Chapter Four

Michael meets Ella at her apartment the next day. After Ella proposed one of the dumbest ideas Michael ever heard-and he spent so much one-on-one time with Samael forming the universe, so he knows from dumb ideas-Michael was too shocked to prod much. Honestly, after watching her start shoving clothes in a couple suitcases for a bit, he left. Ella confused him and overwhelmed him, and now he'd somehow been conned into agreeing to a three thousand mile road trip with her.

Maybe he just should have agreed to fly in an airplane after all.

Or maybe he should have just left Reno two weeks ago when he pulled his Good Samaritan act and left Ella Lopez in the dust. She's nothing but trouble, and he can tell that much about her too. If anything happens to her while she's under his care, Samael will end him and yet…she touched him. She knew what he was and had felt the very worst of what he could do when he was so uncontrolled. And it was after that that she'd suggested being road trip buddies. Possibly vigilantes, but Michael was hoping to talk her out of that.

He'd never had that before, never had an experience like that, even when his levels of "totally creepy" as Rae Rae had put it more than once had been more controlled, even then all his siblings had been nervous around him. Dear Father, even the Favorite was scared of Michael deep down, which was annoying because they were twins and Samael should have been able to see past that.

So he was, all things considered, weak.

A little human contact of all things-and mortals had never merited his attention before-and he was willing to do whatever Ella suggested. Well, it wouldn't continue that way. She was the human and he was (mostly) the archangel. She'd listen to him. It wouldn't be all her rules until New Jersey.

Nope.

Michael slides out of his cab and glares at the driver. Pulling on the man's fears of spiders (common, boring, yawn), he's able to get the man speeding away before the credit cards he doesn't have are even asked for. Good, free's the best price for anything anyway. It doesn't take much for him to bound up the stairs to Ella's modest place and knock on her door. She pulls it open and greets him with a wide smile.

This leave Michael doing a double take.

No one is ever happy to see the Angel of Fear. Well, at least until now.

She has three suitcases and a duffle bag over her shoulder. Currently, she's sporting her usual jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt. This one has a baby sloth on it yawning and something about hating Mondays. And this is the woman who thinks she can go and attack scum at bars and fashion herself an avenging angel in the spirit of Remiel. But he couldn't see the Angel of the Hunt in such a cutesy t-shirt. Dear Dad, he was going to have to work overtime to keep this one from getting herself hurt. When he lived in New Jersey decades ago, he'd heard a frequent saying, one that seemed to apply to Ella's would-be vigilante side. The girl is already trying to write checks with her mouth and her actions that her body can't cash.

Apparently, that's what she has half of the Demiurge for.

She bats her eyes at him and something small flip flops in his stomach. Michael ignores it. He's just here to make sure she doesn't get killed and because, honestly, he has nothing else to do. Anything else is just…he's off kilter from his needs yesterday and from being caught flat footed, that's all.

"Dude, great! My bags are freaking heavy." She considers him, her eyes lingering over his damaged side and then stills. "Can you get the duffle and the smallest suitcase has wheels so…"

Michael narrows his eyes at her and takes the heaviest one in his left hand out of spite. "I have a weak side, but I'm not a mortal. You should try remembering that more, Lopez. Not to blow your mind," much, "but I literally fashioned planets. I can carry a suitcase."

"Oh, well, my bad," she offers, still taking up the two other suitcases and he takes the hint to slide the duffle over his right shoulder. "I was trying to be nice."

He rolls his eyes. That he doesn't need. No one's made that effort for him before. It's ancillary now. Besides, there's a line between kindness and pity, and Michael loathes the latter. Better to be hated than pitied, and maybe, alright definitely he drove siblings off in the Silver City after Sam ruined him. He didn't need those looks, still doesn't.

"Look," he says, as they descend the steps. "you did a very stupid and, okay, helpful thing last night. You're a painfully good person, Lopez."

"You make that sound like a bad thing," she huffs as they get to the bottom of the stairwell. Michael falls behind her as she leads the way to her car. "How can it be bad?"

"Because you're the type who put everyone else ahead of you and your own needs. A martyr type. I can tell. There's no percentage in that. Also, don't…I'm still the Celestial here." After a fashion and mostly on a technicality… "I'm not weak."

"I didn't say that," Ella replies over her shoulder. "I was just trying to be nice. I figured you didn't want my heaviest one."

"Don't assume shit, chica. I'm still stronger than any human has ever been, okay?"

