Crowley focuses, healing as best he can. The more he heals, the more he remembers how to heal. He was an angel a long time, but he was a demon for far longer---the angelic tendencies don't come as easily as the demonic ones do. He still repairs the skin, stitching together where the wound is.

He moves his hand away.

"He might never wake up," he admits, sighing. "Unless we do something. Figure out a way to rouse them. Healing doesn't do anything----there has to be something keeping them under."