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Entry tags:
every stone a story (Part One), Supernatural, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: every stone a story
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam, John, mentions of Pastor Jim, OMCs/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 13,254
Summary: Dean is a few months shy of seventeen when John is hurt in a car accident coming home from a hunt. The accident lands him in a coma and leaves Dean trying to find a way to support Sam when he can't reach their emergency contacts. What starts out as a seemingly simple job stripping turns into anything but and Dean finds himself in a game where the only card he has to play is his own body and the deck is stacked against him.
A/Ns & Warnings: For the exquisite![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
katbcoll. Warnings include: under-age dub-con, under-age prostitution, some violence. Gratuitous placement of leather pants. Abuse of classic songs. This was actually meant to be done in one part, but well...it ended up being longer than I thought...so I'll post this in two parts and I'll have to come back with the rest at a future time. (bribery is welcome)
Dean grumbled to himself as he shuffled through the cold, dark house toward the knocking on the front door. They had only been in town since the beginning of the school year and the only one who knew anyone in the neighborhood was his pipsqueak younger brother who would talk to anyone most of the time.
He rubbed at his eyes when he spotted the clock, which told him it was twenty minutes past three in the morning, and he'd been in bed all of four hours. It was cold as he opened the door, squinting into the bright light of some cop's flashlight.
He shivered, wishing he'd grabbed something to throw on over his bare chest. They hadn't bothered getting the gas turned on, because their father said they wouldn't be there long, but he was beginning to think this was one of those towns they ended up in longer than expected. "Officers?"
Two of them nodded in unison to him. "Sorry to wake you. Are you Dean Winchester?"
His heart thumped, wondering what they had tracked to him, probably that credit card he'd lifted a few towns back…or maybe that girl who had told him she was seventeen wasn't actually seventeen. He looked up, realizing they had said his real name. His whole real name.
He only used that for school and things like getting his real drivers license. There would only be one reason to have two cops at his door at nearly three thirty in the morning using his real name.
"This about my father?" Dean asked, praying he was wrong. They couldn't afford bail money. Hell, they couldn't afford food, let alone heat.
"May we come in?" The taller of the two asked.
Dean nodded and stepped back, letting them into the run down old house. "What's he done now?" Dean asked, closing the door on the cold night air that was starting to smell like snow.
"Mr. Winchester, we're sorry to be the ones to tell you this. There was an accident."
Dean's thumping heart skipped a beat before resuming at a quicker and louder pace. "What?"
"Your father's truck was rolled several times and he suffered severe injuries."
"Is he…" Dean blinked, visions of his father's broken and bloody body filling his head. "Is he okay?"
"He's at the County hospital, Son. It's pretty bad."
"Dean?"
Sam was there suddenly, looking small and scared and Dean instinctively held out a hand for him, pulling him in close. "I…um…I should go. We should go there."
"We'll take you," the shorter of the two said.
Dean blinked, suddenly realizing they had rules in place for this. He knew what he had to do. Get rid of the cops, call Pastor Jim, pack up their shit. When their father could slip out of the hospital he would, and they needed to be ready to run.
It was never as bad as the doctors made it out to be. Not when it was John Winchester. The last time Dean had panicked and called Jim and they were gone six hours later, and while his father had walked with a limp for a while, he'd been fine.
"I…I have a car." Dean said. He pushed Sam out to arm's length and looked him in the eye. "Go get dressed."
Sam nodded and headed for his bedroom.
"Is there someone you can call?"
Dean shook his head. "It's just the three of us."
"Let us at least follow you, make sure you get there okay?"
"I'm sure we'll be fine. You said County?"
"Be careful out there, the roads are pretty icy."
Dean walked them to the door. "I will. Thank you." He closed the door and exhaled to try to pull himself together. He needed to find the keys to the Impala. Which he wasn't supposed to drive. The truck had been supposed to be his. They had picked up an old junker so that his father could teach him how to rebuild the engine over the winter. But the truck had snow tires and the Impala didn't, so his father had taken it for this hunt.
He'd only had his real license a few months. His father had rules about the car, one of which was Dean couldn't drive it until he knew how to take care of it. Dean shook his head and went to shed his sweat pants and pull on jeans and a t-shirt. He shoved his feet into his boots and headed across the hall to his father's room.
John Winchester had been gone for nearly two weeks, heading to a town north of them to deal with…some supernatural monster that Dean couldn't remember right at that moment. He'd been due back a few days before, but had called and said he'd hit on another case and would be a little longer.
That had been before the cold snap had plunged the temperatures and made the small house freezing cold at night. They were down to about five dollars of what he'd left them and the credit card Dean had was just about used up. They had a box of stale cereal and a couple of freezer burned hot dogs and not much else.
Which meant they had no money for hospital bills.
He rummaged through the underwear drawer of his father's dresser until he found the hidden keys, then headed for the living room, pulling on a button down shirt. Sam was standing at the door, holding Dean's jacket.
"We're supposed to call Pastor Jim." Sam said softly.
Dean nodded, taking the jacket. "We will. First we need to see how bad it is. Besides, it's too early for calling. Ain't even four yet."
"Is Dad going to be okay?"
Dean opened the door and gestured toward the car. "I don't know Sam. Lets just go see him, okay?"
Sam slipped his hand into Dean's as they walked into an ER filled with bleeding and coughing and moaning people. He ignored them and went to the desk. "Excuse me?"
The nurse held up her hand and finished writing something on a chart then looked up at him. "How can I help you?"
"I, um, I'm Dean Winchester. My father was in an accident? John Winchester?"
She nodded and poked at the computer in front of her. "Okay, Mr. Winchester. If I could just have you take a seat, I'll see if I can find someone to come talk to you."
Sam tugged him toward the rows of chairs and he went reluctantly, watching as Sam sat. He couldn't sit. He didn't like hospitals. And sitting was always a bad idea.
Sitting made it real. It was like admitting that the reason you were there was serious.
So he paced, but not too far. He wanted to be in arms reach of his brother. Sam grabbed his arm and stood a few minutes later as a man in a lab coat approached. "Dean Winchester?"
Dean nodded. "Yes, you are?"
"Dr. Havilan, could you follow me?" He led them away from the people in the waiting room, down a hall and into a small office. "Please, sit."
"I would rather see me father."
The doctor put his hands in the pockets of his coat. "In a few moments, we've only just brought him out of surgery. Let us get him settled in his room first."
Sam's hand tightened in his. "Surgery?" Dean asked, moving toward the chairs and sinking into one of them. Sam stood, hovering at his shoulder, still clinging to his hand.
The doctor perched on the side of the desk. "Your father attempted to crawl out of the truck, through the broken window. We had to dig glass out of his stomach and his back, as well as repair some internal damage caused by the crash."
Cuts and glass Dean could handle. "Okay." There was clearly more. Dean could almost feel the man measuring him up. "What else?"
"The head trauma is pretty severe and the swelling and bruising around his spine has us concerned. Unfortunately, we won't know the extent of the damage until he wakes up."
