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Castiel had finally gotten around to investigating the bar in Ravenclaw tower, and found the place to his liking. He could sit quietly and watch people come and go if he wanted to, socialize if he liked (which he hadn't yet ventured to do, but he was working up to it,) and he could drink as much as he wanted of whatever he liked.
He'd been trying not to abuse the privilege. Getting roaring drunk, he'd been assured, did little to improve his disposition. Though Dean had made some puzzling allusions to marijuana that frankly stumped him, as he hadn't tried the stuff. Yet.
This afternoon, though, he was here for a purpose, waiting for Bobby to arrive so that they could set in motion their plan to exact retribution upon the Winchester boys for the events their prank war had set in motion the night of the Yule party.
Practical jokes were still unfamiliar territory to the angel. But he was cautiously optimistic that the plan was both appropriate and effective; Bobby had devised the spells, and he had thought of the delivery system.
Whether it would be funny, on the other hand...well, that he really wasn't qualified to judge. He was fairly sure, though, that Dean and Sam would not be laughing.