A/N: This is a repost of this fic. I decided that I wanted to rewrite it after coming back to it. So if this seems familiar that's why. I hope that this way I'll be able to write a better story than before. Thanks to everyone who read it before and thanks to those of you who are just now finding this. Reviews are an author's life blood.

Aziraphale was hot. He was thirsty and dusty and absolutely sick of the relentless sun beating down on his neck. By Heaven, but he hated deserts. He sighed. He knew, as an angel, that he was supposed to love all of the Almighty's creations, but goodness. All this heat was a bit over the top. Granted, he had spent his first few centuries on Earth wandering deserts but he hadn't known any better then, had he? Now what he wouldn't give for some greenery and a breeze.

And of course, his stupid horse had had to bolt from beneath him the first chance it got leaving him to walk across the burning sand on his own. Wretched creature. He was certainly better off without it.

Aziraphale chanced a glance up at the sun. It was nearly at its zenith and the heat was already almost unbearable. He would need to find some type of shelter soon or he'd cook. He looked around hoping for a tree, at least. He hummed happily when he spotted one not too far off. He began to trudge towards it hoping it had the good sense not to be a mirage. He regretted ever learning about those. If this tree knew what was good for it, it wouldn't disappear on him.

"Oh, thank goodness," he sighed and sat down beneath a very real tree, leaning back against the very accommodating trunk. At least he would be out of the sun for a while. He closed his eyes. He'd rest here for a spell, just enough to recover the strength to face the heat once more before continuing on. A blessedly cool breeze found its way across his face.

Aziraphale still didn't know why he was here. Probably some joke on Gabriel's part, he thought unkindly. He had been unnaturally giddy when he'd delivered this assignment. And vague. He'd said something about Aziraphale knowing what the Almighty wanted him to do when he saw it. Aziraphale just had to make his way to the American West and trust in Her plan. Aziraphale scowled at the memory of Gabriel's smug face. He missed his books. He missed London. He missed-

An ominous click sounded inches from his face. His eyes flew open only to cross as his vision centered on the barrel of a rifle pointed directly at his nose.

"Don't move, mister."

Aziraphale followed the muzzle of the gun up and up and into the small face of a child. She was glaring a storm at him, steadily holding up a rifle that was much too big for her. A wide-brimmed hat sat precariously atop her head, seemingly held on by sheer force of will.

"What are you doing on my daddy's farm?"

Aziraphale frowned as disapprovingly as one could be staring down the wrong end of a gun. "Well, my dear girl, I didn't know I was on your daddy's farm. I'm quite lost, you see. And pointing a, a gun at someone in need is not very polite."

The young girl's face scrunched up in confusion. The gun lowered a fraction which Aziraphale took as a small victory. "Why do you sound so weird?"

"Really, my dear," Aziraphale huffed, playing up his distinctly British accent, hoping he could put her at ease and lessen his chances of being discorporated. He never had been very good with children. That was Crowley's area of expertise. "I'm not the one who 'sounds weird' in this conversation."

A small smile fought its way onto the girl's face. Aziraphale smiled gently back at her and dared to raise a hand to place on the barrel of the gun. Ever so gently, he pushed until the gun was no longer pointed at him. His smile widened. "I'm Aziraphale. What's your name?"

"What kind of stupid name is Aziraphale?" she asked rudely.

Aziraphale stared at her in shock for a moment before laughing loudly. "My Mother gave it to me. You'd have to ask Her."

She frowned at Aziraphale's mirth."My Mama told me not to tell strangers my name," she declared.

"Very good advice," Aziraphale nodded, smothering his grin. "But perhaps you can help me find my way. I'm looking for a town called Persistence."

"Are you the new sheriff?"

Aziraphale blinked. "Pardon?"

"The new sheriff," the young girl continued, eyeing him shrewdly. "The last one died last week, and Mayor Smith said they were gonna send us a new one."

Aziraphale was taken aback by the hope he saw flare in her eyes. He looked her up and down again, taking in her bedraggled appearance. Her dress was clean but threadbare. Her face lined with too much worry for a child to bear. Aziraphale studied her and he made a decision.

"So we are in Persistence, then?"

"It's just over the river," she said pointing west. She turned to point southwest. "Our farmhouse is over there."

"Well, then," Aziraphale said, pushing himself to his feet and brushing off his trousers as best as he could. "I'd better get a move on. Thank you for your help, young lady."

The young girl eyed Aziraphale from his bowler hat to his dusty shoes. She didn't seem very impressed with his light-colored suit or his perfectly manicured hands. She held out her hand. "My name's Lucy." Aziraphale took her surprisingly strong grip in his own. "If I introduce myself, we're not strangers. Come on."

