Living Dead Boy

[real_funky_town]

Title: Living Dead Boy

Summary: The ghost of a stripper is possessing thirty year old, attractive males with light brown hair and green eyes. What could possibly go wrong?

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: None

Spoilers: Vague through mid Season 5

Word Count: 5,420

Author’s Note: Written for this hoodie_time prompt. Thanks so much to meus_venator for the beta!

~~~

The world was ending, maybe sooner rather than later, and battling against that inevitable fate was consuming their existence. It was becoming difficult to remember what they were even fighting for. Sam could feel himself slipping, losing hold of all human connections.

It was no longer about saving people, just hunting things.

If they didn’t stop such and such seal from being broken, ten thousand people would die or if they didn’t stop some other one then it would be another random number of people. Numbers were all they had become. Not being able to save them all, not being able to remember why any of them needed to be saved, was taking a heavy toll on them both.

A simple salt and burn would give Dean a chance to feel like he’d accomplished something. They could sweep into town, kill the monster, save some innocent lives and maybe Dean could get the girl.

Sam was completely onboard with the idea of taking a case. It was this specific case he didn’t want to touch with a ten foot pole.

Once more, Sam clicked through photos of the victims. His eyes darkened with concern as they flicked between the screen of his laptop and his brother.

Dean sat on the bed with his dirty boots planted in the center of the rumpled blue-plaid blanket and a pistol laid casually on the mattress beside his thigh. He leaned back against the headboard while munching on a sloppy burrito, which was slowly oozing from its folded wrapper.

His brother’s mouth caught a stray clump of beans while a gooey chunk slid from the other side to plop down onto the dirty denim of his jeans. He shifted his double fisted hold on the burrito so that he could swipe the runaway beans onto his fingers and shovel them into his mouth.

There was no way he wasn’t going to trash the bed, but for the first time in a while, Dean almost looked relaxed so Sam bit his tongue. If it made Dean happy, he could trash the whole room.

“What?” Dean swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and gave it a glance before looking up at Sam. “Do I got something on my face?”

Sam hadn’t realized that he’d been staring and quickly looked away, focusing his gaze back on the laptop. “Probably, but Dean, have you taken a look at these victims?”

Dean chomped off another mouthful of burrito before quirking a brow to Sam. He was still chewing when he replied, “Sure. Why?”

“And did you notice anything?”

His brother gave a shrug before focusing his sights back on lunch and shoving the last piece into his mouth. “They’re all dudes, jock types. Doesn’t exactly narrow it down.” Dean sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Why? You got something?”

“Just that they’re all well-built, thirty year old men with light brown hair and green eyes.”

“Wow. Two hours of staring at that thing and you managed to come up with less than we started out knowing.” Dean crumpled up the aluminum foil wrapper from his burrito and tossed it across the room to make a basket in the waste bin. “Score!”

Sam rubbed his hand over his face as Dean gave a victorious pump of his fist before settling back on the bed with his hands laced behind his head. “Dean, will you listen?”

“As soon as you come up with something half useful. None of that helps narrow down the next victim. Lots of guys are thirty, and green eyes can’t be that rare. Hell, I got them.”

“I know and you’re an attractive thirty year old well-built male.”

A smirk spread over Dean’s lips. “Gee, Sammy, I’m flattered, but you’re gonna have to at least buy me some flowers before I let you knock me up.”

This was exactly why this case had Sam so worried. It wasn’t only that Dean fit the victim profile - it was that Dean completely dismissed that. Fighting heaven and hell made a single ghost seem insignificant, but one vengeful spirit could kill Dean just as dead as an army of angels and demons could.

“Seriously, Dean.” Sam narrowed his eyes. “You’re a prime target for this thing.”

“Dude, chill out. I’ve been holding an archangel off from jumping my bones. I’m not gonna let some spook take this sweet ass for a test drive. Son of a bitch is just gonna have to take a number and buy his own damn timeshare.”

Holding off.

Sam’s fingers ran absently over the keyboard while he tried not to read too much into those words.

It was hard not to think that was all they were doing, staving off the inevitable. Regardless, Sam realized that the whole Michael business was why Dean wasn’t worried about this.

“It’s not the same thing, Dean. Ghosts don’t need an invite.”

“They should.” Dean hopped off the bed. “When I said I wanted a case with strippers this is so not what I meant.”

Sam raised his brow as he shut off his laptop. “Then why’d you pick it?”

“How was I supposed to know that just because a club had dude dancers that they didn’t also have girls?”

“Oh I don’t know, Dean, how about because it’s a gay club?”

“I guess I should’ve just asked you.” Dean grabbed his jacket and shot a look over his shoulder back at Sam. “Have you spent this whole time drooling over those dancers or do you got an address for this club?”

“I got it, but maybe we should just meet up at the cemetery.”

“That’d be an awesome plan if we knew whose corpse we’re frying extra crispy. Forget it, Sam. You’re not gonna ditch me on this one.” An evil grin danced over Dean’s lips. “I wouldn’t want some grabby guy running off with my bitch.”

“Real funny, jerk.”

There was no way this was going anywhere good, but he’d have to tie Dean to the bed to get him to stay here. Sam would just have be alert for his brother and hope that this break from hunting didn’t end up breaking Dean.

