Aziraphale bristles noticeably, recklessly. This dream and his powerlessness within it have put him far too much on edge, he's having trouble affecting his usual calm composure. Going to get him into trouble if he's not too careful.

"I did not 'bring' him, no," he says coldly. "He's not my pet. I don't take him about with me, we go our own ways. Much of the time." Whole centuries of mostly not seeing each other! Nevermind that he feels inordinately clingy lately, and Crowley's seen fit to be present a little more than usual, for whatever reasons neither of them will examine - absence has been known to happen.

"Anyway it's none of your business," he adds.