Ella turns a sharp right and darts across the parking lot, and he follows suit. They arrive in front of a Mini-Cooper in the parking lot, and Michael shudders. On good days, his right shoulder aches, and he can't get pins and needles, but he's still tall, even in this shape, and he has little interest in his legs staying bunched up for hours on end in this so-called car.

"You can steal cars, and this is what you boosted?"

Ella rolls her eyes. "No, I've been renting stuff. I guess me being all catatonic…you weren't really paying attention in the dark and the total craziness to what car we took here. Anyway, I'm gonna return this and then I'll show you where we're getting our wheels from. For a road trip like this? We're gonna want space and some horsepower under the hood."

"Exactly," he agrees, helping her shove her bags in her trunk.

He rushes back to the stairwell and grabs his own slightly battered blue duffle back and a backpack. He packs light and owns little, which is a good thing as Lopez has come packing. Michael gets his few earthly possessions in the cramped back seat and then scrunches up passenger side.

"Yeah, we better not go the rest of the country like this. I'll be a pretzel."

"Dude, I know what I'm doing," she says, as she pulls out.

Michael has a bet going with himself, how long Lopez can go without talking. Granted, he's seen her do that for hours just last night but that doesn't really count. His powers threw her for a loop. Normally, Sam's the only other being he knows who can out-talk Ella. He mentally gets to thirty-five seconds before she turns down some Dad-awful pop song on the radio and looks to her side.

"So, how many planets have you made?"

Michael chuckles to himself. "I had a feeling this was coming."

"What?" she asks, pulling out of the complex.

"That this is going to be a long game of twenty questions or more like Celestial trivia."

"Well, you have to give me some credit, Mike. I'm only human."

"You said it, Lopez, not me."

"And I was almost a nun, so this is a big freaking deal. Right now, I have an angel with me, and I want to know everything. I mean, what's God like?"

He bites back the immediate response that Dad's an asshole and way prone to wrath. They have a long ass trip ahead of them, and they won't get to Atlantic City if he crushes her faith in the first four miles. Instead, he tries to offer what he can.

"I thought mortals were all big about faith because it came without proof, just on dedication and hope. Does it change things now that you know?"

"Well," she considers as she makes her way out of the neighborhood they've been in and to the highway. "kind of? I mean, it's the Big Guy! I've always wanted to know about Him and now I can without having to wait. That's pretty tempting, Mikey."

He grimaces. "No nicknames."

"Sure whatever. I just mean that no hints at all?"

Michael considers her. "I think some things aren't for you to know, and not in a big, cosmic order kind of way. Obviously, I wouldn't be like I am right now if I gave a crap about the rules, you know?"

"But?"

"Well, think about it this way, Lopez. The Big Guy is your idol, kind of literally. He's larger than life and mythic and everything to you. To me, he's still my father. I mean, if someone came to you as your mom's biggest fangirl, would you only have glowing things to say about her?"

Ella frowns and turns her eyes back to the road. "I love my mamí."

"I didn't say you didn't. But you're not gonna tell your mom's hypothetical fan about that time she smacked you at Christmas for trying to sneak cookies or was on your ass about your homework one night till you cried or whatever it is human kids do, right?"

"No, of course not."

"Exactly, so sure, Dad's big and awe-consuming and designed the entire multiverse. I spent billions-literally-years singing his praises along with my siblings. The hype is earned. But he's not theoretical to me either. He's my father." Michael laughs bitterly. "As you can see, we're not having a good patch. So whatever I say will be brutally honest, and, Lopez, you're not ready to hear it."

"I…so He's not all love and light and wisdom?"

Michael snorts. "He thinks He is. When I was a younger and actually real angel, I thought He was. I dunno. A lot of my siblings still love him and sing His praises. It could just be me. But, yeah, some ground rules so I don't disappoint you."

"Oh."

"Yeah, because I can lie and I do, but sometimes especially when it concerns Dad, I'm pretty blunt." He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, and even after close to four months, it feels weird to have breasts. To lack other things. And thank you Father for that. "I won't say I haven't earned being punished. I did pull some serious shit lately." He glares at her curious eyes back on him. "No, not going to elaborate, chica. Anyway, He changed my gender, took my wings, and has left me in pain so crippling that I have to do something…" he pauses then because his reality is horrifying and degrading and beneath the Host in every way. "…that I don't like doing, okay? So, no, to me? Dad's not great." He sighs and shrugs his good shoulder. "He does love humans a lot, though. I think to you, Dad would be really positive."

Ella looks back to the road, but she's not sitting up as high in her seat now. "But the Big Guy can be abusive, huh?"

