Crowley groaned. He had one hand on his steering wheel, the other one rubbing his temples in aggravation. He occasionally looks into his rear-view mirror to stare at the teenager sitting quietly in the back. The child was on his phone, doing Satan knows what, and wasn't saying a single word.

They were stuck in traffic, and if Aziraphale hadn't given him the job of babysitting the kid, he would have kicked him out of the car.

"Bloody humans..." He grumbles, loudly honking his horn.