Please talk to me about Crowley passing out/almost passing out but pretending he's fine
Crowley will pretend that he’s okay as he begins to feel lightheaded in the garden. Aziraphale will ask if he feels okay, noticing that he looks a bit pale. Crowley manages to brush it off pretty well until he grows dizzy and his knees crash into the ground.
Aziraphale is in front of him, brushing his hair out of his face and asking a dozen questions. Crowley can’t answer any of them. He feels sick and shaky, and he only manages to whine.
He wakes up with his head in Aziraphale’s lap, a soft hand to his forehead.
“You fainted, my love. Just a moment ago.”
It takes a minute before he can speak again. “I’m fine, angel. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t say that you’re fine when I just watched you faint!”
Crowley is drenched in a cold sweat and can’t muster up the energy to sit up yet. His body feels numb--like he’s unattached to it.
“Next time you feel poorly like this, you must tell me.” It’s an order. Aziraphale is good at giving those. “If I weren’t here, you could have hit your head on one of these bricks. I could have found you bleeding out--and you would have deserved it, you selfish, vile, fiend.”
Aziraphale sighs. “Please tell me next time you’re unwell? You’ve been so weak all winter. I don’t want to lose you to a gardening tool through your head. Though your skull is so thick, I doubt it’d do much damage.”
He wipes at his eyes and blinks back tears. Crowley looks up at him and slowly sits up.
“You better not.” Aziraphale takes a deep breath. “Well, let’s get you inside.”
Aziraphale helps Crowley stand and lets him lean on him as they walk through their back door and into their living room.
