They don't make it back to Los Angeles that day. It's only seven or eight hours, but Lopez is tired, and has made it quite clear no one is driving Baby (she named it) until they pass her muster for driving. He doesn't yet. Not that he hadn't driven before. Frankly, when he was in New York last, land yachts like this were the fad. It's more that it's been a good fifty five or so years behind the wheel, but it has to be like riding a bicycle, right? How hard could it be?

Besides, they're stopped at a motel a few miles outside of Joshua Tree State Park so it's all wide open spaces, few other cars, and traffic is a pipe dream. Michael could have handled that.

But as far as motor vehicles went, Scrappy was controlling the horizontal and the vertical on that, and she was too tired after shopping to make it any farther than the desert. So, here they were. Michael wouldn't have minded so much except for the flea trap they were staying at had no other rooms available. Consider the desolation of the area, Mike figured that meant the hotel had a lot of, ahem, few hours a time visitors who were booked up already.

That or cooking meth across the courtyard, he'd not put it past humans for that either.

It was, perhaps, some small blessing from obviously not his father but somewhere in the multiverse that the bedroom at least had two doubles. His luck did not extend as far as the beds being quite long enough for him. He wasn't even as tall as he was, but somehow because of course, at about 5'10, the bed still wasn't quite accommodating him.

It might have, just a little, put him at maximum levels of annoyed.

He lets that be known by huffing as he slides into his bed, the one closest to whatever passes for a bathroom. Ella shakes her head and points to the one by the door. "Nope."

"Excuse me? They're identical, and I claimed this shitty box spring first, chica."

"You're the all powerful archangel and this place is sketch. You sleep near the door."

Michael sits up and arches his left eyebrow at her. "Wait, you want me to be the bait?"

"Not bait but if some methed out asshat breaks in to do unspeakable things...you're an angel. Me, not so much."

"I finally sat down!"

"I drove the last five hours from Tucson!"

"Yes, but I just got settled."

"Up," she says again, gesturing to the other bed. "Scoot."

"I'm also not a pigeon, Scrappy," he grumbles again, but she has a point. He'd rather some John or druggie or meth cook try their luck with him first before Lopez. He's not due for at least five days to, uh, find a mark, but that type of bed arrangement is really a win-win for both of them. He just doesn't want her to feel she can boss an archangel around so easily. Standing, he grabs his duffle and rolls his eyes. "I'm a generous guy."

"Super generous. Totally, ask the valet at the last place we stayed," she says, getting her parade of trunks to her side. Well her side now.

"If they want tips, they should get a better job, that's a tip."

"How are you an infuriating mix of sometimes really nice but also my Abuelito Hector?"

"Does your abuelito also refuse to be twenty dollars for someone to get my car when I could have parked it on my own but the place makes you not do that? Cause good on him for avoiding the racket."

She mutters to herself in angry Spanish and pulls out some pajamas from her bag. "Unbelievable. I get it. Probation, yadda yadda, but you're still an angel. Aren't you all like expansive and generous?"

He snorts and slips onto his new bed. "Some of us can afford to. Samael has some bank. Some of us are smart enough not to get taken."

"Guh, you should be on one of those TLC shows. I swear."

"Would they pay me to share my secrets?" He perks up at that. "Michael's secret-abandoned zoos are roomier than you think."

"No, never happening."

"Well have you tried sleeping in a lion habitat before?"

She glares at him and he knows it's supposed to be threatening but it comes off as impossibly...cute. Yeah, and he needs that second room stipulation once they get to civilization again. "You are nothing like I thought an angel would be."

"I get that a lot, actually."

"Anyway, don't be such a codo."

"Gonna gather not a great thing."

"Cheapskate."

He smirks at her. "I, Lopez, am a font of ancient wisdom. Saving a buck comes with that."

She lets out a long sigh and curls up on her bed, and when she stops being a flurry of motion, Michael is always struck by how tiny Ella actually is. And she thinks she wants to go out and fight crime. He's honestly impressed she made it work as long as she did without getting killed already. Now, he just needs to talk her out of this bullshit as soon as possible. The more she tries, the more she runs the risk of injury or worse, and if that happens, well, the universe would be poorer for it.

But mainly he'd get blamed and Michael has no interest in getting pummeled by his idiot brothers because they forgot to pay attention to their prodigal 's all.

"Anyway, we'll work on the tightwad thing."

"Will we?"

"Anyway," she starts again, pulling a pile of he assumes pj's from beside her. "I might have not just picked up dresses for you."

"Yes, so ravishing. I swear I better gone a Silicon Valley moron out of their nest egg at some serious poker for that, Lopez."

"You looked great!"

"I felt strapped in."

"Kind of the point. Our clothes? Not comfortable."

