So this is my new story, based off of a gifset I saw on Tumblr. I'm looking for a beta, and I am also looking for a skilled gif creator to make gifsets for the story. Message me on here or on Tumblr (my username is the same) if interested :)
Nothing in this story is concrete (I just got the idea three days ago), so if you have any events/couples/plots to happen please don't be afraid to let me know!

An old, worn-looking building sat on the corner of 9th and Folsom St, in San Francisco, California. It was quite inconspicuous to the unknowing observer; looking shabby, used, and dull. Red brick covered all four sides of the two story building, faded and cracked; an unimpressive flat black tile roof topped it off. The windows were only on the top floor, just small little things caked with dirt. Ivy had started to grow up the front side, adding to the almost abandoned atmosphere. The two industrial looking metal doors were often graffitied with gang signs, and had trash gathered in front of them. Looking at this decrepit site, one would never think that anything but drug deals and crime would happen there. Maybe that was the whole purpose of the outside, to obscure what went on inside. Because, let me tell you, what went on inside- it was not for normal, everyday people.

Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm sure you want to know the story behind this seemingly bland and aged building that I'm describing; the reason for its mysterious air. From personal experience, I can say that it is no easy thing to describe. The sheer wonder and brilliance of what occurred there… it cannot be put into simple words. It would take hours- days, even- to communicate the entirety of the transpired events. That is why I have decided to do it like so, in this story. By the end of my tale I hope you have a better idea of what I mean when I say that this building was, truly, supernatural.

As the black '67 Chevy Impala motored to a stop on the street and shut off, the driver threw his hands up in the air. "Sonovabitch- I knew Bobby was bullshitting us!" he exclaimed, a steely look on his face. The deserted street, the rapidly falling sun, the sketchy building- it all pointed to a prank pulled on the two men seated in the car by their family friend. It wouldn't be the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. This, however, was low- even for Bobby Singer.

The man in the passenger seat turned and gave the driver what could only be described as a bitch face. "Oh, I'm so sorry for your loss, Dean. Can we just go back to the apartment now?" He leaned back in the leather seat, huffing a breath out. He hadn't wanted to come here in the first place- he had been dragged in the car against his will among exclamations that he needed to "get out more" and "have some fun". 'It's not like I have a job to work or anything,' he thought, running a hand through his hair.

Dean grumbled, still craning his neck around to look at the building from all possible angels; a small amulet that was hanging off of his neck bouncing on his chest. "There's gotta be something here. A sign… maybe a paper…." He trailed off, every second getting angrier with Bobby. 'What kind of a person does that to a man?' he thought, shaking his head and running a hand down his face.

"Well Sam, I guess Bobby got us. Again. This was a sick joke, though." Dean groused, turning the key in the ignition and listening to his baby rumble to life. This car was his pride and joy, given to him by his father, John, before he died. John bought it slightly used in 1967, and it was still in perfect condition thanks to Dean. He never let anyone else drive it- even his brother Sam hardly ever got the chance. Sam knew better than to try, though- he liked having two balls, thank you very much.

As the car turned the corner and started off down the empty road, Sam saw something out of the corner of his eye. His head whipped around, and he made a face at what was before him. He debated not telling Dean so that they could just go home, but he was nothing if not a good person (sometimes). "Hey, Dean- look." he sighed, cocking a thumb towards his passenger side window. Dean slowed down the car, leaning over Sam to see out the window. A grin lit his face, and he quickly sat back in his seat, giving a fist pump.

"Alright! Good job, Sammy. Now let's go have some fun." he cheered. He swung the car around with a fair amount of protest from the tires, and parked it against the curb. Jumping out of the car, Dean tossed the keys into his pocket and walked across the street. Sam followed behind him, making sure the car was actually locked. In front of them, a small white neon sign, blinking lazily against the faded brick wall, read "Supernatural", surround on either side by a pure white wing. Beneath it was a dull gray door, marked by some of the many gangs in this part of the city.

