Shivering, Crowley attempts to straighten up and sit back against the wall behind him, closing his eyes briefly so he won't go on looking at Aziraphale as if pleading for relief from this exquisite torment. The angel's sudden appearance made him hope, however briefly, that he would know what to do about this, though Crowley knew as well as Aziraphale that if there was one thing an angel could not do, it was simply miracle away holiness.

"Didn't plan on it," he snaps, or attempts to, the snarl in his voice rather less biting and more anxious himself when it comes out. If even Aziraphale can't heal this, is he going to end up consumed by it after all?

He lets out a little hissing laugh when Aziraphale worries about the burns healing poorly: Crowley's not sure he'll be around long enough where that will be a concern, but all right, he'll do as he's told. Closing his eyes again, conserving himself rather than replying, he goes back to attempting to force the burns to stop spreading and recede.