Crowley and Aziraphale are absolutely adorably nauseating with each other in public, once they can be, but theyâre also drama queens who enjoy that they can be rude to each other and fight without ruining things. So I posit that there are many times that their interactions have been mistaken as two strangers about to throw hands in the street
It was just another day at work. Phil was packaging up the slice of cake ordered by a man who was wearing sunglasses in mid winter and working on remembering the slightly convoluted sandwich order heâd just been given,
The customer whoâd ordered the cake stood resting on the edge of the counter, waiting quietly as he stared at his phone. The bloke whoâd spent an entire minute detailing his sandwich was still at the register, putting his wallet back together.
âHey,â cake man said, âyou dropped your- is this a fob watch?â
Phil glanced up curiously, watching in amusement as, sure enough, cake man was holding a gold fob watch and smirking at sandwich man.
âOh, thank you,â sandwich man sad politely, holding his hand out to reclaim it.Â
Cake man grinned, studying the fob watch. âI havenât seen one of these in decades!â
Phil put the slice on the counter and muttered, âthere ya go,â hoping to stop what was a needlessly rude interaction from being his problem.
âIâll have it back, thank you,â sandwich man said tersely.Â
âWhat century do you think this is?â
Phil sighed and started working on the sandwich.Â
âI am perfectly aware of what century it is, of course,â
âOf course,â cake man mocked.Â
âYouâre one to talk,â sandwich man snapped. âDressed like you woke up in a gutter three days ago and decided not to do anything about it.â
Phil finished the sandwich while cake man gaped at sandwich man in offence. He hoped they would leave before he had to do anything. Conflict resolution wasnât his strong suit.
âIâm- how dare you-â Cake man said vaguely. Sandwich man took the moment and snatched his fob watch back.Â
Phil put the sandwich on the counter too, giving sandwich man a polite smile. Cake man picked up both bags. âSorry, thatâs his order,â Phil interrupted reluctantly.
âWeâre together,â cake man said absently. They began to walk out together. âI curate this look, this takes effort,â cake man said.
Sandwich man bristled. âYou clearly have no idea how much effort it takes to keep a fob watch in good condition in this era, no one knows how to fix it. Iâve had to learn clock working!â
âI canât take full steps in these pants,â cake man complained. He opened the door and held it open, kicking a leg out to his hip as if to prove he couldnât move it much. He was more flexible in those pants than Phil was naked. âIâve sacrificed the ability to walk!â
âYouâve never had the ability to walk, dear. I do like you in slim pants, though.â The door shut, cutting them off, although Phil, quite bemused, saw them continuing to squabble as they walked off.
Sammy checked the street before crossing, of course, but it was a pedestrain stirp so she didnât check with much focus. No cars, so she walked. She passed a nice looking man in a cream coat who smiled at her warmly. Very warmly. She threw him half a smile and hoped he wouldnât try to talk to her.Â
As they passed a black car, old looking, came roaring around the corner, brakes screeching. The man pushed her hastily off the road and out of the way.
Sammy took a breath, feeling very much like she was made of electricity. She turned quickly, terrified of seeing the kind man mangled by the car.Â
No, he was fine. He was standing in the middle of the pedestrian crossing, the bumper of the car barely an inch from his knees, glaring daggers at the driver.
The window of the car wound down slowly, the sound long and awkward in the street. A man in sunglasses leant out. âWatch where youâre going!â He yelled.
The pale man bristled. âWell, perhaps if you didnât drive like such a maniac there wouldnât be a risk!âÂ
A slender arm slipped out of the window, waving dramatically at the man in the street, who was still bravely glaring at him. âMy driving is not the problem here, you didnât even look before you crossed.â
Sammyâs saviour fixed his jacket and frowned. âI assure you, I looked, youâre just going so very far over the limit-â
âYou didnât look,â the man in the car interrupted. âI saw you, strolling about, not a care-â
âI looked,â the cream coat man snapped. âItâs your speed and- and trajectory that is so unknowable and erratic that-â
The man in the car began to climb out through his window, his body shaking with anger as he did. âI am in perfect control of this car,â he said, sitting in the window frame and leaning around to rest one hand on the windscreen. âBut thereâs not much that can be done for men who just waltz across the street without thinking!â
Cream coat leaned onto the bonnet and shouted, âI am perfectly safe, you nearly hit that young lady, though!â He waved a hand vaguely at Sammy. Sunglasses looked at her, then back to cream coat.Â
âPhooey,â he dismissed.