"You said you were a novitiate for a while. Did you not read the Old Testament? That's Dad's style, at least with the Host." He glances at her and sighs again. "Lopez, look, I think that there are some rules for this. If I didn't want to talk to you, then I wouldn't have agreed to anything this idiotic."

"Gee, thanks dude."

"But a few things I can't talk about and mostly cause they'd hurt you more than me. Dad's off limits. I do think he loves humans a lot more than us angels, so good on you guys. But He and I are kind of not talking right now." Understatement. "So I don't have much good to say. I don't want to talk about my half-brother either. I never met him, don't know him, didn't keep track of him in the Silver City."

"You mean Heaven?"

"Exactly, so I'm not a good source on Jesus." He looks back out the window and notes that they're passing row after row of used car lots by now. "And I can't…I pulled some serious shit. I get that. I had my reasons, but I'm like this now, punishment levied, and I can't change it, not at all. So, I don't want to talk about what I did to really piss Dad off." He squirms in his seat and readjusts his legs as best as he can, but if he were mortal, they'd be asleep. Badly asleep. "You stick to those parameters-no God, nothing about the Lamb, and no twenty questions about why I'm being punished. You stick with that, and the rest will be smooth like cream cheese."

"But if I want to ask about the universe and making it and about all you've seen cause you've been around like forever?"

He shrugs. "Stories, I've got. You can have them. So, that's the deal, Lopez. Sound good?"

She nods. "Cool, I just…I'm sorry that the Big Guy-"

He rolls his eyes. "We barely got started on this. Lopez, Dad's complicated. I've done my share of bad shit and I have had more than enough karma coming my way, okay? I don't…I'm sure if He ever met you, Dad would love you."

He doesn't actually know that. Dad's inscrutable and for a while been pretty absent. He was bull shitting to his idiot siblings about having Father's ear, and the desperate Fledglings bought it completely. However, the last of them to hear from Dad was Amenadiel when he was ordered to make Sam a little girlfriend. Michael just saw the open opportunity in radio silence to play the right angle. Until Dad popped up in the precinct and essentially cursed him, he hadn't talked to Father in decades. And, again, Michael wouldn't call what they did have in L.A. a conversation as much as being called on the carpet and summarily dismissed. He has no idea if his father would like Ella at all.

However, the Devil and the First Born seemed to enjoy her. That had to say something for her attention-grabbing abilities. She's not awful to be around. So, yeah, one of Dad's better humans, for sure.

Ella beams back at him as she pulls into a used car lot to the right of the highway. She parks the Mini-Cooper behind a bush and takes a deep breath. "That's cool, though. I'm glad the Big Guy would like me."

Michael offers her a tight smile. Usually, he lies like he talks, but he hasn't had much interest in doing it with Ella. But a little white lie won't hurt. Besides, every other Celestial (and whatever the fuck Sam is now) that she's met seems to like her. Seems a logical guess. It's not like Ella will meet Dad any time soon. Even in the Silver City, and when Lopez dies after like fifty more years, Father tends to barely show himself to the Host, let alone humans.

But, sure, if they crossed paths, Dad might actually find her amusing at least.

Sometimes, even Michael does.

"See, and that concludes all the Heavenly Father talk for as long as we hang out, chica."

"Tenemos un trato. I won't forget, okay? No God, no Jesus, and I won't dig about your punishment, cool?"

"Great, now, we're ditching your rental car?"

"Meh, the lot owners will find it, figure it out, call Avis or whatever. What we're here for? That's totally the silver tuna!"

He laughs, and Michael finds he does that with Ella a lot. Hell, the fact he does it at all near her is novel. It's probably why he tolerates her at all.

"What even is that? I don't deal in fish."

She slides out of the car, and Michael dos the same, happy to be happy to release his legs and no longer be scrunched. He may not tower quite as much as he used to, but almost six feet was still not made for a car that tiny. More like a freaking roller skate if you ask him.

"Silver Tuna? Home Alone? Hello!" she blinks at him. "Oh, I guess you guys don't get movies in Heaven much."

"My pop culture knowledge comes in pocket. I was doing an errand for Father in the early 80s or, well, at least when Gabriel handed it out, the word was it was Father's Will," he corrects. "I spent almost twenty years in New York in the 50s and 60s. But, no, I guess 'silver tunas' missed me."

Ella frowns, and he can tell she wants to ask him what he was doing on earth for so long. Michael should have made that the fourth rule. It was stupid, what he'd done, and settling with a mortal had been an utter disaster. Twenty years was is a blink for a Celestial. Not so for mortals and they change and grow frail so fast. And it just…the way he didn't change had come between them.

