Crowley's lips tighten into a thin line as he drives the trolly straight ahead. The temple gates, with a few lingering tourists, are up ahead of them, and Crowley barrels over the stairs to move up. The moment they drive over consecrated ground, he can feel it, the heat and discomfort of being there, being somewhere he's not supposed to. Somewhere holy. The thing behind them must feel it, too.

It grips onto the trolly again and slams it back, knocking Crowley up. He grips tighter onto the wheel.

"You can do it," he says to Aziraphale. "I trust you, you can save us both. You can save me."

It's just a discorporation for Aziraphale, but who knows where he'll end up without a body. Where he'd go. Crowley, well, he'd just be no more. It was almost easier that way.