Dean’s Big Brass Balls 4/? | 4.18 The Monster At The End Of This Book

Get My Heart Under Contract

Written because I couldn't shake this post by @stonelionhearts. Thanks to @velvethopewrites for the little push i needed to write it!

ao3 1400 words, rated T (for now anyhow) 4926 word, Rated E

This is all Gabriel’s fault.

Cas’s business is doing just fine. He’s staying busy. He has a steady stream of customers. Home improvement never goes out of fashion. But his brother has insisted he join a--God, Cas can hardly even think it without rolling his eyes--networking group. Which is why Cas is dressed in a goddamn dress shirt, tie, and slacks on a Tuesday morning instead of finishing up the jetted tub install on his latest job.

Which reminds him. He needs to pick up a part. Glancing at the time, he sees he has a few minutes to kill before the meeting starts. He’s across town from his usual hardware store, but these chains are all the same so he can pop into the one over here and kill two birds with one stone.

He strides purposely into the store, confident he’ll know the layout, to grab the piece and be on his way again. Instead, he finds himself wandering from aisle to aisle, frustration building as he does. By the time he finds the plumbing section, he’s muttering to himself about inefficient store planners and glaring at the long rows of products as if they've personally offended him. Honestly, if he had the time he’d start re-organizing the entire layout in a way that actually makes sense. Sighing, he tries again to find what he’s looking for, a small headache beginning behind his eyes. Definitely Gabriel’s fault.

A friendly voice comes from his left. “Can I help you?”

Cas tugs at his own collar in an attempt not to snap at this salesperson who has no idea he’s just taken his life into his own hands. He turns to crisply dismiss the poor fellow and finds himself face to face with what can only be described as an incredibly beautiful man. He’s looking at Cas expectantly, green eyes wide. There’s a smattering of freckles on his face, and he wets his lips as he waits for Cas to answer. Which Cas should definitely do, but this is such an unexpected turn of events that Cas finds they’re standing and staring at each other for much longer than is socially appropriate.

The man--and now Cas sees he’s got a name tag pinned to his work apron--Dean nods at the display and tries again. “Looks like you’re working on a plumbing project. Those can be tricky. Do you know what piece you need?”

Of course Cas knows what he needs. He’s got all the dimensions memorized. He could do this job in his sleep. “Uh,” he begins, and has to clear his throat. He holds out his hands. “About this big?”

Dean studies the display, his tongue poking out at his concentrates. It’s all Cas can do not to reach out a hand to steady himself. He’s watching Dean’s face instead of finding the part he needs, and maybe he should feel bad about all this blatant staring, but he feels something akin to starstruck by this man.

“It’s probably this one.” Dean reaches for the exact part Cas was looking for, and Cas watches the muscles of his shoulder flex beneath his tight black t-shirt. “But just to be on the safe side, you might want to take this size as well.” He turns to face Cas, a part in each hand. “We make returns as easy as possible,” he says with a smile.

Cas definitely only needs the larger size. He takes both parts, happy to have something to do with his hands at least. “Thank you. That’s very helpful.”

“Anything else?”

If Cas leaves right now, he’ll only be about five minutes late for the networking meeting. He takes a step to his left, moving into Dean’s personal space, and pivots to the display behind them. “Can you tell me about these?”

They’re nothing complicated. Ball valve shut offs. Cas has an entire drawer of them in his tool box. Still, Dean answers his question respectfully, explaining various uses and pointing out the differences. “And these?” Cas realizes he's pointed to a display of brass nipple fittings and why do all these pieces sound so dirty? Cas works on not blushing as he lets Dean’s words wash over him, watching the way Dean’s face lights up as he talks, his strong hands picking things up to show Cas the minute differences. There’s nothing condescending in his speech, just the pure joy of sharing his knowledge with someone who wants to learn.

And does Cas ever want to learn. He wants to learn if Dean’s lips are as soft as they look. He wants to learn if those gold flecks in his green eyes look different under candlelight. He wants to learn how the calloused touch of those work-worn hands would feel on Cas’s shoulder and chest and hip…

“You know a lot about building things, it seems,” Cas manages. “Where did you learn it all?”

Dean glances away. “My dad was all about uh, DIY, I guess you could say. Left me with some skills.” There’s a story there, Cas is sure. He wants to learn that, too. Dean, however, seems eager to change the subject. “What about you? Are you working your way through your honey-do list?”

Cas watches as Dean’s mouth twists, like he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. It warms something inside him and he’s quick to respond. “Nothing like that. I live alone.”

Dean smiles at him. “You know, you’re going to need a piece of drywall to patch the hole after that installation.”

He’s not wrong. And Cas has many pieces available already. He feels his head tilt, eyes squinting in confusion. “Where would I find that?”

“Happy to show you!” Dean leads the way, and dear God now Cas can see that he’s got bowed legs, his hips swaying as he walks in a way that has Cas wanting to learn many, many more things.

Dean continues to guide him through the process, at some point grabbing a flat bed cart and loading it up with everything Cas might need. He opens up a register so that he can handle the payment himself. “Thank you, Mr. Novak,” he says, handing him the receipt. And then he offers to help Cas out to his car.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Cas says quickly, because this has gotten out of hand. “I can do it.”

“Nonsense,” Dean says. “No point in you getting dirty when you’re all dressed up nice for work.” He reaches a hand out and Cas freezes, breath caught in his throat, but all Dean does is flip his tie which has somehow turned backwards. While Cas will his pulse to slow, Dean grips the cart. “Now, where are you parked?”

Any other protests die on his lips. There’s nothing to be done and Cas leads him across the parking lot, doing a walk of shame to his very own contractor van parked at the end of a row.

Dean pulls up short with the cart, eyes blinking rapidly. “Novak,” he says. “That’s you?”

“I’m so sorry,” Cas says in a rush, knowing that he’s ruined this. “I didn’t mean to mislead you, it’s just that…”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Just that what?”

Cas can’t look at him. He stares miserably at his stupid dress shoes. “I was enjoying your company so much.”

There’s a long pause. “Hmm.” Chancing a look, Cas sees Dean is smiling at him. It’s a bit smug, but it looks good on him nonetheless. Dean pulls out his phone and takes a picture of the side of the van. “So, I could call you if I want to continue this conversation?”

Relief has Cas smiling back. “I wish you would.”

Together they unload the cart. “So, what’s with the monkey suit?” Dean asks.

“My brother convinced me to go to a business networking meeting.” Cas checks his watch. “Which I am now embarrassingly late for.”

Dean leans a hip against the side of the van. “That so? Guess you’ll never meet anybody new then.”

“Guess not.” They’re staring at each other again.

Finally, Dean breaks eye contact. “I gotta get back.” He reaches out a hand. “It was a pleasure helping you today, Mr. Novak.”

Cas clasps his hand longer than necessary. It’s warm and strong and Dean uses his thumb to rub a small, secret circle on Cas’s skin. “Call me,” Cas says and it only sounds a little desperate.

“Oh, I will,” Dean assures him with a wink. “You look like the answer to all my pipe-laying needs.”

[smashes hard mode] ♫ charlie

hard but easy but hard LMAO

1. nature boy // nat king cole: a little shy and sad of eye / but very wise was he (he thinks lol)

2. that's life // frank sinatra: but if there's nothing shaking come this here july / i'm gonna roll myself up in a big ball and die ...

3. ain't that a kick in the head // dean martin: how lucky can one guy be?

4. suspicious minds // elvis presley: we're caught in a trap / i can't walk out

5. you don't know what love is // dinah washington: do you know how a lost heart fears / the thought of reminiscing?

6. lover man // billie holiday: i go to bed with a prayer / that you'll make love to me / strange as it seems

7. i can't get started // ella fitzgerald: dream both day and night of you / and what good does it do?

8. everyone's gone to the moon // jonathan king: church full of singing out of tune / everyone's gone to the moon

9. i'm finding it harder to be a gentleman // the white stripes: all the manners that i've been taught / have slowly died away

10. spinning wheel // blood, sweat, and tears: what goes up / must come down / spinning wheel / got to go round

bonus: whipped cream // herb alpert and the tijuana brass

2x02: Everybody Loves a Clown

Then:

Dean wore cute hospital PJs once. And I’m being really flippant over a very cool Then sequence. 

Now:

Medford, Wisconsin

At a fair, the locals are enjoying the rides, and carnies, and clowns (and fire breathers--I mean, I spent many a summer at the county fair in my youth, but I guess, never the one in Medford, WI...wow.) A family with a young girl is enjoying the day. The daughter sees a clown in the distance and waves. 

Yay CLOWNS! If the fucking thing didn’t look like Pennywise’s depressed cousin, maybe I wouldn’t be so skeptical right now. 

Later that night the family drives home in their little Smart Car when the daughter sees Pennywise’s cousin again. Even later, the daughter, hopped up on cotton candy and Fun Dip, can’t sleep. She looks outside to see Pennywise’s cousin chillin’ in her backyard. TOTES NOT CREEPY. She races downstairs to let him inside. 

Meanwhile, the brothers give their father a hunter’s funeral. Sam is overwhelmed and wants to know if John said anything to Dean before he died. WHelps, NO Sam, NOT AT ALL. Dean lets a Single Man Tear fall because he’s not emotional and not lying and not a big ball of pain and anger and relief and guilt. 

One week later, Dean’s at Bobby’s fixing up Baby (and finally grooving to the actual music of the show, thx Netflix for always ruining my season 1 experience). 

For Is This Pornography Science:

Sam wants Dean to admit SOMETHING. Dean wants to bury it all REAL deep and continue to fix his soul car in silence. 

Sam also has a voicemail on their dad’s phone from a woman named Ellen. They agree to head out to find the woman. 

Sidenote: I love that the minivan only plays AM 70’s music. GOLD. 

Anyway, they end up at a place called the Roadhouse. They head inside to the seemingly deserted bar. There’s a man sleeping on the pool table. Dean is accosted by a young woman with a shotgun. He gets the better hand without issue though. She punches him though and Sam comes out from the back at the end of another gun. Boy, this is a real fun crowd. 

Meet Ellen and Jo Harvelle. They know Sam and Dean, but Sam and Dean don’t know them. And I know John is fresh in his grave, but fuck you, man. Way to isolate and terrorize your children their whole lives. Ellen tells them she could help with the demon. She then puts it together that John is not alright. Sam admits that the demon probably got him. 

Ellen tells them that Ash can help them with their cause. Enter: Ash and all his mullet glory. 

Dean and Ash flirt unnecessarily. Ash is a genius and can’t believe what John accomplished. (I mean, what does a genius have to do with hunting, but ok. Sam and Dean are geniuses too but I’d say it’s their street smarts that’s kept them in the game this long.) 

Anyway, Ash can track the demon. He just needs time. Dean tells Ash that he really likes his hair, and then the camera thought that was too gay so it cuts to Jo’s butt. It’s a cute butt and all, but Dean’s still very bisexual. 

Sam asks Ellen about a folder of case information. 

Dean asks Jo about how Ellen got caught up in the hunter life. Jo’s dad was a hunter. He passed away. There’s a moment of Dean thinking about Jo in more than a friendly stranger way but that passes really quickly. Jo calls him out but Sam interrupts (as he does). He’s caught a case!

Sam actively wants to pursue a killer clown case. What kind of upside down world are we living in? Oh right, the world where Sam works cases to process/push through his grief. The brothers try to figure out what’s happening. Dean wonders if it’s a cursed object since it’s moving from town to town with the carnival and it’s happened in the past. Time to find that needle in a haystack!

At the carnival, a disillusioned kid wanders around the funhouse with his dad. He sees Pennywise’s cousin. 

He’s scared but his dad tells him they’re his friends. That night, little Evan lets his new friend into his home to murder his parents. Boy, I dread thinking about the panel of therapists he’ll need in life.

The brothers decide to pose as carnival workers to blend in to find the cursed object. Dean immediately gets off on the wrong foot with one of the carnival workers, who is blind and has an apparent hair trigger temper. Papazian, the worker, is also adept at whirling blades right into a bullseye which is definitely #goals. Dean then pulls an older brother and makes Sam sit in the clown chair during their interview. “This place is a refuge for outcasts,” the carnival manager says. SOLD!

The boys patrol the carnival with EMF meters, until Sam discovers a real human skeleton dangling in the funhouse. YEESH. Papazian overhears Dean talking about the case over his phone and stops him to ask about “EMF” and “skeletons.” Dean scrambles for an explanation. Um, they’re writing a book about...ghosts! Phew! Saved it, Dean Bean. Before the end of the day Sam and Dean witness another kid who sees an invisible clown. Dun dun DUN. 

Sam and Dean tail the family to their home and then sit outside waiting for the clown to appear. It’s much later when a light turns on in the house. The little girl is awake and she’s ready to bring in her new playmate!

My GOD. 

Dean and Sam intercede in the most shotgunniest of ways, by breaking into the house and blasting away at the clown. The clown suddenly fades to nothing and launches out the door.  

Invisible clown on the loose? G R E A T

Later that morning, the Winchesters ditch the van in the woods off the side of the road.

While they walk, they discuss emotions. Sam pushes Dean to grieve in a healthier, more open way. But Dean is OKAY, he’s FINE! He pushes Sam in return to deal with their Dad’s death and stop trying to bury himself in hunting. 

Later, with emotions safely squashed into a tiny space in their chests again, they go over the case. Ellen’s crew turned up a likely suspect: they’re dealing with a rakshasa, which feeds on people and can turn invisible. They eat every 20-30 years so it lines up with the earlier carnival. Carnival manager Cooper worked at both carnivals, and is now their top suspect. 

Sam breaks into Cooper’s trailer, while Dean heads to Papazian to borrow a brass rakshasa-killing knife. Papazian invites Dean to look for the knife in a trunk, only Dean discovers a clown wig inside. “You?” Dean asks before Papazian morphs out on him.

Dean breaks out of the trailer and runs into Sam. He didn’t get the knife, but he found the killer! Good job? Unfortunately Papazian is currently in invisible mode. Sam races for the funhouse to get some brass, heading for the piping hot pipe organ to steal a few blades. 

In the funhouse, knives whirl out of nowhere, pinning Dean to the wall. He pulls the fire extinguisher system and the invisible shape gets trapped in the mist and strobe light. The Winchesters stab it with a brass pipe and it fades away into a pile of clothes. 

