He's Googled enough to figure out where Pete is. It's a lot of front page news following the actual Whisper Killer's trial and drama. Apparently, Pete has family in high enough places to be on house arrest in pretty cushy digs. Michael finds that shitty, but he also doesn't understand humans but so well. He gets them better than most of the Host, although he doesn't understand why Sam or Amenadiel are so besotted with them. The Miracle, yeah, makes sense. Someone as average as Linda Martin, no fucking clue. Yeah, he for all his idiocy loved Lily very much once, but she was the first, the mold breaker. That was different.

But, in general, except for the Miracle being a bit something extra (and annoying) as well as Lopez being so understanding he can't even fathom how he lucked into her, Michael's not a big fan of humans. He's not going to hurt them. He is not his mother and he never will be, but he doesn't think much of them, especially in groups.

Human justice, he disdains.

What Pete had done...if he'd been something Michael could judge, well, he'd be locked up for the rest of his life, since the Host could not kill humans.

But to be awaiting trial in a house that made Linda's look like a shack was appalling. Whoever Pete apparently knew was located in some secluded part of Malibu and Michael could honestly say he'd seen crappier resorts during his travels on earth. It was galling.

As they huddled by the gate, Michael muttered a few words of Enochian under his breath and was relieved when the familiar sizzle of energy spread through him as he did so.

Lopez's eyes went wide and she frowned up at him. "What did you do?"

"An incantation-"

"You can do magic!"

"No, I learned something from Rae Rae because she sometimes has to be incognito at crime scenes. We're currently not exactly invisible as much as no one is supposed to notice us, like their minds will refuse to pick the information up. Only lasts a few hours, but it's useful. I figured the more discretion the better. I want this to last, chica."

She gapes at him, and, for a moment, he has to remember that she's still pretty new to actually knowing that Celestials exist and that he's real at all. "So, you're not that telekinetic, can just unlock things with a thought. And you can't do magic spells, but you can say an incantation and no one can really see us."

"Or hear. Or if you bumped into them, they wouldn't feel it. It's a nifty deal, I admit," he says.

She nods. "You get that's really cool, right?"

"Yeah, sure, I'm a regular Merlin. I...it's not big deal."

She smiles at him and sets a hand on his wrist. "I appreciate you helping me with this, I do. What I don't get is why we're here and not at the state penn."

He sighs and lets out a low whistle. "Yeah, about that..."

Her eyes narrow and he remembers that for a human-and a small one at that-Lopez can be terrifying. "Michael, why are we here?"

"He's on house arrest. Turns out he has some uncle or second cousin on his dad's side with money and who knows, some change of heart at the sob story about his uh mom so he sprung for bail and Pete's on an ankle monitor here."

"He's what?"

"I dunno! I guess the relative was like 'not my side of the family's fault' or felt like going all Daddy Warbucks. No clue, but I assume he greased the right palms and here we are."

"I've been...and Pete's been in fucking Malibu this whole time?"

"I think he was in county until they did the bail hearing so for a week, no?" he offers, sure that's not what she wanted to hear.

Lopez decides to start testing the limits of his not-a-spell by standing, pacing, and swearing up a storm. "You don't get it! The fuck?" And then a stream of English he won't repeat and Spanish he can't follow pours from her as she kicks rocks in the driveway and, well, one former rose bush. "He gets to live in fucking Malibu in a house the size of the precinct, and I am hopping motels and having the worst time of my life? How is that fair?"

Michael recoils at that, as if he'd been slapped by someone Sam or Menny's size. "I'm sorry it's that bad for you, Scrappy. You're home now. If you want to go back to your actual life after we make Pete understand he's in no way on any vacation, then I get it."

His throat feels incredibly dry saying that.

She frowns at him, eyes wide but at least less furious for a moment. "Do you want me to go?"

He can't think of anything he wants less. It was one thing to be lonely on the road and bumming from dive to dive and casino to casino with no plan. It's another to have a mostly enjoyable companion and then be alone again, only barking out a few words to the drug store sales person or the check in guy at a shit motel. Michael doesn't want to be alone again, which is odd, since he's felt that way for eons...been left mostly in his back corner of heaven, like a horse put out to pasture.

"No, but you lived in L.A. right?" He asks, as if he doesn't know the difference.

"I did, but I...I might think about it. But here we're taking care of Pete, no ve?"

"Good call, Scraps. I just...I'd miss you, you know, like some annoying tag along way." He forces himself to sound exasperated, but she's by far the best part of Earth since he showed up months ago with, realistically speaking, half a plan to annoy Samael.

