He stiffens a bit. Okay. This has never happened before. ...Not like this anyway. You hang around Woodstock, some naked chick with flowers in her hair is probably going to hug you in the name of peace and free love, and you never know what's actually going on in those orgies, but, um... Actually getting a friendly hug from someone? Yeah, that's unheard of, especially since it feels like a sympathetic one.

And part of him, the snarky Trickster God who spurns anything that isn't hedonistic or slightly vicious, wants him to push her away and mock her for putting her sympathies somewhere she shouldn't, because like he really needs anyone to care about him. The other part, the nearly-fallen archangel who nearly got himself killed by and then had to kill one of his own brothers tonight, only to wind up back in this place and powerless again... That part of him doesn't want to let go. Because he doesn't have anyone to tell. He can't shout at the Winchesters and Castiel and Anna for driving him out of hiding and into a war he never wanetd to fight. They're not here. The only person who is here is a woman he's known for all of a week, which is such a piddly, pathetic stretch of time for a being that can count moments before the earth was ever formed.

So rather than push her away, he just stays there, not quite hugging her back, although he does faceplant into her shoulder a bit. He'll be back to normal in a minute. Right now, he needs this.