That is a lot to unpack; there weren't really many deaths during the war, how could there be when the main things that can destroy an angel are God Herself or hellfire, and the latter hadn't been created yet, to be used against each other. It had been possible to kill another angel, to permanently destroy them, but it took far more than just celestial weapons, and as far as he knows, no one was going to the effort for that.

There is, however, a visible flinch when Sam mentions the wings, a hitch in Crowley's shoulders as he draws his own wings in tighter, a sense of sheer horror running through him at the idea of having them cut off. It was one thing for them to burn, he'd take that pain any day over losing his wings permanently.

"Right." He has to say something, to acknowledge that he heard Sam, but his voice is tight and he isn't sure how to follow that up. Now he really wishes he had a drink. "Suppose I ought to be grateful I was only thrown into a pit of sulphur. That's a walk in the park over being dead." Obviously it's the being dead that's a problem, not everything else.

"Anyway, kids are stupid. They could've wanted me here 'cause I'm scarier than the big bad." That's mostly posturing for the sake of it, he just needs to put up a minimal argument with the idea that he's nice or helpful or that kids might find him reassuring.