"Dude, don't wound me," she replies, but she winks at him. "I...I'm sorry I said my life sucked."

"No, no one hangs out with me when it's going well, trust me."

She frowns again and he really hadn't known till her that humans could have such big, almost anime eyes. "That can't be true. Rae Rae likes you."

Michael gestures to himself. "Before I got a demotion, I used to look just like Samael. I think...she never said anything, but I think she missed that he was in Hell so I was a good substitute. She's still the only one in the Host who doesn't treat me like shit or like, I dunno, back when I had wings you could catch a fucked up, twisted one."

She sets an hand over his other one. "It's not a demotion. I mean, yeah, I get the Big Guy is mad..."

"Biblically pissed off."

"Um, right okay, but you're not...you're not bad like this at all."

He shrugs and his right side stays so so stiff. "I'm not me either. But, yeah, you're right to be mad. It's kind of how I feel about Samael. He fucked up, led a Rebellion, got a kingdom."

"Dude, I'm sure Hell sucks. I doubt it was like winning Hawaii!"

"He's in charge of it. It literally responds to him and his moods. He's master of his domain. It's way better than Mom got, and I'm not even a fan of her."

"Huh?"

"She's in a cell down there. Sam's top demon has been allowed to torture her as she sees fit since the Flood. So...yeah, Samael could be an inmate, and he's not."

"Still, it's like having the nicest apartment back in my old neighborhood in Detroit. Michael, it's a qualified statement."

"But then Dad wanders a bit, doesn't concentrate like He used to...I dunno. Samael gets to sneak out and take vacations and have fun. So, yeah I get it. See him fuck around the Roman bath houses or enjoy France before the guillotine gets started or whatever while you're in a backroom weighing soul after soul cause someone has to do it. I get seeing criminals prance around."

"And trying to fix that is part of why your dad got mad?"

Michael shakes his head and shoves a strand of hair from his face. He let his tongue get away from him again. "Lopez, we don't-"

"I only get to know what you want, gotcha," Lopez replies bitterly.

He stills, and his heart speeds up, worried like a fool about losing a human's favor. How funny it was that things changed so fast. He still mostly thought of humans as filth like monkeys, and Pete's accommodations were obscenely unfair. But he just...how does she end up confusing him so much. She's just a mortal.

"What I've done isn't relevant to making this Daly piece of crap pay."

"It still reminds me that there's this huge wall, and I do get it. We don't know each other super well yet...I like to think after a week or so, we know each other better. I understand not wanting to talk about parents. Mine try but they don't...they think I'm nuts, and if you're not real and you are my imagination part two, then I'm worse off than I thought."

He pulls away from her and turns to the mansion Pete's holed up in. "I...we need to get this done. Forget it, chica; I know you've been through Hell. Sorry for letting my issues get whiny on you. It's been rough, and Pete shouldn't get to have sandy beaches and caviar bullshit while he waits for a trial I'm sure his uncle bought off." Despite everything, he turns and sets a hand on her shoulder. "One day, I might tell you more, and it's not as much about not trusting you, but how painful everything with Dad is and why I got mad at my brothers here and all of it."

She nods but he can tell there's a wall again, something slammed shut behind those wide eyes of hers. "Fine, let's do this."

Pete stares at her and Michael like he's seen a fucking ghost.

Good, because he's about to see a lot more than that. Michael is awkward and jerky, but he's still an angel and still fast as Hell. It isn't hard for him to get them into the room and easy for her to find the alarms and cut the feed. She knows more than enough tech to do that. She can defuse a bomb on tons of coke and molly, she can do this too. For now, his uncle is out, the alarms are off, and the guards-what a joke-are screaming about various things in the front hall. She's impressed by what Michael can do. She's felt it, but she had no idea how well it would work to just incapactiate several people at a time. Or a big dude who looks like her Tio Luis but with more tattoos was that scared of birthday clowns.

But now, it's just her, the Angel of Fear, and Pete in some expansive man cave that makes her mad just from the fact it's cushy and bigger than any room she's stayed at in months, let alone her old apartment.

"Els?"

Michael's eyes are already glowing gold and he shouts so loudly that Ella thinks it might be her imagination that the walls shake. Maybe. "You don't get to call her that. Ever."

Pete startles backwards onto a chair. He misses the landing and shouts when his tail bone slams hard against its arm instead. He falls to the floor in a heap, and Ella likes that, likes seeing him compromised again. Weak, and it's far better than in the interrogation room.

"Els what are you doing here? You can't be here...it'll compromise the case."

She pulls out her brass knuckles as she has dozens of times since she hit the road and eases them over each hand. "Well, Pete, I don't give a shit about the case."

