Once he rows far enough, he'll run into Crowley in his own little boat. He's given up on the swimming for now, but his lower half is still that of a snake, draped over the edge of the boat, the green and bronze of his scales dull in the starlight, the luminescence of the water stirred by the lazy back and forth of his tail. Spike might catch a brief glimpse of his eyes, also glowing, until Crowley, hearing the approach of another boat, miracles a pair of sunglasses into existence. Call it habit.

He lifts his head idly, as if it takes him a great effort, and gives the approaching boat a little wave. 'Hi there.'