Lucy didn't wait for Aziraphale but turned to walk in the direction of her farmhouse. After a moment of astonished indecision, Aziraphale followed dutifully behind. This young girl clearly was a force to be reckoned with. He smiled. "Where are we going?"

"I've got to tell my mama where I'm going."

"Where are you going?" Aziraphale asked stupidly.

"I've gotta take you into town," Lucy said, rolling her eyes. She glanced at him with a crooked grin and mischief in her eyes. "Without me, you'd probably just get lost again."

A bark of laughter escaped Aziraphale, shocking them both until they burst into a riot of giggles. Lucy grabbed his hand to pull him along faster.

A small two-story farmhouse soon came into view. Its whitewashed walls made it stand out in the muted browns of the surrounding desert. With every step he took toward the farmhouse, a growing sense of dread began to fill Aziraphale's chest. Something about this house seemed to be pushing him away. He slowed down until he pulled Lucy to a stop. She looked up at him with a frown. Aziraphale did not want to go to this house. "I'm quite sure, I'll be able to find my own way, thank you," he began to protest.

"Lucy Thompson! What have I told you about taking your father's gun?" A harried woman stepped out of the front door, wiping her hands on a towel, and froze when she saw Aziraphale. Aziraphale stumbled as a wave of cold fear hit him like a train. The woman motioned for Lucy to join her on the front porch as she glared at Aziraphale with a vehemence that cut him to the core. Lucy let go of Aziraphale's hand to run up the steps to stand behind the woman.

"Who's this?" the woman asked.

Aziraphale smiled at her, trying to make himself seem as innocuous as possible. One wrong move could have him discorporated and thrown back to Heaven faster than he could blink if he didn't choose his next words very wisely. Unlike Lucy, this woman was terrified. And in Aziraphale's experience, terrified humans were dangerous.

"Hello, dear lady. My name is Aziraphale, uh, Fell." He cringed, watching the woman's face contort into a scowl and her hands inch closer to the rifle still clutched in Lucy's hands. He should have thought of a better name, but he'd already told Lucy his real name. Aziraphale Fell would have to do. He just hoped it was enough for him to survive.

"He's the new sheriff, Mama," Lucy supplied helpfully, slipping her hand into the woman's with a gentle squeeze. Aziraphale gasped.

"I was sent here to help," Aziraphale interjected. He wasn't sure he wanted to be a sheriff or even if that was what he was meant to do in Persistence. Until he could figure out his purpose here, he'd rather not have people making assumptions he wasn't willing, or able, to keep. "I didn't know that you needed a sheriff, truthfully. I'm merely here to offer my assistance to those in need."

Lucy's mother eyed him shrewdly, her brow furrowed, eyes narrow. The lines around her eyes betrayed her though. Where others might see a face full of distrust, Aziraphale saw her lines for what they were; laughter lines. She hid her true nature well, but not well enough to fool an angel.

"You don't look much like a sheriff, sure enough." She crossed her arms over her chest, her mouth turned down in a lopsided frown. "What, exactly, were you sent to help with, Mr. Fell?"

The pure disdain that laced his name was not lost on Aziraphale. Lucy's mother was not one easily coddled. He wasn't going to be able to talk his way out of her bad books. Not without a miracle, and Gabriel had been adamant that he use those sparingly. He sighed and decided the truth was his best option. He prayed that it would be enough for Lucy's mother, and smiled self-deprecatingly. "I'm not quite sure, to be honest. I was told I would know when I found it."

"What are you? Some kind of preacher?"

"Goodness, no!" Aziraphale chuckled nervously. He did not need to be mistaken for a preacher again. He was still recovering from that time in Scotland in the 12th Century when his miracles had gotten him burned at the stake for consorting with the devil. (Aziraphale was still cross about that. Crowley was many things, but he wasn't the devil.) "I just need to get to Persistence, dear lady. Point me in the right direction and I'll leave you be."

"Town's over the river," she pointed. "About three miles. Good luck to you, Mister Fell."

A cacophony of whoops and yells descended upon them on a flurry of hoofbeats. Aziraphale spun on his heel to find a group of riders encircling him, each one jeering and waving a gun at him. He squared his feet beneath himself, pushing his weight up onto his toes. Behind him, he heard Lucy gasp and her mother hiss at her to stay where she was. He frowned.

"Can I help you, gentleman?" he asked, boredom dripping from his voice.

"What did you say?" One of the riders snarled and placed his rifle directly between Aziraphale's eyes. He stared up at the man, expressionless. After having one gun pointed at his head today, this one was just an annoyance. The rider snarled and shoved his rifle into Aziraphale's forehead hard enough to leave a mark.

"Leave him alone!"

