There was the smallest twist of Michael's lips, almost like he was smiling. He wasn't, of course. Michael didn't smile. He didn't laugh. He didn't have a sense of humor anymore. He was beaten down by the Cage and the weight of everything that had come before. He'd made that clear to Gabriel and his coworkers. Yet, something in him, and it wasn't just the part of him that kept seeing Lucifer, found the idea of Crowley and himself being in a somewhat similar situation a little amusing. Crowley was trapped because of his feelings, Michael felt trapped because he did not have the free will required to free himself, or so he claimed.
Any other angel, save maybe Castiel, might have laughed and made a toast to being on opposite sides of the same side. He just cleared his throat and looked down at the counter, staying quiet for a moment. He couldn't hear his hallucinated brothers and he wasn't about to go looking for them, he was happy for brief peace.
"I've been told, more than once now since I was publically seen threatening you when I arrived and I apparently put off the general impression that I am a breath or two away from snapping my fingers and killing everyone every time that I walk into a room, that this is supposed to be a place of second chances." Not that he could blame Selene, Natasha or even Sharon for being concerned. He was the physical embodiment of divine retribution and God's wrath, he knew he lived up to his often violent reputation. "I suppose one could say that I was making an effort. You could try that as well."