"Well it looks pretty terrible," Aziraphale says. "And it smells worse, Goodness." No, he hands Crowley a glass and then drinks a large gulp of wine for courage, then sets to work, having also gotten a knife which he is holding under his sleeve because obviously Crowley won't notice it and panic.

"Come out," he tries, bestowing a little angelic grace on Crowley in a ring around the wound, hoping it's enough to draw out the poison towards the middle. "I'm going to have to cut a hole in your leg, I'll patch it up later, do be a love," he murmurs all at once, handing Crowley one of his pillows in which to bite down on while he does so.