Oh, why is this happening. The dog is licking his shoes. That can't be good for it.
"Shoo," he says ineffectually, frowning down at the creature before proceeding to the bedroom as direction.
Gabriel looks just as terrible as he feels, which is not very encouraging. Aziraphale stands there a moment, looking at the rabbit like he cannot comprehend its presence, then turning his attention to the archangel.
"I'm going to-" He pauses, feeling the sudden overpowering urge to sneeze. He manages not to, but actually feels worse for it. "-Going to try to heal you. And then you can heal me. And we'll be fine."
Yes. It is a solid plan.
He hobbles over to Gabriel's bedside and waves his hand away from his forehead, pressing his own hand to it instead. They are both horrendously clammy. Ugh.
"Hrmf," he grunts, focusing carefully. He keeps grunting, as though that is going to help, before finally drawing his hand back with a weary groan. "I can't do it. I'm useless."
He sways dramatically, suddenly feeling dizzy and desperately fatigued. The prospect of remaining upright is dreadful, horrifying. He cannot do it. He gets down, humiliatingly, onto the floor, and lies there, facedown.
"I'm just gonna," he mumbles, "have a bit of a lie-down. Down here. You try to heal me. See if you can do it. You're more powerful that me. Prob'ly."
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"Shoo," he says ineffectually, frowning down at the creature before proceeding to the bedroom as direction.
Gabriel looks just as terrible as he feels, which is not very encouraging. Aziraphale stands there a moment, looking at the rabbit like he cannot comprehend its presence, then turning his attention to the archangel.
"I'm going to-" He pauses, feeling the sudden overpowering urge to sneeze. He manages not to, but actually feels worse for it. "-Going to try to heal you. And then you can heal me. And we'll be fine."
Yes. It is a solid plan.
He hobbles over to Gabriel's bedside and waves his hand away from his forehead, pressing his own hand to it instead. They are both horrendously clammy. Ugh.
"Hrmf," he grunts, focusing carefully. He keeps grunting, as though that is going to help, before finally drawing his hand back with a weary groan. "I can't do it. I'm useless."
He sways dramatically, suddenly feeling dizzy and desperately fatigued. The prospect of remaining upright is dreadful, horrifying. He cannot do it. He gets down, humiliatingly, onto the floor, and lies there, facedown.
"I'm just gonna," he mumbles, "have a bit of a lie-down. Down here. You try to heal me. See if you can do it. You're more powerful that me. Prob'ly."