"But he's going to be okay, right?" Sam asked, blinking up at the doctor.
"We just don't know right now."
Dean swallowed down the sudden flare of fear. Sam needed him to be strong, to be the big brother. "Can we see him?"
"Let me see if we're ready." The doctor left them alone and Dean turned to Sam.
"You remember what we're supposed to do, right Sammy?" Dean asked, taking Sam's other hand and squeezing.
Sam nodded. "Assess the situation. Call Pastor Jim to come get us. Pack our stuff, load the car."
"Right. We can do that, right?"
Sam nodded again. The door opened and Dr. Havilan gestured at them. "I'll take you to him."
They went to a bank of elevators and up five floors, then past a nurse's station and down a long hall. The doctor pushed the door open and Dean stumbled past him. His father's face was pale, what he could see of it around the bandages and the machines. Sam's hand slipped into his, squeezing. It was bad.
It was worse than bad.
Dean was ready for banged up, and unconscious. He'd been prepared for the machines and bandages. But this?
He shook his head as they inched closer. He wasn't ready for this. This was…worse than he'd ever seen.
He stood silently beside the bed for a long time, then lifted his shaking hand to the phone beside the bed, quickly dialing Jim's number before he could freeze. He needed to stay focused and calm. He couldn't let Sam know how bad this was.
The phone rang for a long time, then dumped to voice mail. "Pastor Jim, it's Dean…um…Dean Winchester. I…need you."
Fifteen hours.
Dean paced from the bed to the door and back, around Sam's feet. Sam was crashed in the chair in the corner, his feet stretched out to keep him from falling out onto the floor.
Fifteen hours and his father hadn't moved, hadn't opened an eye or twitched a finger.
Dr. Havilan had said the first hours would be the most critical, but that they longer before he woke up, the harder recovery would be.
He had tried Pastor Jim a couple of times, getting his voicemail over and over. They were on their own for now.
There was a soft knock on the door and a man's head poked into the room. "Mr. Winchester?"
Dean glanced at Sam, then went to the door, pushing the man back into the hallway. "What?"
"I know this is not the best time, but my name is Harold Holding, I'm from the finance department of the hospital."
"Finance?" Dean scowled at him. "My father could be dying and you want me to talk about money?"
The man held up a hand. "I'm sorry. I realize this is difficult, but I'm just trying to do my job. I need to go over your father's information with you, so that I can see what I can do to help."
"Help? You wanna help, get out of my face." Dean growled.
"I wish I could, but I have to do this. Why don't we sit?" He gestured at the chairs and Dean snarled at him, but went to sit.
"Now, as far as we can tell, your father has no insurance, is that right?"
"No insurance, no money, no income." Dean said harshly, glancing up at the door to his father's room.
Harold nodded, making notes on his paperwork. "Do you have any resources to pay his medical costs?"
"Mister, I barely have the resources to feed my little brother right now." Dean said, shaking his head.
Harold stopped writing and folded his hands over his papers. "Can I ask you how old you are?"
Dean froze for a second. This guy could call in Child Protective Services, then he'd lose Sam. "Twenty one."
Harold looked him over, squinting at him.
"I'm old enough to be taking care of him, if that's what you're thinking." Dean amended.
"No, sorry. I know a guy…he might have a job you could do. Not everyone can do it though."
"I can do just about anything I put my mind to." Dean countered.
Harold fumbled with pulling out his wallet and pulled a business card from it. "You have a good look for it, and I'm guessing you could make good money. You get paid in tips, so the better you do the job, the more money you make."
He handed the card to Dean, who took it, frowning down at it. The job didn't sound all together legal. He snorted when he saw that the card was for a strip club. "Right." He shook his head and tried to hand the card back.
Harold stood instead of taking it. "I'm just trying to help. Charlie is good at what he does. He makes money. If he likes your look, he can help you make money. He might even front you enough to feed the kid."
"Look, man…I'm not…" He gestured with the card.
"Keep the card. In case you change your mind." Harold walked away, leaving Dean holding his coffee and the business card. He looked down at it. "Exotic Dancers, private shows…"
He shoved it into his pocket and headed back to his father's room. They weren't that desperate yet.
He hung up the phone with a sigh and moved to pour the last of the cereal into Sam's bowl. They were both bundled up in four layers of clothes, just trying to keep warm. "Still no answer at Jim's." Dean said, his voice soft.
Sam nodded, but didn't answer. He looked at the bowl, then up at Dean. "Aren't you eating?"
Dean sighed. "I need to go get some money. Hustle some pool or something."
Which meant leaving Sam alone. He didn't like it.
"I'm a big boy." Sam said as if he knew what Dean was thinking. "I'll be fine."
Dean nodded. "I shouldn't be too long. Don't stay up too late. You have school in the morning."
"So do you." Sam corrected.
Dean shook his head. "Not now. Someone needs to keep an eye on Dad."
He left Sam picking at the cereal and headed for the car. He'd used the fake ID in his wallet to get into bars before, had even hustled pool before, but his father had always been nearby.
He stuck his hand in his pocket for the keys and came out with the business card Harold had given him. He got into the car and started, savoring the heat that she put out. He couldn't keep them living like this. It was only the middle of October and they were already blanketed in snow. It was only going to get colder. He needed to get the heat turned on, and he needed to get food into both of them. Real food, not just peanut butter and cereal.
He didn't consciously drive to the address on the card, or at least that's what he told himself. He was just looking for a place to play some pool.
Two days.
Two days his father had been unconscious.
They had never been in a spot this bad. Dean had even picked up the phone to call Bobby, but he and his father had fought pretty badly the last time they had seen one another. His father would be furious if Dean called Bobby.
Pastor Jim hadn't answered his phone, and Dean had left three messages. He was probably out on a hunt himself, and knowing the kinds of hunts that Jim left his church to chase after, Dean was better off waiting now for Jim to call back. He didn't want to be responsible for getting the man killed.
All of which brought him here, sitting in front of a strip club named "Bucket of Aces" turning the owner's business card over and over between his fingers.
How hard could it be? Dean could move. He had never been much of a dancer, but all the training kept him fit and limber. Just move to the music and take your clothes off while a bunch of desperate, lonely women watch and stuff dollar bills in your shorts.
He could do that.
He huffed and opened the door of the car, climbing out and heading up to the door. Music with a heavy bass pounded out at him as he approached, his eyes skimming over the well kept façade of the building. It was in better shape than most strip joints, though he supposed women looking for strippers would demand more than some dirty back room joint.
He nodded greeting to the bouncer and held up the card. "I'm here to see him?"
The bouncer nodded and gestured for Dean to go inside. The place was quiet aside from the music. No patrons yet to speak of, one bartender behind the bar on the right of the room. Dean headed that way, holding up a hand in greeting. "I'm looking for the owner?"
"Well, you found him." Dean turned to face the smiling man who had appeared behind him. "I'm Charlie, and who might you be?"