~~~

Dean liked to think that he was secure in his manliness, but Phil Keller’s looks were getting downright unsettling. He was sick and tired of everyone grading his meat suit.

At least the manager of the Lucky Lad Dance Club hadn’t hesitated letting them in despite it being off hours. They hadn’t even had to bother with fake IDs or constructing a cover story. Phil had done all the work for them.

“So you boys looking for a job?” Phil asked. “Because I could arrange some openings...”

“This guy here would love an application.” Dean couldn’t quite fight back a snicker as he slapped a hand onto Sam’s shoulder. “I can barely get him to keep his clothes on.”

The startled look on his brother’s face was priceless. While Sam floundered for a retort, Dean’s eyes scanned the closest wall of the dimly lit club. It was lined with framed photos of scantily clad men. Finally, Dean’s gaze settled on the one he was looking for.

“But actually, we were wondering...” Dean read the name off the picture on the wall before looking back to Phil, “if you could tell us about Howard.”

“Howard Beslinger?” Phil asked. The manager’s gaze only intensified on him. “You two weren’t brothers, were you?”

At Sam’s told you so glare, Dean just shot back a defiant glare of his own. “Just friends. So, his death was pretty sudden?”

“I’d say.” Phil leaned back against the bar and fixed his eyes on the photo. “He got hit by a bus. It’s just one of those things, you know? One day you’re the top stripper in town and the next you’re bug guts on a windshield.”

“Yeah, that sucks.”

It totally screwed their theory. Accidents could breed vengeful spirits, but they didn’t see a lot of cases of spirit possession. Some stripper getting hit by a bus didn’t fit the recipe for a powerful spirit presence.

“Is there any reason Howard would’ve felt particularly connected to this place?” Sam asked.

“Sure. We’re family here. It’s just such a damn shame. If he would’ve made it to that show, it would’ve changed everything for him.”

Dean raised his brow. “How’s that?”

“It was Talent Night. We had bigwigs scouting from Vegas and if they’d seen him it would’ve been his one way ticket out of this crap hole of a town.” Phil’s eyes drifted back to Dean. “You sure you don’t want an application?”

“Yep. I’m good.”

“I bet you are,” Phil replied with a wink. “If you boys change your mind, just drop back in later tonight. It’s Open Stage Night - anybody’s show.”

“Tempting.... Sam, let’s hit the road already.”

Dean was up the steps and out the door before Sam had finished thanking Phil for his time. He paced the sidewalk beside the Impala, suddenly in desperate need of a shower. There wasn’t time for one now.

The sun had dipped below the skyline and light haze was fading to night. They would have to haul ass to find the corpse and get Howard roasting before he hijacked another poor bastard for Open Stage Night. Or before Dean had the chance to find out whether or not his will was as strong as he thought.

He ran a hand over his hair, trying to quell his uneasy nerves. His eyes darted up as he heard Sam’s footsteps approaching. Dean relaxed the tension from his face and dug the keys from his pocket.

“Sounds like Howard’s spirit had more motivation than we thought,” Sam said. His brow creased and Dean looked away. “You okay, Dean?”

