"Well. Good." Aziraphale sits back, more or less comforted by Ianto's apparent lack of concern, though he takes a moment to glance around at the changing surroundings.

"Is there... anything I can do?" he asks after a moment. "To help, I mean? Here or... your physical form?" He holds up a hand and waggles his fingers, an unconscious Crowleyism, as if to show off his instrument. "There is rather a lot I am capable of."