Lucifer's vessel is made of sterner stuff than the average human, so the bone-jarring impact with the dashboard cracks the plastic rather than his skull. It's still painful, though, and the sharp jolts of pain that stutter through his head and neck and down his chest are unpleasant. He pushes himself off of the dash and back into his seat, touches his face where it's warm and wet to find blood there.

Broken nose, possibly. He may have hit face-first.

He looks over at Daniel, who is definitely far worse off, because he is only human.

"Daniel," he says, leaning over and putting a hand on his shoulder to tilt him at a better angle to see him from. He is badly injured; the glass from his shattered lens has barely avoided damaging his eye and there are fractures in his jaw and spine. Movement could easily cause more trauma. This human form is so fragile, so easily destroyed by something as simple as an impact. If Lucifer left him here, he might very well perish.

Well, this should pretty much cover the debt.

"Stay still," Lucifer tells him and presses two fingers to Daniel's forehead. He pulls on his Grace and there is, briefly, a light in his hand and what human ears would perceive as a high-frequency droning sound, and Daniel is healed in the space between heartbeats.