"Robes are. I don't get why you have to do things more complicated than that. Clearly human fashion peaked in the desert dwelling era." And he's said too much again, made Lopez blue screen of death a bit when she remembers that he's literally that old (and then some). Her jaw goes slack and she stares not just at him but also toward the stars in the window behind him and, he presumes, in the general direction of Dad. "You okay?"

"Sorry, I forget. You're a grouchy ass, but you're so normal."

"Angel, not space alien." Although he had siblings who had no clue how earth worked and acted like Ren Faire rejects on the best of days. Remi came to mind, but Amenadiel-no surprise-had been about as clueless before befriending Sam. Somehow. Michael was still baffled how that had even happened. "I'm not unfamiliar with stuff, just not loving all the changes, mostly in prices."

She rolled her eyes back at him, but there was a smile tugging on her lips as she did it that made his heart beat a little faster. Stupid mortal plane. "Anyway, you really...I know it's just a way to get to the right marks and stuff, and you hate it-"

"We mostly do robes above anyway. The not-so-tight dresses are honestly more familiar than pants."

"Right, well, still you have to do this to make the big bucks, but you do look nice." She takes a breath in between and shrugs. "You really...you looked good."

He doesn't know what to say at first. He doesn't really think he can look good, at least not since the Fall and the ruin of his right side. With the angry slash still healing and sometimes inflamed bisecting his face, he knows that's even more of a pipe dream. But she seems genuine and kind about it, and it's nice that she's trying. Even if he doesn't want to look good this way or be a woman at all. It's the first time in maybe ever anyone has ever complimented his looks at all.

"Thanks, Scraps, but I don't think that's probably true." He gestures to his right cheek. "When I was, well, a guy angel, I was tall and broad as we usually tend to be, quite similar to my twin." Understatement. "Add the posture and the scar and I was intimidating. Now...the way you approached me at the El Dorado, I must be pitiable, right?"

"You looked hurt."

He snorted bitterly. "Well, then truth in advertising."

"But mostly, I approached you because you looked not just hurt. I don't go up to everyone with a scar cause it's rude."

He winks at her. "Only I get to be so lucky, imagine my joy." He ducks a pillow aimed at him and snatches it out of the air with his good hand. "I trained His legions. You're going to have to be faster than that."

"Rayos."

"But I was a special charity case?" He asks, and his voice comes out a little snippy, even to him.

She stills and regards him with those huge Bambi eyes of hers. "You were so sad. I just...I thought you needed help."

"I'm fine."

"Well duh, yeah now cause we have a plan and a business going."

"That's a generous way to describe running tables with card counting and abused gifts from God."

"It's technically true," she chirps. "But you don't...your side and your face aren't as bad as you think."

"Oh, I'm sure they are, but for what it's worth, Ella, I do appreciate you being nice. I...the blue one was almost nice, the most robe-like at least."

She swallows hard and nods. "Yes, super pretty. Def my fave. But I got other stuff."

"I veto thongs and whatever a spanx is. No."

"We'll renegotiate," she counters.

He crosses his arms over his chest and then drops them as if scalded-yeah still not used to the breasts. "Unless I'm going to Texas Hold 'Em Jeff Bezos, we're not."

"But," she says. "I got you a few things for fun."

He groans not sure what fun would be. Soon he's catching a pj set that she's flung at him, gathering the t-shirt and pants to his chest before he gets a clear look at them. "Lopez, I swear to Dad if these are matching…"

"Are not."

He rolls his eyes again and she's going to give him a bad habit, before examining the shirt more. Since it's Lopez, he expects some cartoon muppet or an alien or both on it. What he doesn't exactly anticipate is despite the black and royal purple with caligraphy that would have been at home in the Middle Ages but the "Warrior Vibes" text actually kind of fits. Or it did once.

"That's actually nice," he admits and suddenly from nowhere and are humans that fast? Anyway there's a former forensic scientist hugging him. Michael really does not take an extra beat to maybe, a little, sniff her hair and enjoy the citrus shampoo she uses before pushing her away gently and making a fuss. "No, we're not hugging friends yet."

"Oh, everyone's hugging friends. My buddy Lucifer says that all the time, but he gives good hugs, like deep down. He just doesn't know it yet."

Michael stiffens at the mention of his twin, his mood souring slightly, but she doesn't know that his twin the Devil Samael and her Lucifer are the same guy, and Michael very much wants to keep it that way. So, for once, he foregoes the chance to bitch about his idiot brother. "Maybe, but I don't need a limpet grabbing onto me."

"Oh you do." And to spite him, she sneaks in a quick hug before settling back on her bed.

"I've smited beings for less."

"If you smite me, you can't drive-"

"I very much can."

"Right. Just you and Baby in the desert and even odds you can't get it back to L.A. cause it's been like fifty years, dude." She nods resolutely. "You are not going to smite me."

"I reserve the right to do that if you annoy me enough, Scrappy."