"Dean." He held out his hand and Charlie took it, shaking it heartily. "I was told you might be hiring?"
Charlie's eyes swept over Dean as he smiled, and somehow it made Dean feel just a little bit slimy. "Might be. Why don't we go into my office to talk. Things don't pick up around here for another hour or so."
He followed Charlie into a small office cluttered with files and papers. "So Dean…you ever dance before?" Charlie shut the door and gestured to one of the chairs.
Dean sat, fidgeting a little. "In front of people? No. But I can move."
Charlie chuckled and moved behind the desk to his chair. "What brought you here?"
"This guy…Harold…gave me your card. Said you might be able to help me out."
"Harold." Charlie nodded. "He only sends guys my way when they're in a pretty bad spot. You in a bad spot?"
Dean sat stiffly. "You might say that. My father's in the hospital. My brother needs to eat."
"Family guy. I like that." He sat back, looking at Dean and narrowing his eyes. "You old enough to be in a joint like this?"
"Yes sir." Dean responded, though he half expected the man would see through the lie. He was still a few months from his seventeenth birthday.
"I don't do paperwork or none of that, so relax. As far as I'm concerned my dancers are contractors. You work the stage, keep the audience happy and drinking. You keep your tips. I don't pay you, so I don't have to do taxes and all that shit."
Dean relaxed a little into the chair. "Convenient."
Charlie grinned and nodded. "Isn't it? Saves me a hell of a headache. So, you never did this before, but you think I should let you dance here?"
"How hard could it be?" Dean asked, exhaling slowly. "Look, truth is I don't have a lot of options. We have no heat, no food. I need this. I can make this work."
"How old is he…your brother?" Charlie asked.
"Twelve." Dean responded before he thought better of it. "I take care of him."
"Always have, I'll bet." Charlie stood suddenly. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'm going to take you back and introduce you to Matty. He's one of our favorite dancers, and he's good with the ideas. You and him talk a bit, have him dress you up, and then you come out and dance for me. I like what I see, you can stay."
"What…like right now?" Dean asked, standing too, suddenly very nervous.
"No time like the present. Come on."
Dean followed him to the back of the club, behind the stage and into a long dressing room lined with mirrors and costumes. A guy in a g-string and eyeliner lifted a hand before pulling a robe around his shoulders.
"Hey, Matty, this here is Dean. I'm giving him a try out. Why don't you get him set up for me, okay?"
"Sure thing, Charlie."
Charlie left then, and Dean shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking around him. "So…ah…"
"Never done this before, right?" Matty asked, sliding into a chair in front of a mirror. "Neither had I before a year ago. Sit."
Dean took the seat next to Matty's and watched him in the mirror for a second. "So, you got any idea what you want to dance to?"
"Does it matter?" Dean asked with a shrug. "I mean….I guess I hadn't thought about it."
"Okay, let's start with something simpler." Matty turned toward him, looking him over. "I bet you would do good with a biker look…a little innocent for it, but that will change. You'll need a g-string…black I think…and a pair of Speedos…tear away jeans…Sit here a minute. Let me see what I've got."
Twenty minutes later Dean felt absolutely ridiculous in layers of clothing that did nothing to protect him from the cold and a pair of biker boots that were too tight. Some generic house music was blaring and Matty was telling him to just let go and let the music move him before shoving him out on the stage.
He felt clunky as he kept himself from falling. The lights were blinding and he nearly ran off the stage, but he could just make out Charlie sitting near the stage. He could do this.
He closed his eyes and listened to the music for a second, then let his hips start moving. It took him far too long to find the strength to open his eyes and move, but once he did, he just forced himself to focus on the job, on the money. On giving Sam a full breakfast in the morning.
He pulled the denim jacket back off his shoulders, rolling each shoulder in time with the music and turning so his back was against the pole at center stage. He let the pole hold him as he slid down it, bending his knees, sliding his hands down his legs and spreading them open.
Yeah, he could do this.
He dropped the jacket and strutted to the pole at the end of the runway, moving around it as he unbuttoned the jeans. Charlie was watching closely now and Dean could make out the shadows of other people in the room too. He moved his hips and turned so his ass was to the audience before yanking on the jeans. The Velcro gave way and the jeans came off in his hands. He tossed them behind him and shook his ass at Charlie.
He danced around the pole, down to the end of the stage where he fucked the air before teasing a finger around the waistband of the Speedos. He tugged and one side came loose, and he turned and tugged on the other, dropping the red Speedos, and exposing his entire ass to the audience as the song ended and he stalked back toward the back of the stage.
There was scattered applause and the stage lights dimmed. Dean was panting as Matty handed him a robe and a few minutes later Charlie was in the dressing room grinning at him. "It needs work, but I think you got what we need, kid."
"Does that mean I get the job?" Dean asked.
"We'll start you out with two dances a night. If you improve, we'll give you more. Sound good?"
Dean nodded. It sounded like money.
"Here, take this." Charlie handed him a hundred dollar bill.
"What's this for?" Dean asked.
"Consider it a signing bonus." Two guys came in from a back door, pulling off winter coats. "Come on back tomorrow night and we'll get you started."
Dean took the money and went back into the dressing area to pull his own clothes back on. It was enough to get some food in the house.
"Does food mean you cheated some guy out of his paycheck?" Sam asked as Dean set a plate of scrambled eggs on the table in front of him.
"Actually, I got a job." Dean responded. "It's nights though, you going to be okay with that?"
Sam looked up at him with a pinched face. "What am I, two?"
"No, you're twelve. Dad will kill me if he finds out I'm leaving you alone." Dean leaned back against the counter and reached for his own plate. "But we need the money."
"What kind of job is gonna hire you to work nights?"
"It's a bar." Dean answered after he swallowed. "I'm bussing tables and washing glasses."
"Do they know you're sixteen?"
"Eat your breakfast." He didn't like lying to his brother, but Sam would never understand. And Sam couldn't keep a secret, not one like this. If Sam found out, his father would know just as soon as he was awake.
"What about Pastor Jim?" Sam asked.
"What about him?" Dean responded. "He'll call when he can. If he doesn't, well, that means he's got bigger problems than us." He put his plate down. "I'll drive you to school, but you'll have to get home on your own."
"You going to the hospital?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, keep an eye on Dad."
He had other plans, but those too he wasn't telling Sam. He would go to the hospital, but after that he had to figure out a way to not get fired on his first night. He knew his performance was lacking, and he had to find a way to make it better. Better dancing meant more money. He understood that.
So, he had a plan. He was going to go rent every movie he could with dancing in it. There was a video place not far from the school that had an adult section in it, and he figured he would find at least one striptease type video there too.
With Sam in school it gave him a few hours to practice a few moves…and try to come up with a way to do this and still hold on to his dignity.
Matty was waiting for him when he slipped in the back door, grinning. "You ready for your ride, sweet thing?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, don't call me that."
Matty laughed and gestured toward his mirror. "Come on. I'll help you out tonight, but tomorrow you're on your own."
