Aziraphale turned it down after both had left, exhausted from his little breaking of the Manor rules.

He spared less than a moment over the welfare of the demons (it was only an Intention sort of thing), and then rubbed a hand over his face, smearing the scratches more. It stung.

He sighed, readjusting his clothing and fixing his halo, and then blinked down the hall, setting off with a hand covering his face again. It wouldn't do to cause a fuss, really. Gabriel would be in the hospital wing, hopefully, and he'd put him right.

The angel tried to whistle as he went, but guilt and pain trailed him. He hadn't meant to lose his temper like that.