She sticks her tongue out at him and, fuck, his belly is warm again and if he doesn't stop finding about everything she does cute, he's going to just have that problem again, and he can't deal with it. It's too much. So, he closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths, and thinks of how punchable Sam is and while the warmth does not go away, it does dissipate.

A little.

"You wouldn't. We've got to train and get Pete together and then become high rollers."

He shakes his head. "I offered to help you with Pete, chica. I didn't intend for you to come with me."

"Um, I'm going to L.A. so-"

"I can go scare him at house arrest deal. Not hard."

Lopez's face freezes and even through his normal defenses and attempts to tone down his stupid power, Michael can feel the terror riot through her. The stench of lilies and the heat of hot house lamps is too much and he shuffles over to her less than gracefully-always that-and takes her hand.

She recoils and he realizes that his presence, muted as it is, has startled her. He steps away but stays on her side of their hovel. "Sorry, I-"

"I wasn't made to comfort the usual way, Scrappy. It's me, not you, but I'm hear and I will soon be making that dick very very sorry. You all just have the expression for avenging angel. You've never seen it." He offers her a lopsided smile and feels the heat die down a bit. The sickly sweet scent of lilies does not leave him. "You're safe. Promise."

"I know, but I...he has house arrest?"

"Yeah, I Googled him on my phone today to start planning. Anyway, an uncle on his father's side is some loaded real estate asshole who felt just bad enough to get him some of those shiny crooked lawyers. I think some firm called Wheeler."

"Ugh," she groans and then curses in French and Spanish (he thinks) and really digs in with that weird guttural one from a sci-fi show or some shit. "Of course that firm. They do all the mob shit in town."

"Well, I guess his uncle has the worst of all possible connections. I've got it, chica. I can make what happened to that guy in the alley look like a fun frolic in the park, trust me."

She quirks her head at him and says something no one has in millennia, "I do."

He swallows, not even realizing how much he needed to hear that, though even he can admit his tantrum in L.A. didn't exactly engender trust on any level. Still, no one says that to him and the heat curls out from his belly, and he staunchly ignores it for her. "Good, but you don't have to get near him. Why would you want that?"

"I...I can handle it."

The way even he wants to puke from lily aromas says otherwise. "Lopez-"

She stands up and glares at him. "I'm not weak."

"I did not say that. I just said if you got a mostly angel to help you, feel free to let me do the heavy lifting, you know?"

"Everyone thinks I'm going to crack and break and shatter and back home Linda and Chloe were nice and kept wanting me to talk but I don't need that. I've survived worse."

Michael can feel the edges of something else as she speaks, of her parents and a priest and ritual but he forces himself not to read it as she has no idea how much she's broadcasting. But that worries him, deep down, what other things have already hurt her and the chance that everything with fucking Pete Daly is a straw to break the camel's back. Latecomer that Michael is, he may be her only witness to the delayed reaction.

He wishes he could put a hand on her shoulder to steady her, but he was not made that way and as amped up as she is, he cannot offer her physical comfort. And fuck you too, Father, for everything.

"I wanted to spare you."

"I have to go."

He can feel the fear in her: the lilies, the whatever with the priest when she was a child, and now a third thing, the fear that she's going to crumble apart. And he desperately doesn't want that to happen. Michael's not even sure why it matters that much to him, why she does, but she's felt all he can do, all the pain he can inflict, and wants to help him. So, he wants to return the favor.

"All right, when I pay my visit, you can come too. But tomorrow, before we hit the road, we'll train some, and if you get there and you can't-I wouldn't think less of you, Lopez-but you call the shots here. I'm just the muscle."

He turns back to his bed but a small, soft hand is on his bicep. The lilies are so fucking pungent, but she does it anyway. Ella sniffles and looks up with him and there is such trust in his eyes, and it's addictive.

"You're more than that, Mike."

"Yeah, well, end of that very Brady Bunch moment."

"You're so old."

"You literally cannot understand how old I am, chica. But I'm starving, maybe I can find a vending machine or a bad diner next door or something...I'll be right back." He smiles a bit again, hoping she at least finds it a comforting expression, before heading out into the night.

Fuck, there really better be more cooking at this roach motel than the meth.

He focuses his Celestial hearing and finds the humming of machines fairly easily. Wrapping around corridors, and ignoring the thumps and moans coming from several rooms on his way (and perfect by now he is definitely going to have to wait till Scrappy passes out to shower because reasons), Michael comes to a few vending machines that look possibly older than even him but hey, twinkies are all preservatives anyway, right?

He goes to work, getting as much soda and goodies as he can carry and, you know, by apply angelic levels of pressure and strength to the machines because paying is for suckers. When he turns around with his arms weighted down with his spoils, he drops a can of Coke.

It bounces and explodes everywhere.

Azrael is in front of him and she's scowling.