Back at Ellen’s bar, Jo congratulates them on a successful hunt. She heavily hints that Sam’s a third wheel and Sam miraculously leaves so that Jo can make her move.

Dean admits that he’d be heavily on the side of massive flirtation, but he’s been having a rough time lately. “Wrong place, wrong time,” Jo surmises. Yep! 

Ash wanders in. He scraped out all the data from John’s notes and turned it into a genuine demon tracking program on his computer. He’ll notify the Winchesters if omens turn up. 

Ellen offers the Winchesters spare beds but they head back to Bobby’s so Dean can drink and work on his car and pretend that he doesn’t feel things. Sam admits that he’s got a lot to work through about their Dad’s death. He feels guilty that he never mended fences with their dad, and admits that he isn’t okay. He tells Dean that he knows he’s feeling the same. Dean admits his own feelings, except instead of words he uses a crowbar to bash the living hell out of the rear trunk of his soul. I mean car. Dean bby

DEAN SMASH:

I feel like a friggin’ soccer mom!

Was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed?

I know what you're thinking, Sam. Why did it have to be clowns?

“Planes crash!” “And apparently clowns kill!”

I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

Part Two 

Read part one here

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Omega!Werewolf!Reader

Summary: You and Sam are a bonded pair with four children. You’re both interrogated by the police who are convinced that Sam and Dean are running a criminal enterprise.

Warnings: Language, violence, murder, dom/sub overtones. mentions of: knotting, breeding, claiming, giving birth

This falls into the same AU as The Brown Bottle, Moonlight and The Derby.

-

Interrogation: Sam

Sam sits on a tiny chair in a small room, wrists in handcuffs resting on the table in front of him. He’s been waiting for the better part of three hours without so much as a hello from anyone. He’s got a pretty good idea of what’s happening, at least the basics. He can’t say he wasn’t expecting to be brought in for questioning, he was, however, unprepared for the SWAT team knocking down the door to the mobile office at their construction site.

He takes a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. While he’s not new to being on this side of the law, he’s never been left to sweat in the box for this long.

He gets it, they’re proving a point.

–

Detective Joe Burgess stands on the opposite side of a panel of oone-wayglass watching. His eyes narrow as he sips reheated, lukewarm coffee from a styrofoam cup. This moment’s been a long time coming, there’s a lot riding on this. If they can’t make charges stick this time there’s little hope of the investigation dragging onward.

The brass says there’s been way too much time and money spent on this investigation. A thousand lines of inquiry that lead to nowhere. If they can’t break one of them today, there’s a good chance they’ll all walk for good. Everything the department has is circumstantial, and the district attorney won’t move forward without hard proof.

Joe’s a veteran, twenty years with his shield, before that a beat cop in some of the worst neighborhoods in Lincoln. He seen enough bad guys to know that there’s something off about the Winchesters. He has his own suspicions, but he’s got to leave them at the door because this is about what they can prove, which, at the moment, isn’t much.

He believes in justice, but he’s not naive enough to have faith in the system. It’s finally time to bring out the big guns, so to speak, let the Winchester’s know they’re really in it deep, and people are paying attention.

You can only live outside the law for so long.

Joe’s partner, Keith Jablonski, opens the door to the viewing area between the two interrogation rooms, carefully shutting it behind him. Keith’s overweight, red faced and not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but they’ve been a team for the better part of two decades so it’s about family at this point.

“How they doin’?” Keith asks eyeing Sam, then his brother sitting in the adjacent room.

“They’re both just sitting there.” Joe cocks his head as Sam shifts in his chair, palming himself through his jean and adjusting his balls. He’s been doing this long enough to know that most people panic. Guilty or not, the anticipation of the interview drives most people mad, pacing the room, crying or any number of nervous ticks…but these guys are just waiting patiently like a grandmother at a bus stop.

“You sure you wanna split up? We could tag team em’, go in together.” Keith suggest, pulling up his pants by the loops.

“We’ve got less chance of getting them to talk if we overwhelm them. We just want to get the dialogue going and hope something comes out. These guys have been involved in too much for something not to slip, that’s all we need. Once we have that we can pry the rest out.” Joe’s sure of one thing, Sam and Dean are as smart as they are criminal.

–

The door opens and Sam sits up a little, watching a cop in his fifties enter with a somber smile. He walks right over to the table and and pulls the only other chair sitting across from him and switching on the audio recorder.

“I’m detective Joe Burgess and I’ll be conducting this interview.” Joe reaches into his pocket and pulls the key the to handcuffs. “You’d probably like to get those off huh?”

“Yes, thank you,” Sam nods and holds his hands out as the detective unlocks them.

“So I’m not going to beat around the bush. I think we both know why you’re here.” Joe nods, looking Sam right in the eyes.

“Well, that makes one of us.” Sam smirks, leaning forward with both forearms on the table. “Are you going to tell me or make me guess.”

“You and Dean have been very busy the last eight years.” Joe taps the folder in front of him, leaving it closed. “I have to hand it to you, you’re two of the most enterprising young men I’ve ever seen. The construction company is impressive but all the little side projects you two have going on? It’s amazing you have time.”

“It’s just the family business,” Sam shrugs. Joe expected this reaction.

“Do a lot of guys who own a construction company also carry a loaded Glock?”

“I couldn’t tell you. But my handgun is registered, everything’s in order.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” Joe chuckles, “Hey, tell me why you weren’t home today? I thought Sunday was always a family day...”

Sam’s jaw ticks at the mention of his family and it’s all Joe needs to know where to start applying pressure.

“See, we thought you’d be at home, so we went there first before we found you down at the job site.” There’s a physical response in Sam to what he’s saying, heat rising in his cheeks and the veins of his neck flexing. “It’s a shame we didn’t know, we could have avoided that whole mess.”

Sam takes the bait. “You raided my house?”

“About an hour before we picked you up,” Joe confirms, watching the cool and collected guy across the table attempt to control the rage that’s clearly building. This is the Sam he’s been waiting eight years for, the guy might just slip up. “Don’t worry, your kids are fine, a little traumatized but I’m sure that’s nothing new.”

“And Y/N?” Sam uncurls his fist, then tightens it again, short nails digging into his skin. Joe knows he’s found the sweet spot.

“Oh, she’s alright too. She’s been across the hall talking with my colleague Detective Barden. She’s a little shook up but I hear they’re getting along just fine.” Sam seems to relax a little, it’s the last thing Joe wants so he strokes the fire. “I gotta say buddy your wife - shit, I’d give my right nut to be married to something like that.”

“I bet you would,” Sam snuffs.

“I’ve been part of the team that’s been keeping tabs on you and Dean from day one. I just have to say that Y/N has really been a real highlight. I mean with an ass like that I see why you keep her knocked up. I don’t think any of us blame you.”

“I’m a lucky man.” Sam bites his tongue, maintaining his composure. A younger version of himself would have reached across the table and ripped Joe’s throat out.

“See me and the guys have a bet. Don’t get me wrong, she’s still a knockout, but after four kids, that close together you gotta tell me… her pussy still tight?”

There’s flash over Sam’s eyes and a twitch of his shoulders. Joe sees it, the rage threatening to break the dam, but again, Sam remains calm. After a moment he smiles wide at Joe, leaning across the table like he’s going to tell him a secret like he’s shooting the shit with a friend at the bar.

“Better than you can imagine.”

Joe tips his head back and laughs because fuck all if Sam isn’t a sly bastard. He throws up his hands. “Well, good for you man. I’ve got two kids and a wife who hasn’t touched my dick in a year so you’ll have to forgive the interest.”

“Can we stop talking about my wife’s pussy now and you just ask me whatever it is you want the answer to?”

“Becoming a father is a life-changing thing,” Joe presses forward ignoring Sam’s request. “And you’ve got four? That’s a full house.”

“You have a point?”

“Just never expected you to be a family man, that’s all.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

“See, we got a theory about that too.” Joe smiles at Sam, “Y/N really got you with the first one right? What, did she say she was on the pill and beg you to fuck her without a rubber?”

“You’re venturing into dangerous territory,” Sam replies calmly.

“You and Dean had a pretty sweet setup. The girls were top shelf, I’ll give you that. I’ve got a hard time believing that Sam Winchester, the same guy who beat Kevin Morgan within an inch of his life, the same Sam who was getting blows jobs from bar skanks in the back of Dean’s car, just magically fell in love with a bartender and decided to start a family.”

Sam remembers the night Liam was born.

He was still trying to figure out how to be a mate, the idea of becoming father didn’t seem real until you went into labor. He paced across your living room, bare feet padding on the carpet, back and forth, back and forth, while Dean tried his best to distract him with a football game.

He’ll never forget the sounds you made, the scream and cries of desperation coming from the bedroom made him feel sick to his stomach… and it went on for two days. It sounded like you were being tortured and he was helpless to do anything but listen and wait. Sitting idle was a foreign concept to him.

Dean had finally got him to sit down with a beer when the midwife popped out of the bedroom, looking to Sam, “she needs her Alpha now.”

“Is she okay?” He asked, springing to his feet.

“She’s strong, but she needs your strength too. The first is always the hardest. Don’t worry, it’s what Omegas are built for.”

Sam could feel as he walked down the hallway, but nothing prepared him for the sight of you naked on your back, belly up and looking utterly broken. “Sam,” you cried, reaching for him. The bags under your eyes made them looks like sunken sockets, surrounded by pale, sweating flesh. You reached out to him and he took your shaking hand, more terrified than he’d ever been in his life.

“Hey baby,” Sam forced a smile, kneeling down and taking your hand into his.

“I’m so tired,” you gulped with chapped lips. “It hurts.”

“I know, but you’re doing really well.” Pushing wet hair away from your forehead he looked to the midwife for confirmation. From between your legs she nodded and somehow he just knew what he needed to do. “I’m right here, I’ll be with you.”

When it was over he watched awestruck as his newborn son suckled at your nipple. You were so exhausted you could hardly keep your eyes open, so he sat beside you, mother and child propped up on his chest for the first time.

He’d never been more grateful and all he knew was he wanted more.

“You with me?” Joe snaps his fingers in front of Sam’s face, bringing him back to reality.

“What was your question? ” Sam blinks.

“Let’s start simple, can you tell me what you were doing last Wednesday night between eight and midnight?”

“Last Wednesday,” Sam thinks, “I went to the bar with Dean, I was home by eleven.”

“Anyone else at home with you?”

“My wife.”

“She’ll confirm that I assume?”

“Yes.”

“And you stayed home the whole the night?”

“I just told you I did,” Sam confirms again.

“Well, you could have slipped out. Waited until the Missus falls asleep and…” Joe probes.

Sam scoffs impatiently. “I got home, watched the news, answered a couple emails, fucked my wife, then my two year old threw up all over his bed, when I say he threw up I mean an ungodly amount of vomit. You wouldn’t think someone so small is capable of spewing that much. I spent an hour dealing with that aftermath. By the time we went to bed, it was pushing four, maybe five.”

“I almost believe you.”

“I don’t care.” Sam snips.

“I believe that too.” Joe chuckles and flips through a folder. He pulls out a photo of a woman’s mangled body lying on the ground. Her flesh is bloated, a sickening blue.“You know her?”

Sam picks the photo, looking from the grotesque image to Joe, “I’ve seen her before, Shelly or Cheryl something.”

“Charlene. She was twenty-four when she died. Her parents reported her missing two years ago and she ends up dead a couple miles from your job site.”

“You think I killed her?”

“Well I know you knew her, you and Dean both did. I don’t know who did it. I find it interesting that that picture doesn’t bother you, just another body huh?”

“How am I supposed to react? Did you want me to cry? I’ll try to act more shocked next time.”

“There’s the Sam I’m looking for,” Joe cracks a smile leaning forward. “The blood doesn’t bother you, huh?”

“Not really, no.” Sam tightens his jaw.

“I tell you what, if I needed someone disappeared, I’d come to you. You guys are good. There’s no denying that.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sam responds deadpan.

“Let’s take a look at these young women, you just speak up if anything rings a bell,” Joe lays out a series of pictures, some of them are old class photos, other personal family pictures. Sam recognizes most of them.

A few years back one of their own went rogue. Jesse Verik had a specific taste in women, he liked them young and innocent. He bit two dozen women before Sam was able to find him and put him down, leaving he and Dean to deal with the aftermath.  For six months the two of them shuffled newborn wolves from house to house while they suffered through the change, then learned how to control what they were. Not one of them had wanted to go home, all fearing the inevitable repercussions. It took time but Sam and his brother placed them all, one by one, around the country with packs that were looking to grow.

He’s now staring at a collection of assumed missing persons that aren’t really missing at all. If it comes down to it, Sam will get in touch in their Alphas and have the girls turn up alive, but he’d like to avoid it. They wanted to fall off the grid and start a new life, he can’t begrudge them that, not after what they’d been through. Being turned is traumatic enough when you know what to expect, but they were forced into this life. He won’t out them unless it’s a last resort.

“Yeah, I recognize some of them, but you already knew that right?” Sam asks and Joe nods in confirmation. He points to each one as he corroborates the facts. “She worked for my brother for a while, cleaned his house I think. The redhead up there worked for my mother-in-law, bartended for a while. The blonde with the short hair, she worked for me at Reliant. Filing and answering phones.”

“You fuck any of ‘em?” Joe thinks he already knows the answer to this but he’s pushing buttons.

“No,” Sam scoffs, “never.”

“All twenty of these women went missing within two months. All with a connection to you or your brother or one of your lackeys. Is that just a coincidence?”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Sam shrugs, “people come and go around here.”

“Well, they seem to come and go a lot faster around you.” Joe flips his legal pad to a blank page and looks at Sam. “Let’s just go date by date, and you can tell me what you remember.”

—–

You wait the better part of an hour before the door opens to the small room and a short woman in her late fifties ambles it. She smiles tightly, giving you a nod of her head and sets down her papers on the table in front of you.

“I’m Diane, I’ll be your caseworker.” Diane shifts in her seat, looking at the pane of one-way glass. She flips the switch on the table and the red recording light on the camera in the corner of the room switches off. “They’re watching but they can’t hear, there’s no sound.”

