There may or may not be a significant amount of annoyed grumbling coming from Crowley, but he's still trying to focus on any other emotion rather than fear, and annoyance is just a very easy one to land on.

It isn't going to help him get out any faster, though, so he pushes it aside and reaches for the belt, straining against the shifting sand. On the plus side, he's decently tall, enough that he manages to just brush his fingers against the end of the belt. On the downside, being tall means that he isn't exactly light, and before he can get a good grip, the sand gives way under his boots, dropping him a few inches out of reach.

"Fuck. Nearly had it, don't go anywhere." Not that she would, probably. Hopefully. He has to try again either way, so he huffs out a breath, spends a half second evaluating angles, before all but kicking a leg into the sand near his knees. It's an awkward angle, but it braces his weight enough that he can push up until he does get a hand around the belt, twisting his hand to loop it around his palm. It could be a better grip, but all things considered, he'll take the win. "Got it!"