Normalcy, is what it is. Normalcy from even before the Armaggedon. Familiar and comforting in times like this. Even if the angel looks rather grumpy.

He almost sputters, taking a sip along with Crowley's list. "Oh good Lord, my dear, are you really comparing such wildly different--" Until it hits him that that's not the point or the purpose of this whole thing.

He sighs and gives him a halfway moody look, but it doesn't really stick. Not tonight.

"You are impossible."