Aziraphale peered over the garden wall on tiptoe, brows furrowed in distress.

"You lost it!"

Below, his foot steadying the ladder upon which Aziraphale stood, Crowley raised his eyebrows. The angel backtracked.

"Well, we lost it." They had been playing badminton in one of the clearer sections of the cottage garden, when Crowley had delivered a tremendous overhand swing and Aziraphale, in attempting to answer, had tipped the shuttle off the end of his racket, causing it to sail gaily over the wall. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, but, "They're out there again!" Aziraphale exclaimed, and clambered down the ladder. "I don't think they saw it, but what do we do now?"

Their nearest neighbor was a respectable distance away, an elderly lady who tended to keep to herself, and with whom they had a cordial relationship. However at the moment she was in Wales visiting some relation or other, and in the meantime had let her cottage on AirBnB. Crowley claimed that he had had no influence on the app's creation, and while Aziraphale wanted to blame demonic influence for its existence, he knew very well that humans were perfectly capable of this kind of evil on their own.

The tenants who now occupied the cottage were an American couple and their several children, all of whom were perfectly fine except that they were loud, extremely friendly, and liked to take up the entire field that stood between the old lady's cottage and the one belonging to the "quirky gay couple," with their vacationing antics. Aziraphale and Crowley (well, at least Aziraphale) had made an effort to be polite at first, but as the tenancy had dragged on, they began to simply avoid leaving their own garden when invaders were out. In the midst of wringing his hands, Aziraphale had an idea.

"Crowley," the demon's head snapped around at the saccharine tone in Aziraphale's voice, his guard immediately up.

"Yyeeees?" he asked suspiciously, and Aziraphale reached out to grasp his arm, smiling beseechingly.

"Crowley, you know how we could get it back without being seen."

"Angelll," he said with a warning edge, but Aziraphale gripped his arm more firmly and sidled closer, grasping Crowley's hand with his free one.

"Crowley—"

"No."

"Crowley, please?" Aziraphale raised Crowley's hand to his lips and kissed it, looking up over their knuckles with pleading eyes. Crowley sighed deeply, though the pink flush of his ears gave him away.

"Fine!"

With a faint poof, he disappeared. Aziraphale grinned, wringing his hands in delight this time, and settled expectantly down onto a nearby bench. For a moment, there was nothing but the noise of the American children. Then, a feminine scream rent the air, followed by the sounds of screeching children, then masculine bellowing. Along with these sounds, there was thevibration of a much running about as the voices grew further away and (blessedly) quieter. A few moments later, a large black snake with a scarlet underbelly slithered around the corner and through the garden gate, the shuttlecock clamped comically in its jaws. Aziraphale beamed.

With another poof and a small pop, Crowley reappeared, and spat the shuttle into his palm, shaking his head in rueful amusement.

"The things I do for you, Angel."