It's then that fear hits him. She might not be Michael but she can tell when someone's terrified, when a dude looks like he's about to shit himself. Honestly, with Lucifer after more than a few interrogations, Ella's seen it. That look is in Pete's eyes, and she likes it.

Michael steps back a bit, giving her space. "Exactly, so I'm gonna give Lopez here the freedom she needs to operate." He crosses his arms over his chest. "No one will hear you scream, Pete. Promise we've taken care of it."

Despite how scared he is, how he's shaking, he is still a misogynistic asshole. He glares back at Michael, who is still very much otherworldly with his eyes gleaming gold. Pete shakes his head. "No one asked you, bitch."

Michael shrugs. "Guilty as charged or remade, same difference. Okay, Scrappy, have fun. If you need a tip? Heads bleed the most."

She is still frustrated with the angel, still annoyed by the boundaries and rules he set in their friendship, such as it is. But it's oddly...sweet of him, this blessing. She shouldn't take it. She shouldn't say it's okay to do what she's about to do because an angel said so. Clearly, St. Michael has seen better days, and this isn't right. It's dark and petty and cruel...everything's she's not. Everything she has tried hard not to be.

But fuck, she just wants to sleep.

"You aren't going to do this, Els. We both know you're dark but you're not this dark and-"

She is tired of hearing him. Of hearing him when she closes her eyes in the interrogation room, of him telling her he never felt anything for her either, and that it was never going to happen. Of his proclamation-his read on her-that she's dark and damaged too. Yeah, she is, but now so is he. Ella is on him then, not preternaturally fast, but Pete's already managed to hurt himself with his lack of coordination and shock, and she's gotten faster with her vigilante routine.

The first time her fist strikes his face, his right cheekbone snaps. She pulls back a second time and aims for his nose, which breaks even easier with under her knuckles.

Over her shoulder, Michael whistles, low and appreciative. "See, now that's a veritable fountain, Lopez. I'm proud of you."

His chatter, and Michael can chatter with the best of them when it suits him, blurs in the background. Ella moves and Pete tries to squirm under her, tries to scream. He does manage the latter for a bit, but she slugs his jaw next, hard against the joint of the mandible and it snaps, hanging oddly and preventing him from being able to more than gurgle. and grunt. She moves to an eye, to the edge of the right occiptal, and another snap, and Pete's uncle better have a great plastic surgeon on speed dial.

She doesn't lose the knuckles but she does stand up, and Pete breathes in as best he can through the mangled mess of his face. "Thank you for stopp-"

Ella pulls her leg back and kicks him as hard as she can in his ribs. The second time she kicks, things feel mushier, more out of place. She pulls back for a third and in humanly strong arms are around her, pulling her back. Michael has her across the room before she can blink. The smell of lilies is somehow still in the air and it shouldn't be. She's fixing it; damn it. It should feel better. Why is the hot house flaring to life again? Sure, Michael's powers are acting up, probably keyed up from already disabling the guards, but Ella isn't supposed to be scared of Pete any more. She's not.

He's a weak, broken man, coughing on his own blood, and she did it.

Why doesn't it feel better.

Michael sets her down and she tries to shove him. He doesn't even wobble back on his heels. "You're going to kill him if you go further. I can tell."

"He deserves it! El ha ganado todo que esta pasando. He did this to me, Michael. I thought you understood."

She's shocked when Michael hugs her tight, setting his chin on the top of her head. "Lopez...Ella please. I don't give a Dad damn about that toad. If there wasn't a ban on killing humans, I'd tear his spine out myself."

She struggles against him, cursing in Klingon and the filthiest English she knows. "Then let me. I can't sleep, Michael. I can't. And it's his fault, and I just want to sleep."

He holds her closer and strokes her back. "Because if I let you do it, you will hate yourself for the rest of your life and you will feel guilty. And in a year or fifty, I don't want to have to send you to Hell. I don't. So please, just stop, Scraps. I can do the rest."

She stills then and the lilies are gone and the hot house lamps and the feel of Pete heavily pinning her down. The only thing left is exhaustion. "You said you can't kill."

Michael pulls away and smiles at her. It's reassuring, even around the scar. "I don't have to. Trust me, he's gonna wish he was dead."

The angel walks over to lean over Pete, and his eyes are so bright, they are painful to look at. You can't look at him and not know that not only is he Other, but that he is powerful, even without his wings, and that there is nothing left to bargain with before him. Her breath catches in her throat because even when he saved her in the alley the first night, it has never been so obvious that Michael isn't just an angel, but the head of the Big Guy's legion. Or was rightfully so.

