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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He sighs.

"Fine, be that way. It was a serious question."

Michael merely spreads her hands.

"What do you think might be different about archangels?"

It's a reasonable enough place to start.

There are certain things that must be believed to be seen, after all.

"Considering nothing about angels so far has been what I expected, I haven't a freakin' clue."

"You should."

Here Michael does smile, crooked and wry.

"Or your memory is a lot more terrible than you let on."

"You're not exactly what I expected an angel to be either," Sam informs her, although more quietly and less acidly than before.

"... but I do remember. When you, uh, spoke to me."

A beat.

"And that you're not that fond of demons."

That part's dry as dust.

"My brother hardly counts. Nor do you, as yet."

Her own voice is equally as dry.

"As for the rest -- that's largely the point, these days."

She lifts her cup of coffee up again, taking a long swallow.

"Armor works best against what it's built to anticipate."

"Your br-- wait, what do you mean, as yet?"

"My brother. Lucifer. Not yours, of course. But he did come home. Eventually."

She takes another long swallow of coffee.

"You're going to need to remember that. Your brother, too. Tell him for me, will you?"

Sam shoves his chair back, his expression settling into bleak lines and his tone instantly flat and grim.

"You and Cas both."

Beat.

"Told you before you were talking to the wrong Winchester. Fine. I'll tell him what you said."

"Already you're forgetting, Sam."

For one flickering instant Michael sounds tired.

She looks it, too.

"But I'll be here to remind you."

As often as it takes, and then once more.

For luck.

Or maybe for love.

"Never fear."

He shoves a hand through his hair, disordering it entirely, then lets it drop and just stares at her.

"I don't get it. I don't get you. But hey, at least you're not threatening to smite me into oblivion like the rest of them, so okay. Fair's fair. I'll carry your messages to Dean."

"Just the one," Michael says, tilting back in her chair, jade green eyes fixed on Sam.

"The rest have been for you."

If he would just get that, maybe she could rest content.

(But probably not.)

Sam gives her a doubtful look, but nods.

"... okay."

He pushes his coffee cup a little to the side, preparing to stand.

"Listen, I should get back. Dean's probably about done with the car by now."

"Of course he is."

At this time and in this place, Michael almost sounds kind.

It won't last.

"I'll see you again, Sam. Next time."

Whenever that may be.

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