Crowley pours two healthy glasses of wine and offers one to Aziraphale. He sees the singe on the bowtie. Normally, he'd just flick it away with a thought, but the idea of bringing in more miracles makes him nervous. They're so close to safe here.

"I can try to heal you again later," he promises. "I don't---I don't think it did much this time around. Not exactly built for healing, demons. I've done it before, but nothing like this."

It's almost embarrassing---no, it is embarrassing, admitting that he tried and failed to heal the angel. It would be easier to just say "Oh gosh Aziraphale, I did everything wrong today" and just be done with it. Couldn't protect him from Hastur, couldn't keep him from being injured, and he couldn't heal him afterwards.

"Bit of a lousy friend, I've been," he says, raising the glass in a toast.