“I can’t believe this is happening, look you have to understand that my children-”

“Everything’s gonna be alright sweetheart,” she reaches across the table and pats your hand. It’s the kind of touch that sends a tingle up your arm. She’s a wolf, but she doesn’t smell like any werewolf you’ve never encountered before, it’s just a faint scent that you never would have noticed without physical contact.

“What are you?” you tip your head, eyes narrowing.

“I’m a Beta, not many of us left.” She looks up maintaining her grim expression. “We have to go through the motions, so try not to look too comfortable, I’ll walk you through the process.”

Thank God, you sent up a silent prayer.

—–

Detective Linda Barden, Joe Burgess, and Keith Jablonski are gathered in a small windowless room between two interrogation suites. There are a handful of other cops in the room frantically pouring through files and evidence.

“There’s gotta be something we’re missing.” Keith offers with a shrug, “We just need one thing to tie them to one of the murders. Just one witness.”

“What about Dean?” Linda asks Keith.

“He’s not saying shit, just a bunch of fuck you’s.” Keith offers.

“Do you think the wife will break?” Joe turns to Linda.

“Yeah, but I need time. I called in child protective service, we’ll put the fear of God in her.”

“You think that’ll be enough to break her?” Joe persists.

“Like I said, it takes time. Sam’s got a hold on her, but if I can get her to realize all the shit he’s been doing right under her nose, that, combined with her kids hanging in the balance…I think she’ll flip. What about the guys? Neither of them has said anything we can use?”

“No,” Joe laughs, utterly exasperated. “It would be a fucking miracle. I think our best bet is to go after the wife. Sam’s a fucking psycho but he’s cool as a cucumber until you mention her or the kids. That’s where we gotta apply the pressure. We threaten her, we get the whole thing.”

“Time’s up.” Chief Calvin Wells doesn’t bother with a greeting, just throws the door open and stands wide with his hands on his hips. “What you got?”

“We’ve got a plan, sir,” Joe starts, “We need more time with wife, we can use her to-”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Wells holds up his hand. “You’ve had the three of them here all day, not to mention the countless man-hours we’ve spent on this case. Almost a decade, the last chief let this go on and I’m putting stop to it once and for all. It’s a black hole. Now I’ve got a social worker comforting a distraught mother of four because she’s been cleared to take her kids home after she’s dealt with what social services described as ‘baseless accusations from an overzealous police department.’ And, you wanna know the kicker, the idiot cop you’ve got watching the kids doesn’t even know how to change a fucking diaper, the baby’s been sitting in shit for hours before my secretary took care of it. It’ll be a miracle if we get out of this without being sued.”

“They said the kids could go? Jesus fucking Christ, did the caseworker even look at pictures?” Linda balks, unable to believe what she’s hearing.

“It’s not enough. It was a long shot and you failed. Now get these guys out of my station house and do it now.”

“Chief, you gotta,” Joe protests, but Chief Wells is hearing none of it.

“This is not up for debate. You’ve got years worth of surveillance, potential witnesses, hell I got all the warrants you wanted and the most you could come up with is domestic violence? Get them the fuck out of my building. I swear to God if I hear another word about the Winchesters I’ll fire everyone in this damn room.”

The room clears out, people collecting boxes and the detectives disperse to spread the word that it’s finally over. Keith Jablonski hangs back until it’s only he and the chief before he closes the door.

“You ah… you think this going to come back to bite us in the ass?” Keith asks tiredly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Maybe, but it’s better than the alternative.” Chief Wells adjusts his belt, looking around as if some invisible presence might be listening. “I gotta explain to the Alpha why I allowed a swat team to raid his home when his kids were there. Barden jumped the gun and fucked us both.”

“He’ll understand, Sam’s fair.” Keith offers. They both know their pack leader is level headed about most things, especially in recent years, but his family is a whole other story.

“I hope so.”

—-

You sit in a chair in the lobby surrounded by a crowd of detectives and beat cops in uniform milling around, having uttered conversations with their breath. The tension is palpable. No one’s satisfied with the outcome of today’s events, including yourself. It’s unclear why there are so many people. Maybe they’re just curious, eager to lay eyes on the Winchesters in person, or maybe they think there’s going to be some kind of scuffle. All you’re focused on is the sound of Sam’s muffled voice behind the door before it open and he steps out into the lobby.

His eyes sweep over the line of people until he spots you getting up from your chair. You walk to him, ignoring the snort from Linda, and let him pull you in.

“You okay baby?” he asks, wrapping his arms around you until you’re completely engulfed. He might be the pack leader, but right now he’s your Alpha and no one else’s.

“Yeah, I just want to get out of here.” You pull away from him.

“Where the fuck are my kids?” Sam turns to Chief Wells, who looks to be in complete distress. He motions to the cop in uniform beside him tells him to go see what’s taking so long.

Dean’s the next to wander out, throwing Sam a knowing look and winking at you.

Linda takes this as her last opportunity and steps toward you, “Y/N, you can still choose to do the right thing for-”

“Just stop talking,” Sam interjects before you have the chance, stepping between the two of you. “You’re done.”

Liam is the first through the door, having obviously just woke from a deep sleep as he rubs his eyes. He smiles when he sees his parents, ignoring you in favor of his father. You don’t mind. “Daddy…” he mumbles.

Sam scoops him up, cupping the back of his head with a hand. “You ready to go home, buddy?”

Liam nods, nuzzling his face into Sam’s shoulder. The other three children are brought out. Colin’s sleeping and you take him from the officer, as Owen wraps himself around your leg. Sam hands off Liam to Dean without protest, taking Killian as he cradles the baby in his arms.

For a moment all is forgotten; the fact that you’re in a police station, or the hours of non-stop questions. Now all seems right with the world as you watch your Alpha hold his infant son in his arms.

–

Sam pulls the car away from the curb, two of your children already sleeping in the back, the other two with Dean. He glances in the rearview before reaching over to take your hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“They came into our house, Sam. With guns.”

“I know, I-” Sam closes his eyes trying to swallow the anger because there’s nothing he can do about it at the moment.

“They could have killed the boys.” You take a deep breath pressing your free palm into your thighs. “You told me you had this taken care of.”

“I do,” Sam squeezes your hand his, the other gripping the steering wheel, “It’s over now. They’re not going to come after us again. Wells wants to meet tomorrow, I’ll make sure everything is squared right away.”

“He wants to cover his own ass I’m sure.” You grunt. “He told you he’d make sure we had a warning before they brought us in, what the hell happened to that.”

“He said the detective that questioned you is the one who gave the order. He didn’t know until it was too late.”

“This can’t ever happen again.”

“It won’t.” He confirms with all the confidence in the world. “I’ll always take care of you and our family, you’re the most important thing to me.”

“I know,” you give in a little. “You really think they’re going to let this go.”

“Any detective that wants to keep their job is going to listen to what the chief tells them. We’re gonna be fine sweetheart. I promise.”

Three Months Later

Detective Linda Barden gulps down the final vestiges of her cheap wine and says goodbye to her sister. She’s visiting Lincoln for the weekend, just a quick trip to see her family and catch up on the life she left behind.

Wrapping her jacket around her body she starts the half mile walk back to her hotel. It’s just after midnight and, despite it being a Saturday, there aren’t many people out and about. Five minutes into her journey she hears it, the sound that a crying baby coming from somewhere in the distance. It isn’t until she passes the alley at the corner of Shaffer and Rollins that she hears it again, coming from somewhere down the dark back street.

The cop in her knows something isn’t right, but she can’t put her finger on it. Maybe it’s the cries of the child or the uneasiness that settles into her bones? Reaching for her gun she curses when she realizes she’s not carrying a firearm, why would she be? She’s on vacation.

Linda makes her way as quietly as possible down the alley, just one foot in front of the other, step by step on high alert.

“Hello,” she calls out in a whisper, “anyone there?”

She has no time to react as a body hits her at full speed, knocking the wind out of her as a hand closes around her throat. She’s pushed face first into a filthy brick wall, gasping for air. She tries desperately to fight back, she’s pretty damn strong but her resistance is futile against her attacker who seems to have inhuman strength.

There’s the sound of tearing clothes as her jacket is ripped from her body, then her shirt. For a minute she thinks she’s going to be raped, but then comes the bite. Teeth sinking into the flesh of her shoulder, sinking into her skin as she screams in terror.

Then, without warning, she’s released, falling to the ground listening to the footfall of her attacker. She sobs, clamping a hand over the wound, blood gushing out in a hot stream over her fingers. All she can think is: he didn’t kill you, you’re alive. You’re alive.

What she doesn’t know is what will happen when the full moon rises, but that’s a story for another time.

Stranger Things Have Happened: Chapter Eight

The Hunt is Afoot

Characters: Sam, Dean, sister!reader, Nancy, Jonathan

Warnings: angst, language, a touch of the feels

Word count: 1.5k

Series description: Hawkins, Indiana, November 1983. The Winchesters got out of hunting and decided to settle down in a small town. The youngest of the three, Y/N, just wants to get on with her somewhat normal life and go to a good college. But that’s a little tricky when disappearances start occurring, including her friend Barbara Holland, and there’s reports of a mysterious new girl in town. Can she balance boyfriends, teen drama and monster hunting?

A/N: We meet again! I have been waiting for so long to write this chapter! Now the ball can really start rolling and I’m so excited. Enjoy xx Series Masterlist Masterlist

Story:

11th November 1983, Hawkins, Indiana

9pm hits on my digital clock, flashing it’s red neon at me in my dimly lit room. I stand in front of my bed, double, triple and quadruple checking my gear. I have my old backpack that I used to take all the time on hunts; it’s large enough to house everything I could possibly need but not so big that it hinders my running. Earlier in the evening, I snuck into the basement to borrow Dean’s spare gun (he’s allowed spares but I can’t even have one, fair I know!) and I also grabbed a pack of rounds. A gunshot is going to cause panic and suspicion so the less I have to fire this thing the better. I have my water bottle, a torch, backup batteries for said torch, the EMF reader (just in case) , two knives to accompany the one in my boot and the other in my jacket, salt, holy water, some rope because you never know and some ham sandwiches wrapped in foil in case I get hungry. I think that should be everything- I always feel like I’ve forgotten something! Quietly, I pack everything into the bag and rest it underneath my windowsill, ready for later. Sam is already asleep but I need to wait for Dean to fall asleep watching TV like he normally does. He should only be about an hour or so.

I can hear Dean’s snoring from the top of the stairs- half an hour ahead of what I thought. Time to go then. I lace up my boots and slip on my jacket, checking the pockets one last time. I’m all set. Before stepping out into the roof, I take the pebble out of my pocket and line it up with the open window, sliding it closed slowly until the stone props it open- I need to be able to get back inside unseen. It’s chilly, not odd for a November night but it’s not pleasant. I hope I find this thing sooner rather than later. Careful of my footing, I balance along the roof getting closer and closer the the edge- I have done this before but it’s not like it’s my hobby or anything. Toes tipping over the side, I turn over to my front and, holding on tightly to whatever handhold I can grab, I lift one foot over the edge. The other foot. Okay, now to climb. Oddly enough, the vines are like a semi-sturdy rope ladder and the descent is fairly easy. To the woods!

It is hella dark out here. I have to get my torch out as soon as I enter the tree line and that only provides a narrow beam of light. The shadows of the roots and branches look sinister but it’s not enough to scare me- I’ve seen way worse. Other than my own footsteps and the occasional snapping of twigs underfoot, the forest is near enough silent. Hopefully that means that I’ll hear the ‘faceless man’ more easily. Or find Nancy and Jonathan. What are they thinking? Coming out here in the dark to go after something they know nothing about. Sure, I don’t know what this thing is but that’s besides the point. I’ve been on hunts before- I once took out this vampire by jumping on his back and slicing his head off in one! Dean was pissed that I didn’t stay in the car like he told me to. Keep watch. That was always my job. Stay out of trouble and don’t let the monsters see you. But, I saved his life so he couldn’t deny letting me hunt a little more. It didn’t last very long though because, shortly after that hunt, Lucifer came back.

We learned that he was back after he showed up in the body of some washed up old rockstar from the sixties of all people. Things got a little weird to say the least. He burned up the vessel and found a new one- a very powerful politician. One day, Cas got a headache, it was angel radio, screaming about a nephilim coming into being; Lucifer’s son. After one shit storm of a six months, we all ended up at this little cabin where the mother of this half angel was with Cas. Mary and myself (yeah, she’s not my mom), looked after Kelly through her contractions which were apparently much worse than with a normal birth. She screamed and screamed, squeezing my hand until I could no longer feel it, while Mary took care of the whole delivery side of things having been through it before. I heard lots of shouting outside so went to investigate with my demon blade. I got there only just in time to see Cas get impaled by Lucifer’s angel blade. Mary came out soon after me, urging me to stay out of sight while she joined her sons, brass knuckles flexing behind her back. I wanted to scream: cry out for Cas, tell her to stop, run to Sam and Dean. But I couldn’t. I was rooted to the spot and helpless. I could only watch as she punched Lucifer into the rift, as she was pulled backwards into another dimension. We left a few days later. The baby, well actually Jack was a near fully grown man when he was born, fled the bunker and we couldn’t track him down. That was it for Dean. He told me to pack a bag and we left in the Impala and headed here, to Hawkins, Indiana.

Cas is the reason we moved. Dean made a promise to Cas years ago. I’d been hit by a pretty bad curse by a witch that almost got me killed. Cas told Dean that he wanted us to get out of the life, to go to a small town in the middle of nowhere and be like normal people. He said that if there was ever a chance that we could leave, we should take it. And we did.

Out of nowhere, something starts to wail in the distance. It’s not human, no. Is it a bird? (Is it a plane?) Too loud. Maybe it’s a deer or something; they’ve been spotted out in these trees before. Funny, isn’t it? I’m a hunter yet I can’t identify the calls of different animals. It sounds in pain though, that much I can tell. The poor thing. What if it attracts this thing though? Wendigos are attracted to sounds and do occasionally hunt animals when no humans can be found- it doesn’t stave off the hunger for very long though so the next human victim is soon found. Oh. My. God. What if it’s a wendigo? First Will and then Barb, now an animal and next… Nancy and Jonathan. Although there haven’t been disappearances in a long time so either it’s a new wendigo or it isn’t one at all.

