I think Crowley's supposed to be drunk.

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by afrai

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"You've got the entire universe inside of you!" Crowley yelled.

"Aha. That explains the indigestion," Aziraphale said, and tried a laugh. It fluttered off into the shadows and lost itself in the great dark night.

First he got a face full of leather jacket, and then Crowley's breath was on his face, laden with the smell of alcohol and despair.

"Do you comp -- comper -- get me? I mean, do you get me? Do you get me?" he said. His nose bumped Aziraphale's. Aziraphale could see the spidery red lines criss-crossing the whites of his eyes.

Aziraphale suddenly felt very sober.

"I mean." Crowley's voice dropped to a whisper, low and husky and dangerous. Terrifying. "I mean, d'you know what I'm saying?"

"Crowley." Aziraphale's voice sounded strangled to himself. "Crowley, I think you should sober up. I definitely think you, you should sober up, and I'll take you home--"

"Can't do that," Crowley said dreamily. He slumped against Aziraphale, his breath hot on his neck. "'S against the rules. Like to do that, but I can't."

His voice was mournful, but as matter-of-fact as always, which made the gentle movement of his head even more shocking. Aziraphale froze, feeling like he'd just had several ounces of liquid terror injected directly into his brain.

Crowley was nuzzling him.

"Crowley," and Aziraphale's voice was certainly squeaking now, without a doubt, "Crowley, I -- I don't think you're quite feeling yourself right now--"

"Who else would I feel like?" said Crowley. His head swung up abruptly. His dark eyes bore into Aziraphale's. Aziraphale shut up.

"I mean, d'you know what I mean?" said Crowley. He sounded desperate now. "D'you know, angel, because you don't, do you? Don't you know? Don't you understand?"

Aziraphale was still.

"You've got the entire universe inside of you," Crowley said softly. "The whole universe. All of it. Everything. Inside you."

He pressed a hand against Aziraphale's chest. Aziraphale closed his eyes.

"I get you," he whispered.

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