While Crowley rests, Aziraphale simply sits there, spacing out a little as he stares at the opposite wall of the small hut. He doesn't notice Crowley opening his eyes or looking at him, but he most certainly does notice the gentle slump of Crowley's head against his shoulder.

Oh. Oh, goodness.

He tries to turn his own head when Crowley speaks and nearly gets a mouthful of hair for his own trouble. Those red curls brush across his skin and goodness, how does that demon manage to keep his hair so soft? He faces forward again, careful not to jostle Crowley off of him. Poor thing is exhausted, obviously. Just needs to rest, has no idea what he's doing.

It's fine.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I... I'd try healing you, now that you've cleared out the holiness, but I don't think you'd be able to take it in your state." He thinks about checking the bandages, but it's too soon. Crowley needs to heal in his own time. "Can I ask what happened? Why were you touching a holy relic? You know how dangerous that is."