“Jonathan?” Nancy? That sounds like Nancy. Hurriedly but quietly, I jog in the general direction of the sound, my hand resting over the gun tucked into my waistband. Where did she go? I almost fall face first into the wet leaves on the ground when I trip over something sticking out. A baseball bat… and a backpack. She was here then so where did she go? Shit! I’m about to shout her name when Jonathan comes crashing through the trees. I only just manage to slip behind a tree.

“Nancy! Nancy?” he pauses to inspect the bag, “Nancy?”

Waiting until Jonathan is out of sight, I creep away on the opposite direction- I can’t afford to be spotted. However, a sudden rustling to my right stops me in my tracks. Nancy? Gun at the ready, I follow the sound deter into the woods. Maybe it’s my eyes playing tricks but I swear I can see someone (or something) moving around in the dark, darting around at speed. The hairs on my neck stand on end, something that they used to do when monsters were nearby on a hunt.

“Jonathan! Jonathan!” Nancy! Why does she sound all echoey?

“Nancy!” Shit! Shit shit shit! Having to think on my feet, I dive behind the base of a larger tree, crouching down to the floor. “Nancy… Nancy? Nancy, just follow my voice!” I peer around just as a hand thrusts out from a tree. Like, from inside the tree. What?! Jonathan pulls and pulls until out comes Nancy, covered in goop and clearly very traumatised. From being in a tree. She was in a tree. Nancy was inside a tree.

“I got you… I got you…” he comforts her, holding onto her tightly. Steve, you better watch out; Jonathan is out to get your girl.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

A/N: Okay I know I have a bunch of requests to fulfil, and I already have a majority of them written out, ready to be edited a posted. . . BUT this was written on Dean’s birthday and I felt like I needed to write a very special fic for this, but I PROMISE to get all these requests out soon! I know that this is WAY late, but technology hates me and I have been too lazy to post anything, my bad. I apologize if this sucks ass!

Word Count: 2,307

Warnings: Fluff, smut, language

Characters: Dean, Reader, Sam, Mary, Cas

Pairing: Dean x Reader

“Shh, Sam he is still sleeping! Can you possibly make anymore noise!?” You hissed at the tall boy standing next to you in the kitchen. . . the boy who just knocked over a stack of pots and pans onto the floor. He held his hands up in surrender, eyes widening at your tone and harsh glare.

“C’mon, Y/N, do you really think he can sleep through this racket, AND the smell of bacon? He is bound to come strolling in the door at any moment.” Sam shrugged, bending down to pick up the scattered cookware.

“Nah, I left a note on the back of the door, that although was pretty sweet, it was also very threatening. I think he knows better than to set foot out of that bed until we appear with his food and a nice big cup of steaming coffee. I also advised that he put on some clothes, as to not scar his wittle brudder,” You pinched his cheeks mockingly, purposely using the baby voice that Sam despises.

“I am not little you butthead! I am taller than you, stronger than you, and not that much younger than you! Now shut your mouth and go check on the pies!” He ruffled your hair and pushed you towards the oven.

Today was Dean’s 39th birthday, and you were determined to make it magical. You two had been dating for two years, which for hunters was pretty impressive, and you wanted him to enjoy today as much as possible. You had baked him three pies; apple, cherry, and a strawberry-rhubarb (that you secretly made for yourself but would never admit that to Sam). 

You had informed Sam of the plan two weeks prior, asking for his help making breakfast so that you could focus on making the pies. You had taken the time to wash Baby, knowing how much Dean loved to see her sparkle, and called Mary and Cas to come join you for dinner that night at the bunker. Which lead to you spending the past 3 days scrubbing the bunker floor and making sure everything was spotless. Surprisingly, that didn’t raise any suspicions from Dean, who knew that you despised cleaning with a passion.

“Are they done??” Sam’s voice dragged you from your momentary haze- you were going through the checklist of things you had to do for today.

You slipped on a pair of oven mitts and pulled the apple pie out first, setting it on one of the cooling racks on the counter, followed by the other two pies.

“Just about, they need to cool for at least 5 minutes so they aren’t molten lava in his mouth! I figure we will start with the cherry pie and save the other two for dinner tonight, I want Mary to have a chance to taste my cooking. . . or in this case, baking skills.” You dusted your hands on your apron and began pulling down all the things necessary to bring Dean his breakfast, starting with a tray and then all the plates and silverware, followed by his favourite coffee mug.

Sam had made a hearty plate of bacon, eggs, and toast with grape jelly for Dean, the sight and smell of the food alone made your mouth water. You placed a decent sized slice of pie on a smaller place and piled everything onto the tray, handing the tray to Sam and taking the mug for safe measures.

You lead the way out of the kitchen and down the hall towards the room you shared with Dean. You poked your head in first to see him propped up against the back of the headboard, throwing a rubber ball up in the air and catching it. He had thankfully read your note and was wearing a pair of PJ pants that you had gotten him for Christmas.

Pushing the door fully open, you sauntered over to the edge of the bed and sat down, handing him the coffee and motioning for Sam to come in with the tray of food. Dean’s eyes widened at the sight of food, and you thought he was about to tackle Sam just to get to it. His movements were slow, like a tiger stalking its prey, he set the mug down on the nightstand and stuck his arms out to take the tray from his brother, hungrily licking his lips as he set it down on his lap.

“Pie?!? Y/N you made me pie?????” Dean loved your pies and was always bugging you to bake him one, but much to his dismay, you never had the time to between cases. 

“Happy birthday my love.” You leaned forward and gave him a swift peck on the lips.

“Happy birthday man.” Sam awkwardly nodded from the foot of the bed, not sure where to place himself, refusing to sit on the bed because you and Dean had “contaminated it”.

“Alright, Sam go ahead and go eat, I know you’re starving! I’ll be down with the birthday boy when he is done with his food to join you!” He nodded his head and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Y/N I love you, thank you for this. You didn’t have to go through all this work for me though, I would have been fine if you had walked in here with a slice of pie and that little outfit I got you for Christmas.” Dean winked and you smirked.

“Oh darling, that would be too easy for you. Just so you know your mother and Cas are coming over for your birthday dinner! Your mom and I have collaborated on a meal idea that I am pretty sure you will love. Here’s a bonus, you be a good boy all day, I’ll let you open your present after dinner.” You strutted over to the closet, pulling out the outfit from behind a couple sweaters. “I’ll be wearing this under my dress tonight, and if you behave yourself. . . well, let’s just say you will really like my gift.” You set the outfit down on the back of a chair in the corner of the room and walked back over to the bed, crawling in next to your very happy boyfriend.

“I promise to be on my best damn behaviour today, and if I’m not I give you full permission to punish me.”

** Dinner **

“I’d like to thank you all for making this possibly one of the greatest birthday’s I think I have ever had. Having you all here today is all I could have possibly asked for, and I know that today is MY birthday, but I do have a present to give, that I think will make everyone in the room happy.” Dean stood from his place at the table and sent you a cheeky smile.

You looked around the table in confusion, to see everyone except Sam with the same expression. Sam was trying to hide his excitement as his brother took your hand in his. Furrowing your brows, you turned your head to find the love of your life kneeling in front of you. A gasp left your lips and your free hand came up to cover your quivering mouth. Tears sprung to your eyes and you had to blink rapidly to be able to focus on him.

“Y/N, you are without a doubt, the greatest thing to have ever come into my life. You have stuck around through the ups and downs- me almost becoming a full vamp, me becoming a demon, going to hell numerous times, dying a lot, you stuck around when I tried to push you away. You are my rock, my lifeline, my world, my one and only, my best friend. Without you in my life, I am just a sad excuse for a human being. You’re the missing piece of my puzzle, and I promise to love and protect you forever- even though we all know you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. I admire your ability to be independent and to have the ability to ask for help when you can’t do it alone. I’ve watched you grow and transform into a feisty, determined, beautiful woman, and I am so grateful that I ran into you on a hunt 6 years ago. I know it took a long time for me to ask you to become my girlfriend, but I wanted to make sure you were here to stay for good, and that you wouldn’t get scared off by me or my obscure family,” he smiles lovingly at Sam, Mary, and Cas. Sam had taken it upon himself to film this moment, surely capturing your gross sobbing. Dean continued, “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in my life, and I can’t think of a greater birthday present for me than you agreeing to be by my side forever. So, here I am, down on one knee before you and my family with one question. Will you marry me?” He opened a small box you hadn’t even noticed him holding until now.

“Yes, yes! YES! Of course I will marry you!” You struggled to spit out actual words and not blubbering squeals. You watched as he slid the ring onto your ring finger, smiling at how it fit perfectly.

You remembered a few days before, Sam had asked about your ring size, saying something about getting you brass knuckles. You hadn’t even thought about how Ludacris this question was because nobody gets fitted brass knuckles, but you had just gone with it. 

You threw your arms around Dean, practically tackling him to the floor, kissing him with every ounce of passion flowing through your veins. You loved this man more than anything, and you continued to love him more and more every day. This was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, the man you wanted by your side on long hunts. You wanted every fight, every stupid argument, every makeup, laughter at 3 a.m., everything to be with him. There wasn’t a single bone in your body that didn’t feel right being with him.

** After Dinner in the Bedroom **

“I have to admit, this has DEFINITELY been the greatest birthday ever. I am engaged to the love of my life, I got to see my family under one roof without it being for a case or tragedy- I wish Bobby was alive so he could’ve been here. I know he is here with us, just not physically. He loved you and would be so proud of me for manning up and asking you to marry me. You made today perfect, thank you so much. My mom loved your pies, by the way, I don’t know how she couldn’t love them though, they’re the best pies I have ever tasted!” Dean grinned, kissing you fiercely.

“I am glad you had a great day, baby! I love you so much and I am so grateful to have you in my life!” You smiled, kissing him back.

“I distinctly remember someone telling me that if I was a good boy I would get to open a special present, so was I a good boy for you?” His tone was low and seductive, causing your body to feel like it was on fire.

“Yes, you were very well behaved tonight and I think you have definitely earned your gift!”

“How special is this dress to you? It looks amazing, but I want to rip it off your body and see your beautiful body underneath.” He ran his hands up and down your sides, eyes ablaze with lust.

“Dean, I bought this dress at Target for $10, so feel free to shred it to bits, I can always go by another one.” You grinned, moaning when you heard the tear of the fabric. 

Looking at your body in the lacy outfit he had gotten you, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip in approval. A low, animalistic growl left his throat as he guided you backward towards the bed. You fell on top of the soft mattress, pulling him down on top of you. The feeling of his erection pressed against your thigh made you moan and roll your hips up to try and relieve some tension within your body. Dean lifted himself off of you to rid himself of his clothing, and he stood at the foot of the bed, proudly stroking his cock as he gazed down at your almost naked body. He leaned over you and rid you of the little amount of clothing remaining on your body, immediately attacking your skin with his lips and teeth.

By the time he kissed your lips again your entire chest and stomach were littered with love bites. You brought your hand up to the back of his neck, pushing his mouth against yours.

“I love seeing you like this, all marked up, wearing that ring on your finger, all spread out for me like a good little girl,” He pressed his erection against you, allowing you to feel how badly he craved you. “You feel that baby girl? That’s all because of you and you only.” You were panting at his filthy words, trying to rub yourself against him, but he held your hips firmly to keep you from giving yourself any release.

You groaned in frustration until he slid down your body, pressing wet kisses to the inside of your thighs. You squirmed around, tugging at his hair to get him to where you wanted him. Dean laughed at your neediness, but happily obliged to your unspoken order.

“Happy birthday to me.” He whispered, licking his lips and winking at you before lowering his head to your dripping pussy.

the punishment | marisol+chad

when: 10/23/20

where: Chad’s apartment

what: The start of Mari’s punishment

Marisol Lopez

Marisol should have figured this punishment was coming.  She should’ve been more surprised that she had yet to be formally punished since the start of the semester, she expected it as a consistent staple in her life now.  Getting locked into a carnival ride during a storm with the most annoying man child she’d ever had the misfortune of meeting was a recipe for disaster.  She’d managed to keep her thoughts to herself for about an hour before his bitching finally got the better of her and she snapped.  Oh, well. Getting up before the sun, she’d spent her morning at Amara’s prepping for the day.  She wore comfortable clothes- airy dark grey linen pants and a matching crop top  with black canvas slip ons on her feet.  Her hair was in a thick French braid, kept out of her face.  Around her neck, she had a black bandana to act as a bib just in case the drool became too much.  If she was going to spend her entire day being made uncomfortable, the least she could do was dress for comfort.  She made her way to Chad’s place and knocked on the door, keeping her arms crossed over her chest.  This was going to be a long fucking day.

Chad Worthington Jr

Chad was, to put it mildly, annoyed.  He was protecting his image more carefully after the incident at the fair, and having to give out punishments to annoying submissives wasn't part of the plan.  Not that it should have surprised him that Marisol, of all people would be the one to force him to do something he didn't want to do.  She'd always been an annoying pain in the ass, and it didn't surprise him in the least that she'd earned herself another punishment  even if it had to come at his hands. "All this time, and you still don't know enough to kneel when you knock?  Gosh, sometimes I wonder why they haven't just kicked you out.  Step inside, please, and we'll get started.  Unless you'd like to apologize first."  He held up the gag, taunting, and waited to see what her response would be - though truly, he already knew.

Marisol Lopez

The submissive rolled her eyes dramatically at his words and little display.  He really was the absolute worst.  “All this time, and you still don’t know how not to be an ass.”  She mocked in response.  “Respect is something that needs to be earned- Dominant or not.  I’m not kneeling for an asshole who doesn’t deserve it.  Nor will I be apologizing for something I’m not sorry for.  So.”  She gave a small shrug and stepped past him into the apartment seemingly unaffected by the sight of the gag.  “Let the day begin.”

Chad Worthington Jr

Chad shook his head, a sad expression on his face.  "Someday, you're going to have to learn how to be a good submissive.  I know that it's difficult, but you'll never have a claim if you can't submit properly.  But that's your loss, and not mine, because I have a good girl all my own who knows how to submit properly.  I wish you didn't make me do this, but you chose to. Stepping behind her, he slid the gag between her teeth and buckled it behind her head, sliding the brass padlock through the buckle and snapping it shut.  "Turn around," he pulled her shoulder, looking her in the eye.  "Give me a nod if you can breathe properly."