Supernatural, according to Bobby, was the newest strip club in their neighborhood. An old business partner of Bobby's (he refused to call him a friend) had opened it just a couple weeks ago. He had sent a message to Bobby, wanting to meet up there and talk. Instead Bobby ignored him, calling Dean and telling him to check it out for him. "I'm not going anywhere near that idjit unless that club is good." he had grumbled. Dean was only all too willing, and had volunteered Sam for the mission as well.

Dean rapped on the door, giving Sam an excited look, complete with raised eyebrows and feral grin. Sam rolled his eyes, already getting tired of his sex-crazed older brother. He wasn't sure if he was going to last the night. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Sam started thinking about the newest case at the law office he worked at. His thoughts were shortly interrupted as a minuscule door opened on the previously smooth metal, and a deep voice rumbled, "Club doesn't open for another hour and ten minutes." One dark eye could be seen through the hole.

Showing a wide, toothy smile, Dean said smoothly, "Hi! Yea, we know, but we're friends of Bobby Singer, and we're supposed to talk to the owner. He said to come by before opening. So why don't you scoot on over, Hulky, and let us in." He finished with a cocky wink, and Sam closed his eyes and mentally face-palmed. One of these days Dean was going to get himself shot.

A low, almost animalistic growl could be heard from the other side of the door and Dean faltered, confusion entering his face. He'd never heard a human make that kind of noise. The little window slammed shut, and there was silence for a minute. "Good job, Dean, you pissed off the Hulk." Sam whispered pointedly.

Dean swayed, shaking his head. Like the guy could actually do anything to them. "Relax, he's not gonna-" Dean's reply was cut off as the door flew open, and he jumped and raised his arms up to his face in a bad imitation of a fighting stance. Sam rolled his eyes- yet again- when he saw that it wasn't the Hulk coming out to beat up Dean. He shoved Dean's shoulder, trying to make him behave.

"Hello, boys. What can I do for you?" came the accented greeting from the doorway. A short man with slightly thinning black hair was there, in a tailored suit and tie. His expression was blank, though slightly mocking, it seemed. He was obviously from somewhere in England, and he seemed like the wealthy and shady "I'll buy your house out from underneath you" type.

Dean shifted his weight, obviously trying to roll with the slightly strange situation they were in. "Um- hi. We're friends of Bobby Singer? He sent us to talk with you. He's really busy right now." he explained, grinning a bit at the end. He didn't like the looks of this guy- ha already looked like he was up to something.

The suited man gave him a searching look, and then turned and did the same to Sam. He shifted awkwardly, wondering if they were in trouble for some reason. "Oh, that bugger- he's not busy. He just didn't want to see his old pal Crowley." Crowley- they assumed it was him- shrugged, unbothered. "Oh well- don't want you to have made the trip for nothing. Come on in." He turned away, walking briskly inside. Looking at each other the boys followed, pushing the door shut behind them. Inside it was dim, with only a few of the lights lit on the ceiling, and they could just make out the interior if they squinted.

Right in front of them was a large stage, taking up a good third of the surprisingly large room. It had a short runway sticking out towards the door, and three different poles set up on the main stage area. It was nicely made, with wood paneling and silky-looking fabrics hanging off of it. Chairs surrounded the stage, up close and personal. To the far left of the stage was obviously the bar, long and low, surrounded by comfortable stools. The wall behind was stacked ceiling high with shot glasses, beer mugs, and wine glasses. They could see tips and caps of every size and color peeking over the counter. Over to the far right was the main sitting area, with booths against the wall and circular tables with white tablecloths. The booths, chairs, and stools all had white leather seats set in dark-colored wood that matched the tables, bar, and stage. There was a spiral staircase over in the right corner, going through a hole in the floor, both upwards and downwards, in the same deep brown wood. The walls were just plain white drywall, with more silky-looking fabrics or wall sconces on them. Overall it exuded a very professional and beautiful feeling- it was obviously not nearly as sleazy as the outside suggested.

