He met the dry stare with an eyeroll. That old chestnut again. He was sorry, and he would make it up to Crowley sometime later, but must he really dig up that hatchet now? Weren't they past all that?

"Only as the nanny," he said, and tried to imagine Crowley as himself but with a brash Scottish accent not like Nanny's soft brogue. No. Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. Scottish didn't suit him. Crowley could barely handle English sometimes.

...The key? He looked towards the nearest guard, sizing him up with his eyes. Maybe not now, not here like this when he was drawing suspicions just by lingering by the bars. Late at night perhaps, when the guards were tired, and he could try some sleight of hand to pickpocket the keys.

He really shouldn't entertain breaking Crowley out of jail. He was bad at being sneaky and he ought to go through the proper channels and give them the benefit of the doubt, but he had seen how well that worked back home. Besides, Crowley wouldn't have hesitated to do this for him.

"I'll think of something."