Crowley thinks about all of the angels, and how he imagines they might avoid hurting little animals before they actually hurt people. Then again, he has no idea anything about angels anymore. He knows Hell doesn't care. They just want to catch them, to kill them. One day, they'll do all the thing on the list he's found, he thinks. All the little pop-up-shops and museums. One day.

"Hot spring it is, angel," he says. "I imagine it will be miraculously void of tourists when we come to visit." He'll wait to spring that miracle on the place until they get there. Something tiny, nothing he imagines their pursuers will even notice. He hopes.

"Preference for breakfast? You can look on my phone, see what's available?"