Chapter 42

Jo wakes up on a much harder surface than her usual bed. She opens her eyes slowly, protecting them against the cool air. Why is it so cold in here?

It takes her a moment to realize she's still lying on the roof next to Michael, her head on his chest. She sits up, shivering against the cold night air as the covers fall from her upper body.

"Sorry," she mumbles tiredly. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's fine," Michael assures her, sitting up as well. "I didn't have anywhere to be, anyway." Noticing her shivering, he makes a jacket appear on her.

She smiles thankfully, wrapping herself up in it tighter. "The stars are beautiful tonight," she observes, gazing up into the sky.

"Yes, they are," he agrees.

"I see the Big Dipper," she points out.

"You see the what?"

She chuckles at his cluelessness. "The Big Dipper. It's a constellation."

"Oh, right. None of those constellations are real. Any shapes we made with the stars are gone. They burn out after a while, to the point where they're no longer recognizable," he tells her.

"You made the stars?"

"The four of us did," he explains. "God never really cared for them, but my brothers and I enjoyed making them together. We would have challenges to see who could create the most intricate designs. It was quite a competition."

"Who usually won?" she asks curiously.

"Lucifer, mostly. Gabriel may have been the most creative, but Lucifer is — or , at least — a perfectionist. He made some truly beautiful things." He scans the sky for any remnants of his brother's many creations, but so many stars have burned out, it's like trying to build a puzzle when you're missing half the pieces.

"Do you see any of yours?" she asks.

"I wouldn't know," he admits. "It's been so long, and so much is missing... Lucifer probably would. He always loved the stars. Unfortunately, neither of us are really on speaking terms with him."

"Understatement of the year," she mutters under her breath. "Have you made any recently?"

"No, it was sort of a bonding experience, I guess. Once my family fell apart... Well, it didn't hold the same appeal anymore."

"Oh," she replies awkwardly, unsure how to respond to this. "Was it hard? Making stars?"

"Not really," he replies. "The stars themselves were easy. It was making shapes that was the difficult part. Creating an image out of dots was difficult, to say the least."

"It sounds it," she agrees.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, enjoying the fresh air they haven't expressed much in the last few weeks. Has it been weeks? How long have they been here?

"Hey, Michael? What's the date?" she asks randomly.

"December twenty-third — well, twenty-fourth, now."

"Tomorrow's Christmas?" she says in surprise. No one has even mentioned the upcoming holiday. Does anyone else know that it's tomorrow?

"Right, Christmas. My half-brother's not-birthday based on a Pagan holiday, of all things. Fun," he deadpans.

"Not a Christmas fan?" she observes.

"Not in the slightest. It's a ridiculous concept. The entire holiday is based off of the idea of giving and receiving gifts, and yet people expect you to remember Jesus on his not-birthday, when kids would much rather think of their new fidget spinners than their 'lord and savior.'" He rolls his eyes at the term. "Though I suppose it helps, having impressionable kids relate him to the joy of gifts. Yet another way they are brainwashed from such a young age into believing."

Jo raises an eyebrow. "Don't you want people to believe, though? I mean, you're an angel. That's kinda your thing."

"I'd much rather a new, more accurate religion be started, in which people recognize that Jesus Christ did, in fact, exist as the son of God and the messiah and all that, but also that he was a horrible person, much like his father, and he's definitely not a role model, and worshipping him so many times every year is an ego boost that he definitely does not need."

Jo gives him an amused smile. "What do you have against Jesus?"

"Everything," he replies. "Every. Single. Thing."

"What, you miss being on top?" she teases, then clarifies, "Of the religious social hierarchy, not... other ways..."

"'Other ways'?"

Jo smiles slightly as his obliviousness. "Never mind. It's not important."

He gives her a confused look. "Okay... And I was never at the top of the 'religious social hierarchy.' That has always been and always will be my father, who does just as much as Jesus, meaning literally nothing. I just realized I'm ranting, I'm sorry. It just... irks me."

"It's fine," she assures him. "I'm actually kinda enjoying this. It's not everyday you get to hear an angel trash his religion."

"No, I suppose it's not," he agrees. "Having the ability to form my own opinions is a challenge. I don't know how you humans do it," he jokes.

"It's hard, but we manage," she replies with a grin.

There's another few moments of silence, once again broken by Jo. "How do you think this'll end?"

He cocks his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"What's gonna happen when this is over? Like, is Chuck going to let us leave eventually? Are we just going to have to adapt to 2017, or whatever year it is that he lets us out? Am I going to die again, because I never should have come back to begin with, and you'd go back to Hell? Is Chuck just gonna leave us here until we die? Well, you won't die, but will he leave us here for the rest of eternity as all us mortals die, one by one?"

Michael sighs, his gaze on the sky as he answers, "I don't know. I don't think the author knows, either. I sort of hope he just kills us and gets it over with. I don't have anything left here. I lost, not to Lucifer but to a group of ; I'm an embarrassment to Heaven and to my siblings, so I can't go back home, and the cage obviously holds no appeal to me, with or without my sanity. I'd probably be better off dead."

Jo frowns, unsure how to respond to that at first. Does that constitute as suicidal? Because he really doesn't act it. He just seems pretty... normal. Then again, you never realize something's wrong until it's too late.

"Well, consider me something to live for," she says finally. "I'll stick with you until you get sick of me, even after Chuck lets us leave, he lets us leave."

"You don't have to do that," he tells her.

"I know I don't. But I don't have a whole lot else to do, either. The Roadhouse is gone, my mom's always hanging out with Bobby, and Ash is still dead, so if we ever get out of here, I'm pretty much stuck in the hunting life for good, and as much as I'd love to spend my life hunting, it would get a bit lonely."

"We could hunt together," he suggests. "I don't really know how to hunt, but I'm sure I could figure it out."

Jo smile at that. "I like that idea."

And, if nothing else, now they at least have something to look forward to if Chuck lets them out of here.