But she seems to think better of yet more twenty questions and instead gestures broadly to the lot. All the cars on it are classics, restored beauties from the 60s and 70s. Michael remembers seeing land yachts like this decades ago in Brooklyn-the long sleek bodies, the tail fins, the exaggerated and ornamental bubbled head and tail lights. He has to give Lopez credit; the girl has some taste.

"So, we're going to help ourselves to a real car, huh?"

She nods eagerly, her jaunty ponytail bouncing as she does it. "Yup, got it in one. I was gonna do this anyway when I moved onto the next town."

Michael eyes her. Nothing about this whole caper reflects what he knows so far about Sam's pet, but he admits he didn't really get to know her long in Los Angeles. She's craftier than he assumed, and Michael regrets deeply now using Espinoza and not her. If he had, maybe he'd have gotten away with his plans instead.

"Well, aren't you the deviant."

"Dude, I used to boost cars with my brothers all the time in Detroit. We'd sell em to chop shops and it was a good racket."

"Black Jack and car theft. Interesting."

She frowns at him. "Huh."

"What?"

"I thought an angel would have more to say about how wrong all that is."

"I'm on probation, and I want leg space to New Jersey." He follows her as she walks briskly to the far end of the lot. No one is around on this Monday afternoon, and Michael realizes that this is deliberate. She knew if they came here today, they wouldn't be interrupted. "You've been casing this place?"

"Oh yeah. I knew when I got to Reno I need to trade up. Took me a week to find the right lot and another to figure out both which car I wanted and the hours and shifts. We won't be bothered."

He gives a low whistle. "I think I like your style, Scrappy Doo."

She glares at him but lets it drop. "Sure, whatever, but feast your eyes on this!" Ella rounds a corner and reveals the Impala beside her. It's early sixties, though Michael's basing that on memory and not on overwhelming expertise of mortal vehicles.

The car is long with a roomy trunk that will more than accommodate even her bags. Its end comes with extended, dramatic fins and its color is an eye catching turquoise laced through with sparkles and other flecks of paint. The top's a convertible, a creamy white that compliments the base, and glancing through the window, Michael notes that the bench seats and even the dashboard are all original—that or restored with loving attention to detail. It's a beautiful car and one, he notes happily, that has ample leg room for him (not that Lopez needs it for herself).

"Silver tuna!" she exclaims, as if he'll have any better clue what that means as she speaks.

"Sure, we'll go with this. It's a beauty."

"You can drive stick right?"

"I didn't drive much in New York, no need, but I picked enough up. I can handle it."

She leans again the car and crosses her arms over her chest. After everything that happened last night, Michael's amazed that she glares at him not just with frustration but with authority. She's felt all that he is, and yet Lopez can give him the stink eye as if he's not fear incarnate.

That seals it. Sam's pet scientist is bent.

Like way bent.

"Dude, be honest with me. This is a delicate baby. If you're just gonna grind the clutch and stall her out, I need to know. Then, I'll handle her to New Jersey."

"Lopez, I've got this. I can definitely pull my driving weight. I mean, I was driving cars like this…" Though none ever as beautiful. "Since before your parents were even born. You can start the trip, and if you want to test me out in a parking lot or back road later to prove my word, fine, but I can handle manual."

She nods. "Good because I do not want to strip this beauty's gears. She's totally the baby I've dreamed about since forever."

"With a five-finger discount?" he asks, more amused than anything else.

"Don't you know it." Her eyes dart diagonally across the lot to a cherry red mustang and she frowns. "That one was a runner up. I really liked it." Ella hesitates for a moment, and Michael leans closer to her, studying the complicated play of emotions across her face before she continues. "But this one…well…after we decided it would be a duo now, I figure the Impala was better."

"Can I ask why?"

She frowns and looks down at her hands. "The trunk's massive, dude. It can hold a body if it has to."

Michael steps back, a bit appalled-and for him that's saying a lot-at her words. "Look, you want to get your inner superhero on, I'm not for that, but I can't stop you so I'll shadow you. But I'm not…Dad has huge rules on murdering humans and that's not my deal. I don't want it to be."

Again, that's Mom's old deal. It was Uriel's too. Gross on both counts, and see where it got them.

Besides, he knows Ella's drowning, that the darkness is swallowing her up, and fuck that rat Pete. Michael has half a mind to go back to Los Angeles just to pay that bastard a very terrifying visit. He won't because that's Sam's territory, but someone should. However, for all her fears and anger and loss, Ella seemed stable. He wouldn't have pinned her version of vigilante justice as something that would include outright murder.

