There are pits* and then there are Pits**. Crowley felt suddenly as if he were falling into the later kind***. “I…I’m a demon,” the Serpent said, for lack of anything else to say. He avoided the angel’s eyes. This sort of situation was not a comfortable one for a being that basically existed in a continuous state of denial or died—AKA an average demon.
*The kind that open up when a person realizes they’ve crossed the Rubicon. (Which is an awkward metaphor considering the row Crowley and Aziraphale had over said crossing which was not settled until they’d gone through several amphorae.)
**As in the Pits of Hell. Or, worse, the Pit of Heaven—the hole that opened up beneath angels that were soon to Fall—the sort of pit one never got out of.
***Of course, at the very bottom of said Pit, in this instance, there wasn’t a very pissed off newly christened emperor of evil, there was a tiny gleam of something that might have been hope or relief or something else fluffy. Not that even this metaphorical part of Crowley would have Admitted It.
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*The kind that open up when a person realizes they’ve crossed the Rubicon. (Which is an awkward metaphor considering the row Crowley and Aziraphale had over said crossing which was not settled until they’d gone through several amphorae.)
**As in the Pits of Hell. Or, worse, the Pit of Heaven—the hole that opened up beneath angels that were soon to Fall—the sort of pit one never got out of.
***Of course, at the very bottom of said Pit, in this instance, there wasn’t a very pissed off newly christened emperor of evil, there was a tiny gleam of something that might have been hope or relief or something else fluffy. Not that even this metaphorical part of Crowley would have Admitted It.