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Crowley’s first instinct was, usually, to panic. It had helped him escape dire situations many times, and paranoïa was a useful survival skill in the ream of Hell.
But in his current situation, it didn’t help.
The snake was jiggling desperatly over the floor, blessing everything and everyone in his mind.
How could he let that happen ? One startling noise, a little too many bottles of liquor, and a crushing feeling of loneliness had been all that was needed to, POOF ! Let the demonic defense powers kick in and turn him back into a snake.
Snakes were small. Snakes were fast. Snakes could hide almost anywhere. Snakes were difficult to target shen they were in danger. Snakes could flee.
But when the snake wanted to flee from being a snake, there was nowhere to crawl to safety.
Had he still been in his human form, Crowley would have felt tears of fear in the corners of his eyes. He had worked so hard on his human body. He had worked so hard to make it look normal, to conceal the snake eyes, to make sure it would allow him to blend in and live… the okayest life a demon could aspire to among humans. And, bless it, he liked his human body ! He had arms to hug with, fingers to play Angry Bird with, hair to style, legs to run with, feet to burn in churches when he was rescuing an angel, and he could wear clothes, and he had temperature regulation, and he was not stuck so low to the fucking ground !
Crowley almost never shapeshifted. When he did, it was with the utmost care, and if he could avoid it, never fully into his snake form. Because he couldn’t bear thinking… what if I stay like this this time. What if I’ve only been trying to avoid the unavoidable with my fancy human body. What if a snake is all I am.
All the flopping around his living room brought Crowley in front of his mirror. He hit it with his head, and flicked an uncertain tongue at it. Then he saw himself.
He was a snake. No doubt about that. Long, low, dark scales and yellow eyes. But these ones, at least, were normal to see. Oddly, Crowley focused on these eyes he was constantly hiding, and the familiar reflection calmed him down.
He was still there. He was still himself. He was still a demon, with all his powers, with all his personnality. He was still Crowley.
Albeit, a little bit too drunk, perhaps, for a snake body to handle the frightening situation correctly.
Crowley focused and managed to push the alcohol out of his system. Then, his breathing finally settled, and, calmly, carefully, he started to shift back.
He might need another sort of comfort than a bottle of liquor, after this. Maybe it was time for another dinner at the Ritz.