in the kitchen, mulling over his thoughts, for the next few minutes. Soon enough Dean came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around him, heading into the bedroom to get changed. As he quickly got a cup of coffee ready for him, Sam called out, "Do you want any food?" Not that he could cook much more besides rough scrambled eggs. And he was pretty sure they were out of eggs….

"No." Dean yelled back, thumping around the other room. Sam smirked in light relief, pouring the hot instant coffee into a mug. Turning around, he held it out to Dean as he walked into the kitchen, smiling slightly. Giving a nod of thanks, Dean took it, slumping into a chair.

The best way to do this was jump right in. Dean was too obtuse to understand subtle hints, and catching him off guard had worked in the past. Skirting around the table, Sam slipped into the seat across from Dean, watching as he drank. He looked less like a zombie now after his shower, which was good he supposed. He was probably hung over as all get out, but that was his own fault. As soon as Dean had finished his first gulp, Sam pounced. "So, why did you go back to the club last night?"

Dean coughed loudly, choking on his coffee. 'Whoops. Guess he hadn't finished.' Glaring at Sam, Dean said, "How did you even know that's where I went?"

Sam shrugged, grinning mischievously. The look on Dean's face would be priceless. "You told me. Last night. When I had to drag you across the apartment onto the couch."

He wasn't disappointed. Dean froze, his eyes wide, face going blank. "Oh. Great." he said sarcastically, taking another sip from his coffee. Sam waited for something else- like an answer to his question, maybe- but Dean stayed silent, staring down at his coffee like it held the mysteries of the universe. 'Why did I have to be cursed with such a rock for a brother?'

Grunting in annoyance, Sam leaned over and hit Dean on the arm. "Hey. I asked you a question, jerk."

"Bitch." Dean muttered. Then he sighed, rubbing his face. "Look, I just… I needed to go again. Without you there. I needed to… check it out, see more of it. Because I promised you that I would." He looked at Sam with widened eyes, hands spread out.

Sam swallowed, looking down. 'Well. That's new.' So… Dean had gone out to the club to investigate more, because he was actually taking Sam's plea into consideration? A little burst of warmth settled in Sam's chest at his brother's antics. Dean was honestly trying, in his own way. Yea, Dean had always done everything he could for Sam, but this was almost more than he had ever done.

He knew that Sam actually wanted to try this out, and even though he hated it, he was willing to go and suffer through it. For Sam. Still examining the table, Sam grinned to himself. Yea, he was a pain in the ass, but Dean was his pain in the ass. Of course, if he ever said something that cheesy out loud, Dean would probably just hit him instead of reciprocating like a normal person.

Glancing up quickly, Sam merely said, "And?"

Dean was silent for a moment. At first, Sam thought that he wasn't going to get an answer. But, giving his brother the benefit of the doubt, he remained silent as well, waiting a moment before he would groan loudly with frustration and possibly hit him again. Finally, Dean said quietly, "Yea. I made my decision."

His head shooting up, Sam's mouth dropped open. He had expected something along the lines of 'A fucking stripper tried to give me a lap dance so I had to leave. I'm never going back there again.' But this…. "Woah… you actually made a choice while you were getting shit-faced?" he asked incredulously, if not a little bit sarcastically.

A mocking glare was sent his way. "Yes, Mr. Research and Study. I know how to work with alcohol." Dean sniped, finishing the last of his coffee. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. "And I decided… that I'll come with you. I'll accept the job. But first sign of a cougar trying to grope me and I'm out." he grumbled, crossing his arms.

Sam laughed once, face breaking into a huge smile. He couldn't believe Dean was agreeing to this- it was so much better than what he had expected. "Really? Dean, this is great! When are we gonna go tell Crowley?" he asked, leaning forward onto the table. How was he supposed to go to class now, when this new information just sent him buzzing? This was gonna be a long day.

Dean made a face, but Sam could see that he was at least a little bit glad that his decision was finally made. "I guess we'll go tonight. After we eat." he answered, toying with the handle of his mug. Sam beamed, nodding his head. There was one last thing he had to get out of this conversation for it to be perfect.