The entire time Dean and Sam had been ogling the interior, Crowley had stood by with a small smirk on his face. "Nice, isn't it? Designed it myself. I do take pride in my business place." He gestured around, a small glass of scotch in his previously empty hand. "It's not all bad, you know. Just the reputation." The boys nodded, although they weren't fully paying attention.

"Jesus!" Sam started as the Hulk from earlier came up almost silently behind him. He ended up jumping closer to Dean, who was eyeing the Hulk uncertainly as well. Crowley chuckled, turning around and waving his hand for them to follow. He called over his shoulder, "Don't worry about him- we call him Hellhound, or Hound for short. He's our bouncer slash security. He's not as scary as he looks." Shooting them a large smirk he led them up the spiral stairs, a few steps above them.

Dean leaned forwards to Sam in front of him as they climbed after the owner. "So far this place looks pretty ritzy- I think even Bobby would have a good time." He whispered. Sam nodded, although he didn't have many strip clubs to compare to. It seemed like a restaurant or a hotel bar almost. He supposed that it was nice that it didn't seem like a typical gross club.

As they rounded the last curve in the staircase, they came upon a hallway with three doors on either side, and one at the end of the hallway. Dean chuckled, and Crowley looked backwards, an eyebrow raised. "These are the private rooms, am I right?" he questioned. Crowley nodded, a small smirk seemingly tattooed onto his mouth. Dean nodded, still grinning. He tried to peek into the doors as they passed, but the solid white doors were locked tight. He assumed they were as nice as the rest of the place, but he kind of wanted to see for himself. He might be spending a lot of time here in the near future, and these rooms were the best part of the club.

Crowley opened the door at the end of the hall, ushering the boys in. Unlike the rest of the club, this room was decorated more elegantly, with older furnishings and paintings. There were bookshelves on the left and right walls, floor to ceiling, stacked with books and papers and files. On the wall behind the desk there was a small window and a couple of paintings of historical figures. The centerpiece was a large mahogany desk, with a large leather chair behind it and two smaller ones in front. It looked like an old lady's dining room to Dean. He didn't say anything, of course- he didn't want to mess with Hound again. Sitting in the two offered chairs, the boys waited quietly while Crowley shuffled around, moving some papers. Eventually, Dean spoke up, like Sam knew he would.

"So… we're here to investigate for Bobby. So far, it seems like a really great place you got here." He paused, green eyes lighting up. "I'm probably gonna stop by here often enough myself." Falling silent, Dean looked towards Sam, silently pushing him to say something too. Sam mentally sighed.

"Is there anything else you want us to tell Bobby? I'm sure he'll want to come down and visit after Dean's enthusiasm." he asked, sending a smile.

Crowley chuckled, the laughter sounding more mocking than ever. "Well, you can tell that bloody idiot that he won't get any free drinks out of me. Sending you two in his stead… I never…." He trailed off, shaking his head theatrically. Looking back up, he adopted a more innocent expression. "Also, you can tell him that our performers are… unusual. They are much different than any others in the business. They won't be what is expected." he finished, sitting back in his chair with a small smile.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam, who shrugged minutely. They had no idea what was meant by that. Dean was the one who responded. "Well, I personally love strip clubs of all kinds, so I'm sure I'll enjoy myself. But we'll pass on the message." Crowley nodded, seeming pleased, smirking once again. The trio lapsed into silence, and Sam shifted in his seat. The club owner stared on, continuing to smirk, obviously enjoying this. After thirty seconds, Dean clapped his hands together, blowing out a breath. He couldn't stand these awkward silences. "So- how much longer until the club opens?" he questioned, rubbing his hands together. It had been too long since he'd seen a good show.

Crowley glanced at the gold watch on his wrist. "Half an hour. Are you going to stay for the night?" he countered, eyes glinting.

