He's tired of the words “your people.” He's tired because they imply similarity - from appearance to motive to ambition. He's tired, because is they are “his people,” he understands them less than he would a mute televangelist. He knows they haven't been “his people” for a long time. He knows that he only uses the phrase because of its familiarity - because he's used it time and time again and he used it when it meant something and now that it doesn't he can't find the initiative to really care.
He's scared because he doesn't know who “his people” really are.
Discussed
Conversation topics they would never dare consider even mentioning while sober have a way of cropping up whenever too much alcohol is involved. There is always too much alcohol. They is always a conversation topic that they will look back upon (once they've cleared their mind of liquor) and agree never to mention again.
Tonight it is generally accepted between the two of them that Heaven and Hell can be damned (though, they think, Heaven probably can't be, but telling something to be “sanctified” isn't a threat) and that even though humans are nasty buggers, their accommodations aren't that bad.
Realized
It will take him time to admit it.
He likes how the brats treat him like one of their own (though Adam now looks down at him) and that Anathema isn't bothered by leaving her daughter alone with him (though Newt gives him scrutinizing looks). He likes that's he's played football (though it soon became Save-Wensley-From-Pepper's-Fists) and that he can nearly listen to Freddie Mercury (without the sense of foreboding).
He likes falling asleep on his couch next to the angel after tempting him into staying up with cinema popcorn and Alfred Hitchcock movies.