“Euuugh.” Crowley grimaces, almost moves instinctively to clap a hand over Rhea’li’s mouth before he catches himself. “Suppose there’s no one here to haul me back to Hell for punishment because they caught wind of me being nice. Not like before. Really caught it that one time I stopped a girl topping herself. Ugh.” He twists his head uncomfortably, cracking his neck. “Not meant to be good people, or… tolerable to good people.” The idea of someone else wanting to protect him, other than maybe Aziraphale sometimes, is unfathomable, it would never occur to him that anyone might want to bother.