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When Sam finds out that Dean took Castiel to a strip club, he’s oddly hurt. It’s not that he wants to go to one, per se, but he’s always been like that about Dean; jealous of his brother’s other friends, feeling like the left out little brother. But then the end of the world happens, and his feelings of jealously, of inadequacy, get pushed to one side in the face of bigger issues.
Dean’s stint as a demon brings the feelings rushing back. He follows Dean’s trail through a string of strip clubs and bars; every one bringing the same story of an angry security guard and a smitten waitress, dancer or both. Its worse, somehow, that this time Dean is having fun not with Cas, but with Crowley, even if Sam knows that Dean isn’t in his right mind.
The feelings linger, even though he knows that Dean didn’t mean it, that Dean doesn’t prefer Crowley over him. And truth be told, these past few months have seen them as in sync as they’ve ever been; both totally on the same page despite the mark.
So when they find a case centered on a strip club, Sam does his best to tamp down the feelings of insecurity it raises. But Dean’s glee is palpable; from the moment they find out about the case his brother is like a kid in a sweetshop, boucning on the soles of his feet and barely able to keep a suitably sombre, professional demeanour when dealing with the victims.
The case is an easy salt and burn, a pissed stripper taking revenge on abusive punters. Both Winchesters have a moment when they contemplate just letting her continue - after all, she is ridding the world of a bunch of violent, controlling dicks - but they eventually make their peace with putting her to rest. After all, if she become more violent, less in control, she might start hurting innocent people too. It's not a risk they can take.
“So, all sorted, Sammy,” Dean says, rubbing his hands. “Piece of cake.”
Sam murmurs his agreement.
“So. That waitress promised us free drinks if we sorted this out, wanna head back?”
Sam looks sharply at his brother. It's not their usual MO - usually, they salt, burn and leave. It's less risky that way. But there’s no trail to connect them to this, no one who might freak out - so maybe this time they can stick around for an evening. But a strip club? Sam’s feelings are mixed - he dislikes them on principle, but it's a chance to put his old insecurities to rest.
He’s clearly hesitated too long for Dean. “Fine, whatever. We’ll hit the road without having any fun.”
“No,” Sam jumps in, making an instinctive decision. “Let’s go for a drink.”
His brother’s beaming, little boy grin is totally worth any discomfort Sam might experience.
**
His brother’s beaming smile is totally not worth it, Sam decides, as they walk through the bar. Before, it had been daytime, the bar quiet and seedy. Now, during peak post-work hours, pounding music gives Sam an immediate headache while his inner feminist is already concerned about the women gyrating on poles around the room.
Dean, though, is in his element. He’s got them beers, scotch and a front row seat within seconds, his cheerful wink to the waitress securing the prime spot. There’s a woman in sparkly hotpants and little else directly in front of them, and Dean’s attention is immediately fixed on her ass, his eyes flicking up to her boobs occasionally. Sam just finds it uncomfortable; the woman can dance beautifully but the bored glaze to her eyes is an utter turn off. He needs his partners, even in his fantasies, to enjoy sex or it doesn’t work for him.
Sam knows that’s true of his brother as well; that for all Dean’s talk and love of strip clubs and porn, he’s utterly respectful of women and works hard to make sure they have fun too - god knows he’s heard Dean enough times over the years to know everything about his brother’s sex life. But Dean is better able to disassociate things like this from the reality of actual sex, and he loves strip clubs. So Sam settles in to wait Dean out.
Within half an hour, Sam is utterly, utterly bored. But Dean’s switched his attention from the woman in front of them to their waitress, who seems to be finding more and more reasons to visit their table. Annoyed, Sam takes advantage of the free drinks offer to knock back one whisky after another, not bothering to pace himself in his boredom. He starts to play a game with himself: every time the waitress flirts with Dean, he downs another shot.
Needless to say, he’s soon extremely drunk.
“Dean,” he slurs, leaning towards his brother but somehow missing his mark, almost ending in Dean’s lap. “Dean, think I drank too much.”
Dean looks at him for the first time in what feels like a long while. “Shit Sammy,” he exclaims. “You really fucking did. When the fuck did you get this drunk?”
“With the smiles,” Sam explains.
“What?”
“The smiles. So many smiles.” Sam’s voice is slurring so hard that he can barely get the words out, and Dean looks perplexed.
“Right. The smiles. Sure.”
“Dean, drunk,” Sam repeats, wanting to keep his brother’s attention on him.
“Yeah, I can see that.” Dean looks utterly amused, and Sam’s so annoyed that he swipes at Dean’s face to try and remove the smug grin. He almost topples off his chair as his hand goes waving past Dean’s face.
Dean snorts. “Ok, little brother. Guess we’d better get you home.” He stands up and hoist Sam up, before wrapping a familiar arm around Sam’s shoulders. Sam lists into the support immediately, and Dean chuckles again.