Dean peeled off his jacket and outer shirt before sitting in the chair.
"Boys, this here is Dean. Tonight's his first night, so play nice."
A big man in leather stepping away from the costumes chuckled. "Fresh meat, the boys out front are going to like that." He came to stand behind Dean, hands on his shoulders. "Heh, pretty one too. Look at those lips."
Matty shoved the bigger man away and shook his head. "Down Cujo, Don't mind him. That's Spike. The college boys seem to really like him. That one over there with the ridiculous hair is Dom and the pretty one preening in the mirror is Jay."
Dean looked at them then at Matty in the mirror. "Wait, college boys?"
Matty chuckled and reached over him for a comb. "Don't tell me you were expecting an audience of bored housewives and bachelorettes?"
Dean tried to swallow the sudden panic, and keep it off his face. "A guy can hope, right?"
"Sure. Hope." Matty threw clothes in his lap, the same get up he'd worn the night before. "Get dressed. You got a song picked?"
He did, but now he felt silly asking for it. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight. "I…maybe….um…Wild Thing?"
The guys all chuckled and Matty nodded. "If you're going to go with that, you better make sure you are…wild, that is."
Dean blushed and fussed with the clothes. He'd found a video with a man stripping to the song and he'd worked all afternoon on it. "Yeah, I worked on it." Dean grumbled, standing up and putting the rip away clothing on the chair. He wasn't actually sure he could go through with it though, not with a room full of guys.
"He's young, Matty, give it to him." Jay said as Dean started pulling off his street clothes. "Or are you worried he'll do it better than you did?"
"Shut up Jay, shouldn't you be on stage?"
Matty waited for Dean to get into the jeans before he gestured for him to sit back down. He brushed powder over Dean's face, then fussed with his hair, making it stand up more than it normally did on its own.
"What's that about?" Dean asked.
Matty rolled his eyes. "Two years ago I was you. Wild Thing was the first song I danced to. I made a complete ass of myself, fell off the stage." He forced a laugh. "Charlie wanted to kick me back on the street, but I begged him for one more chance."
Dean watched his face tighten and Matty moved away. "Good thing he likes a pretty face." Matty's hands tightened on Dean's shoulders. "Just don't fall off the stage, and don't give Charlie a reason to make you beg him for another chance."
That sounded ominous, but the music flared and Jay disappeared from the dressing room to the sounds of applause from the audience.
Two songs later, Dean was peeking out through the curtains at the nearly full house. It was a Thursday night, but the place seemed to be hopping. He was scared to death, and the thought of doing something disastrous was circling in his brain, making him second guess himself.
The boots felt tighter somehow and the g-string was digging into his skin and Matty was signaling him from the sound booth.
"Okay, boys, we have a special treat for you. Making his debut appearance with us tonight, a hot young stud ready for a sweet ride, give it up boys, for Mustang!"
Dean rolled his eyes at Matty's idea for a name as the opening strains of Wild Thing sounded. Dean pushed through the curtains just in time to snap his hips in time to the first words.
The rowdy front row was cheering. He rolled his hips, mouthing the words until he got to the pole in the center of the stage. He put his back against is as the music stopped for the spoken part. "Wild Thing I think I love you."
He dropped to a squat, knees spread wide, then slid back up the pole. "But I wanna know for sure." He dropped the jacket off his shoulders. "Come on and hold me tight."
One guy in the front row, a blond who was clearly drunk, waved a five at him and Dean figured this was how he was going to make the money, so he moved closer, leaning out to him. "I love you."
Dean slid back, taking the five and moving to the other side of the stage. He moved and gyrated, dancing around the pole before ripping the jeans off.
"Wild thing, you make my heart sing…"
He froze in panic as he felt hands on his ass, then realized those hands were stuffing money in his g-string. He turned, which put his barely covered cock in the face of some man.
"I'll show you a wild thing or two…" Dean moved to step back, but the guy was holding his leg. Then suddenly, the bouncer was there, shoving the man back into his seat. Dean stumbled back into the pole, trying to shaking it off.
He was trembling as the song neared its end, but he did his best not to show it and collecting a few dollars on his way off stage. Matty met him behind the curtain, but Dean shoved him away, pushing back into the dressing room.
"Shit."
"Hey, man…settle down."
One of the guys handed him a shot glass and Dean took it, tipping it back and swallowing fast. "You okay?" Matty asked after a few seconds and Dean managed a nod.
"Just…I…he grabbed…and I wasn't…"
"They ain't supposed to touch." Matty said. "But sometimes they get grabby. You gotta learn how to handle it."
Dean nodded. He wasn't sure he could make himself go back out there. "You'll be fine. You don't go on again for a while. By then, that asswipe will be gone." Matty patted his shoulder.
His second number wasn't so bad, and he even managed to be a little flirtatious. By the time it was over he had a good twenty dollars in his g-string. It wasn't a lot, but he could use it as stakes in some pool hustling on his way home, maybe triple it.
It wasn't bad.
He was just pulling his coat on when the bouncer appeared at the door of the dressing room and pointed at him. "Boss wants you."
Dean followed the big guy out into the bar that was still hopping, drunk patrons screaming at whoever was on stage. He was led out to Charlie's office, and the door closed behind him. Charlie handed him a shot glass.
"First off, you okay? You shouldn't have gotten grabbed like that."
Dean took the glass but didn't drink the shot right away. He could already feel the effects of the first shot. "I'm fine. I was a little shaken up at first, but I'm fine."
"How do you think it went, drunk grab aside?"
Dean shrugged. "I don't know."
"I'll tell you what I saw. You were uncomfortable, stiff and uncoordinated. The music didn't suit you. Still, the crowd seemed to like you."
Dean wasn't sure how to take that. He sipped at the shot. "It was my first try. I'll make it better."
"Oh, I'm sure you will. I have to say though, it's pretty obvious you aren't into guys."
Dean almost choked, coughing. "Um…I didn't realize you needed me to be gay?"
"Helps. You gotta sell what you're selling."
"What I'm selling?" Dean's face was flushed and red and he was starting to sweat under his clothes. "I'm just dancing."
"No, no, you're putting your merchandise on display, and if the customers can tell that you don't really want to sell it, they aren't gonna want to buy."
"So, you want me to pretend that I like guys?" He shook his head, trying to clear the buzz from it.
Charlie came from around the desk, pushing the hand with the shot glass up toward Dean's face. "I want you to drink your shot. Then I'll have Spike take you home."
"I have my own car." Dean argued, though he swallowed the whiskey as Charlie tipped the glass into his mouth.
"I'll have Matty follow you in it." His fingers pushed into Dean's pocket and came out with his keys. "You're in no shape to drive."
Dean shouldn't have been that drunk that fast, but he couldn't quite keep track of what was going on. Next thing he knew he was in a car and Spike was talking about dicks and then he was home, the Impala pulling into the driveway.
"Get some sleep." Matty said as he handed back the keys. "Tomorrow night is going to be a big night."
