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Isabelle felt rather good. A little dizzy perhaps, but that’s how books and movies usually described being drunk. The fact she wasn’t giggling like a mad woman, or crying softly in a corner brought a small sense of pride to her chest. No embarrassing stories the other kids at school were going to use against her the next day. She successfully went to a party, got drunk, and was now, admittedly wobbling, but still walking home. The next trick would be getting back into the house without her Dads noticing.
This was where being drunk wasn’t doing her any favors. Through the fog, she tried to think of a plan. Going up the tree was out. She wasn’t sure how coordinated her limbs were. It was late, so Dad would be asleep. Papa didn’t usually sleep, but he did spend the night with his books. Easy. She would just have to go through the back, avoid the door to the study, and she’d be right as rain.
She smiled to herself. This was a good plan.
She walked through the front gate, only mildly hindered by the lock on the gate and her lazy fingers. Stumbled through her Dad’s flower garden. And only needed to slightly lean against the house to get the back door open.
The house was dark and she knew better than to turn on the light. Just a little walk through the kitchen, turn right and up the stairs, and nobody would be the wiser.
That’s when the lamp turned on.
Isabelle blinked at the sudden brightness to see her Papa sitting in the living room chair with a book in hand.
“You’re late.”
Isabelle instinctively straightened her back with all the grace of a baby giraffe learning to walk.
“Yeah,” she said, casually. “The party went a little longer than I thought. I didn’t want to wake you up.”
The excuse was pathetic. She felt it as soon as the words left her mouth, but her mind was too fogged up to say anything but cliches.
The angel pursed his lips as he examined her. “Isabelle, are you drunk?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Really?”
Again, she tried to sound casual, but the words were coming out longer than she intended. “I’m fine.”
It was obvious her Papa wasn’t buying it. In an instant, he was out of his chair and pointing to it with a stern expression.
“Sit.”
She knew better than to argue, and down.
“Crowley, get down here!” he yelled up the stairs before turning back to Isabelle. The sternness was gone, replaced by mild disappointment. She really hated when he did that. It always made her feel small. What’s worse than a literal angel being disappointed in you?
“You told me there wouldn’t be an alcohol at the party,” he said.
“There wasn’t,” she defended. “But then there was, and people started drinking, and peer pressure is a very real thing…”
“Yes it is, and I thought I taught you how to say no to it.”
Before he could go further, her Dad walked in still obviously trying to shake off the sleep.
“What is it angel?” he asked, with mild annoyance. Not needing sleep didn’t mean he enjoyed being unexpectedly woken up.
“Our daughter just came home from a party, past her curfew and drunk,” her Papa said, with the authority of a lawyer presenting evidence to a judge.
“What really?” the demon responded, a small smile growing on his lips. “Nice one.”
“Crowley!”
“What?” he floundered. “Sneaking out, getting drunk, rebellion. I’m a demon, I’m supposed to encourage this sort of thing.”
The angel rolled his eyes, realizing he was going to get no help in this.
“Right, Isabelle, you’re grounded.”
“What?!” she snapped. “But, I didn’t do anything.”
“You are under age and drunk,” Aziraphale said, exasperatedly. “The next time somebody pulls out alcohol at a party, you call one of us. You don’t join in.”
“But,” she, stumbled. The good feeling she had was now gone. The alcohol in her system was actively stopping any control over her emotions. Now she understood why so many people cried while drunk.
“I just wanted to fit in.”
Aziraphale paused at the confession, the moral high-ground starting to crack under his feet.
“Go to bed, Isabelle,” he said.
The authority was starting to fade, but Isabelle was too drunk to notice. She simply nodded her head, and started toward the stairs.
“And drink some water.”
She nodded, and continued on knowing full well there would be a glass of water by her bed side the moment she walked through the door.
It was only when she was out of sight did Crowley speak up.
“Nicely handled angel,” he said, sardonically.
“You weren’t helping,” Azirphale defended. A look of guilt flashed on his face, as he gazed back up the stairs. “Do you think I was too harsh?”
“Maybe a little,” Crowley admitted, with a shrug. “She’s a teenager. You gotta allow her to stumble a little bit.”
“I just want her to be safe is all,” the angel fretted. “What if something had happened?”
“Then she’d call us. Izz is a smart girl, give her credit.”
Azirphale still looked rather distressed, but Crowley took it in stride.
“Look, tomorrow morning, she’s going to wake up with a lot of guilt and a splitting headache. Let her go to school like that and it’ll be punishment enough.”
“You think so?”
"Probably, never really had a hangover before.”
Azirphale nodded in consideration. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“I am on occasion. Going to bed, angel?”
“I might say out here a minute longer.”
Crowley nodded and left the angel to his books, feeling rather proud of himself and his own parental insight.
Isabelle did wake up the next morning with guilt and a splitting headache. The only thing he got wrong, was what he would find in the garden.
“Izz! What did you do to my roses?!”