Aziraphale puts the gloves on, because he doesn't really need it, but honestly he's expecting it to kind of bust out Alien-style (or he would, if he had seen Aliens), so he doesn't know how to tell Crowley that was sweet but ultimately not necessary.
He, at arms length, cuts the wound open and the disgusting maggoty sludge starts to pour out since it has nowhere else to go but through the hole. It's a lot more live and a lot less spouty than Aziraphale would have guessed, but that's good for one of them, at least.
With the gloves on, though, he scrapes the excretions off of Crowley's legs and onto the floor. Once he's fairly certain he's gotten most of it, he undoes the top of the salt and pours a whole lot of it to cover the maggots. He'd read it in a Good Housekeeping article once in the 1800s.
no subject
He, at arms length, cuts the wound open and the disgusting maggoty sludge starts to pour out since it has nowhere else to go but through the hole. It's a lot more live and a lot less spouty than Aziraphale would have guessed, but that's good for one of them, at least.
With the gloves on, though, he scrapes the excretions off of Crowley's legs and onto the floor. Once he's fairly certain he's gotten most of it, he undoes the top of the salt and pours a whole lot of it to cover the maggots. He'd read it in a Good Housekeeping article once in the 1800s.