Crowley pulls a face, and then reaches behind himself, grabbing the pair of thick rubber gloves, the ones he wore when he handled holy water.
"It's demonic," he says, offering them to Aziraphale. "And you don't know what my blood could even do to you, neither of us do. Don't risk yourself over me."
It can't hurt that bad, he thinks, looking at the pillow. Bite down on a pillow? He can't be so embarrassing that he's going to need to bite down on a pillow. Then, Aziraphale puts the ring of angelic grace around the wound, and it burns with the holiness of it. It burns like nothing Crowley has experienced before. He cries out, and tries to stifle it.
He takes a breath. If there's one person in the whole of Creation----"I trust you," he says.
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"It's demonic," he says, offering them to Aziraphale. "And you don't know what my blood could even do to you, neither of us do. Don't risk yourself over me."
It can't hurt that bad, he thinks, looking at the pillow. Bite down on a pillow? He can't be so embarrassing that he's going to need to bite down on a pillow. Then, Aziraphale puts the ring of angelic grace around the wound, and it burns with the holiness of it. It burns like nothing Crowley has experienced before. He cries out, and tries to stifle it.
He takes a breath. If there's one person in the whole of Creation----"I trust you," he says.