#im endlessly entertained by bastard!azirahale

[sleepymccoy]

Crowley and Aziraphale are absolutely adorably nauseating with each other in public, once they can be, but they’re 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 he’d just been given,

The customer who’d ordered the cake stood resting on the edge of the counter, waiting quietly as he stared at his phone. The bloke who’d spent an entire minute detailing his sandwich was still at the register, putting his wallet back together.

“Hey,” cake man said, “you dropped your- is this a fob watch?”

Phil glanced up curiously, watching in amusement as, sure enough, cake man was holding a gold fob watch and smirking at sandwich man.

“Oh, thank you,” sandwich man sad politely, holding his hand out to reclaim it. 

Cake man grinned, studying the fob watch. “I haven’t seen one of these in decades!”

Phil put the slice on the counter and muttered, “there ya go,” hoping to stop what was a needlessly rude interaction from being his problem.

“I’ll have it back, thank you,” sandwich man said tersely. 

“What century do you think this is?”

Phil sighed and started working on the sandwich. 

“I am perfectly aware of what century it is, of course,”

“Of course,” cake man mocked. 

“You’re one to talk,” sandwich man snapped. “Dressed like you woke up in a gutter three days ago and decided not to do anything about it.”

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 wasn’t his strong suit.

“I’m- how dare you-” Cake man said vaguely. Sandwich man took the moment and snatched his fob watch back. 

Phil put the sandwich on the counter too, giving sandwich man a polite smile. Cake man picked up both bags. “Sorry, that’s his order,’ Phil interrupted reluctantly.

“We’re together,” cake man said absently. They began to walk out together. “I curate this look, this takes effort,” cake man said.

Sandwich man bristled. “You 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. I’ve had to learn clock working!”

“I can’t take full steps in these pants,” cake man complained. He opened the door and held it open, kicking a leg out to his hip as if to prove he couldn’t move it much. He was more flexible in those pants than Phil was naked. “I’ve sacrificed the ability to walk!”

“You’ve never had the ability to walk, dear. I do like you in slim pants, though.” 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 didn’t 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 wouldn’t try to talk to her. 

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. 

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. “Watch where you’re going!” He yelled.

The pale man bristled. “Well, perhaps if you didn’t drive like such a maniac there wouldn’t be a risk!” 

A slender arm slipped out of the window, waving dramatically at the man in the street, who was still bravely glaring at him. “My driving is not the problem here, you didn’t even look before you crossed.”

Sammy’s saviour fixed his jacket and frowned. “I assure you, I looked, you’re just going so very far over the limit-”

“You didn’t look,” the man in the car interrupted. “I saw you, strolling about, not a care-”

“I looked,” the cream coat man snapped. “It’s your speed and- and trajectory that is so unknowable and erratic that-”

The man in the car began to climb out through his window, his body shaking with anger as he did. “I am in perfect control of this car,” he said, sitting in the window frame and leaning around to rest one hand on the windscreen. “But there’s not much that can be done for men who just waltz across the street without thinking!”

Cream coat leaned onto the bonnet and shouted, “I am perfectly safe, you nearly hit that young lady, though!” He waved a hand vaguely at Sammy. Sunglasses looked at her, then back to cream coat. 

“Phooey,” he dismissed.

The man on the street swelled for a moment, then deflated and said a casual, cheerful, “Oh!”

“What?” 

“Do you feel like pho for lunch?”

The man slipped his sunglasses down his nose and studied the other. He shrugged. “Sure,” he agreed. He clambered out the window and stood in the street. “Want me to pick some up, or go out?”

“Let’s go somewhere.”

Sunglasses nodded and got back into his car. 

“But I do need to check on the lady you nearly maimed,” cream coat said smugly. Sunglasses groaned loudly and slipped in dramatic exasperation in his seat. 

The kind man walked up to Sammy and smiled. “Are you hurt?” He asked.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Sammy muttered.

“I wouldn’t’ve hit her!” Came a loud yell from the car. The man was leaning out the window again. “You listening? I wouldn’t’ve hit her, I’ve never hit anyone.”

Cream coat smiled at her again, then his face went into a sudden frown as he returned to the car. “Oh, we both know that’s-”

“You were distracting me!” Shouted sunglasses. His arm was waving very wildly again. “Talking about love and all that bullshit, that was your fault.”

“My fault?” Repeated the man in the coat. He slipped into the passenger seat with practiced ease. “You’re mad,” he snapped. 

The car roared to life and drove both of them off. 

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 father’s boss’s car, and she hadn’t seen the like in a while. 

As she watched the windows wound down, changing the deep, hidden thud of music to a loud rock song she didn’t 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. 

Agatha pursed her lips, unimpressed with his rudeness.

A window banged open across the street. “Would you turn that racket off!” Shouted someone. Agatha turned her head slowly to see a man dressed in a nice waistcoat leaning out of the window to Mr. Fell’s bookshop. Agatha had never been inside the shop, but as it was currently closed she had to assume this was Mr. Fell. 

The rude man didn’t even look, he just flipped Mr. Fell off. 

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. 

The rude man sat up and pointed at Mr. Fell. “Vandal!” He cried dramatically. Despite herself, Agatha had to agree with him. 

“Oh!” Mr. Fell shouted. “I’m trying to work, turn it off!”

“No!”

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. 

“Would you at least sit inside the car to muffle that horrible sound,” Mr. Fell asked, shouting over the loud music as he approached the car. 

The rude man swung his legs off the side of the car, sitting on the roof and facing Mr. Fell. “That’s the Beastie Boys, they get me,” he said, hitting himself in the chest emotionally. 

Mr. Fell scoffed inaudibly, his expression derisive enough, and reached between the rude man’s legs and through the open window.

“Hey!” 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. “Hey, you don’t know what you’re doing, you’ll break it!”

The music stopped.

“Maybe,” Mr. Fell said, still reaching into the car. “Best drive away to stay safe,” he advised. 

The rude man pulled Mr. Fell’s arm out of the car. “What’re you even doing?” He asked. Mr. Fell wrenched his arm out of the rude man’s grip. “My taxes, it’s fiddly work and I need to concent-”

“Taxes?” The rude man interrupted loudly. He leaned against the car dramatically, hands in his hair. “You cancelled dinner for taxes?”

“I have to do them.”

The rude man dropped his hands and looked at Mr. Fell sadly. “You did them last year.”

“It’s a yearly thing, Crowley.”

“Ughhh how long are you going to be?”

Mr. Fell’s posture changed slightly. He leaned in to speak a bit more quietly. Agatha’s hearing was pristine, especially for her age, so she caught the softer tones. “Not too long, how about I come over to yours tomorrow?”

“Mine?”

“Yes.”

They leaned closer and spoke more quietly for a time, out of even Agatha’s 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. “I apologise, he’s a menace,” he said politely. 

Agatha smiled weakly, glad it was all over. Mr. Fell picked up his stapler and returned to his shop.