Crowley slithers, curling his serpentine body around the flames, towards where Hastur has Aziraphale in his grasp. He's not venomous, but he can be deadly with the right strike. He moves towards Hastur's feet with surprising speed when he hears the crack. He turns his head up to see the ceiling start to fall. The ceiling is falling, aiming right for Hastur and Aziraphale. It can't be a coincidence. No, this is divine intervention, this is Aziraphale's intervention.

And Crowley can't do anything but imagine a demonic miracle of his own. A miracle in which Aziraphale comes out of this, completely unharmed. Like a bubble of safety, wrapped around the angel, keeping him whole, keeping him from injury.

Hastur, meanwhile, lets out a cry of surprise as the ceiling collapses onto him without warning, discorporating him instantly.