“Awesome.” Dean threw open the car door and dropped down into the driver’s seat. “Let’s find out where he’s buried and get us some marshmallows.”

~~~

With shovels slung over their shoulders, they moved through the darkened cemetery, using their flashlights as little as possible to try not to draw attention to themselves. There was some illumination provided by the nearby street lights and passing headlights.

The drone of steady traffic would disguise the sounds of shovels scraping against rock, but it also meant that they were close enough to well-travelled areas to increase the chances that someone could stumble onto them while they were digging. There was a decent amount of tree cover, but being constantly on the run from the devil and archangels had Sam more hyper aware than usual about being spotted.

It was strange to think that he’d missed this, but he did. They’d identified the threat and now they were going to take care of it - case closed. There was nothing about this that would linger to hang over their heads like everything else seemed to these days.

“I think it’s just a few plots over,” Sam said. “Yeah, this is...Dean?”

A shovel clanked noisily to the ground. Sam spun around to see his brother walking away, slipping beneath some low hanging branches into the deep shadows of an old oak.

“Dean, where are you going?”

There wasn’t a hitch in Dean’s steps as he appeared on the other side of the tree and continued walking back towards the car. He didn’t so much as look back at Sam.

Dread built up in Sam’s chest and he threw down his shovel. His long strides sprinted to catch up with his brother, although he was already pretty sure by the methodical, determined steps that it wasn’t Dean at the helm.

The suspicion was confirmed when Sam’s hand latched onto Dean’s shoulder.

Dean’s head snapped around. Sam barely had a chance to register the blankness in Dean’s eyes before a surge of energy knocked Sam from his feet. The force of it slammed him back against the tree’s massive trunk.

By the time his body slumped to the ground, Sam was no longer aware of Dean or anything else.

~~~

The stage lights flared on as the houselights dimmed. Phil was seated front and center, eyes fixed on the stage. He swirled the Southern Comfort in his glass and kicked back in his chair. Open Stage Nights could go either way in terms of actual quality of performance, but they drew the crowds like nothing else.

Usually, the audience came for the laughs. On open nights any fool off the street was welcome to shake their junk for the crowd. Many thought they were the hottest thing on God’s green earth while most he’d only pay to put their shirts back on.

Things had been different lately, which was why Phil didn’t plan to move from this chair until the stage lights faded. There had been a string of Beslinger impersonators coming through here that were as good as the kid himself had been. It was creepy how spot on their moves were.

The creep factor he could get over, the only thing that was killing him was the fact that none of the men ever came back despite his generous offers. Each Friday it was a different one. He hadn’t so much as wrangled a name out of any of them, which made it a damn hard trick to lock down new talent.

Why those Sam and Dean kids had come by earlier tonight asking about Howard he didn’t know, but Dean was visually right on par for the impersonators. The only difference was that he had twice the looks of any of them.

Phil would happily let go of half his current dancers to get Dean on staff. Even if he couldn’t dance worth crap, the guy would still fill this place if the body beneath all those clothes was half as fine as Phil’s trained eye pegged it to be.

An hour into the performances and nothing stellar had crossed the stage. The drinks were still flying out of the bar, the crowd was still having a good time and shelling out the tips that Phil cut a heavy percentage of.

The profits would be good, but it wasn’t until the men around him broke out into hooting cheers that Phil looked back to the stage. Sure enough, the man he’d been waiting all night for had finally shown his pretty head.

Dean swaggered up the stage steps like he’d been born for this.

Heavy metal rumbled through the stage’s speakers, but damn if that boy didn’t hit every beat with a masculine grace that would put the finest ballet dancer to shame. Each sway of his hips flowed him seductively forwards towards the crowd, who had rocketed to their feet by the time Dean’s jacket had been cast aside.

Finely crafted hands slipped teasingly beneath Dean’s shirt, flashing a peek of the chiseled abs that lay beneath. There was no way Phil was letting this one slip out the back. Considering how tightly the crowd was pressing against the stage around him, he should already be working his way towards the door to make sure Dean didn’t escape, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the show.

When Dean reached the pole in the center of the stage, he hooked a leg around it. As he spun, he seamlessly pulled off his boot. With a twirl in the other direction, he lost the other boot and sank toward the ground. A jut of his hips brought him back to his feet, with one foot in front of the other he gyrated towards the edge of the stage.

While he approached the crowd it wasn’t close enough to collect the bills that were being waved towards him. Dean was playing the tease, knowing if he hung back he’d get all the more when he moved in. Wherever this kid had come from, he was obviously already a trained pro.