Marisol Lopez

Marisol wasn’t phased by his words.  She was already well aware of her misgivings and also aware that certain people cared about her in spite of them.  Some people liked her just the way she was and those were the people worth spending her time on.  “I truly feel bad for her.  It’s a shame she has to put up with you for the rest of her days.”

A chill slipped down her spine as he stepped behind her, there was something about having him out of her sight that made her nervous.  The gag was forcing her mouth open before she even knew it, teeth clamping onto it, lips wrapping around it like a big lush piece of fruit.  She turned to him, dark eyes glaring up.  She took a breath or two and gave an annoyed nod.

Chad Worthington Jr

"Good girl.  You know, I think if it was up to me you'd just stay like that.  As much as possible, actually, because it's so much easier for you to behave when you can't use your mouth."  He reached up and pulled some stray hairs loose from the strap of the gag.  "Now, let's be clear on your instructions.  After each class, you come to me.  I'll take the gag out, and give you some water and some food.  Then, in front of your witness, I'll ask you to apologize.  If you don't, I'll gag you again and put a clamp on.  If you do, this will all end." He tapped the ball with one finger, a trace of his usual smirk pulling up his lips.  "Any questions?"

Marisol Lopez

When he praised her, her gaze narrowed.  She specifically told him yesterday not to call her that phrase.  There was murder in her eyes and if looks could kill, he’d be buried six feet beneath the ground she stood on.  That glare remained fixated on the Dominant as he explained her punishment.  And she thought silently about the ways in which she might kill him and dispose of the body.  Santana would help her if she ever got her ass on campus.  She saw that smirk.  She saw the devil in him even if he was playing the victim. At the question Mari gave an almost ominous shake of her head.

Chad Worthington Jr

"Wonderful.  Let me just check that lock one more time."  He tugged at it and smiled when it didn't give.  "There you are, then.  I suggest you take your quiet time today to contemplate all of the reasons you should simply apologize for your bad behavior and let us both move on with our days.  You've upset my Nora, and I don't like that one bit.  Don't make me do this any longer than necessary.  Go to class, contemplate, and come and find me.  Then apologize and this will all be finished.  Go on now, I'm not going to walk you there."

Marisol Lopez

She still had the ability to roll her eyes and she definitely did.  Everything that came out of his mouth was such a load of crap.  She turned on her heal at the direction and headed for the door without a second glance.  One hand went for the door handle and the other flew up to flip him the bird.  He could kiss her ass.

Chad Worthington Jr

Chad sighed.  She was an idiot to the last, and apparently that was just never going to change.  Part of him was tempted to raise the issue of her continued disrespect to the dean, but the truth was he'd rather deal with it himself.  If she continued he'd just punish her again, and every time he had to do it was an excuse for him to do something worse, something more painful or humiliating, and do it well within the rules of the school.  "Have fun in class, Marisol."

Original Story: Dancing With The Devil

This is another story I wrote back in 2013 as part of my November Habit.  The first one for that year’s November thing, in fact.  Copyright 2013 to Talvin Muircastle, don’t even think about stealing it, blah blah blah.  

It runs a tad longer than some, so I am going to put it behind a cut.

One night at Smokin' Pete's Public House, a Devil walked in.

There is no smoking at Pete's nowadays, and it isn't even Pete's anymore: Sandra owns it now. It used to be a hangout for the dockworkers back when The Docks meant sailors and freight and union strikes, not Condos-on-the-Pier, high-priced art galleries, and river tours. These days Smokin' Petes is a college hangout for those that don't mind the slightly shabby feel and the eclectic music. It can get loud, and it can get busy, but it never gets rough. Nick sees to that. Nick is in his late sixties. Or maybe he is in his late eighties. Maybe they just found a nice old man in a navy blue suit sitting on a bench one day and built a bar around him. He's slim and spry and always smiling. If you ask him what he did before he retired, he'll just laugh and say, "Oh, I used to be a dancer, you know." Nick likes everybody at Smokin' Petes, because if Nick doesn't like you, you find a different bar to drink at. If Nick can't stand you, nobody can. Many is the time I have seen some half-drunk asshole from down at City Tech trying to pick up a girl, and there is Nick, "Miss, humor an old man. May I buy you a drink?" Joe Jockstrap puffs up his chest and begins to make his protest, and then suddenly hazel eyes are staring at him from beneath big bushy white eyebrows, just giving him That Look, and then there is a throat-clearing and Sandra is holding something out of sight just behind the bar, and Joe Jockstrap finds a less reputable place to drink after that. Sometimes Nick just calms her down and gets her a cab home. Sometimes he will thank her for her kindness in flattering an old man, and say but now I have known So-and-So for a while now, and he is a fine young scholar and a gentleman--may I introduce you? Most nights when Nick goes up to pay his tab, it's already been paid for. Then a Devil walked in. I don't know if he was "the" Devil, but sure as Hell he was "a" Devil. He walked in looking like a million bucks, black hair slicked back and bling flashing, and everybody just stopped talking and turned to look at him. Any other night we woulda been laughing into our beers, but there was just Something, some feeling that a Wrongness had come into our second home. He walked over and slapped a twenty on the bar. "Whiskey, neat!" Sandra handed it to him, and it burst into flame. He tossed it back and flipped the glass behind the bar. Then he turned to face us. "I hear," and his smile was a terrible thing, "that somebody in this bar thinks he knows how to dance. So who might that be?" We didn't answer. He looked us all over, and then his eyes came to light on me. "Is it you, young man?" He beckoned, and of their own will my legs took me out of my chair and skipping across the room. I can't dance, never have really tried, but my feet were doing the steps across the barroom floor, and my arms were moving, and when I tried to fight it my muscles cramped up until I had tears on my face, and I felt like I was dancing across hot coals. I spun around and began another pass across the floor. "That will be quite enough of that." Nick had gotten up from his booth in the corner. I stopped dancing like whatever strings that devil had been pulling had all been cut at once. Nick looked over at me and said, "Jim, Brad: help Kevin to a seat if you would please." They each got one of my arms, and while they were helping me sit, Nick turned and said, "Sandra, coffee, please, the usual way." That devil just stared at him the while, that same sick smile on his face. Once Nick had his coffee, he pulled out a stool and perched on it. "Alright, you. You came looking for a dancer. If you want to see my moves, you have to show me your own first." "And if I win?" Nick waved a hand at him, "Yes, yes, the usual terms. I'm really not too worried about it." The devil just laughed. The old jukebox started up on its own, despite not having worked for over six months. It began playing a song that I had never heard before and pray to God I will never have to listen to again. It had no words, but there was a bass-line that those speakers could never have put out, and strings that sounded like they were being tortured, and brass that sounded like they were announcing the end of the world. And he danced. He danced perfectly. He tapped, he sprang, he whirled. He kept perfect time with the music, and when the music came around a third time, he jumped up and started dancing on the ceiling. His feet moved faster than I could watch, and his jewelry flashed like his own personal disco ball, and I figured Nick was a goner: no younger man could keep up with that, nevermind somebody who just "used to" dance. He danced forever, it seemed, and all we could do was watch. All except Nick, who just sipped his coffee and looked bored. Finally, mercifully, it ended. The last note died away, and that devil just laughed in Nick's face and said, "Your turn, old man." Nick nodded, and handed his cup to Sandra. "Thank you, my dear. Excellent coffee as always. Now, if all you young people would be so kind as to give me a little room? Thank you." And his right foot began to tap back and forth. Click-click, click-click, click-click, clackety-clackety-click. Then he started tap-dancing, and I gotta tell you, that old guy could move. It was like a clip I found on Youtube once of a guy named Sammy Davis and his pal Dean, kinda. He got good and warmed up with that, and then the jukebox started up again: "Well it's Saturday night and I just got paid...!" it cried. He laughed real loud and held out his hands to Carol over in the corner. She jumped out onto the floor with him, and she was wearing an old-style poodle skirt and a bow in her hair all of a sudden, and they started dancing around the floor together. I mean, he was flipping her around everywhere, and she was laughing and carrying on like crazy, and they were just having a ball. The music changed and they were doing the Charleston, and when that song ended they did Lindy Hop. They spun around and she was wearing a different kind of dress and his suit had changed, and they started the Samba. Then it slowed down and we watched them do the Waltz. Finally Nick set her on his stool, and she was dressed again just like she came in, her cheeks all red and her looking like she just woke up from a dream. Nick stepped out in the middle of the floor and clapped his hands twice, real sharp. In his place stood an old lady dressed like she was ready to go watch a bullfight, with silver hair in a bun and hazel eyes flashing. A guitar started playing, and she started to dance the Flamenco. Her feet were rattling the floor, and then her costume changed, and she was like one of the girls in the St. Patrick's Day Parade in those costumes with the Celtic knots, and her feet were drumming out a different rhythm to the sound of a fiddle. Then there was a kid out of the barrio, but with those same eyes, and he breakdanced and did capoeira on the floor and on a stool and up onto the bar. Then he was Nick again, foot tapping back and forth, back and forth, keeping the beat. I had forgotten all about the devil by then, but Nick hadn't, and that evil smile was looking a little sickly by now. He looked that devil in the eye, and his voice was almost sad, "You know how to dance, I'll give you that. You know all the moves, you understand the beat, but what you just don't understand is why. So I am going to give you a little dancing lesson." For the first time since he walked in, the devil stopped smiling. His left foot started tapping back and forth, back and forth, clickety-click, clickety-click, in time with Nick's. Nick grinned at him, and said, "What you have to understand is that Dance means something. We dance our joy, and we dance our pain. We dance to celebrate new life, and we dance to prove we are still alive. We dance with the ones we love, and we dance with the ones we just met. We may hurt ourselves when we dance, but we never do it to hurt someone else. So come on, Mister. Dance with me now, " and the tapping sped up, and the other foot got in on the act, "Dance because you only met her just tonight, but you know she is the one. Dance because you are going to the front tomorrow with a rifle, but tonight you will live forever. Dance because the one you used to dance with isn't here anymore, and it breaks your heart to dance alone." They were both jigging, now, feet tapping and fingers snapping, moving together back and forth across the floor. The devil was mirroring Nick's every move, his face red and sweating, smoke coming out of his ears, sparks coming off his feet. Then the devil did something different, spinning around and pulling a trick, and Nick whooped and clapped his hands. "That's it, you poor Damned fool! Dance for love, dance for joy, dance because you hear the music in your head and you have to move! Dance like you don't care if you will die of dancing! Dance like it is opening night, and dance like it's the last curtain call! Come on, man, DANCE with me!" And it went faster and faster, and they both changed a dozen times, or maybe it was just two, and they danced like old friends, and sometimes like lovers. It got so fast that I thought the floorboards would break. Suddenly, there was a bright flash and a horrible smell like rotten eggs. When the spots stopped moving in front of my eyes, I saw Nick standing there, head bowed, hat held over his heart. All was silence. The devil was nowhere to be seen. Then Nick lifted his eyes and looked right at me, and I could see tears. "Sad...so sad. Right there at the end, he was starting to find the beat." It's been three months since that night. Sandra wouldn't let him pay his tab, and I got mine free, too. Nick won't talk about it, he just laughs. Carol is teaching me how to dance, and Nick says I don't do half bad for a beginner. I better keep learning, because if some devil ever tries to make me dance again, I plan to lead.

[I have had to say this a few times in other venues: while Callahan's Crosstime Saloon is indisputably an inspiration for this tale, this is not Callahan's FanFic, and not set in Spider Robinson's universe at all.]

Mr. Moses: February 5

Barbara Snyder, Class of 1964

 Question: What did Weaver mean to you?

 Answer: Well, when I went to school, I went to old Weaver on Ridgefield Street which was an absolutely beautiful building with its brass railing and the wood structure, almost like a castle. So when I went to high school there were only three high schools in Hartford: Weaver, Hartford, and Buckley. So you were proud of your own high school. We came from different areas of the city, and it just was a special place. It was huge and there were so many people that you got to meet lots and lots of people. There were wonderful teachers, there was a French teacher who had her doctorate so you knew she could have been teaching college but here she was teaching at a high school. There were so many different choices of classes you could choose from, the staff was wonderful, there were lots of activities for us to do, and you kept coming back and back, it was a safe place to be.

 Question: What is a highlight of your time at Weaver?

 Answer: Well of course I got a good education, I was able to go onto college and have a successful career. But I think the people I met really made a difference, and those people are still friends of mine. Our class will be having its 55th reunion in the fall, and so we’ve maintained those friendships over the years. Not with everybody, we still have to search for some people who might not say they went to Weaver. But for the most part people are proud and actually it’s a pretty impressive thing because if you meet people from other places and you tell them you went to Weaver and they also did you have an instant bond with them. A friend of mine was at his uncle’s funeral in Washington DC and somebody was visiting so they were there from CT so somebody got them together and turned out they both grew up in Hartford and they both went to Weaver so there was an instant bond pretty far away from Hartford.

 Question: So, you say Weaver creates bonds for people that go there?

 Answer: It creates lots of friendships. [You’re] not friends with everybody, but for the most part you are.

 Question: Who influenced you while you were at Weaver?

 Answer: I think the teachers, definitely, I don’t know if can name one, but the teachers are a big influence. [They] really want you to do very well in their course. It was a credit to them as well as to you. Being a teacher, I know it takes a group of people to make sure that every child gets a good education. We always said that at least one person in the building has to have contact or be in touch, watching over that child, it could be a custodian, the principal, or a teacher. It’s just a really important thing for people to have contact with other people and be watching out for them.

 Question: What do you hope for in the new Weaver?

 Answer: I hope you have as good an experience as I did. I hope you appreciate the building and to be able to go to a brand new school is special. When I started school I went to Rawson, because the elementary school I went to, the Mark Twain School, was just being built and by January we were able to move into the new school. So we were the first class to be in that school from kindergarten to eighth grade. But I think you’ll be able to join other people so you’re going to make a lot of friends you haven’t met yet and just the whole sense of community that you’ll feel there that I know you’re starting to create already and be proud of your school.

 Question: What does being a Weaver graduate mean to you?