Their waitress appears in front of them suddenly, startling Sam, but she doesn’t notice, her eyes fixed on Dean.
“You heading off already?” she asks, sounding disappointed.
“Fraid so. This idiot’s had far too much to drink, gotta get him into bed before he passes out.”
“Not a baby, Dean,” Sam insists, but the waitress continues to ignore him.
“That’s a real shame,” she says, pretty eyes flicking up at Dean. “I’m here til 2am if you wanna come back.”
Dean grins at her, satisfied. “Gimme an hour, tops,” he confirms.
Sam feels his stomach churn.
***
It takes a little while for Dean to pour Sam into the Impala, but after that it's a quick ride back to their motel. Dean pulls Sam carefully out of the car, propping him against the side while he gets the room key out of his pocket, and Sam glomps onto his brother as they make their way towards the door. He doesn’t want to let go of Dean at all.
Somehow, Dean manages to get the door open and they tumble into the room. “Let go, Sammy,” Dean grunts, but Sam is having none of it. If he lets go, Dean will leave him and go back to the waitress.
“Fucks sake, Sam.” Dean manhandles them across the room to Sam’s bed and tries to drop Sam onto the mattress, but Sam’s not having any of it. He locks his arms tight around his brother, and they both collapse onto the bed together, Dean’s elbow finding an uncomfortable home in Sam’s ribs. It hurts, but it's worth it, Sam thinks, if it stops Dean from going back to her.
“Jesus, you always were such a clingy little shit.” Dean’s words are far more fond than angry, and Sam smiles to himself. Dean loves him, and Dean will be far happier to spend time with Sam than with a random woman anyway. And besides -
“Bet I can dance better than her,” Sam mumbles.
“What?”
“I can dance better than her,” Sam repeats. “Bet I can.”
Dean looks absolutely gobsmacked for a second, before he starts to laugh.
“Bet you can too, Sammy,” he says, placatingly, pulling himself upright finally.
“I can,” Sam insists. “Lemme show you.”
He untangles his legs from Dean’s with some difficulty and pushes himself to his feet, only stumbling a little. The world is surprisingly wobbly, but he can work with that. He fixes his attention on where Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed, knees spread and eyes intent on Sam.
“Look,” Sam says, and starts to gyrate, imitating the women they’d seen earlier. He definitely pulls it off, his hips moving in complete sync with his arms. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a pole to move around, and he wonders how best to deal with that; but then he remembers some of the women at the other tables, who’d been giving lapdances. That sounds perfect, he thinks, and it will stop the floor moving about so much as well.
Dean’s smiling, Sam notes, so he knows his brother is loving this. He moves closer, slowly and seductively, before finding himself rather abruptly in Dean’s lap.
“Woah, Sammy,” Dean says, laughing, as his hands come up to steady Sam’s hips.
“Dean,” Sam replies instinctively. “See, I can dance better.”
“You sure can, Sammy,” Dean says, sputtering with laughter. “I am going to enjoy this so much in the morning.”
Heartened, Sam starts to move his hips, looping his arms around Dean’s neck.
“Woah, Sam,” Dean says again, but with a completely different tone this time. His hands tighten on Sam’s hips, trying to push back, but Sam is determined to show of his dancing skills. He rocks down in a movement he’d seen one of the women making earlier that evening.
Dean gasps, his eyelids shut and his head tips back. Sam smiles. His brother is so pretty.
“Pretty De,” he tells his brother. Dean’s never like being called pretty, but little brothers are meant to be annoying, Sam thinks happily.
“Shut up, Sam,” Dean says, voice tight now. “And stop fucking grinding on me.”
Sam has absolutely no intention of stopping, though, not when it makes Dean make little noises like that. Dean’s biting his lip, and Sam can feel Dean start to dance with him too. Suddenly, the world spins as Dean’s hands grip under his thighs and he’s lifted into the air. Instinct makes him wrap his arms and legs tightly around Dean, and his brother grunts with the sudden pressure. Everything jolts about for a moment before Sam finds himself looking at the ceiling over Dean’s shoulder.
“No more dancing?” he asks, looking up at Dean.
“No more dancing,” Dean confirms.
“Did I dance better than her?”
“You absolutely did,” Dean reassures him. “But now you have to let go of me.”
“No,” Sam says, shaking his head, and immediately regretting it. “No.” He tightens his grip, afraid that Dean will leave him and go back to the bar.
“Oh for fucks sake,” Dean complains. He peels one of Sam’s arms far enough off to shuck out of the arm of his jacket, and then does the same on the other side, Sam grabbing back onto him immediately. Dean continues to fidget for a minute, which Sam finds very irritating; all he really wants to do now is go to sleep. But suddenly his head is pillowed comfortably on Dean’s chest and he sighs in contentment, draping his leg across his brother. Dean won’t be able to go anywhere now.
“Oh you are so going to regret this in the morning,” Dean mutters as Sam drifts into sleep.