"I find," Crowley shouts over with a grin, "the trick is not to think about it."

He waits, watching as Raguel (sort of) stabilises, before continuing:

"Otherwise, you might start to realise that it's not."

When Crowley starts to lean over backwards, eyes catching a pale yellow from the moonlight, there's a moment of perfect suspension - Raguel lifting to meet the breeze, and Crowley floating on it - before the balance carries over. Before Crowley's lunatic grin disappears, and the demon turns head for foot, wrapping his wings around himself and dropping like a stone.