Dean smiled, spreading out his hands. "Why not? I always have time for clubs." Sam rolled his eyes, wondering how it was possible for Dean to be so focused on this one thing. And of course, this meant that Sam had to stay as well, since he certainly wasn't walking twenty blocks back to their apartment in the dark. Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Sam, knowing that he was trapped. Hey, it would do his little brother some good- tipping a stripper was a needed life skill!

"Excellent!" Crowley leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Seeing as the club still technically isn't open yet, I'll get you boys some drinks and we'll have a nice chat while we wait, hm?" Dean and Sam nodded, polite smiles on their faces. Leaning down, Crowley picked up two tumblers and a glass bottle, filling the small glasses with the strong-smelling drink. He handed them to the boys, raising his own half-empty one in a toast.

Taking a sip, Dean gave an appreciative noise. "This is good stuff." he complimented.

"We take only the best here." Crowley said, tilting his head. After taking another drink, almost emptying his glass, he posed the question, "So- what do you boys do for a living?" Looking both of them up and down, it seemed like he was searching them for something.

"Well, I kind of do random things where I can. I fix up cars, I do some hunting upstate to sell the meat, I volunteer at the fire station. Nothing too steady." Dean explained, giving a one-shouldered shrug. He liked the freedom to move around. Crowley nodded, raising an eyebrow, and turned towards Sam.

Sam cleared his throat. "Well, I work at a law firm a few blocks from my apartment. I'm kind of an intern there while I'm in school." Crowley once again nodded, raising the other eyebrow.

"You look pretty big to be a lawyer. I would've pegged you for an athlete, or a gym instructor." Crowley murmured with a grin.

Dean snorted. "He's a health nut. Salads and fruits and everything. He works out all the time." Sam sighed, leaning his head back in his chair.

"Ah, I see. And you look strong, too. Probably from the hours at the fire station?" Crowley inquired back at Dean. He nodded hesitantly, wondering where this topic of conversation was going. But Crowley merely nodded to himself, another small smirk on his lips. Dean sent a look over to Sam, who was just as confused. "And how old are you boys?" was the next strange question.

Dean glanced back at Sam again, before answering slowly. "Um… I'm twenty five, and he's twenty one." These were odd questions, especially coming from the owner of a strip club who they had just met. He was starting to understand why Bobby hadn't wanted to come down here- Crowley was strange.

Sam took the moment of silence to turn the questioning around on Crowley. "So, Bobby told us you guys were business partners once?" he started.

Crowley chuckled, taking a drink and emptying his glass. "Yes, we were. Right old grouch that one is. Always complaining about something. We worked together in the same company for a few years in the eighties. After that we went our separate ways. I to bigger and better businesses," he opened his arms to show his office, "and he to… whatever it is he's doing these days." he finished, waving a hand around in the air.

"Car shop and junkyard." Dean supplied, glad to get off the topic of himself. Never one to share information with random people.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Ah. Interesting." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his left leg over his right. "What is his relationship to you anyway?" he suddenly asked, tone a bit sharper.

Frowning, Dean leaned forward. "Look, no offense, but we just met you, so I'm not really loving the interrogation here." There was a small staring contest going between him and Crowley, whose face showed nothing but mild amusement. Sam shifted and cleared his throat, but he was ignored in the tension.

A small, unseen clock began to chime in the owner's office, and both Dean and Sam started in their seats. "Ah- ten o'clock on the dot. I assume you boys will want to be downstairs when the entertainment starts, yes?" Crowley asked, standing up from his large chair, argument forgotten. The boys followed suit, placing their empty tumblers on the crowded desk, Dean nodding. The three then left the office, Crowley bringing up the rear. Down the spiral stair they went, entering once again into the plush main room. This time, however, a few patrons were seated at the chairs around the stage, the lighting had been turned on, and a blonde male bar tender was already mixing drinks.