"One more question." Sam added, attempting to keep a straight face, probably not doing a very good job of it. Dean nodded, already looking suspicious. This was too good; Sam would have ammunition for at least three weeks. "Did 'Cas' give you a hickey anywhere below the belt, too?"

Scowling impressively as he reddened, Dean ground out, "Shut up. Just go to school, asshole." For effect, he threw a discarded pen at Sam's head. Laughing, Sam ducked it, jumping up and running away from the table. He grabbed his backpack from his doorway on his way to the front door.

"Don't forget to go to work!" Sam prompted, checking his texts to see if Jess was here yet. A loud groan and a curse from behind him showed that Dean had already forgotten about Bobby's garage today. Again, it was his own fault; he wouldn't get any pity from Sam. His phone dinged in his hand.

Jess: here

"Alright, I'm leaving. See you later- no backing out!" Sam yelled as he walked out the door. Dean made some noise of agreement, already digging through the drawers in the bedroom to change into something better for work. As Sam jogged up to Jess's car, he couldn't help but smile more. 'I knew Dean would eventually agree.'

As he slid in, Jess greeted him with a kiss. "Hey- you seem happy." she commented. Sam reached over and took her hand, running his thumb along her knuckles. Yea, you could say that. Finally, something was going right in their crappy lives. This would be their chance to get more money, possibly move out of their dingy apartment, and maybe Sam could even get his own car for the first time in his life. The possibilities ran through his head, proving his earlier thought that today would go by extremely slow.

"You won't believe what happened last night…."

As the day went on, Dean found that he was strangely relaxed about that night. He had thought that he would be anxious and worried, but as it got closer to quitting time at Bobby's, he felt a sense of calm spread through him. The closest thing he could compare it to was the icy calm before a fight. 'Huh. I guess that's close enough to the truth.' He didn't quite understand why, but he didn't want to take time to examine it. He was too busy focusing on what he was going to say to Crowley tonight, and trying not to focus on the smug and cocksure look that was surely going to be on his face. 'Slimy bastard.'

Even Bobby noticed his head wasn't in the right place. Dean was packing up his tools, getting ready to go home and cook up a quick dinner, when Bobby ambled over. "Everythin' alright, boy?" he asked, handing Dean a wrench he had left on the hood of a car.

Dean looked up, not even hearing that Bobby had approached. "What? Yea, I'm fine. I just…." He trailed off as he shoved the last few things in his bag. Sighing, he ran a dirty hand through his hair, the sweat and grim making it stand up even more. This was not a conversation he had wanted to have- it felt way too awkward telling Bobby these things. He had already said that he didn't really care one way or another, but now that it was a sure thing, would he change his mind? Berate Dean? Be disgusted with both of them? "Sam and I are gonna take the job. At the club." he blurted out, not looking at Bobby.

The only response was a low hum. Dean risked a glance at Bobby, who looked unruffled, nodding slightly. Seeing the look on Dean's face, Bobby snorted. "Look, boy, like I told ya before. I don't give a damn what you two boys do in yer free time. Yer two fully grown men, you can make yer own decision. As long as you come to work, don't forget to call me every so often, and don't get any weird piercings on yer dick, all I can say is: have fun."

Dean chuckled, shaking his head slightly. The twisting spot of anxiety that had appeared as Bobby came over faded away, leaving him even calmer than before. There really was nothing preventing him from doing this… it all seemed a little bit surreal. Maybe that's why he was so calm- he was still in denial or something…. "You never fail to surprise me, old man."

"And don't you forget it." Bobby responded, walking back towards his house with a wave and a grin. Dean waved back, before shouldering his bag and jogging to the Impala. It was already 6:30, so Sam would already be on his way home, and he had to get home and make dinner. So that they could go to the strip club. And get jobs. Exhaling sharply, Dean got in the car and started home.