Link to Part Two
Title: every stone a story
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam, John, mentions of Pastor Jim, OMCs/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 13,254
Summary: Dean is a few months shy of seventeen when John is hurt in a car accident coming home from a hunt. The accident lands him in a coma and leaves Dean trying to find a way to support Sam when he can't reach their emergency contacts. What starts out as a seemingly simple job stripping turns into anything but and Dean finds himself in a game where the only card he has to play is his own body and the deck is stacked against him.
A/Ns & Warnings: For the exquisite
katbcoll. Warnings include: under-age dub-con, under-age prostitution, some violence. Gratuitous placement of leather pants. Abuse of classic songs. This was actually meant to be done in one part, but well...it ended up being longer than I thought...so I'll post this in two parts and I'll have to come back with the rest at a future time. (bribery is welcome)Dean grumbled to himself as he shuffled through the cold, dark house toward the knocking on the front door. They had only been in town since the beginning of the school year and the only one who knew anyone in the neighborhood was his pipsqueak younger brother who would talk to anyone most of the time.
He rubbed at his eyes when he spotted the clock, which told him it was twenty minutes past three in the morning, and he'd been in bed all of four hours. It was cold as he opened the door, squinting into the bright light of some cop's flashlight.
He shivered, wishing he'd grabbed something to throw on over his bare chest. They hadn't bothered getting the gas turned on, because their father said they wouldn't be there long, but he was beginning to think this was one of those towns they ended up in longer than expected. "Officers?"
Two of them nodded in unison to him. "Sorry to wake you. Are you Dean Winchester?"
His heart thumped, wondering what they had tracked to him, probably that credit card he'd lifted a few towns back…or maybe that girl who had told him she was seventeen wasn't actually seventeen. He looked up, realizing they had said his real name. His whole real name.
He only used that for school and things like getting his real drivers license. There would only be one reason to have two cops at his door at nearly three thirty in the morning using his real name.
"This about my father?" Dean asked, praying he was wrong. They couldn't afford bail money. Hell, they couldn't afford food, let alone heat.
"May we come in?" The taller of the two asked.
Dean nodded and stepped back, letting them into the run down old house. "What's he done now?" Dean asked, closing the door on the cold night air that was starting to smell like snow.
"Mr. Winchester, we're sorry to be the ones to tell you this. There was an accident."
Dean's thumping heart skipped a beat before resuming at a quicker and louder pace. "What?"
"Your father's truck was rolled several times and he suffered severe injuries."
"Is he…" Dean blinked, visions of his father's broken and bloody body filling his head. "Is he okay?"
"He's at the County hospital, Son. It's pretty bad."
"Dean?"
Sam was there suddenly, looking small and scared and Dean instinctively held out a hand for him, pulling him in close. "I…um…I should go. We should go there."
"We'll take you," the shorter of the two said.
Dean blinked, suddenly realizing they had rules in place for this. He knew what he had to do. Get rid of the cops, call Pastor Jim, pack up their shit. When their father could slip out of the hospital he would, and they needed to be ready to run.
It was never as bad as the doctors made it out to be. Not when it was John Winchester. The last time Dean had panicked and called Jim and they were gone six hours later, and while his father had walked with a limp for a while, he'd been fine.
"I…I have a car." Dean said. He pushed Sam out to arm's length and looked him in the eye. "Go get dressed."
Sam nodded and headed for his bedroom.
"Is there someone you can call?"
Dean shook his head. "It's just the three of us."
"Let us at least follow you, make sure you get there okay?"
"I'm sure we'll be fine. You said County?"
"Be careful out there, the roads are pretty icy."
Dean walked them to the door. "I will. Thank you." He closed the door and exhaled to try to pull himself together. He needed to find the keys to the Impala. Which he wasn't supposed to drive. The truck had been supposed to be his. They had picked up an old junker so that his father could teach him how to rebuild the engine over the winter. But the truck had snow tires and the Impala didn't, so his father had taken it for this hunt.
He'd only had his real license a few months. His father had rules about the car, one of which was Dean couldn't drive it until he knew how to take care of it. Dean shook his head and went to shed his sweat pants and pull on jeans and a t-shirt. He shoved his feet into his boots and headed across the hall to his father's room.
John Winchester had been gone for nearly two weeks, heading to a town north of them to deal with…some supernatural monster that Dean couldn't remember right at that moment. He'd been due back a few days before, but had called and said he'd hit on another case and would be a little longer.
That had been before the cold snap had plunged the temperatures and made the small house freezing cold at night. They were down to about five dollars of what he'd left them and the credit card Dean had was just about used up. They had a box of stale cereal and a couple of freezer burned hot dogs and not much else.
Which meant they had no money for hospital bills.
He rummaged through the underwear drawer of his father's dresser until he found the hidden keys, then headed for the living room, pulling on a button down shirt. Sam was standing at the door, holding Dean's jacket.
"We're supposed to call Pastor Jim." Sam said softly.
Dean nodded, taking the jacket. "We will. First we need to see how bad it is. Besides, it's too early for calling. Ain't even four yet."
"Is Dad going to be okay?"
Dean opened the door and gestured toward the car. "I don't know Sam. Lets just go see him, okay?"
Sam slipped his hand into Dean's as they walked into an ER filled with bleeding and coughing and moaning people. He ignored them and went to the desk. "Excuse me?"
The nurse held up her hand and finished writing something on a chart then looked up at him. "How can I help you?"
"I, um, I'm Dean Winchester. My father was in an accident? John Winchester?"
She nodded and poked at the computer in front of her. "Okay, Mr. Winchester. If I could just have you take a seat, I'll see if I can find someone to come talk to you."
Sam tugged him toward the rows of chairs and he went reluctantly, watching as Sam sat. He couldn't sit. He didn't like hospitals. And sitting was always a bad idea.
Sitting made it real. It was like admitting that the reason you were there was serious.
So he paced, but not too far. He wanted to be in arms reach of his brother. Sam grabbed his arm and stood a few minutes later as a man in a lab coat approached. "Dean Winchester?"
Dean nodded. "Yes, you are?"
"Dr. Havilan, could you follow me?" He led them away from the people in the waiting room, down a hall and into a small office. "Please, sit."
"I would rather see me father."
The doctor put his hands in the pockets of his coat. "In a few moments, we've only just brought him out of surgery. Let us get him settled in his room first."
Sam's hand tightened in his. "Surgery?" Dean asked, moving toward the chairs and sinking into one of them. Sam stood, hovering at his shoulder, still clinging to his hand.
The doctor perched on the side of the desk. "Your father attempted to crawl out of the truck, through the broken window. We had to dig glass out of his stomach and his back, as well as repair some internal damage caused by the crash."
Cuts and glass Dean could handle. "Okay." There was clearly more. Dean could almost feel the man measuring him up. "What else?"
"The head trauma is pretty severe and the swelling and bruising around his spine has us concerned. Unfortunately, we won't know the extent of the damage until he wakes up."
