((Application approved by the Winchesters and Bobby! *Waves paperwork stamped APPROVED*))
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"I mean it, Dean. What would you rather have? Peace--or freedom?"
It was a disheartening way to say good-bye. But Castiel, his recent 'upgrade' nothwithstanding, was tired of shouldering the responsibility that should rightfully have been borne by the
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At one time he might have taken offense, but he had learned the hard way that 'sanctimonious pieces of shit' was all too accurate of many of his kin--possibly giving some of them too much credit. (As for Cas himself, well...he was trying.)
He took a cautious step closer to the woman, studying her carefully. At first glance, he might have taken her for an angel herself; the energy that played about her, though faint, felt familiar. And the Fallen he had known (had actually been, briefly, for practical purposes) bore little remaining trace of the divine about them. On closer inspection, though, there was something distinctly off about her that he couldn't put a name to ( ... )
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He cocked his head slightly at her tale of aging. "That happened to some friends of mine. They said they lost the years in an enchanted poker game, then won them back." He thought for a moment. "I once fell under the influence of the Horsemen Famine and ate several hundred hamburgers in one day."
The really painful stories, those that touched on the personal (the revelation of God's abandonment, Uriel's betrayal, Dean's attempted defection,) those he wasn't going to share. He didn't expect Lee would either. But there was no need; it was a given that they were there, an unspoken backdrop to the tales that were merely strange or interesting, and--judging by what had been said--probably very alike in terms of the scars they'd left behind ( ... )
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She was way too sober to tell any of her own personal ones--though, get the contents of about half a bar in her, and she'd go off on tangents about this charge and that and how they'd died, and what an idiot her son was, and end the night in a sobbing, soggy, pukey puddle. Holly was rarely touched upon, though, even at her most sloshed. She still bled for Holly, over twenty years later.
"Wha--oh. Right. We supposedly practice some form of democracy here. I'm in Slytherin." She made a face. "It's got a bar, but it's not my bar. The one in Ravenclaw's better." And Lee being Lee, it was where she spent the vast majority of her waking hours at Hogwarts. "Seriously, there's fuck-all actual organization here. A talking goddamn hat asked me what I thought about refridgerators and stuck me somewhere."
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"I see." He nodded. "Sam mentioned the hat. I suppose I'll just have to hope for the best." He paused. "What's it like? The Ravenclaw bar, I mean." It was true, what he'd said earlier; he stayed well away from such places normally, but...well, Dean had put it in his crude yet eloquent fashion: Dude, you full-on rebelled against Heaven. Iniquity is one of the perks!
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She smirked, outright amused. "Don't tell me you've never been in one."
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She started gigglesnorting away, because Jesus Christ that was hilarious.
"Jesus," she said, holding a hand up to her face to try and muffle the sound, "that's too good. Right. So you're here and not Heaven, and it sounds like you've been fucked over, so have some fun. Get drunk, get laid, whatever. Ravenclaw's as good a start as any."
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Despite the peculiar introduction, he hoped he would. Preferably after his face had had plenty of time to cool off.
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