In a smooth sweep, Dean slipped from his overshirt and sent the flannel sailing into the waiting crowd. Beneath was a loose fitting t-shirt just tight enough to promise a body more than worth the wait.

Swinging away from the stage edge, Dean sauntered back to the center, dipping to his knees. By the roar of the crowd Phil knew there wasn’t a man left in the club that didn’t want Dean at their feet and by the mischief playing on his face, Dean damn well knew it.

Dean rose to take another seductively slow ride around the pole, unfastening his belt buckle along the way. With his pants undone, he slid his hand beneath the hemline of his boxers. At this rate Phillip was pretty damn sure he was going to have to call an ambulance for half the guys in this place.

Toned arms swayed to the beat with an unnatural perfection as the boy snaked from his t-shirt and sent it off to join his flannel in the crowd. Phil was one of those men that were going to be heading into cardiac arrest when Dean danced towards him.

Clasping his hands behind his head, Dean thrust his hips towards Phil. A playful smirk played over the young man’s lips and he gave a suggestive nod towards his pants.

Phil waited for those sparkling green eyes to shine towards him for confirmation before happily reaching out to do the honors. With a practiced motion, he unzipped the jeans and slid them down Dean’s waiting hips. The boxers were an interesting choice, but no one in the house was complaining as the denim pooled to the floor.

Stepping out of the pants and sweeping them up, Dean looped the legs of his jeans around Phil’s neck, drawing him in close enough to count the pale freckles on Dean’s cheeks. Dean feigned moving in for a kiss before snatching the glass from Phil’s hand with an amused chuckle. Much more of this, and Phil was going to have a hell of a time sharing this boy with the club.

Dean set the glass to his full lips and sipped down a hearty helping without missing a beat of the music.

The pants were flung aside, the glass returned to Phil’s suddenly weak fingers and Dean was on to make the rounds. By the time the music came to a close, Dean’s boxers were heavy with cash and, just like the other Beslinger impersonators, Dean made a beeline for the exit without bothering to redress.

There was a bouncer there to stop the guest dancers from leaving without divvying up the tips, but then the boys were free to go. Usually.

This one could change his club’s already good reputation to spectacular. Hopping up onto the stage, to avoid having to wade through the crowd, Phil jogged to catch up with Dean.

“Stop that one,” Phil called to the bouncer, who was just about to let Dean pass. Without question the large man pulled the door closed again to block Dean’s exit. “You can’t pull a show like that then just skate on out of here,” Phil told Dean. “Name your price and you got it.”

At first Phil was met with a hesitant look then Dean’s eyes glanced down at his own body. His hand wandered over his own chest as if exploring the skin for the first time. When he looked up, a smile had spread over his lips.

“To be the headliner?” Dean asked.

Dean’s voice was slightly slurred, but Phil wasn’t paying him to talk or to be sober. He’d fill the kid up with whiskey if that’s what he wanted, and those were the moves Phil would get out of it.

“You damn well better believe it - two years exclusive contract. You dance my club and only...hey, you okay?”

With a sharp intake of breath, Dean stumbled back. He took an uneasy step, reaching for the wall and hitting his knees hard when he came up short. His body went abruptly rigid, his head tilting back and neck tensing as if he might be going into a seizure.

