Whom he presents himself as is as much Michael as the being that had once wanted to borrow Dean Winchester's body. Nobody gets the full picture from a handful of meetings. How can billions of years of existence fit into a few hours, a few conversations? Even the man who'd spent an effective millennia and change in the Cage with him couldn't grasp him from the tip of one wing to the other.

Hell, sometimes it feels like even his own brothers don't know him.

Unaffected he is and unaffected he largely remains, but Michael's impassive expression is tinted by confusion. Plan, what plan? God had had a grand plan—or so they'd thought—Heaven planned, Lucifer and even some of the lower angels schemed. Abraxas had featured in no one's plans, so it's puzzling to him to see their meeting as anything but an accident.

"An 'in' to what? There is nothing I want from you and yours, and there is nothing you could tell me about them that I don't already know." At least from their homeworld timeline. Michael is further ahead than any of them. There's surely been events in Abraxas that he knows nothing of, but he's long past caring what his supposed true vessel is up to. "My only intention was to put off this."

He gestures at her, like someone trying to wave off an irritating fly. Your buzzing is loud and it's annoying him.