At that reassurance Crowley sighs and goes completely limp, all but melting into the embrace. He rubs his nose a little against Aziraphale's shirt. "Really am really drunk, though," he confides, in case this had gone unnoticed. "Dunno f'I 'member how t'be su--so--not drunk."

He doesn't bother to look up. It doesn't matter where Aziraphale's taking him, not in the least. It's hardly the first time he's put himself in the demon's hands, literally or figuratively. If Aziraphale wants to carry him to Australia and walk on water all the way, that's fine. So long as he doesn't wake up.