"But he's going to be okay, right?" Sam asked, blinking up at the doctor.
"We just don't know right now."
Dean swallowed down the sudden flare of fear. Sam needed him to be strong, to be the big brother. "Can we see him?"
"Let me see if we're ready." The doctor left them alone and Dean turned to Sam.
"You remember what we're supposed to do, right Sammy?" Dean asked, taking Sam's other hand and squeezing.
Sam nodded. "Assess the situation. Call Pastor Jim to come get us. Pack our stuff, load the car."
"Right. We can do that, right?"
Sam nodded again. The door opened and Dr. Havilan gestured at them. "I'll take you to him."
They went to a bank of elevators and up five floors, then past a nurse's station and down a long hall. The doctor pushed the door open and Dean stumbled past him. His father's face was pale, what he could see of it around the bandages and the machines. Sam's hand slipped into his, squeezing. It was bad.
It was worse than bad.
Dean was ready for banged up, and unconscious. He'd been prepared for the machines and bandages. But this?
He shook his head as they inched closer. He wasn't ready for this. This was…worse than he'd ever seen.
He stood silently beside the bed for a long time, then lifted his shaking hand to the phone beside the bed, quickly dialing Jim's number before he could freeze. He needed to stay focused and calm. He couldn't let Sam know how bad this was.
The phone rang for a long time, then dumped to voice mail. "Pastor Jim, it's Dean…um…Dean Winchester. I…need you."
Fifteen hours.
Dean paced from the bed to the door and back, around Sam's feet. Sam was crashed in the chair in the corner, his feet stretched out to keep him from falling out onto the floor.
Fifteen hours and his father hadn't moved, hadn't opened an eye or twitched a finger.
Dr. Havilan had said the first hours would be the most critical, but that they longer before he woke up, the harder recovery would be.
He had tried Pastor Jim a couple of times, getting his voicemail over and over. They were on their own for now.
There was a soft knock on the door and a man's head poked into the room. "Mr. Winchester?"
Dean glanced at Sam, then went to the door, pushing the man back into the hallway. "What?"
"I know this is not the best time, but my name is Harold Holding, I'm from the finance department of the hospital."
"Finance?" Dean scowled at him. "My father could be dying and you want me to talk about money?"
The man held up a hand. "I'm sorry. I realize this is difficult, but I'm just trying to do my job. I need to go over your father's information with you, so that I can see what I can do to help."
"Help? You wanna help, get out of my face." Dean growled.
"I wish I could, but I have to do this. Why don't we sit?" He gestured at the chairs and Dean snarled at him, but went to sit.
"Now, as far as we can tell, your father has no insurance, is that right?"
"No insurance, no money, no income." Dean said harshly, glancing up at the door to his father's room.
Harold nodded, making notes on his paperwork. "Do you have any resources to pay his medical costs?"
"Mister, I barely have the resources to feed my little brother right now." Dean said, shaking his head.
Harold stopped writing and folded his hands over his papers. "Can I ask you how old you are?"
Dean froze for a second. This guy could call in Child Protective Services, then he'd lose Sam. "Twenty one."
Harold looked him over, squinting at him.
"I'm old enough to be taking care of him, if that's what you're thinking." Dean amended.
"No, sorry. I know a guy…he might have a job you could do. Not everyone can do it though."
"I can do just about anything I put my mind to." Dean countered.
Harold fumbled with pulling out his wallet and pulled a business card from it. "You have a good look for it, and I'm guessing you could make good money. You get paid in tips, so the better you do the job, the more money you make."
He handed the card to Dean, who took it, frowning down at it. The job didn't sound all together legal. He snorted when he saw that the card was for a strip club. "Right." He shook his head and tried to hand the card back.
Harold stood instead of taking it. "I'm just trying to help. Charlie is good at what he does. He makes money. If he likes your look, he can help you make money. He might even front you enough to feed the kid."
"Look, man…I'm not…" He gestured with the card.
"Keep the card. In case you change your mind." Harold walked away, leaving Dean holding his coffee and the business card. He looked down at it. "Exotic Dancers, private shows…"
He shoved it into his pocket and headed back to his father's room. They weren't that desperate yet.
He hung up the phone with a sigh and moved to pour the last of the cereal into Sam's bowl. They were both bundled up in four layers of clothes, just trying to keep warm. "Still no answer at Jim's." Dean said, his voice soft.
Sam nodded, but didn't answer. He looked at the bowl, then up at Dean. "Aren't you eating?"
Dean sighed. "I need to go get some money. Hustle some pool or something."
Which meant leaving Sam alone. He didn't like it.
"I'm a big boy." Sam said as if he knew what Dean was thinking. "I'll be fine."
Dean nodded. "I shouldn't be too long. Don't stay up too late. You have school in the morning."
"So do you." Sam corrected.
Dean shook his head. "Not now. Someone needs to keep an eye on Dad."
He left Sam picking at the cereal and headed for the car. He'd used the fake ID in his wallet to get into bars before, had even hustled pool before, but his father had always been nearby.
He stuck his hand in his pocket for the keys and came out with the business card Harold had given him. He got into the car and started, savoring the heat that she put out. He couldn't keep them living like this. It was only the middle of October and they were already blanketed in snow. It was only going to get colder. He needed to get the heat turned on, and he needed to get food into both of them. Real food, not just peanut butter and cereal.
He didn't consciously drive to the address on the card, or at least that's what he told himself. He was just looking for a place to play some pool.
Two days.
Two days his father had been unconscious.
They had never been in a spot this bad. Dean had even picked up the phone to call Bobby, but he and his father had fought pretty badly the last time they had seen one another. His father would be furious if Dean called Bobby.
Pastor Jim hadn't answered his phone, and Dean had left three messages. He was probably out on a hunt himself, and knowing the kinds of hunts that Jim left his church to chase after, Dean was better off waiting now for Jim to call back. He didn't want to be responsible for getting the man killed.
All of which brought him here, sitting in front of a strip club named "Bucket of Aces" turning the owner's business card over and over between his fingers.
How hard could it be? Dean could move. He had never been much of a dancer, but all the training kept him fit and limber. Just move to the music and take your clothes off while a bunch of desperate, lonely women watch and stuff dollar bills in your shorts.
He could do that.
He huffed and opened the door of the car, climbing out and heading up to the door. Music with a heavy bass pounded out at him as he approached, his eyes skimming over the well kept façade of the building. It was in better shape than most strip joints, though he supposed women looking for strippers would demand more than some dirty back room joint.
He nodded greeting to the bouncer and held up the card. "I'm here to see him?"
The bouncer nodded and gestured for Dean to go inside. The place was quiet aside from the music. No patrons yet to speak of, one bartender behind the bar on the right of the room. Dean headed that way, holding up a hand in greeting. "I'm looking for the owner?"
"Well, you found him." Dean turned to face the smiling man who had appeared behind him. "I'm Charlie, and who might you be?"
