milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Dean's changing the oil on the Impala. Sam should be in the motel room, working on gathering more background information for their next case.

He can't make himself sit still long enough to focus.

After the sixth circuit of the room, he throws his hands in the air and stalks through the door to Milliways instead.

At least there he can grab better coffee than the cheap vending machine crap, right?

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"You tell me," he returns, and meets her gaze with his own steady regard.

"You're the one that's stubborn as stone."

This is probably Michael's polite way of saying Sam's a fucking idiot.

Again.

"Me telling you anything has yet to bear fruit."

She props her chin in one hand, still looking at Sam.

"You're lucky I'm patient."

"Yeah, well, I guess that makes you the exception to the angelic rule," he says -- and the bitterness in his words could etch sheet metal.

Beat.

"Being patient, I mean."

"I'm an exception to a lot of the rules."

Michael isn't smiling.

"Pull the stick out of your ass, Sam, and sit down. I won't even make you eat a donut."

He gives her a flat look, and hesitates for a second or two... but then sits down across from her.

"So," he says again.

A longer beat this time.

"How's it going?"

"The same as ever, aside from the odd averted apocalypse."

She flicks her fingers in a quick, dismissive gesture, then takes a bite out of a donut covered in icing and brightly-colored sprinkles.

She follows this up with a sip of coffee.

"And you're still making questionable decisions bulwarked by frantic justifications? Or has something changed in the interim?"

Even an angel can live in hope. Perhaps especially an angel.

"Yeah, I heard a little about what went down here." He gives her a sideways look. "Were you involved in that?"

At her question, his look gets a little flatter.

"Things are different now."

Michael merely raises her eyebrows, coffee cup held up to her lips, motionless.

"Of course, Sam. Why wouldn't I defend those that need it?"

She'll want that answer in essay format. With citations.

"But I think the real question here and now is not if things are different, but if you are different. So tell me, Sam Winchester. Are you?"

"I wasn't saying you wouldn't--"

Although he's known angels who'd toss over a whole town or more for their own purposes, and something of darkness at that memory flickers in his glance.

"-- I meant were you here when it happened."

"As for me... " He looks her right in the eye.

"Don't know what you're looking for in terms of 'different,' so...."

"And as I said, of course I was here. Do you doubt me?"

Inquiring minds want to know. Or maybe it's a test.

So many things are. Like this one!

"Pfft. Semantics. You're better than that, Sam."

She doesn't sound like someone in much doubt.

"... no. No, I don't doubt you."

A long beat.

"Yeah, well, turns out Dean wasn't too thrilled with the idea of me handling demons like I was, so."

"At least one of you has the sense given to a gnat. It shows promise."

Her smile is a tiny thing, and hidden by the cup of coffee as she takes a sip.

"And do you understand his reasons, or have you changed your ways only because he is your brother, and his fate was terrible?"

He bristles a little inwardly at that, and swallows it back before saying anything.

"I understand why, yeah."

"And do you believe those reasons to be good? Or true?"

Leading mankind by the hand has never been Michael's way, but she's willing to make exceptions.

Once in a while.

At great need.

Then she'll start smashing heads.

"I think he's got a point."

He's just not sure it's good enough, not any more, but that's neither here or there at the moment.

"Can we stop with the third degree now?"

"That," Michael says pleasantly, setting her coffee down and propping her chin up in both hands, "depends entirely on you."

Eat the goddamn donut, Sam.

"Do you think you can stop glaring at me so resentfully now?"

Sam eyes her for a second, then succumbs to a reluctant grin.

"I will if you will," he offers.

"My face is just stuck this way."

It used to be, at least. And her default expression still tends to be more dour than most.

"My brother despairs."

"Brothers are like that sometimes," he confides, relaxing further.

Her mouth twitches at one corner.

"At least you have only the one."

She has uncounted legions. It can be tiresome.

Without even an instant's hesitation:

"I don't need any more. I have Dean."

"I wasn't offering to lend mine out."

Michael runs her finger around the rim of her coffee cup.

It obligingly refills itself. And reheats.

"I don't think you'd like them much, anyway."

Sam shrugs, and nods to her coffee cup.

"Nice trick."

"I've got a lot of them."

It's part of the package, in its way.

"Do you want me to top you up?"

"... sure, why not."