It hits him quickly enough, the notion that something is watching him, and that this something isn't friendly, that it's judging him and finding him wanting. So like, any other regular Tuesday, is the thing. The compulsion to spill a secret is there, too, but the first and only thing that Crowley can think to do is, well, laugh.

"This is what's got everyone's knickers in a twist?" He spreads his hands to gesture at the presence itself, whatever it is. "You're gonna have to try harder than that, I've had Satan breathing down my neck for millennia, this is kindergarten shite."

Alright, so maybe he's not completely immune to the secret-spilling part.