"Eh, they're amateur work, but they'll do for the minor stuff. Tricks of the trade and all that." Illusions, constructs, alternate timelines and realities ... Sure, that one with the Groundhog Dean Dies Day had been particularly complicated because he'd had to keep stashing Dean's soul somewhere so Hell didn't get it too early, but something like that just had to be made cohesively and it started sustaining itself. His only complaint had been that he'd gotten bored of the same syrup every damned morning.

The archangel glanced down at the bandage one last time, but the adrenaline of his discovery was starting to wear off and the weariness was sinking in. He felt like he couldn't possibly muster the motivation to get up even if he'd wanted to; his whole body was leaden. With a regretful sigh he left the thought of healing himself alone and pulled the blanket up, resting his head back against the stone and staring up at the opening where the sandstorm still raged.

"Don't keep me in suspense, now," he said, amused. "Just go ahead and tell me how you feel." He wondered if she remembered she'd asked for a question in return for her help, and then decided that, whatever, a display of one of his powers was more than enough in trade.