Aziraphale is a steady presence beside him, waiting patiently, albeit anxiously, for the last of the holiness to leave his body. When he relaxes, the angel does, too, letting out a shaky breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding for a good little while now.

Crowley survived. He's going to be okay.

He continues to watch the demon's face, his eyebrows drawn together in soft concern. Funny how, with his eyes closed, he doesn't look much like a demon. The ones he's heard about, even when they're topside, usually have an unpleasant visual reminder of their true nature. Boils, flies, peculiar growths... but Crowley doesn't have any of that. Just his snake-like eyes, which Aziraphale admits to himself aren't all that terrible, either.

The hand on Crowley's shoulder rubs him there, ever so gently, before Aziraphale notices what he's doing and yanks it away, as if he's the one who's been burned. He doesn't go, though. He simply gathers up the rest of his healing supplies and moves to sit against the wall, next to Crowley, with a sliver of space between them. He'll stay there until Crowley is awake and ready to tell him why he was handling a holy relic in the first place.