"Dean." He held out his hand and Charlie took it, shaking it heartily. "I was told you might be hiring?"
Charlie's eyes swept over Dean as he smiled, and somehow it made Dean feel just a little bit slimy. "Might be. Why don't we go into my office to talk. Things don't pick up around here for another hour or so."
He followed Charlie into a small office cluttered with files and papers. "So Dean…you ever dance before?" Charlie shut the door and gestured to one of the chairs.
Dean sat, fidgeting a little. "In front of people? No. But I can move."
Charlie chuckled and moved behind the desk to his chair. "What brought you here?"
"This guy…Harold…gave me your card. Said you might be able to help me out."
"Harold." Charlie nodded. "He only sends guys my way when they're in a pretty bad spot. You in a bad spot?"
Dean sat stiffly. "You might say that. My father's in the hospital. My brother needs to eat."
"Family guy. I like that." He sat back, looking at Dean and narrowing his eyes. "You old enough to be in a joint like this?"
"Yes sir." Dean responded, though he half expected the man would see through the lie. He was still a few months from his seventeenth birthday.
"I don't do paperwork or none of that, so relax. As far as I'm concerned my dancers are contractors. You work the stage, keep the audience happy and drinking. You keep your tips. I don't pay you, so I don't have to do taxes and all that shit."
Dean relaxed a little into the chair. "Convenient."
Charlie grinned and nodded. "Isn't it? Saves me a hell of a headache. So, you never did this before, but you think I should let you dance here?"
"How hard could it be?" Dean asked, exhaling slowly. "Look, truth is I don't have a lot of options. We have no heat, no food. I need this. I can make this work."
"How old is he…your brother?" Charlie asked.
"Twelve." Dean responded before he thought better of it. "I take care of him."
"Always have, I'll bet." Charlie stood suddenly. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'm going to take you back and introduce you to Matty. He's one of our favorite dancers, and he's good with the ideas. You and him talk a bit, have him dress you up, and then you come out and dance for me. I like what I see, you can stay."
"What…like right now?" Dean asked, standing too, suddenly very nervous.
"No time like the present. Come on."
Dean followed him to the back of the club, behind the stage and into a long dressing room lined with mirrors and costumes. A guy in a g-string and eyeliner lifted a hand before pulling a robe around his shoulders.
"Hey, Matty, this here is Dean. I'm giving him a try out. Why don't you get him set up for me, okay?"
"Sure thing, Charlie."
Charlie left then, and Dean shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking around him. "So…ah…"
"Never done this before, right?" Matty asked, sliding into a chair in front of a mirror. "Neither had I before a year ago. Sit."
Dean took the seat next to Matty's and watched him in the mirror for a second. "So, you got any idea what you want to dance to?"
"Does it matter?" Dean asked with a shrug. "I mean….I guess I hadn't thought about it."
"Okay, let's start with something simpler." Matty turned toward him, looking him over. "I bet you would do good with a biker look…a little innocent for it, but that will change. You'll need a g-string…black I think…and a pair of Speedos…tear away jeans…Sit here a minute. Let me see what I've got."
Twenty minutes later Dean felt absolutely ridiculous in layers of clothing that did nothing to protect him from the cold and a pair of biker boots that were too tight. Some generic house music was blaring and Matty was telling him to just let go and let the music move him before shoving him out on the stage.
He felt clunky as he kept himself from falling. The lights were blinding and he nearly ran off the stage, but he could just make out Charlie sitting near the stage. He could do this.
He closed his eyes and listened to the music for a second, then let his hips start moving. It took him far too long to find the strength to open his eyes and move, but once he did, he just forced himself to focus on the job, on the money. On giving Sam a full breakfast in the morning.
He pulled the denim jacket back off his shoulders, rolling each shoulder in time with the music and turning so his back was against the pole at center stage. He let the pole hold him as he slid down it, bending his knees, sliding his hands down his legs and spreading them open.
Yeah, he could do this.
He dropped the jacket and strutted to the pole at the end of the runway, moving around it as he unbuttoned the jeans. Charlie was watching closely now and Dean could make out the shadows of other people in the room too. He moved his hips and turned so his ass was to the audience before yanking on the jeans. The Velcro gave way and the jeans came off in his hands. He tossed them behind him and shook his ass at Charlie.
He danced around the pole, down to the end of the stage where he fucked the air before teasing a finger around the waistband of the Speedos. He tugged and one side came loose, and he turned and tugged on the other, dropping the red Speedos, and exposing his entire ass to the audience as the song ended and he stalked back toward the back of the stage.
There was scattered applause and the stage lights dimmed. Dean was panting as Matty handed him a robe and a few minutes later Charlie was in the dressing room grinning at him. "It needs work, but I think you got what we need, kid."
"Does that mean I get the job?" Dean asked.
"We'll start you out with two dances a night. If you improve, we'll give you more. Sound good?"
Dean nodded. It sounded like money.
"Here, take this." Charlie handed him a hundred dollar bill.
"What's this for?" Dean asked.
"Consider it a signing bonus." Two guys came in from a back door, pulling off winter coats. "Come on back tomorrow night and we'll get you started."
Dean took the money and went back into the dressing area to pull his own clothes back on. It was enough to get some food in the house.
"Does food mean you cheated some guy out of his paycheck?" Sam asked as Dean set a plate of scrambled eggs on the table in front of him.
"Actually, I got a job." Dean responded. "It's nights though, you going to be okay with that?"
Sam looked up at him with a pinched face. "What am I, two?"
"No, you're twelve. Dad will kill me if he finds out I'm leaving you alone." Dean leaned back against the counter and reached for his own plate. "But we need the money."
"What kind of job is gonna hire you to work nights?"
"It's a bar." Dean answered after he swallowed. "I'm bussing tables and washing glasses."
"Do they know you're sixteen?"
"Eat your breakfast." He didn't like lying to his brother, but Sam would never understand. And Sam couldn't keep a secret, not one like this. If Sam found out, his father would know just as soon as he was awake.
"What about Pastor Jim?" Sam asked.
"What about him?" Dean responded. "He'll call when he can. If he doesn't, well, that means he's got bigger problems than us." He put his plate down. "I'll drive you to school, but you'll have to get home on your own."
"You going to the hospital?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, keep an eye on Dad."
He had other plans, but those too he wasn't telling Sam. He would go to the hospital, but after that he had to figure out a way to not get fired on his first night. He knew his performance was lacking, and he had to find a way to make it better. Better dancing meant more money. He understood that.
So, he had a plan. He was going to go rent every movie he could with dancing in it. There was a video place not far from the school that had an adult section in it, and he figured he would find at least one striptease type video there too.
With Sam in school it gave him a few hours to practice a few moves…and try to come up with a way to do this and still hold on to his dignity.
Matty was waiting for him when he slipped in the back door, grinning. "You ready for your ride, sweet thing?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, don't call me that."
Matty laughed and gestured toward his mirror. "Come on. I'll help you out tonight, but tomorrow you're on your own."
