Gabriel blinked, and then casually flicked his wings away out of sight. "Well that killed my appetite," he said with distaste, pulling out a crisp white handkerchief, which he began folding into a neat strip across the diagonal. "Nobody ever said Beelzebub was the brightest flame in Hell. Here, give me your hands."
He was no Raphael, but he could dull the pain and straighten Henry's fingers out from the unnatural angles Beelzebub had caused, which he did as he wrapped his makeshift bandage around Henry's fingers to hold them in place. Demons always had such an unhealthy appetite for causing pain, and Gabriel shook his head as he found a second handkerchief in his pocket for the other hand. (One could never carry too many handkerchiefs.) "Do not feel bad for squashing him. He got what he deserved."