Bela stared at the white wall in front of her, brow furrowed in concentration. She formed the words in her mind, sharp and clear with no chance of mistake. I love dogs, the smaller and yappier the better, she practiced once or twice, before moving to say the words out loud. Instead, all that came out was a small feeling of pressure in her head, and
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"You look like a butch lesbian."
Sam had balked a bit, so had Dean, but he chalked it up to too much beer and too little sleep. And now he was outside Bela's door, bottle of wine in hand. A deal was a deal, after all. She had helped them find the Horn, and Dean Winchester always keeps his promises.
Dean reached out, knocking.
"Bela, you there?"
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"Go away, Dean", she hissed urgently.
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