He scrambles up with Crowley's assistance, dripping seawater from his rather ridiculous swimming trunks. There's an echoing fwump once he gets his balance (the wings help there, as long as he can avoid knocking them into Crowley's), and he stands poised to leave at last.

"After you, my dear," he says politely.

(Another few seconds wouldn't go amiss; he's still hoping that all of his limbs will function properly once in motion.)