Dean peeled off his jacket and outer shirt before sitting in the chair.
"Boys, this here is Dean. Tonight's his first night, so play nice."
A big man in leather stepping away from the costumes chuckled. "Fresh meat, the boys out front are going to like that." He came to stand behind Dean, hands on his shoulders. "Heh, pretty one too. Look at those lips."
Matty shoved the bigger man away and shook his head. "Down Cujo, Don't mind him. That's Spike. The college boys seem to really like him. That one over there with the ridiculous hair is Dom and the pretty one preening in the mirror is Jay."
Dean looked at them then at Matty in the mirror. "Wait, college boys?"
Matty chuckled and reached over him for a comb. "Don't tell me you were expecting an audience of bored housewives and bachelorettes?"
Dean tried to swallow the sudden panic, and keep it off his face. "A guy can hope, right?"
"Sure. Hope." Matty threw clothes in his lap, the same get up he'd worn the night before. "Get dressed. You got a song picked?"
He did, but now he felt silly asking for it. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight. "I…maybe….um…Wild Thing?"
The guys all chuckled and Matty nodded. "If you're going to go with that, you better make sure you are…wild, that is."
Dean blushed and fussed with the clothes. He'd found a video with a man stripping to the song and he'd worked all afternoon on it. "Yeah, I worked on it." Dean grumbled, standing up and putting the rip away clothing on the chair. He wasn't actually sure he could go through with it though, not with a room full of guys.
"He's young, Matty, give it to him." Jay said as Dean started pulling off his street clothes. "Or are you worried he'll do it better than you did?"
"Shut up Jay, shouldn't you be on stage?"
Matty waited for Dean to get into the jeans before he gestured for him to sit back down. He brushed powder over Dean's face, then fussed with his hair, making it stand up more than it normally did on its own.
"What's that about?" Dean asked.
Matty rolled his eyes. "Two years ago I was you. Wild Thing was the first song I danced to. I made a complete ass of myself, fell off the stage." He forced a laugh. "Charlie wanted to kick me back on the street, but I begged him for one more chance."
Dean watched his face tighten and Matty moved away. "Good thing he likes a pretty face." Matty's hands tightened on Dean's shoulders. "Just don't fall off the stage, and don't give Charlie a reason to make you beg him for another chance."
That sounded ominous, but the music flared and Jay disappeared from the dressing room to the sounds of applause from the audience.
Two songs later, Dean was peeking out through the curtains at the nearly full house. It was a Thursday night, but the place seemed to be hopping. He was scared to death, and the thought of doing something disastrous was circling in his brain, making him second guess himself.
The boots felt tighter somehow and the g-string was digging into his skin and Matty was signaling him from the sound booth.
"Okay, boys, we have a special treat for you. Making his debut appearance with us tonight, a hot young stud ready for a sweet ride, give it up boys, for Mustang!"
Dean rolled his eyes at Matty's idea for a name as the opening strains of Wild Thing sounded. Dean pushed through the curtains just in time to snap his hips in time to the first words.
The rowdy front row was cheering. He rolled his hips, mouthing the words until he got to the pole in the center of the stage. He put his back against is as the music stopped for the spoken part. "Wild Thing I think I love you."
He dropped to a squat, knees spread wide, then slid back up the pole. "But I wanna know for sure." He dropped the jacket off his shoulders. "Come on and hold me tight."
One guy in the front row, a blond who was clearly drunk, waved a five at him and Dean figured this was how he was going to make the money, so he moved closer, leaning out to him. "I love you."
Dean slid back, taking the five and moving to the other side of the stage. He moved and gyrated, dancing around the pole before ripping the jeans off.
"Wild thing, you make my heart sing…"
He froze in panic as he felt hands on his ass, then realized those hands were stuffing money in his g-string. He turned, which put his barely covered cock in the face of some man.
"I'll show you a wild thing or two…" Dean moved to step back, but the guy was holding his leg. Then suddenly, the bouncer was there, shoving the man back into his seat. Dean stumbled back into the pole, trying to shaking it off.
He was trembling as the song neared its end, but he did his best not to show it and collecting a few dollars on his way off stage. Matty met him behind the curtain, but Dean shoved him away, pushing back into the dressing room.
"Shit."
"Hey, man…settle down."
One of the guys handed him a shot glass and Dean took it, tipping it back and swallowing fast. "You okay?" Matty asked after a few seconds and Dean managed a nod.
"Just…I…he grabbed…and I wasn't…"
"They ain't supposed to touch." Matty said. "But sometimes they get grabby. You gotta learn how to handle it."
Dean nodded. He wasn't sure he could make himself go back out there. "You'll be fine. You don't go on again for a while. By then, that asswipe will be gone." Matty patted his shoulder.
His second number wasn't so bad, and he even managed to be a little flirtatious. By the time it was over he had a good twenty dollars in his g-string. It wasn't a lot, but he could use it as stakes in some pool hustling on his way home, maybe triple it.
It wasn't bad.
He was just pulling his coat on when the bouncer appeared at the door of the dressing room and pointed at him. "Boss wants you."
Dean followed the big guy out into the bar that was still hopping, drunk patrons screaming at whoever was on stage. He was led out to Charlie's office, and the door closed behind him. Charlie handed him a shot glass.
"First off, you okay? You shouldn't have gotten grabbed like that."
Dean took the glass but didn't drink the shot right away. He could already feel the effects of the first shot. "I'm fine. I was a little shaken up at first, but I'm fine."
"How do you think it went, drunk grab aside?"
Dean shrugged. "I don't know."
"I'll tell you what I saw. You were uncomfortable, stiff and uncoordinated. The music didn't suit you. Still, the crowd seemed to like you."
Dean wasn't sure how to take that. He sipped at the shot. "It was my first try. I'll make it better."
"Oh, I'm sure you will. I have to say though, it's pretty obvious you aren't into guys."
Dean almost choked, coughing. "Um…I didn't realize you needed me to be gay?"
"Helps. You gotta sell what you're selling."
"What I'm selling?" Dean's face was flushed and red and he was starting to sweat under his clothes. "I'm just dancing."
"No, no, you're putting your merchandise on display, and if the customers can tell that you don't really want to sell it, they aren't gonna want to buy."
"So, you want me to pretend that I like guys?" He shook his head, trying to clear the buzz from it.
Charlie came from around the desk, pushing the hand with the shot glass up toward Dean's face. "I want you to drink your shot. Then I'll have Spike take you home."
"I have my own car." Dean argued, though he swallowed the whiskey as Charlie tipped the glass into his mouth.
"I'll have Matty follow you in it." His fingers pushed into Dean's pocket and came out with his keys. "You're in no shape to drive."
Dean shouldn't have been that drunk that fast, but he couldn't quite keep track of what was going on. Next thing he knew he was in a car and Spike was talking about dicks and then he was home, the Impala pulling into the driveway.
"Get some sleep." Matty said as he handed back the keys. "Tomorrow night is going to be a big night."
Link to Part Two