 Answer: Everybody knows where you’re from, and everybody’s heard of Weaver no matter where you are. It’s a bond. I learned so much, I participated in some outside organizations, I was on the Look Out, which I believe is still in existence, by the time I was a senior I was an assistant feature editor, and I wrote and collected articles from other people. When I went to Central, I needed a part time job so I worked on campus and I worked in the public affairs office which really meant publicity and making the school look good to the public. When they found out I worked on the Weaver Look Out they automatically gave me the job because Weaver had such a high reputation. But I also learned a lot of other leadership skills, at the time there was a dean of women, and she was the one female guidance counselor and I had a lot of contact with her because I was a chairperson of the senior ball, so I learned how to be a leader, I learned how to make sure other people were doing all their jobs to complete the senior ball. I was a class officer so it was a pretty big deal and I think my leadership skills now probably started back then.

 Question: So, Weaver has impacted you in positive ways?

 Answer: Absolutely, in lots of ways, people I met, the education I got, and just growing up. I think it was a big growing up period because I came from the same school I had been in since kindergarten and here I was, 9th grade already. [I was] quiet, shy, but I came out. I really blossomed I think while I was there, those were good years.  

 Question: How is your life now?

 Answer: My life is wonderful. I’m retired so I get to sleep as late as I want. I get to do what I want when I want. I participate in things that I like to do. I have a wonderful family, I have children and grandchildren, and life is good. I’m healthy, which is probably the most important part of it.

 Question: What’s one important piece of advice that you want to leave with us today?

 Answer: Take advantage of all there is to do in the world. There’s so much out there, there’s so many opportunities. But you really have to go out and pursue them. You learn what you like and learn what you don’t like, and ones that you like, those are the things to really pursue. Just learning to be a good person, and it can be a simple thing like helping someone cross the street or picking up some garbage so the community looks better. But just being good to people, it has lots of rewards, people will look at you in a different way.

Grove builder Rick Caruso reimagines Miramar resort with splashes of seaside splendor

LA Times, by Roger Vincent, March 3, 2019

In a quiet garden at the Rosewood Miramar Beach resort in Montecito is a white marble statue of the Buddha, laughing while four small children clamber up his side.

The latter is a clue this is not your typical religious shrine.

The Buddha had only one child, according to texts, but resort owner Rick Caruso has four — and so the playful stone statue has a bigger brood.

It’s just one of the subtle references to the Caruso family that can be found at the new resort, which may be the most intensely personal — and upscale — project yet for the Los Angeles real estate magnate.

Caruso, who started his development career with a modest mall on La Cienega Boulevard, went on to build successively grander shopping venues including the landmark Grove, the Fairfax District “lifestyle center” that pioneered a wave of outdoor malls that meld shopping with food and entertainment.

Last year, he completed a $200-million village center for tony Pacific Palisades with small shops and restaurants evocative of East Hampton’s main street.

Now, the 60-year-old has reached higher still, completing his first venture into the hotel business with a splash that he hopes will earn the Miramar prestigious five-star and five-diamond ratings.

And it has prices to match, with rooms that cost more than $800 a night on the low end and reach $5,575 for a grand suite. Rooms over the sand begin at $1,075 a night.

Its nearest competitors are the four-star Four Seasons Resort the Biltmore Santa Barbara and the four-diamond Ritz-Carlton Bacara, Santa Barbara.

And though it is operated by Rosewood Hotel Group, a Hong Kong-based chain with luxury hotels across the globe, it is very much a Caruso property.

Among other family references are his children’s initials capping the directional arrows on a weather vane and the Caruso family crest mounted discreetly amid a leaded glass window overlooking the Pacific.

Then, point blank, there is Caruso’s, the resort’s swank Italian restaurant.

Patrons can dine a few feet above the sand, viewing the surf from high-backed booths intentionally reminiscent of Perino’s, a midcentury Los Angeles restaurant on Wilshire Boulevard that catered to the city’s business and entertainment industry elite for decades.

Caruso hopes the Miramar won’t change hands again for a long time, which is one of the reasons he added so many personal references during its creation.

“I build them with the hope and dream they will stay in the family until the end of time,” he said. “It’s just a fun thing to create a link between generations.”

On a recent chilly afternoon, Caruso cut a rakish figure strolling through the hotel’s Manor House in a snug gray double-breasted suit, wearing dark glasses and trailing behind his leashed dog Dodge — very much carrying himself like the man Forbes said is worth $4 billion. The docile golden retriever is his constant companion and later fell asleep at Caruso’s feet as he sat in the Miramar’s main restaurant, Malibu Farm, which serves farm-to-table fare.

Caruso appeared a bit weary himself, understandably. After buying the property for $50 million in 2007, he spent more than a decade working with the neighbors and navigating a complicated approval process that required applications to state, county and local agencies. In recent months, it was a race to get the resort ready for its March 1 official opening date, with nearly 1,300 laborers a day working double shifts.

And he’s had other duties in addition to running his existing properties and building in Pacific Palisades. As chairman of the USC Board of Trustees, he has faced tumult in recent months including the removal of Marshall School of Business Dean James Ellis and a $215-million settlement for former patients of disgraced campus doctor George Tyndall in a sexual abuse scandal.

Amid the tumult, he’s kept focused on his ambitious goals for the Miramar, which he proclaims are nothing less than “to reinvent hotels” — with a nod to the customs of yesterday’s leisure class. “The grand old hotels of Europe were more like residences.”

Caruso has a reputation as a big-spending developer who packs expensive details into his projects to help give them the kind of visual punch that led the Wall Street Journal to call him “the Walt Disney of retail” last year.

The Grove and the Americana at Brand mall in Glendale reflect his bent for extravagance and his personal tastes, such as jaunty Frank Sinatra tunes piped outdoors and, at the Americana, an 18-foot-tall gold-plated statue called “Spirit of American Youth” rising in the middle of a dancing fountain.

At the Miramar, however, Caruso has gotten a chance to indulge the tastes developed first through his childhood in Beverly Hills and later through accumulation of the fortune that has made him one of the wealthiest businessmen in Los Angeles.

The resort takes some broad design cues from the Beverly Hills Hotel, which took its famous form during a 1940s makeover created by Paul Williams, a revered Los Angeles architect whose influence now pervades the Miramar.

Perino’s signature booths were designed by Williams, who died in 1980. The hotel is meant to have the look and feel of a grand 1930s home designed by Williams, starting at the black lacquered front door with a brass mail slot.

Inside, guests find themselves in a soaring mansion-style foyer flanked by a curving staircase made using Williams’ blueprints for a legendary home completed in Beverly Hills in 1933 for auto titan E.L. Cord.

Caruso explains that Williams’ granddaughter is a friend and shared Williams’ hand-drawn plans for the Southern Colonial-style Cord estate, which Caruso framed and mounted discreetly near the foyer.

The residential sensibility prevails throughout the hotel designed by a team led by architect Dave Williams (no relation to Paul Williams), Caruso’s executive vice president of architecture. From the front door, visitors can see straight through what looks like a casually elegant living room and veranda, past a wide lawn and finally to the ocean.

Most of the 16-acre site — almost as big as the Grove but with a feel much larger since little acreage is taken up by parking — is landscaped open space, which Caruso hopes will help put guests in vacation mode. “It’s to lower everyone’s blood pressure,” he said.

In addition to the Manor House, which includes a spa, there are bungalow-like guest room buildings spread along meandering paths. There are two swimming pools and seven eateries, including a poolside shop that serves hamburgers and local ice cream.

He declines to talk about how much the Miramar cost, but Bacara reportedly cost $222 million to build in 2000.

Pricey design flourishes and materials can be seen in all directions at the Miramar including a Brazilian walnut deck at the seaside bar, hand-painted wallpaper and custom-designed Baccarat crystal chandeliers in the ballroom.

Original artworks abound, including a 1937 Norman Rockwell painting called “Scout of Many Trails” in an event space called the Study and a whimsical Fernando Botero painting titled “Two Drunks” in the Manor Bar.

The sundry shop is a Goop store, founder Gwyneth Paltrow’s first outlet in a hotel.

Caruso builds in a way many other developers would consider extravagant because he can. “I don’t have investors,” he said. “I get the freedom to make decisions I think are best.”

But Caruso is ever watchful of his bottom line.

The 161-room resort already has 25 weddings booked, and he has other ideas for programming that Caruso has honed in his retail centers, along with advertising sponsorships and promotions such as “date night” and “Mommy and me” events.

He pictures people wandering up to the hotel bar after a barbecue “burger bash on the beach” and smiles as he contemplates the promise held by the resort’s two bocce courts — a bowling game that has become hip but is ancient and hints at Caruso’s Italian heritage.

“I bet the bocce ball league will bring in $1 million a year alone,” he said.

And Christmas, sometimes a slow period for seaside resorts, will be celebrated fancifully with decorations including trees for each room that guests can decorate themselves with provided ornaments or let the hotel staff do the job.

“When you allow people to have fun, you make money,” he said. “They become loyal, and they come back.”

Donald Wise, a hotel investment banker at Turnbull Capital Group, estimates that it will take five years to get the Miramar financially stabilized, but Caruso is in position to make it to that point.

Caruso “is obviously very well capitalized, unlike a lot of developers who have to put things together with mirrors.”

Indeed, the Americana at Brand opened in 2008 amid the financial crisis, but Caruso weathered that storm.

The Miramar is one of only a handful of hotels in Southern California that is directly on the beach, which gives it a competitive advantage, said Wise, who was not involved in its sale or development.

Rosewood, which operates luxury properties across the U.S. and some two dozen countries, could help deliver the top-level five-star and five-diamond industry ratings Caruso seeks, Wise said. If that happens, the Miramar would probably be the only five-star hotel in the world with an active railroad running through it.

Ten freight trains and two passenger trains roll through each day on tracks that cleave the edge of the property between the main Manor House complex and the waterfront suites, bar and Caruso’s restaurant.

To diminish its impact, Caruso raised the level of the hotel grounds. “The train loomed over you before,” he said. “We put a cool bar by it, and now it’s part of the experience” of being at the Miramar. The nearby beach guest rooms also are on base isolators to contain vibrations from the trains.

For many years guests arrived at Miramar by train, starting in the 19th century when the Miramar became a favored destination of the well-to-do including snowbirds from the East who would spend winter there.

The inn’s history dates to the 1880s, when landowners Josiah and Emmeline Doulton turned part of their farm into a hotel, said Michael Redmon, director of research at the Santa Barbara Historical Museum.

The Doultons soon named it Miramar, or “Behold, the sea” in Spanish. By 1902, The Times was reporting on arrivals of the well-to-do, such as the widow of a railroad magnate who arrived from Boston for the season with her maid and chauffeur in tow.

The Miramar is remembered perhaps best among the living as an unassuming seaside getaway where families with kids and dogs could afford to spend a relaxing weekend nestled between the peaceful Pacific and dull roar of Highway 101.

The Doulton family sold the Miramar in 1939 to Paul Gawzner, who revamped the property and added a swimming pool. By the late 20th century, the resort was known to some for its air of “Catskill kitsch” — with its shuffleboard courts and waiters who once tooled around the grounds on bicycles, trays from the kitchen mounted on their baskets.

Gawzner sold the Miramar in 1998 to night club and hotel impresario Ian Schrager, who closed the inn in 2000 to make renovations. Work stopped as the economy soured and the partly demolished hotel became a local eyesore.

Toy manufacturer Ty Warner, who became a billionaire through his Beanie Baby plush toy line, bought the Miramar in 2005 with plans to renovate the property but ended up selling it to Caruso less than two years later.

Caruso razed almost the entire site, saving only the original owner’s wooden residence, which stands just off the hotel grounds. It’s being restored, but no use for it has been planned yet.

For now, Caruso is just enjoying his accomplishment of getting the Miramar up and running — a satisfaction he is sharing with his family.

The Carusos, including Rick’s wife of 31 years, Tina, have their own residence in the Manor House.

Gigi Caruso, Rick’s youngest child at 18, said she and her siblings are taking particular pleasure in the family references her father slipped into the development, including quotes from their favorite literary figures painstakingly inlaid into stones on the veranda.

“It’s so fun seeing all our personal family references around the property,” she said. “It means so much to us that he involved us in the process.”

The developer’s next planned venture is residential. He built an ultra-deluxe 87-unit apartment building on the eastern edge of Beverly Hills in 2012 and now plans to erect a bigger one nearby on the site of his first development on La Cienega Boulevard that housed a Loehmann’s department store.

But that wasn’t really on his mind as he watched some of his first patrons enjoy the food at Malibu Farm. Instead, he’s just settling in at the Miramar.

“It was years of work,” he said.

4x22: Lucifer Rising

Then:

We met this fearsome warrior this season. I don’t think anything else really happened. 

Now:

St. Mary’s Convent

Ilchester, Maryland

1972

A priest is possessed by a demon. Later, at a service with the nuns, his prayers are a little uncouth.

He locks everyone in the chapel. He starts to ramble a little more about fathers and then his eyes flash yellow. He pulls out a big knife and well, I guess service ends little differently than normal too. 

Meanwhile, Sam stares pensively into the distance. Is he making the right choice? Did he condition his hair too much this morning? Ruby snaps him out of his morose contemplations. Sam’s sad about how he and Dean left things. He knows that there isn’t an “after” for him once they do what they’re planning. 

Dean, meanwhile, stares morosely out Bobby’s window. 

For Elfen Ears and Freckles Science:

Bobby snaps him out of his thoughts. Bobby wants Dean to reach out to Sam again. He shouldn’t give up on his brother. Dean goes into full soap opera mode and makes it clear that “Sam is gone.” He’s not even sure Sam is even his brother anymore --if he ever was. I’m just lol-ing over his overdramatic ass, but Bobby loses his shit and gives Dean the football coach speech. Then he compares Dean to John. And he calls John a coward. SHOTS FIRED! Bobby then makes it clear that Dean is a better person than John (to which Dean scoffs at...grr, Dean!). 

Dean turns away and the next thing he realizes is that he’s in the Green Room. Cas is there. He tells Dean, “It’s almost time.”

At a hospital, a nurse takes a baby from its parents presumably so they can get some rest. In reality, it’s a demon set on nefarious ways. She’s stopped by Sam though. 

Dean wanders his prison and finds beer and burgers...and Zachariah. 