Who could blame him if he was still somewhat worried about this? Just because his body wasn't reacting to the stress didn't mean his mind wasn't working overdrive. There were a million and one ways that this could go wrong and blow up in all of their faces. There were still so many unknowns; so many things left to figure out. They honestly barely knew anything about the club or the people in it, and there they were, jumping headfirst into it. It was definitely unlike them to do this. Their dad had taught them better than that.

Dean's knuckles turned white around the steering wheel at that thought. Yea, their dad had taught them. He'd taught them everything: how to properly drink booze, how to scam everything from pool games to credit card companies, how to shoot a gun or throw a knife, and how to track someone's whereabouts. They knew how to stake out a house, how to pick locks and sneak into buildings, and how to survive on the run with no money, food, or shelter. They were taught how to survive.

Their dad had taught them everything but how to live.

Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd had a real home before their shitty little apartment. He couldn't remember the last birthday celebration that he'd had with anyone but Sam. He couldn't remember ever being told as a child that everything would be okay, that he was safe. That had all died along with Mary Winchester.

Angrily shaking his head, Dean hit the steering wheel once, irritated that he'd sunk into memories of his dad. He didn't often do it, and he refused to talk about it to Sam, but sometimes they came out of nowhere, like now, and he had to drag his mind away from the pit. They weren't happy memories, but they were all he had left of his life besides Sam. John Winchester may have been cruel and unhappy, but he was still their father, and they owed their lives to him.

'Yea, but it doesn't mean I have to like the way he did it.'

Firmly turning up his music, he spent the rest of the ride trying to get lost in the fast drum beats and harsh guitar streaks of ACDC. It worked… for the most part. It didn't help his mood that the door to the apartment stuck when he tried to open it, and he had to spend four minutes outside trying to shoulder it open. By the time he got inside and found that he did not, in fact, have any frozen pizza like he thought, he was in a black mood.

Fifteen minutes and a handful of healthy cursing later, Sam walked in as Dean was finishing up some makeshift stir fry. As in, it was rice, soy sauce, and chicken in a big pan. Close enough. "Hey, Dean." Sam greeted, grabbing a glass of water. Dean just grunted in reply, and he could practically feel Sam's eye roll from behind him.

Dinner was mostly silent, with Sam trying to make stilted conversation and getting more and more irritated with his older brother's monosyllabic answers and lingering scowl. Dean honestly didn't care- his previous calm at joining the club had returned in full force with his anger this afternoon, and he was in no mood to talk. Sam could definitely see that, but it seemed he had enough.

"Dean. What's wrong?" There was a beat of silence before Sam continued at a lower volume, "Is it the club?" Dean's eyes flashed up to him from where his face was balanced on his hand, seeing actual concern on his little brother's face. Of course Sam would want to talk about it. He was a total girl when it came to emotions.

Dean laughed once dryly. "Yea, you could say that. Can't blame me, though, right?" He could hear it himself that he didn't sound too convincing. Sam's raised eyebrow bitch-face proved that. Dean snorted, letting his hand thump against the table. "Okay, yea, it is the club. Also there's the fact that I thought about Dad today for the first time in a while. That, combined with the door sticking on me and having no goddamn pizza, and I'm ready to punch something." he snapped, glaring at Sam.

Sam seemed unfazed. "What about Dad?"

Of course he would pick up on that part. It figured. There was a reason Dean hadn't wanted to say anything. Shaking his head, he responded, "Nuh-uh. We are not having this conversation. It's done and over with." He looked back down at his mostly empty plate, pushing around a few grains of rice.

"Dean. Dean." At Sam's insistent words, Dean looked back up. "Look, we don't have to talk about it, okay? Just… don't shut me out and act all pissy with me if you won't even let me help. Okay?" He stared hard at Dean until he got a hesitant nod in return. "Okay. Now… what time is it?" he asked.

Dean glanced at the clock over the sink. "Seven thirty." He made a face at the clock, knowing what was coming next.

Sam grinned impishly. "Then let's go get ourselves some jobs."