Clearly not. You're dead, Crowley. It stands to reason your abilities aren't what they once were. If nothing else, you're completely cut off from Hell.

[Looking down at her work, she frowns. This will hurt badly, but so it goes. Her fingers wrap tight around his leg, and she straightens it out swiftly, ignoring the grinding of bone, ignoring any shouts of pain he might give. Then she applies the splint, tying it there, her hands merciless.]