Cheap knockoff. He supposed that was possible - there were multiple different worlds here. All of them could have a different criteria for "holy water" that didn't quite match up with theirs, so he supposed that in a sense, he was lucky.
At the mention of Aziraphale's wings being hurt, Crowley's eyes widened in vague horror. They'd aimed for his wings - he felt a spike of fury run through him as he reached out to Aziraphale's back, even though he couldn't quite feel them, he could at least sense them. His own had been practically bones and charred feathers until Aziraphale had just healed him, not that he would know.
"Let me see," he murmured, snapping his fingers impatiently to throw on some vaguely decent clothes as he climbed out of bed, even though he staggered as soon as his feet hit the ground. He wasn't built to recover with angelic strength anymore.