George slumped down on the couch next to Patrick, letting his head fall back so stare at the ceiling. George had been a soldier for his entire life, and had been hero-worshipping Michael for just as long. Michael was the leader of God's armies, the protector of Heaven, the person who'd thrown Lucifer's rebellious ass down to Hell in the first place.

He should have been untouchable. The world was round, the sun was warm, Michael was the unstoppable force and the immovable object. Anything else was unsettling and wrong.

"No," George said after a moment, voice rough. "I thought about asking Lucifer, but I just would have ended up screaming at him. The last thing we need is him deciding to start coming after us while Michael's away."