He wants Dean to relax before go time. All the seals are broken, but one. Zach tells Dean that it’ll happen the following night at midnight, and Lilith has to be the one to break it. 

Sam is torturing the demon for Lilith’s location. She doesn’t really see a reason to give it up --she’s dead no matter what. 

Dean calls and leaves a message for Sam. His apology gets cut short. And Sam doesn’t get it anyway because he’s really going to town on torturing the demon. The demon admits that Lilith will be at a convent (the very same one from the cold open) tomorrow night. Ruby wants to drain her of her blood. The demon reminds them that she’s possessing a human, and lets the human come out to play. 

We then flashback to the convent in the aftermath of the possessed priest’s bloodbath. He prays to Lucifer, who responds through the voice of a dead nun. Lucifer tells him that Lilith can break the seals. Then Lucifer instructs old Yellow Eyes to find him a special child. 

Cut to Sam Winchester doing research on the convent. He’s all nerding out over what I can imagine is the serial killer aspect of the murders. 

Ruby’s ready to roll and wants to pack up the nurse and get going. Sam’s showing a little reluctance for murdering the possessed woman. Despite her pleas, Sam still throws her in the trunk of his car. Yowza. 

Like a bored house cat, Dean starts knocking things over in the Green Room. Cas shows up. “I need something,” Dean says. “Anything you wish,” Cas responds. Boy, doesn’t that sum up their relationship for the past 12 years? Dean wants to see Sam. Cas doesn’t think it’s a good idea. 

Dean wants to leave. It becomes clear that the angels are not going to let him leave. And Cas is gone without a word. 

Over the constant, horrible symphony of nurse Cindy’s screams from the trunk, Sam and Ruby chat as they drive. Sam’s horrified by Cindy’s terror and Ruby reminds him that every demon he drains dry is like this: a scared human trapped in their own body. (She accuses him of trying to grow a “persqueeter” -- for which I tell her to go fuck herself.) Sam’s having doubts that he’s on the right path. 

Dean tries to break his way out of the beautiful room. I bet you could use a GRENADE LAUNCHER right about now, eh? Nothing he does seems to make an impact. Zachariah flaps down to rub it in. Dean demands to see Sam, and asks how to kill Lilith. It’s now that Zachariah drops some truth bombs. Heaven’s plan all along has been for the final seal to break. “The end is nigh. The apocalypse is coming, kiddo. To a theater near you.”

Not every angel knew the grand plan, Zachariah admits, but Heaven’s top brass allowed all the seals to break. While Zachariah talks about Heaven’s glorious victory in the coming battle, Dean takes another look around the room. This time, he realizes that the beautiful paintings are full of depictions of angels versus demons, and bloody war. People are just acceptable losses. Dean insists that Sam will save the day.

Zacharian tries to “comfort” Dean, telling him that he his role in the apocalypse is actually to stop Lucifer after he rises. No pressure! And where’s God? “God has left the building,” Zachariah says smugly before he peaces out again. 

At a spooky convent, a security guard patrols when he’s confronted by Lilith! It’s show time, baby. 

Still trapped in the room, Dean’s trying to call Sam when Cas arrives. “You’re outside your coverage zone,” Castiel, cell service technician of the lord, says. He tells Dean that all the trouble Sam’ll get into will be entirely his own doing. But Cas has flapped down for Dean. “We have been through much together, you and I. I just wanted to say I’m sorry it ended like this.” (I have no regrets for the gleeful series of pictures of Dean and Cas that are about to follow.)

Dean’s not receptive to an apology, and takes a swing at Cas.

“This is long foretold,” Cas insists. 

Dean refuses to condone this argument. “Destiny? God’s plan? It’s all a bunch of lies, you poor, stupid son of a bitch!” The apocalypse narrative is Heaven’s way of keeping the grunts in line.

“You know what’s real?” Dean asks. “People. Families. That’s real.” (Excuse me while I make the EYEBALLS EMOJI at season 15 because dang, ya’ll.)(Boris, curled in a ball in the corner: “We are.”)

Cas demands to know why the world ought to be saved when there’s suffering in it. When paradise descends it will bring peace. This is such an angel line it KILLS ME. (Especially with all we now know about Heaven.) “You can take your peace and shove it up your lily white ass,” Dean says quietly. 

Dean would rather have pain, guilt, and dark!Sam than be some “Stepford bitch in paradise.” A super valid, excellent point, even if I am going to take a moment to picture Dean Stepfordized. Dean insists that there is a right and wrong side, and Cas is currently on the wrong end of it. 

Dean begs for Cas’s help to get to Sam and stop him from opening the last seal. Cas knows if he rebels, they’ll all be killed. “If there’s anything worth dying for,” Dean insists, “this is it.” Cas looks conflicted but nevertheless doesn’t immediately swing over to the rebellion, and Dean disgustedly tells him that they’re “done.” Cas flaps out.

Outside the convent, Sam contemplates what he’s about to do. Ruby prods him to act, playing with her demon-smiting knife impatiently. Sam finally checks the voicemail that Dean left near the beginning of the episode. Only, it’s not quite how we remember it. In the voicemail, Dean now accuses Sam of being a “blood sucking freak” and a monster, and promises to kill Sam. Um. Behind Sam, Ruby smirks.

It’s go-time now. Sam decides he’s his own only hope and tells Ruby to pull the screaming nurse from the trunk. 

In the beautiful room, Dean finally gives in to temptation and picks up a burger when Cas arrives, spins him around, and pins him to the wall. 

For Mark Me Down as Scared and Horny Science:

Cas pulls out a knife, cuts his forearm, and inscribes a sigil on the wall with his own blood. When Zachariah shows up, pissed off, Cas blasts Zachariah away. 

Cas tells Dean that they’re heading off to stop Sam from killing Lilith who (surprise!) is the final seal. When she dies, Lucifer pops out like a dancer in a birthday cake. 

Cut to Chuck, who’s pacing around his house ordering women on the phone. EXTREME SIDE EYE. Dean and Cas flap in, looking for answers. 

At the convent, Lilith holds court when Sam arrives. The lesser demons fall insta-dead while Lilith closes the doors to her chamber. Dun dun DUN!

Chuck hands over information on Sam’s showdown with Lilith to Cas. “You’re not in this story,” Chuck says accusingly to Cas. 

“We’re making it up as we go,” Cas says. 

Chuck’s house starts to rattle. An archangel is descending to nip this little angelic rebellion right in the bud. Castiel vows to “hold them all off.” He zaps Dean to the convent and awaits the approach of the archangel.

Sam makes his way into Lilith’s chamber and pins her to the altar with his mind mojo when Dean arrives on the scene. Ruby smirks at Dean before slamming the doors shut between the two brothers. Sam burns Lilith out with his fancy demon-blood powers while Dean shouts through the door and Ruby screams at him to finish the job. Lilith laughs at Sam, mocking him for his hesitation, and that’s what does it. Sam kills her with demon-black eyes. 

Lilith’s blood seeps across the floor like it’s on a mission. Actually, it IS on a mission. It oozes into a circle. Ruby’s ecstatic and tells Sam that he opened the door for Lucifer. She may have been hated by demons for her apparent betrayal but “I was the best of those sons of bitches,” Ruby insists. “The most loyal.” Sam tries to pin what just happened on Ruby but she throws it right back at him. His choices brought him to this point. She just gave him the options. Horrified, Sam asks why he was the one to unleash Lucifer. “Because it had to be you, Sam.” OUCH. 

Dean breaks through the doors at last and storms over. Sam grabs Ruby so Dean can stab her. Hooray! They’re working together again! And then the cage starts to open. WHERPS. Sam apologizes futilely as the room fills with impossibly bright light. Lucifer’s on his way out. 

The End Quotes are Nigh:

Well, boo hoo, I am so sorry your feelings are hurt, princess! Are you under the impression that family's supposed to make you feel good?! Bake you an apple pie, maybe? They're supposed to make you miserable! That's why they're family!

We'll throw in Mary Ann for free

Would we really let 65 seals get broken unless senior management wanted it that way?

This isn't the first planetary enema we've delivered

You spineless soulless son of a bitch. What do you care about dying? You're already dead

You turned yourself into a freak. A monster. And now you're not gonna bite? I'm sorry, but that is honestly adorable

You didn't need the feather to fly, you had it in you the whole time, Dumbo

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Lucy and Paul Winchell

S5;E4 ~ October 3, 1966

Synopsis

Lucy convinces ventriloquist Paul Winchell to appear at the Annual Banker's Banquet.  When Winchell is running late, he asks Lucy to stop by and pick up his dummies.  When she accidentally leaves them in a taxi the understudy 'dummy' has to go on – Lucy!  

Regular Cast

Lucille Ball (Lucy Carmichael), Gale Gordon (Theodore J. Mooney)

Mary Jane Croft (Mary Jane Lewis) does not appear in this episode but Lucy does have a phone conversation with her.

Guest Cast

Paul Winchell (Himself) was born Paul Wilchinsky in 1922.  Coming into the public eye in 1948, he became one of the most famous ventriloquists since Edgar Bergen.  He hosted the enormously popular children's television show “Winchell-Mahoney Time” (1964-68) in which he shared the spotlight with Jerry Mahoney, one of his most popular characters. Sadly, in a legal dispute over the syndication rights to the show, all nearly 300 episodes were destroyed.  Winchell is fondly remembered as the voice of Winnie the Pooh's pal Tigger and (later) Papa Smurf. He returns to “The Lucy Show” to play Doc Putnam in two linked episodes, “Main Street U.S.A.” (S5;E17) and “Lucy Puts Main Street on the Map” (S5;18), as well as doing two episodes of “Here's Lucy.” Surprisingly, Winchell was also an inventor who is credited with the artificial heart, among other innovations. He died in 2005.  

Snitchy the Snail appeared with Winchell on “The Dick Van Dyke Show” six months before this “Lucy Show” appearance.

Tessie Mahoney was Jerry's platinum blonde cousin.  She was named after Winchell's wife Tessie Nina Moore.  Many accused Tessie of just being Jerry Mahoney in drag!  Like Winchell, Tessie was from Brooklyn (and sounded it).  

Jerry Mahoney (above left) was 'born' around 1935.  He was Paul Winchell's co-host on “Winchell-Mahoney Time.”  Jerry Mahoney was named after Winchell's grade-school teacher, who encouraged him to pursue ventriloquism. He was carved by Chicago-based figure maker Frank Marshall. The original Marshall-carved Jerry Mahoney is now 'living' at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington DC.  

Knucklehead Smiff (above right) was 'born' in 1951, sculpted by Winchell from a copy of Jerry Mahoney's head. He co-starred with Winchell and Jerry Mahoney on “Winchell-Mahoney Time” and many other shows. Like Jerry Mahoney, he now resides at the 'Smiffsonian' Institution, although neither are currently accepting visitors!

Sid Gould (Show Announcer Voice) made more than 45 appearances on “The Lucy Show,” all as background characters. He also did 40 episodes of “Here’s Lucy.” Gould (born Sydney Greenfader) was Lucille Ball’s cousin by marriage to Gary Morton.

Gould performed this same kind of uncredited voice over introduction when “Lucy and George Burns” (S5;E1) performed together.  

Marge, a voice on Lucy's intercom is uncredited, as is the female voice of the long distance operator.  Marge was also the name of Lucy Carmichael's sister, a character seen in “Lucy's Sister Pays a Visit” (S1;E15).  

Having Paul Winchell as a guest star was Lucille Ball's attempt to attract younger viewers to “The Lucy Show.”  

Lucille Ball seems to be having occasional vocal problems during this episode.

Upon meeting Paul Winchell, Lucy says “I always read your column” mistaking him for journalist Walter Winchell.  Paul Winchell quickly corrects her. She then says “I just get hysterical watching you and Charlie McCarthy” mistaking her for ventriloquist Edgar Bergen.  Again, Winchell quickly corrects her. Walter Winchell (1897-1972) was the narrator of Desilu's “The Untouchables” and did the same function for a parody episode on “The Lucy Show” titled “Lucy the Gun Moll” (S4;E25).  Edgar Bergen (1903-1978) appeared with Lucille Ball in the 1941 film Look Who's Laughing.

Lucy explains the bank's interest rates to Paul Winchell:  

Lucy gave away toasters for new savings accounts back in Danfield when “Lucy Takes a Job at the Bank” (S2;E21).  

In the previous episode, “Lucy the Bean Queen” (S5;E3) Lucy was redecorating her apartment.  The reveal is delayed as this episode has no scenes taking place in Lucy’s home.  

Mr. Mooney returns to the office after failing to find a celebrity to entertain at the Bankers Annual Banquet show.  Bob Hope is doing a show for the Girl Scouts in Pismo Beach; Jack Benny is on a tour of Fort Knox; Dean Martin just had an operation to remove a brass rail pressing on his foot. All three of these performers have guest starred on “The Lucy Show.”  Pismo Beach was thought to be a funny sounding name and was often used as a punch line in comedy.  Fort Knox is an Army base in Kentucky where much of the nation's gold supply is held, so the reference trades on Jack Benny's characterization of a being a miser. Dean Martin's comic persona was that of a heavy drinker, so the reference is to the foot rail found at bars.  

Lucy: Oh, gee, aren't there any other movie actors you could call? Mr. Mooney: Yes, yes, but they're all too busy running for public office.  

Mr. Mooney is likely referring to Ronald Reagan, who ran for Governor of California in 1966 and won (after this episode aired).  He held office until 1975 before setting his sights on the Presidency.  In 1980 he was elected 40th President of the United States, an office he held until 1989.  His screen acting career began in 1937 and lasted right up until he became Governor. Reagan appeared with Lucille Ball on two episodes of “The Ed Sullivan Show” in the mid-1950s.  

Paul Winchell gets a phone call from someone named Gary asking him to play golf.  This is probably and inside joke about Production Consultant (and Lucille Ball's husband) Gary Morton's fondness for playing golf.

In the opening scene at Paul Winchell's home, his character Irving Think (a mouse) is standing next to the telephone and Ozwald (with another figure's head attached) is propped up on the sofa. Ozwald was a commercially available doll resembling Humpty Dumpty that required the user to paint eyes and a nose on his or her own chin and hang the puppet upside down to create the character.  