Aziraphale gasped as Lucy ran down from the porch with her mother, slipping between horses to stand in front of him. He pulled her behind him quickly, pushing the gun still pointed at him more firmly into his forehead. Aziraphale kept a firm grip on the squirming girl, silently willing her to stay quiet. The cold metal of the gun pressed into his head and the struggling girl behind him threw the situation into stark relief. These men were not here for any type of goodwill. They were here for trouble and he would have to bring out every one of his angelic tricks to keep Lucy safe.

"Well, well, well," the man with the gun said. He appeared to be the ringleader of these ruffians and Aziraphale was trying not to dislike him, though not very hard. The man raked his gaze over Aziraphale appraisingly, sending an unpleasant shiver slithering down his spine. He turned to Lucy's mother with a laugh, his lackeys joining him with jeers. "Your new man don't seem like much, Mary. Where'd you even find such a soft old codger?"

Lucy's mother, Mary, scowled at the ringleader. She had a tight grip on the shotgun she had taken from Lucy earlier but kept it carefully pointed to the ground. Aziraphale could feel the anger rolling off her in waves. He almost felt sorry for these ruffians. He did hope that Lucy's mother didn't do anything drastic. These men could kill him before she had even raised her gun and if they shot at him, they would be shooting at Lucy, too. Aziraphale shot her a quick glance, hoping she would trust him as much as he was trusting her right now. He really didn't want to be discorporated before he even made it to Persistence. He'd never hear the end of it from Gabriel.

"He's not my man," Mary finally ground out through gritted teeth. She turned her glare on Aziraphale, her jaw clenched tight. "He's just some lost fool."

"Oh, so we've got ourselves a greenhorn, boys!" he laughed to the other men who joined in with cheers. He swung down from his horse, landing gracefully on his feet. He holstered his gun and doffed his hat with an exaggerated bow. "We got off on the wrong foot, mister. The name's Willy Jones and this here's my gang." He swept his arms wide gesturing around to the others still on horseback.

Aziraphale glared, biting his tongue until he could taste the metallic tang of his own blood. He swallowed. "A pleasure, I'm sure."

Willy's eyes nearly bugged out of his head at Aziraphale's words. "You're far from home, ain't ya?" he guffawed, slapping his knee to get even more jeers from his gang. His teeth were exceptionally white in his wide grin. "What's sent you way out here to little old Persistence?"

"Apparently, I'm to be the new sheriff," Aziraphale drawled, ignoring the frantic head shake from Mary. He watched distantly as her eyes grew wide and all the color drained from her face. He had a moment's hesitation. If Lucy's mother looked this terrified of these men, then perhaps Aziraphale shouldn't have reconsidered his stance on the sheriff at a whim. A squeeze of Lucy's hand, tucked safely in his own, hardened his resolve. He had been sent here to help and he would not fail in his duty.

Willy's eyes hardened into a cold stare. He looked back at his gang before leaning menacingly into Aziraphale's face, growling. "You should know that this is my town," his lip curled in disgust, "Sheriff. We ain't got no need for a lawman here."

Aziraphale raised a lazy eyebrow. "Is that so?" He let his gaze travel slowly over the group of riders with disdain. He paused on a rather skinny rider in black clothes and sunglasses who looked worryingly familiar and nearly groaned. If that was who he thought it was, his job here just became more complicated. He decided to test his theory. "Then, I suppose that will make my job easier, won't it? If there's no crime for me to thwart."

The black rider flinched.

Willy glared, and Aziraphale met his gaze with a flinty stare of his own. Willy flinched first, breaking away to spit on Aziraphale's shoes before swinging himself back into his saddle. He turned his horse to kick dust into Aziraphale's face.

"Don't forget what we're owed, Mary," he spat, eyes still locked on Aziraphale. "I'll be back once you rid yourself of this milksop."

Willy shot one last cold glare at Aziraphale and then spurred his horse into a gallop away from the farm and towards the town. His lackeys followed in a whirlwind of dust and horses, jeering at Aziraphale as they passed. Aziraphale watched them go. He didn't relax his grip on Lucy until he could no longer see the riders, and even then, he couldn't allow himself to relax again.

"That was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid," Mary said once the dust had settled. She looked at Aziraphale with an odd mixture of awe and distrust. She leaned the rifle against the side of the house and sighed. Lucy ran up to her mother and hugged her tightly. Mary met Aziraphale's eyes decisively. Aziraphale straightened his spine for her inspection. She nodded.

"Well, make yourself useful, Mr. Fell, and hitch the wagon. Since you're to be the new sheriff, we might as well take you into town." She looked him up and down once again and shook her head. "Just so we can make sure you don't get lost again."