Helping her, that much was certain; but why was he going to such lengths to help a stranger? It wasn't as if he had any vested interest in her. Or that anyone had shown him kindness when he emerged from his flat to find he wasn't in London anymore.
Though he had the sneaking and disturbing suspicion that someone would have if he had needed it. Which he hadn't. Crowley wasn't exactly the type to blunder over things and go into a panic. Unless of course the world was coming to an end, but he'd done that once already.
Again he was subconsciously prompted to ask, "Are you alright?" This time he was more certain that she was not, as her stumbling seemed to prove. "Your ankle, I mean." His voice was low, still, and patient. Something told him she was panicking. He wasn't quite sure what, but something.