After Winchell offers to lend Lucy one of his dummies, Lucy and the episode enters (what Winchell later calls) “the twilight zone.” Winchell's most famous dummies, Jerry Mahoney and Knucklehead Smiff, become animated on their own, without any help from Winchell (although he may still be providing the voices live).  It is a surreal moment for a show that tries to keep one foot in a somewhat farcical version of reality (except perhaps for “Lucy the Superwoman” S4;E26).  

Lucy describes her boss as Diamond Jim Mooney after Winchell says he sounds like “the last of the big spenders.”  James Buchanan Brady (1856–1917) was an American businessman, financier and philanthropist of the Gilded Age who had a particular affinity for precious stones and jewelry.  His had a longtime relationship with actress and singer Lillian Russell. At one point, a TV biopic was planned starring Jackie Gleason with Lucille Ball as Russell, but it never came to pass.

Jerry Mahoney and Knucklehead Smiff have a food fight with spaghetti, eggs, and cream pies, something they often did on “Winchell-Mahoney Time.”  

Mr. Mooney gets a telephone call from his boss, Mr. Cheever, a character who won't actually appear until the end of the season (played by Roy Roberts).  

Although Lucille Ball was game to conquer any comic task the writers created for her, becoming an accomplished ventriloquist in a week was a tall order, so Mrs. Carmichael's lips move when manipulating the dummy she borrows from Paul Winchell as workplace therapy.  

The Bankers Annual Banquet and Show is being held at the Beverly Ritz Hotel. Backstage there is a Fallout Shelter sign. After the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1961 (the beginning of the 'Cold War' between Russian and the United States), President Kennedy instructed that sturdy large-capacity structures be designated fallout shelters in case of attack. The yellow and black sign with three triangles inside a circle was used to alert the public that the building was designated such a structure.  The saloon door scenery used in the silent movie sketch of “Lucy Meets Mickey Rooney” (S4;E18) is also there, although the painted side is turned away from the camera.

As Tessie Mahoney, Lucy suggests that they sing “Your Dime is My Dime” because they are performing for an audience of bankers. This is a pun on the song “My Time is Your Time” written by Leo Dance and Eric Little in 1924. It was made famous by Rudy Valle who guest starred as himself on “Lucy Takes a Cruise to Havana” (1957), the first “Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour,” and does so again in a 1970 episode of “Here's Lucy.”  

Winchell (voicing Lucy / Tessie and himself) sings “What Does This Audience Want?” an original song written especially for this episode.  The lyrics reference Milton Berle, who appeared in “Lucy Saves Milton Berle” (S4;E13).  

Callbacks! 

Ventriloquist Max Terhune played himself in "Ricky Loses His Temper” (ILL S3;E19). Terhune was a skilled vaudevillian who specialized in ventriloquism. On the Orpheum Circuit his dummy was known as Skully Null but was re-named Elmer Sneezeweed in the movies. Terhune was listed as one of the top ten money-making stars in Westerns for 1937, 1938 and 1939, appearing as Max ‘Alibi’ Terhune in a string of B-movie 'oaters.’  

Actually a call forward – to the stage and film musical Chicago in which a woman (Roxie Hart) becomes a ventriloquist's doll during the musical number “We Both Reached for the Gun.”  Here, Lucy takes on the persona of Tessie Mahoney, sitting on Paul Winchell's knee wearing a platinum blonde wig and pink dress singing “What Does This Audience Want?”

Blooper Alerts

Paul Winchell wants to open a savings account at Westland Bank.  Although certainly this is within the bounds of reality, it is likely that a big star like Paul Winchell would have his finances administered by a Business Manager and would not be going to a local bank for a savings account.  

Mr. Mooney's Dictaphone explodes just by Lucy touching it.  

None of Lucy's file cabinets are labeled.  With Lucy's wacky filing system it doesn't really matter anyway!

“Lucy Meets Paul Winchell” rates 4 Paper Hearts out of 5 

'It broke down the hubward door and escaped an hour ago, sir,' he yelled. 'Wrong,' said Trymon. 'It left, we escaped. Well, I'll be getting down, then. Did it get anyone?' The bursar swallowed. He was not a wizard, but a kind, good-natured man who should not have had to see the things he had witnessed in the past hour. Of course, it wasn't unknown for small demons, coloured lights and various half-materialised imaginings to wander around the campus, but there had been something about the implacable onslaught of the Luggage that had unnerved him. Trying to stop it would have been like trying to wrestle a glacier. It – it swallowed the Dean of Liberal Studies, sir,' he shouted. Trymon brightened. 'It's an ill wind,' he murmured. He started down the long spiral staircase. After a while he smiled, a thin, tight smile. The day was definitely improving. There was a lot of organising to do. And if there was something Trymon really liked, it was organising. The rock swooped across the high plains, whipping snow from the drifts a mere few feet below. Belafon scuttled about urgently, smearing a little mistletoe ointment here, chalking a rune there, while Rincewind cowered in terror and exhaustion and Twoflower worried about his Luggage. 'Up ahead!' screamed the druid above the noise of the slipstream. 'Behold, the great computer of the skies!' Rincewind peered between his fingers. On the distant skyline was an immense construction of grey and black slabs, arranged in concentric circles and mystic avenues, aunt and forbidding against the snow. Surely men couldn't have moved those nascent mountains – surely a troop of giants had been turned to stone by some . . . 'It looks like a lot of rocks,' said Twoflower. Belafon hesitated in mid-gesture. 'What?' he said. 'It's very nice,' added the tourist hurriedly. He sought for a word. 'Ethnic,' he decided. The druid stiffened. 'Nice?' he said. 'A triumph of the silicon chunk, a miracle of modern masonic technology – nice?' 'Oh, yes,' said Twoflower, to whom sarcasm was merely a seven letter word beginning with S. 'What does ethnic mean?' said the druid. 'It means terribly impressive,' said Rincewind hurriedly, 'and we seem to be in danger of landing, if you don't mind—' Belafon turned around, only slightly mollified. He raised his arms wide and shouted a series of untranslatable words, ending with 'nice!' in a hurt whisper. The rock slowed, drifted sideways in a billow of snow, and hovered over the circle. Down below a druid waved two bunches of mistletoe in complicated patterns, and Belafon skilfully brought the massive slab to rest across two giant uprights with the faintest of clicks. Rincewind let his breath out in a long sigh. It hurried off to hide somewhere. A ladder banged against the side of the slab and the head of an elderly druid appeared over the edge. He gave the two passengers a puzzled glance, and then looked up at Belafon. 'About bloody time,' he said. 'Seven weeks to Hogswatchnight and it's gone down on us again.' 'Hallo, Zakriah,' said Belafon. What happened this time?' 'It's all totally fouled up. Today it predicted sunrise three minutes early. Talk about a klutz, boy, this is it.' Belafon clambered onto the ladder and disappeared from view. The passengers looked at each other, and then tared down into the vast open space between the inner circle of stones. 'What shall we do now?' said Twoflower. 'We could go to sleep?' suggested Rincewind. Twoflower ignored him, and climbed down the ladder. Around the circle druids were tapping the megaliths with little hammers and listening intently. Several of the huge stones were lying on their sides, and each was surrounded by another crowd of druids who were examining it carefully and arguing amongst themselves. Arcane phrases floated up to where Rincewind sat: 'It can't be software incompatibility – the Chant of the Trodden Spiral was designed for concentric rings, idiot . . .' 'I say fire it up again and try a simple moon ceremony . . .' '. . . all right, all right, nothing's wrong with the stones, it's just that the universe has gone wrong, right? . . .' Through the mists of his exhausted mind Rincewind remembered the horrible star they'd seen in the sky. Something had gone wrong with the universe last night. How had he come to be back on the Disc? He had a feeling that the answers were somewhere inside his head. And an even more unpleasant feeling began to dawn on him that something else was watching the scene below – watching it from behind his eyes. The Spell had crept from its lair deep in the untrodden dirtroads of his mind, and was sitting bold as brass in his forebrain, watching the passing scene and doing the mental equivalent of eating popcorn. He tried to push it back – and the world vanished . . . He was in darkness; a warm, musty darkness, the darkness of the tomb, the velvet blackness of the mummy case. There was a strong smell of old leather and the sourness of ancient paper. The paper rustled. He felt that the darkness was full of unimaginable horrors – and the trouble with unimaginable horrors was that they were only to easy to imagine . . . 'Rincewind,' said a voice. Rincewind had never heard a lizard speak, but if one did it would have a voice like that. 'Um,' he said. 'Yes?' The voice chuckled – a strange sound, rather papery. 'You ought to say “Where am I?” ' it said. 'Would I like it if I knew?' said Rincewind. He stared hard at the darkness. Now that he was accustomed to it, he could see something. Something vague, hardly bright enough to be anything at all, just the merest tracery in the air. Something strangely familiar. 'All right,' he said. 'Where am I?' 'You're dreaming.' 'Can I wake up now, please?' 'No,' said another voice, as old and dry as the first but still slightly different. 'We have something very important to tell you,' said a third voice, if anything more corpse-dry than the others. Rincewind nodded stupidly. In the back of his mind the Spell lurked and peered cautiously over his mental shoulder. 'You've caused us a lot of trouble, young Rincewind,' the voice went on. 'All this dropping over the edge of the world with no thought for other people. We had to seriously distort reality, you know.' 'Gosh.' 'And now you have a very important task ahead of you.' 'Oh. Good.' 'Many years ago we arranged for one of our number to hide in your head, because we could foresee a time coming when you would need to play a very important role.' 'Me? Why?' 'You run away a lot,' said one of the voices. That is good. You are a survivor.' 'Survivor? I've nearly been killed dozens of times!' 'Exactly.' 'Oh.' 'But try not to fall off the Disc again. We really can't have that.' 'Who are we, exactly?' said Rincewind. There was a rustling in the darkness. 'In the beginning was the word,' said a dry voice right ehind him. 'It was the Egg,' corrected another voice. 'I distinctly remember. The Great Egg of the Universe. Slightly rubbery.' 'You're both wrong, in fact. I'm sure it was the primordial slime.' A voice by Rincewind's knee said: 'No, that came afterwards. There was firmament first. Lots of firmament. Rather sticky, like candyfloss. Very syrupy, in fact—.' 'In case anyone's interested,' said a crackly voice on Rincewind's left, 'you're all wrong. In the beginning was the Clearing of the Throat—' '—then the word—' 'Pardon me, the slime—' 'Distinctly rubbery, I thought—' There was a pause. Then a voice said carefully, 'Anyway, whatever it was, we remember it distinctly.' 'Quite so.' 'Exactly.' 'And our task is to see that nothing dreadful happens to it, Rincewind.' Rincewind squinted into the blackness. 'Would you kindly explain what you're talking about?' There was a papery sigh. 'So much for metaphor,' said one of the voices. 'Look, it is very important you safeguard the Spell in your head and bring it back to us at the right time, you understand, so that when the moment is precisely right we can be said. Do you understand?' Rincewind thought: we can be said! And it dawned on him what the tracery was, ahead of him. It was writing on a page, seen from underneath. 'I'm in the Octavo?' he said. 'In certain metaphysical respects,' said one of the voices in offhand tones. It came closer. He could feel the dry rustling right in front of his nose . . . He ran away. The single red dot glowed in its patch of darkness. Trymon, still wearing the ceremonial robes from his inauguration as head of the Order, couldn't rid himself of the feeling that it had grown slightly while he watched. He turned away from the window with a shudder. 'Well?' he said. 'It's a star,' said the Professor of Astrology, 'I think.' 'You think?' The astrologer winced. They were standing in Unseen University's observatory, and the tiny ruby pinpoint on the horizon wasn't glaring at him any worse than his new master. 'Well, you see, the point is that we've always believed stars to be pretty much the same as our sun —' 'You mean balls of fire about a mile across?' 'Yes. But this new one is, well—big.' 'Bigger than the sun?' said Trymon. He'd always considered a mile-wide ball of fire quite impressive, although he disapproved of stars on principle. They made the sky look untidy. 'A lot bigger,' said the astrologer slowly. 'Bigger than Great A'Tuin's head, perhaps?' The astrologer looked wretched. 'Bigger than Great A'Tuin and the Disc together,' he said. 'We've checked,' he added hurriedly, 'and we're quite sure.' That is big,' agreed Trymon. The word “huge” comes to mind.' 'Massive,' agreed the astrologer hurriedly. 'Hmm.' Trymon paced the broad mosaic floor of the observatory, which was inlaid with the signs of the Disc zodiac. There were sixty-four of them, from Wezen the Double-headed Kangaroo to Gahoolie, the Vase of Tulips (a constellation of great religious significance whose meaning, alas, was now lost). He paused on the blue and gold tilework of Mubbo the Hyaena, and turned suddenly. 'We're going to hit it?' he asked. 'I am afraid so, sir,' said the astrologer. 'Hmm.' Trymon walked a few paces forward, stroking his beard thoughtfully. He paused on the cusp of Okjock the Salesman and The Celestial Parsnip. 'I'm not an expert in these matters,' he said, 'but I imagine this would not be a good thing?' 'No, sir.' 'Very hot, stars?' The astrologer swallowed. 'Yes, sir.' 'We'd be burned up?' 'Eventually. Of course, before that there would be discquakes, tidal waves, gravitational disruption and probably the atmosphere would be stripped away.' 'Ah. In a word, lack of decent organisation.' The astrologer hesitated, and gave in. You could say so, sir.' 'People would panic?' 'Fairly briefly, I'm afraid.' Hmm,' said Trymon, who was just passing over The Perhaps Gate and orbiting smoothly towards the Cow of Heaven. He squinted up again at the red gleam on the horizon. He appeared to reach a decision. 'We can't find Rincewind,' he said, 'and if we can't find Rincewind we can't find the eighth spell of the Octavo. But we believe that the Octavo must be read to avert catastrophe – otherwise why did the Creator leave it behind?' 'Perhaps He was just forgetful,' suggested the astrologer. Trymon glared at him. 'The other Orders are searching all the lands between here and the Hub,' he continued, counting the points on his fingers, 'because it seems unreasonable that a man can fly into a cloud and not come out . . .'

Dean’s Big Brass Balls 5/? | 5.08 Changing Channels