"You order whatever's drinkable, I'll take it," he says.

Crowley looks over the menu but it doesn't even matter to him. Aziraphale always knows the best food, he can pick for them both. He looks at the door, then over his sunglasses at the other patrons. None of them look demonic, not to Crowley, anyway.

He concentrates on what he's sensing, but right now all he feels is tense. Normally, he'd chalk that up to being in a new place, new situation, very nearly being completely obliterated only a few moments earlier. But that could very easily mean a whole lot more now.

"What do you feel?" he asks.