Another low breath ghosts out against Aziraphael's skin, disturbing the tiny hairs along the angel's arm.

Crowley looks uncertain, still, not entirely trusting that this is quite real; that it truly is what it appears to be. It's far too early (he thinks, dazedly) to spring this sort of thing on a fellow.

"Shouldn't go back to ssleep," he ventures, after a short, full pause. "Never get back on track."