"It's not that," Crowley shook his head, "I just don't think it's a good idea to underestimate them." Though he knew that Michael was probably right. He also had to think about his conversation with Aphrodite, it would be difficult for him to get over his stupid hang up over Dean if he kept bloody mooning over him and initiating contact with him.
He thought of him and that angel and their perfect little hunter family with the 2.5 cats or whatever and if Michael wasn't there he would have probably growled in anger at the thought of it. If he'd had more of his demonic energy, he would have exploded a light fitting. He was being ridiculous and a bloody archangel could see it. So while he didn't betray anything with demonic mannerisms, his lips pursed slightly and he shook his head slightly brows raised.
"You're right. I'm being an idiot," he huffed out a laugh, a bit surprised that he was having this conversation with Michael of all people. "What have I got to be sentimental about anyway? Most of them are plotting my downfall anyway, most likely. I came here just like anyone else, with the full purpose to start my life new."
In any case, he couldn't completely get over Dean if he kept establishing contact with him and his motley crew. It was pathetic and he was being pathetic.
"Wow. Don't we make a pair, right?" Crowley shook his head. "I won't tell anyone if you won't." Sure, they weren't exactly alone in the bar, but it was pretty much a judgement free zone. The lost souls were in their own conversations, and the bartender was on the phone, ordering in more supplies.