Ella's eyes go wide, and she waves her arms in front of her. "No. I mean way no. I wouldn't. I just want to take out any douchebags before they have a chance to hurt some unsuspecting girl at a club first."

Michael's still confused. "Then why do you need that much trunk space. You don't have that many suitcases."

Lopez offers him a small, sad smile, and he feels it again. That pity. He hates that look, especially from such vivid and soulful dark eyes. She doesn't even realize she's doing it; he's sure. But she's still the mortal here, and she doesn't have to feel bad for him. He made his choices, took his chances, and lost his in his calculations against Samael and Amenadiel. He's serving his sentence like the man he is (qualified term lately), and there's no need to see teary eyes over it.

"Seriously, what for, Lopez?"

"I…if you take someone out to an alley and have to, uh, what are we calling what you do again?"

She's beet red, and Michael somehow appreciates that, for once, Ella's not just blurting out her random thoughts. Sometimes, they really can be insulting, even if she doesn't mean them to be. After all, he's not a fear vampire. The analogy is fair enough, but he's…

He made the multiverse, the power of Creation deep inside him was fashioned by Samael to make shape and pattern and structure, but it was still his gift that fueled it. He's not just a common monster now. He's not.

"Michael?"

He takes a deep, even breath and regards her. "I don't know. I just think of it as needing to feel better."

"Okay, then, uh, when you need a pick-me-up," she offers and it's probably the dumbest euphemism he can think of. But at least it's not called feeding. Even if, deep down, they both recognize what a predator he is now, especially Lopez. She's the one who's felt the brunt of it.

But he gathers himself together and continues anyway, "Alright so after a 'pick-me-up,' you want to shove some half-crazed man in the Impala's trunk?"

"Well, if they pass out, we could maybe have the room to drop them off at the ER or a police station or something? I just figured extra room couldn't hurt, right?"

Michael pinches the bridge of his nose and, even after months, it's jarring to feel its new (could have been smaller still, Dad) shape. "Well, more room could come in handy for a lot of things. I'll give you that, chica." He sets his hand down and regards her, forcing himself to offer her a small smile. "Way to think ahead, I guess."

The frown is still etched on her face, but he shrugs. There's only so far he's going to go to make her feel less awkward. It's sweet in a way that she's thinking about his needs. He just wishes they weren't a factor at all, and it hurts in some way he can't quite explain to know she's been planning around his powers. His punishment. Because now that she's felt it, of course it's the first thing Lopez sees in him.

Probably the only thing.

And he thought that they were what?

Going to be friends.

Get real, Michael. Just keep her alive and Samael won't end you. This isn't a girls' trip, and you're not about to have slumber parties and pillow fights or whatever the fuck else.

It's about survival.

"Cool, I…hey, let's get the bags and get out of here. I don't want to tempt fate longer than we have to, you know?"

He nods and hurries with her to her crap rental car. "Yeah, good point. Don't want to leave Reno with a couple extra permanently catatonic police officers."

"Michael-"

"It's fine," he snaps, feeling tired despite the earliness of the morning. "You're driving, right, Scrappy Doo?"

"I hate that."

"Tough, Lopez, if the nickname fits-"

Michael doesn't anticipated the slap to his shoulder and Ella yips and shakes out her hand. "Mierda! That's like hitting granite."

He smirks at her, even as he gathers up the heaviest of her luggage from the Mini-Cooper. "Angel of the Lord, chica. I'm tough; I told you."

She shakes her hand out some but grabs a suitcase and both duffels. "Fine, whatever, oh angel, I'm still the one taking baby's wheel."

"For now. But yeah, let's get a move on. If we hurry, we can hit Vegas for some easy money before we grab dinner. I heard the buffets there? Great deals!"

Ella mutters something to herself under her breath in Spanish. Fuck if he knows what. It's Sam who speaks everything and Amendiel who knows a myriad of written languages. Michael can guess by the tone that it's not flattering.

"Hurry up!" He chides as he settles her stuff in the trunk. "And don't roll your eyes, Lopez. You asked for this. You wanted this Bonnie and Clyde thing."

"I was thinking more Thelma and Louise but with less gorge jumping."

"Yeah, we'll avoid that," he replies as she gets her own luggage tucked away and slips in behind the steering wheel. "No wings, remember?"

She nods. "Cool then, Mikey, we're off."

"I hate that, Scrappy Doo.

"Whatever," she snaps, and they're off.

Michael figures it's going to be a long seven hours plus to Vegas but as Ella lowers the convertible top and the wind rustles through his long hair, he finds, oddly, that he doesn't even mind. That, maybe, just a little, he's looking forward to it.