Phil didn’t have time to catch him, before Dean collapsed at his feet.

~~~

The pounding of music throbbing through the ground shook Dean awake. Who the hell played music that loud in a freaking cemetery?

His half conscious brain struggled to connect the pieces of the strange, flickering lights in the darkness and the smell of smoke heavy in the air. It smelled like tobacco, not the familiar stench of a smoldering corpse.

“Hey, Dean? You okay?”

Dean blinked his eyes open. It wasn’t Sam looking down at him. He pushed off the ground, stumbling to his feet and preparing for a fight. His fists were curled before he realized he was standing in his boxers with two guys staring at him.

“What the...?”

When he met the eyes of the smaller man it all came slamming back to him like a freight train. It was only bits and pieces - flashes of skin, hot lights shining down on him and his own clothes being pulled from his body. It was enough.

Dean sent a horrified glance back over his shoulder towards a stage surrounded by men. Men that Howard had just made him strip for. A shower was so not going to cut it.

“Slow down there,” Phil said.

Dean jerked away when the manager’s hand clamped down over his bare bicep. “Keep your damn hands off me.” He twisted away, eyes moving furiously between the two men. “Where’s my brother?”

“Your brother? The guy that came in here with you earlier - Sam?”

“Yeah, Sam.” Dean shook his head, still struggling for some kind of clarity. “Where the hell is Sam?”

“I don’t know, kid. You sure you’re okay?”

Dean held a hand to his throbbing temple. “No, I’m not okay!”

Howard had jumped his bones and taken him for a show. Why did Sam always have to be right?

He didn’t know how it had happened, how he’d slipped up so much to let the spook in. Dean also had no clue where Casper had gotten off to. There was no way he was standing around here until Howard decided to pop in for round two.

“You need to sit down,” Phil said.

What he really needed was Sam, clothes, fifty years worth of showers and a way to physically manifest this Howard son of a bitch so he could kick his ass and then shoot him. A lot.

For now, he’d settle for getting out of this club.

Dean turned for the door to find the larger man blocking his way. The man wasn’t quite as tall as Sam, but looked like a freaking gorilla. He stood firmly planted with his thick arms crossed over his chest.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Get out of my way.” He took a step towards the man. Right now, Dean was looking for a face to beat in and this guy would do as well as any. “I’m only asking once.”

The man laughed down at him. Dean was already cocking back his fist when the manager spoke.

“Just relax, we’re all friends here.”

There was a leer to the words that set Dean further on edge. When he shot a look to the manager he was again hit with the foggy memory of his lips inches from Phil’s. It probably shouldn’t be a surprise that the guy thought they were such good friends, but Dean wouldn’t hesitate to hand him a serious ass whooping either.

“You don’t need to be driving right now,” Phil said. “Let’s just grab a couple of drinks and talk about your new job. I can even draw you up an advance tonight.”

“Man, you don’t want me for a dancer. I got like three left feet. That guy that was on stage - not me.”

“Sure looked like you.” The manager’s hand reached out to run over Dean’s exposed forearm.

“Hey!” Dean quickly jumped back, holding his hands out in front of him. “Dude, nothing personal, but if you touch me again you’ll be the next spook haunting this joint.”

“We got a problem over here?”

It was a third man approaching. Dean shot a wary glare towards the second behemoth bouncer.

“We’re fine.” Phil turned his attention back to Dean. “I get it. Two years is a big commitment, if you want to try it out on a weekly basis. Maybe I can throw in a few extra perks and you can earn a little extra on the side...”

Dean flashed him a wry smirk. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He didn’t know how badly he’d hurt Sam or if his brother had found some other trouble. Even on a good day, when the world wasn’t ending, there was no way he was going to waste his time standing around negotiating his stripping wages.

With a sharp upper cut, Dean slammed his fist into the face of the closest bouncer, which mostly just hurt, but he threw a follow up kick to knock the lumbering man down.

The second one was faster than he looked. He rushed in, slamming Dean forward into the wall.

The air was forced from his lungs and the large body pressed heavily against his, pinning him in place. Behind the thin wall that his cheek was smashed against, Dean heard the pounding music and hollering continued uninterrupted.

No one was going to hear any amount of struggle he put up. It wouldn’t matter if they did. It was on him to save the world. There wasn’t anyone who was going to save him.

Dean tried to buck back, bitching back a groan as the bouncer twisted his arm behind his back.

“Careful there. Don’t hurt him,” Phil said. “Just make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. I have no clue what this guy is on.” The manager again moved closer, but kept a respectable distance this time. “You’re obviously high as a kite, but there’s a lot of money at stake for both of us here. I just want you to hang around until your head clears. I’ll make it worth-”

“Let my brother go.”

Struggling to look back over his shoulder, Dean saw Sam standing behind Phil with a gun cocked to the back of the man’s head. There was no way Sam was pulling that trigger, but there was also no way anyone but Dean knew that.