The man on the street swelled for a moment, then deflated and said a casual, cheerful, âOh!â
âDo you feel like pho for lunch?â
The man slipped his sunglasses down his nose and studied the other. He shrugged. âSure,â he agreed. He clambered out the window and stood in the street. âWant me to pick some up, or go out?â
âLetâs go somewhere.â
Sunglasses nodded and got back into his car.Â
âBut I do need to check on the lady you nearly maimed,â cream coat said smugly. Sunglasses groaned loudly and slipped in dramatic exasperation in his seat.Â
The kind man walked up to Sammy and smiled. âAre you hurt?â He asked.
âIâm fine, thank you,â Sammy muttered.
âI wouldnâtâve hit her!â Came a loud yell from the car. The man was leaning out the window again. âYou listening? I wouldnâtâve hit her, Iâve never hit anyone.â
Cream coat smiled at her again, then his face went into a sudden frown as he returned to the car. âOh, we both know thatâs-â
âYou were distracting me!â Shouted sunglasses. His arm was waving very wildly again. âTalking about love and all that bullshit, that was your fault.â
âMy fault?â Repeated the man in the coat. He slipped into the passenger seat with practiced ease. âYouâre mad,â he snapped.Â
The car roared to life and drove both of them off.Â
Sammy shook her head and went on with her day.
Agatha was sitting on the bench, waiting politely for the bus when a black Bentley sidled up a few doors down and parked. She watched it curiously, it reminded her of her fatherâs bossâs car, and she hadnât seen the like in a while.Â
As she watched the windows wound down, changing the deep, hidden thud of music to a loud rock song she didnât recognise. The music got louder, then a man in all black slipped out of the car and climbed on the roof, laying there with his arms hanging off the edge of the car.Â
Agatha pursed her lips, unimpressed with his rudeness.
A window banged open across the street. âWould you turn that racket off!â Shouted someone. Agatha turned her head slowly to see a man dressed in a nice waistcoat leaning out of the window to Mr. Fellâs bookshop. Agatha had never been inside the shop, but as it was currently closed she had to assume this was Mr. Fell.Â
The rude man didnât even look, he just flipped Mr. Fell off.Â
Agatha gaped, her sympathy entirely with Mr. Fell until a moment later when he threw a stapler out his window, directly at the car.
It fell short and sat rather pathetically in the road.Â
The rude man sat up and pointed at Mr. Fell. âVandal!â He cried dramatically. Despite herself, Agatha had to agree with him.Â
âOh!â Mr. Fell shouted. âIâm trying to work, turn it off!â
Mr. Fell disappeared from the window, only to walk out his front door a moment later, looking like a perfect picture of righteous anger. Agatha began to search through her bag to find her mobile in case she had to call the police.Â
âWould you at least sit inside the car to muffle that horrible sound,â Mr. Fell asked, shouting over the loud music as he approached the car.Â
The rude man swung his legs off the side of the car, sitting on the roof and facing Mr. Fell. âThatâs the Beastie Boys, they get me,â he said, hitting himself in the chest emotionally.Â
Mr. Fell scoffed inaudibly, his expression derisive enough, and reached between the rude manâs legs and through the open window.
âHey!â The rude man snapped. His legs flew in wild directions then, in an action Agatha did not follow, he threw himself off the car and was standing next to Mr. Fell, whacking his arms lightly. âHey, you donât know what youâre doing, youâll break it!â
âMaybe,â Mr. Fell said, still reaching into the car. âBest drive away to stay safe,â he advised.Â
The rude man pulled Mr. Fellâs arm out of the car. âWhatâre you even doing?â He asked.
Mr. Fell wrenched his arm out of the rude manâs grip. âMy taxes, itâs fiddly work and I need to concent-â
âTaxes?â The rude man interrupted loudly. He leaned against the car dramatically, hands in his hair. âYou cancelled dinner for taxes?â
The rude man dropped his hands and looked at Mr. Fell sadly. âYou did them last year.â
âItâs a yearly thing, Crowley.â
âUghhh how long are you going to be?â
Mr. Fellâs posture changed slightly. He leaned in to speak a bit more quietly. Agathaâs hearing was pristine, especially for her age, so she caught the softer tones. âNot too long, how about I come over to yours tomorrow?â
They leaned closer and spoke more quietly for a time, out of even Agathaâs hearing. She put her phone away and pointedly looked away as they briefly kissed each other. The youth these days, ridiculous.
The rude man returned to his car and drove off. Mr. Fell watched him until he rounded the corner out of sight, then turned and addressed Agatha. âI apologise, heâs a menace,â he said politely.Â
Agatha smiled weakly, glad it was all over. Mr. Fell picked up his stapler and returned to his shop.
