He supposed it made sense. Angels didn't have much imagination, what place could he conjure up but his own memories. It was a nice memory too. He remembered partying with humans all night, punishing a man who roofied his girlfriend and then drinking himself stupid until 6am with a bunch of lovely Cajun fellas.

He wasn't really reacting right now, he wasn't smiling or moving among it. He was just enjoying being here. Not there for once but somewhere else. He watched the people dance, heard the music and felt a swell in his chest. It was panic. Fear. Pain. He didn't feel right being here.

Someone said his name and he blinked, looking at Sam with a awe-struck expression. Sam wasn't there, in 1920. He squinted.