“No need for that. We were just talking.” By Phil’s calm tone, it was obviously not the first gun that had been held to his head. He kept his hands visible and didn’t move. “Maybe you could just talk some sense into your brother. I’m offering him an amazing deal.”

“Neither of us are making any deals,” Sam said. “Just let him go.”

The weight leaning against him was finally lifted and Dean drew in a heavy breath. He took a few awkward steps away from the wall, looking down and wishing like hell he had at least a jacket to throw on.

This was just super. The last thing he’d needed tonight was his brother finding him all but naked with bills hanging out of his boxers and some dude nailing him to the wall.

To top it off, his brother had come over to hover tight at his side as if Dean was some sort of damsel in distress. Sam shrugged off his flannel and started to try to slip it over Dean’s shoulders. It was almost the last thing Sam did.

Dean shoved him away before snatching the shirt from his hands without looking at him.

“I swear to God, if one more guy-” Catching Sam’s worried eyes, Dean cut himself off. “Never mind. Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“Wait.” Phil held out a wad of cash. “You earned it. Sorry we got off to a bad start, but if you change your mind there’s a lot more where that came from.”

Before Sam could push Dean out the door, he snatched the cash. The last thing he wanted was a reminder of his grand performance, but if he was going to be forced to play strip puppet for the dead he at least ought to get compensated for it.

Out on the sidewalk he kept to the shadows, suddenly feeling like he was in one of those naked in front of the whole class dreams. He was half sure his boxers were see-through and hiding in his little brother’s flannel wasn’t exactly helping his bruised ego.

When a group of audience members spilled out of the club and sent suggestive looks his way, he was ready to either wake up or shoot someone.

Dean jumped as he felt a hand on his back.

He looked over to see that it belonged to his brother and quickly slapped it away. Dean didn’t need his brother hanging on him ever, least of all now when he was standing on the street naked because he’d decided to throw his favorite shirt at a bunch of catcalling dudes.

When they reached the car Sam headed for the driver side. His brother stopped before getting in and leaned over the hood of the car, watching him way too closely.

Ignoring Sam, Dean threw open the creaking car door and climbed in. He was too tired to argue about who was driving. He sure as hell wasn’t in the mood for this conversation and planned to put it off as long as humanly possible.

“Do we still have a grave to dig?” Dean asked as Sam settled in beside him.

“I already burned the remains.”

Right, because he’d left his brother alone in the cemetery after knocking him unconscious. Dean’s worried eyes turned on Sam. Visually, he scanned his brother’s head for any signs of serious injury.

“I’m fine, Dean.” Sam’s eyes locked with his. “What about you? Those guys didn’t...”

“Didn’t...?” Dean stared at Sam until he caught on then punched his brother in the shoulder. “Do you think I would’ve left them breathing if they had?” Clenching his jaw he looked back out the window towards the club. “It was me, not them...so just get it over with.”

Sam’s expression grew confused. “Get what over with?”

“You were right. I’m easy pickings.”

“I never said-”

“A ghost, Sam. A freakin’ born yesterday ghost.”

Sam turned in his seat so he was fully facing Dean while Dean made an equal effort to look anywhere but at his brother. “You knew you fit the victim profile before we even got here.”

“Can’t this wait until I’m wearing clothes?” But Sam’s eyes didn’t relent and he was watching Dean too carefully for Dean to manage a decent lie. “We needed bait.”

“No. If that was it, you would’ve just said that and we would’ve been ready. You were testing yourself.” Dean kept his mouth clamped shut. “That’s not fair, Dean.”

“I know, okay?” Dean shot back, finally releasing a heavy sigh. “I didn’t think you’d be the one to get hurt.”

“That’s not what I meant. It’s not fair to you. Just because you can be possessed by a ghost doesn’t mean you’ll say to yes to Michael.”

“I pole danced for a bar full of guys - naked. Clearly my willpower is awesome.”

Sam shook his head as he fired up the Impala’s engine. “You didn’t have to say yes to this thing and you couldn’t have said no. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Whatever.” Dean leaned back in his seat and stared out into the night.

“I mean it, Dean. I didn’t let Howard take you. I won’t let Michael either. We’re gonna stop this.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean flexed jaw and finally looked back at his brother. “I got you too.”

As Sam drove, Dean busied him with counting the bills he’d been clutching in his fist and let out an impressed whistle. “You know, this is way more than I’ve ever made in one night of playing pool. Do they have any strip joints for women around here? I think I still remember the moves.”

At the exasperated look on Sam’s face Dean couldn’t help but laugh. He wasn’t completely joking though. Waggling his ass for a bunch of guys might rate as one of the most humiliating nights of his life, but a club full of women could mean killing two birds with one stone.

“Can we at least get you dressed before you sign up for your next show?”