The worry was all but written in bold text on the boy's face, and Michael's expression grew pinched. His parentage was a big secret to keep. He could only assume the truth and the necessity of concealing it weighed even more heavily on Jack for his young age.

"That answers one of my questions. Does Dean Winchester know you're here?"

Dean was from several years before either of them. Of all the people who'd be most willing and eager to run through the son of the devil, Michael would place him at the top of the list. A fight against a nephilim probably wouldn't end well for Dean, but then again Jack struck him as soft enough to let the man take a few swings at him without fighting back. With the Mark and the first blade on his side, well. He might be able to do quite a bit of damage.

Michael sat at the table. He snapped his fingers, the door locking and blinds around the diner drawing shut in response. This was now a private conversation.

"No one will be hearing it from me, other than those who already know. Wanda, your—" He paused for a moment, not quite sure what Jack's exact view of Lucifer was. From his time spent with Adam he knew that a father was not always a parent. John Winchester had been his vessel's father, but he'd been little more than an occasional visitor to Adam. Eventually, with a tilt of his head and a puzzled glance, he offered: "Grace donor?"

Maybe that wasn't quite right. He'd let Jack tell him what title suited Lucifer.

"I'm the Michael from your world," he confirmed. "Or you're the Jack from mine. I was freed from Hell shortly before my Father—your grandfather—decided to wipe humanity from the face of the Earth. All except for Sam and Dean. That was the point at which I met you, though you had very little in the way of power by then."

He was leaving out the part where he was dragged to the bunker in a pair of handcuffs. Surely that wasn't relevant here.