[He lets out a quiet sigh. That bit is lovely to hear. He doubts that Warlock would have been so sensible. He was fond enough of the boy, he supposes, but he was a bit of a spoilt brat.]

That is clever. Good for me!

[If he wasn't holding him so tightly, he'd pat himself on the back, all in good fun.

Until. Oh.

It doesn't matter that Crowley can't see it with his face pressed up against his neck. The smile is automatic and forced. Long, long habit. It feels strange on his features, like it doesn't quite fit right.]

Clever.

[It's a shadow of the previous declaration. He pats him a little. A very little.]

They were intent to do for both of us, were they? Well, I suppose they would be.

We spoilt their fun.

[Another few moments of quiet, until the whiskey bottle spontaneously shatters, along with every glass.]