Pete gurgles and gasps at him, sliding up against the chair bottom and trying to reach behind his back. He winces when he seems to try to reach behind his back. Pete isn't trembling as much, but maybe he can't move as much either. "I knew more of you would come. I...I didn't know devils came as chicks."

"You are going to hate Hell, I promise," Michael says. "The head demon there is a 'chick' and she's going to eat your for breakfast, every day, for eternity. I have that on the best authority. But you're wrong. I'm not a devil."

Pete coughs. "I know you're not the one. Saw him months ago. He was...brutal."

Michael pauses, his head jerking back as if he didn't expect that, though Ella isn't sure why. Does the devil give everyone a preview? Is this new or just for her? She's not sure what the deal is, and she's not sure she wants to know. "You look fine."

"My knee took three months to heal but what I saw in his eyes..."

Michael nods. "My twin is good at that, but I'm worse, Petey boy. I'm an angel, and that 'be not afraid' spiel exists for a reason. Now, you tell me, and you won't fucking lie because you can't. What do you fear?"

She watches, this time able to appreciate what Michael can do more than the first time in the alley. As Ella looks, Pete's jaw slackens even further, what little is left of it he can control, and his right eye goes wide, pupils blown. The other is too swollen shut for her to gauge.

"That I'm nothing."

Michael's eyes flash again, and she looks away. Somehow, Ella has a feeling she knows what those dudes who melted in Indiana Jones felt like. Seeing an angel giving out the full wrath of God is like looking at the Ark of the Covenant squarely. It is terrifying but also awesome in the oldest sense of the word. It is a force of nature unleashed, and she forgets that most of the time with Michael bitching in the side seat beside her.

"Good," he says. "I can work with that. You're right, Petey Boy. You are nothing. You never were, and from now on, no matter what you do or where you go, no matter how hard you beg, no one will see you. They will look through you and ignore you. You are incosequential, and both you and they know it. Will always know it. So, scream all you want after the paramedics and doctors cobble you back together. No one will care, and when you are very old and have lived a long, long human life in your solitary confinement. You will die, and my twin and his best demon will come for you, and then it will really start to hurt."

Michael starts to stand, but trips backwards when he quickly dodges something that Pete is able to sneak from his waistband. The asshole is too injured to get a good swipe in at Michael, but the dagger he was holding did arc up as the angel fell back. Ella charges forward and yanks the blade from Pete's wrist. Thinking better of it, she reaches back and applies enough pressure to pop tendons, making sure to leave it dangling limply at Pete's side.

That sensation should feel familiar to him. He's good at limp.

Again, despite their earlier fight, she and Michael are still a team, and she helps him to his feet. "Did he catch you?"

Michael's eyes are brown again and he rolls them. Hard. "Not a mortal so I can't get hurt by little knickknacks." He takes the blade from her and snorts. "Ugly as fuck, isn't it? I mean I've seen carved handles, usually less snakes and demons on them though." He frowns at the steel of the blade and brings a finger to it, pressing against it and hissing when a small drop wells on his thumb tip. "Damn."

Ella takes it from him and sighs. "'Oh it's fine, Lopez' and 'I'm such a big, bad angel, Lopez.' You mentiroso. This cut you!"

"First, I don't sound like Jessica Rabbit. Second, it shouldn't have..." He trails off and glares at Pete. "Where did you get this?"

He coughs blood again and at least one incisor up. "Sotherby's, private auction, had to beg my uncle for the permission to get it"

Ella narrows her eyes at him. "The cash advance, you mean."

"Same...thing..." Pete rasps. "I thought the devil was gonna come back. I guess it's not good for his sister either."

Michael sighs but sucks at his thumb tip till it stops bleeding. "Brother but it's a long story and your brain is too tiny to go through it. You definitely don't get to keep this." Turning, he gestures to the door. "Lopez, let's go. We can call 911 and let him live with his sentence. It's more fun when they suffer. Trust a guy."

She nods, and hurries after Michael, knowing he's right. Pete needs EMT care to live and, yeah, she can admit she doesn't want that on her conscience. It will only make her nightmares worse.

"Drop dead, Pete."

"See you in Hell, Ella."

Michael turns back to him, eyes bright one last time. "No, that's not happening. Not for her, not ever. Goodbye, Pete, I hope Ma...I hope that head demon wears your entrails as a hat. You don't even want to know what she'll do to that pathetic appendage you call a dick."

They leave then, to get away from the scene, and to call the authorities but not before Ella frowns and files that slip away, that name Michael just barely kept himself from saying.