What surprised Dean, however, was that every single person in there so far was female. Sure, he had seen plenty of women in strip clubs. Girls tagging along with their boyfriends (weird, but whatever floats your boat), drunk girls going to have fun, and of course girls who went for the girls. One of his friends from college, Charlie, she used to go to strip clubs all the time for the ladies. But what Dean didn't get was why there were so many. "Hey, are there usually this many women here?" he called over his shoulder to Crowley as they stepped off the staircase.

"Oh yes, of course." he replied, his face neutral. Before another word could be said, the owner put a hand on the shoulder of each brother. "Now, I must attend to business. I want you two to have fun, bring home a good report back to Bobby. Don't worry about tipping, our dancers get quite enough from these rich broads as it is. And drinks are on the house- just don't overdo it, okay?" With a final smile and shoulder squeeze he disappeared into the rapidly growing crowd.

Dean ran a hand over his face, turning towards Sam. "Okay, is it just me, or is that guy on some sort of drug?" The questions, the smirks, the general unnatural feel of this club… it was giving Dean the heebie-jeebies. Looking towards the door, he now saw some males walking into the club, which made him feel a bit better about being here.

Sam laughed, shaking his head. "I don't know, man, but he was definitely strange." He was slightly more at ease than Dean, more trusting in people in general. "Anyway- isn't this what you've been waiting for? The strippers, the alcohol, the fun… don't get all crazy and let your enjoyment fade away." His speech was only slightly (okay, a lot) sarcastic. Dean didn't seem to notice.

Nodding, he declared, "You're right. We're here, we might as well enjoy ourselves. Grab us a seat, Sammy, and I'll get us some booze." Sam protested, saying that a water was fine, but Dean waved a hand over his head as he walked away, showing that he didn't really care. Sam sighed harshly, turning around to look for two empty chairs near the left side of the main stage. He sat down on one and put his coat on the other, scuffing his shows on the floor while he waited for Dean to get back.

Dean, meanwhile, was over talking to the bartender. As he walked up he said, "Two beers, please." and leaned against the counter.

"Sure thing. Never seen you before- what's your name?" the blonde asked in a strongly accented voice as he reached for two bottles. Were all these guys from England?

"I'm Dean, first night here." he answered. "You?"

A small smile crossed the bar tender's face. "Balthazar." He popped open both of the lids and passed the drinks over the counter.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Balthazar? That's a… pretty unusual name." he commented, reaching forward to take the two open bottles.

Balthazar chuckled. "What can I say- some people are born with them." He looked Dean up and down, studying him almost like Crowley had done. "So this is your first night here, hm?" Dean nodded, taking a swig of his beer. Balthazar smiled wider. "Well, I think you'll enjoy yourself very much, so I hope to be seeing you more often."

Dean nodded, eyes already scanning the room for Sam. "Yup. Thanks, Balthy." he said, spotting Sam and turning to leave.

"No, don't. Just Balthazar is fine." he corrected. Dean froze for a second, before nodding and walking briskly away towards the two chairs Sammy had secured. Jesus, for a second Dean had thought that Balthazar was going to pull a Hulk or something.

Sitting down, Dean handed Sam his drink. "The bartender's name is Balthazar. He has an accent, too. What is it with the names and accents around here?" he demanded quietly. It was seriously weird- did they hire any people who didn't match that criteria? "He's also got some creepy personality- I thought he was gonna kill me when I called him Balthy." Sam sighed and didn't answer, merely taking a sip from the bottle. He personally wasn't surprised that Dean had already annoyed someone. "This is good stuff. I wonder where they get their booze from…." Dean wondered aloud, changing topics just like that as he swirled his beer around in the brown glass bottle.

Suddenly the lights dimmed once again, and a single spotlight was shone on center stage on the pole there. Dean sat up straighter as the mumbling from the crowd died down. Over hidden speakers came Crowley's calm and cool voice. "Welcome ladies- and gentleman- to Supernatural. Remember, no touching, and keep it in your pants. Get ready for the best night of your life… our boys have a celestial touch, and they're all yours."

The two brothers quickly turned to each other, shock on their features. "Wait- boys?" Dean asked incredulously.