Theme of the week: The boys in a bar.

A haunted backwoods bar, and the only witness is their resident stripper; is it any wonder Dean's a bit … distracted?

Sam? Well, he's kinda wishing he'd never found the job.

Disclaimer: *sulks*


Haunted bar?


Dean was on the case like a rat up a drainpipe and suddenly Sam found himself abandoned in this skeevy hooch-joint, nursing his beer while Dean disappeared to interview the witness and her colleagues.

Finally, he returned; tie-less, dishevelled and lipstick-stained. Sam tried really hard not to notice Dean's shirt hanging open with all the buttons ripped off and, far more disturbingly, his gaping fly.

"All done," Dean gasped, wiping his flushed face.

"Good," sighed Sam; "what'dy find on the spirit?"

Dean hesitated, blinking vacantly as a stray sequin dropped off his nose into Sam's beer.

"What spirit?"