Crowley wants to counter with his usual bravado. And how would we do that, angel? he might say. What universe could we fix something this terrible? But he looks at Aziraphale, his Aziraphale, and he can't bring himself to pull him down like that. He can't hurt him, and he won't.

He can't stop time long enough to give Aziraphale a reprieve. He can't pull them away for more than a moment, and that isn't fair. But there is somewhere they can go, somewhere that he knows won't be touched by all of this.

"We'll come back to heal them," he says. "Show them where to rebuild. I can...set up a few good words with some celebrities. But you, you need to get away."

He offers the angel his hand. Transport miracles aren't Crowley's favorite. He's not very good at them, and they tend to take a bit out of him, but if he works at it, he can be anywhere he needs to in just a thought. It's how he's appeared in the nick of time to save Aziraphale a few times in the past. And right now, it's going to teleport them both a few miles away, to Crowley's flat. The one place that wouldn't be touched by this. The demons wouldn't go there, Crowley wasn't in. The angels wouldn't go there, too many demonic curses on it. It was a hole in the middle of the world, sitting vacant. A place to hide, just for a minute. A place for the angel to rest.