The demon's arm snakes around Aziraphale to hold him up, keeping him supported against Crowley's side. It brings a flutter to his chest to be this close to the angel, but it's truly meant to be helpful, or bring comfort, nothing more. He takes a deep breath of his own, removes his glasses, tossing them to the side, and offers Aziraphale a sympathetic look. He felt helpless himself, but knew that if he didn't act strong for the angel they'd never get through this. He wondered if that would count against him in any way, cause him to cough up a garden of his own, and decided to get out ahead of it.

"I'm... worried. I think. Scared, maybe. That there's nothing I can do to help. All I want to do is help." he admits, biting back a grimace at how weak he's sure that makes him sound. It doesn't matter anymore, really.

Crowley blows a puff of air out, lips sputtering slightly in irritation. "I imagine you have more reason to be scared than I do, but..." he shrugs, not sure how to end that sentence.