"I'm not going on there to say hello. Crowley. Crowley!" He reached out and tried to hold his friend in place but Crowley was stronger than him. Who wasn't? He was short, scrawny and he was stopping smoking but he still had the lungs of an eighty year old man. "Let's just look at the ducks. Come on, you like ducks!"

They were moving up the bank and Oh God, if he saw Crowley, they would yell and fight and he was trying so, so hard not to get into fights.

Aziraphale raised his sleeve to his face and tried to wipe the sweat again. "I suppose so, we should-- go again." He sounded so distraught and defeated. He didn't want to go again. He wanted to go home.

Bill, aware that Crowley was about to butt in, tried to shove them both behind a tree. "Don't make a scene." He hissed, desperate."