It wasn't that Aziraphale was going to pace, but rather that he thought he could busy himself by beginning to tidy up the disarray of furniture in the room. It would have been something to do, something distracting enough, and maybe it would also help calm his nerves. Nevertheless, he takes a seat on the bed near Crowley—still allowing for a healthy distance between them—after a brief moment of consideration.

He ultimately decides that he ought to ask Crowley to do it instead. Seeing as he had been the root cause of it, after all.

“As expected,” he starts, making a face against the lip of his glass. He takes a drink of wine before continuing, “But is that all? That is, are you otherwise alright?” It’s a bit murky to say that he feels as if he’s been temporarily discorporated and leave it at that. What did it even mean to be discorporated in a place like this? At the whims of Odin and the rest of the pantheon?

Although, mostly, he’s just worried.