Author's Note: Tread lightly, there be spoilers galore for both series and book.
Warning: Not much of anything.
Disclaimer: None of it is mine.
Crowley picked up his phone early that morning. He hissed furiously. How dare someone wake him up. It better be important.
"Hullo," he growled in a low voice.
"Uh hello master. Er sire. Er Crowely?"
"Yes, who am I speaking to?"
"This is 2nd level demon, Scumandriel sir."
"That's an awful name," Crowley said.
"Yeah, I've been meaning to change it," the demon said wistfully "if it's alright with you," he corrected immediately.
"Why would I care?" growled unable to find a single 's' to hiss.
"Sir, I'm simply glad to get to you in time," the demon replied sounding a bit relieved.
"What do you mean in time?" Crowley asked. He was used to lower level demons calling him sir. After all he was a level 600.
"Well, sir, you're in terrible danger."
Crowley immediately felt awake.
"What do you mean danger?" he asked suspiciously. The last time a demon had phoned to say he was in danger; Hastur had traced the call and found him.
"They're out to kill you,"
"Who?"
"The Winchesters sir,"
"The what?"
"Winchesters."
Crowley knew he hadn't been to Hell in a while but come on! Who names a demon army the 'Winchesters'. Nonetheless, hell had done some pretty stupid things.
Crowley tried to figure out why the 'Winchester' army was after him and could only think of one reason.
Crowley knew averting the apocalypse would bite him where the sun don't shine someday. He had to warn Aziraphale.
"Tell me everything I need to know," Crowley said miracling a pen and paper.
"They plan on curing YOU sir. You're brilliant plan of having them sign a contract to stop meddling with the gates isn't going to work. They somehow have a plan to capture you before signing it, that way the deal's off and they get what they need that you won't let them have, a demon! Sir you need to come back right away. DON'T LET THE WINCHESTERS NEAR YOU!"
"Wait, who the bloody hell are the Winchesters? What plan? What Trials? Cure a demon?" Crowley asked confused.
"Um, Sam, and Dean Winchester? The Hunters? Your plan to leave the gates of hell opened? The trials that will close the gates of Hell? They need to cure a demon, it's the final trial!"
"Oh for Go-Sa- Someone's sake," Crowley said slamming the pen down hard on his bedside table.
"What's wrong sir?" the demon asked.
"You've got the wrong bloody number," Crowley said laying back on his bed.
"Uh, your name is Crowley isn't it?" the demon asked confused.
"Yes,"
"That's an English accent isn't it?"
"Little American, little English, little Hellish," Crowley said vaguely.
"Your voice is raspy isn't it?"
"Only when someone wakes me up at such an indecent hour," Crowley all but screamed.
"Where are you sir?"
"England you sonuva—"
Apparently however the demon was used to being shouted at and cursed. He ignored the 'insult' completely.
"Isn't your number 666?" he pried on.
"No you damn idiot, it's 667, your bloody finger must've slipped!" Crowley yelled fully annoyed now.
"Oh, I guess it did, Sorry. But wait you ARE Crowley aren't you? I've addressed you this way a few times and you never corrected me,"
"Yes, yes, Anthony J. Crowley, formerly known as Crowley, formerly Crawly, the serpent in the garden you idiot. You want regular old Crowley who made me have to get the Anthony J. in my name. The difference is in the cheekbones my dear demon." This had been happening often recently. Damn Crowley must've gotten himself a phone.
"I am terribly sorry sir"
"You damn well should be, now hang up before I get the other Crowley on the line, if he's still alive that is, and we rip you to shreds for YOUR INCOMPETENCE!" Crowley threatened.
The line went dead.
"Bloody Americans with their bloody Winchesters and their bloody trials and their bloody time zones." Crowley said trying to fall back to sleep but not succeeding.
Also he was unused to so much swearing. It was hurting his head.
Later on he'd be watching a Marathon of Golden Girls when all the appliances went hay wire. Crowley rolled his eyes as a voice was heard coming from them.
"IF ANYONE IS LISTENING, THIS IS YOUR KING. SEND HELP."
Crowley flipped every appliance the bird. He was still cranky from being woken so early.
Several hours of Farrah Fawcett later Crowley could feel himself drifting to sleep.
'What an unproductive day,' he thought to himself with a smile as the credits began to roll on the screen.
Suddenly, the sound of one of those annoying 'Breaking News' interruptions came on screen. Crowley ignored it but did not bother to switch the television off.
"Breaking News" said the news anchor with too much gel in his hair, obvious signs of Botox and an orangish tan.
"We are receiving reports of an unexpected meteor shower. The meteors are reported to appear to be the size of a fully-grown adult. Scientists are trying to figure out what is going on since they say that for so many meteors to fall at this size at the same time unexpectedly is unheard of. What makes this case more interesting is that reports of these falling stars are being reported all around the world. They can be seen even in broad daylight in some countries. We will keep you posted."
The 'Breaking News' jingle played again before returning Crowley to Golden Girl credits. Crowley however had long since abandoned his flat in search of an angel.
Aziraphale was listening to a radio station that had long ceased to exist but, because Aziraphale loved it and it never dared play anything resembling be-bop, it continued to exist on higher plane. He found that when listening to music he didn't feel as alone in the empty bookstore while reading his beloved books allowing his cocoa to develop green mold and solidify.
Suddenly the sound of a reporter came on the station. His voice sounded like that you could expect from an old-timey radio.
"We are getting news reports from all over England. Reports are even streaming in from places all over the world. Meteor showers are being seen all across the skies of every country. These balls of fire are even so bright as to be visible in plain daylight."
Aziraphale stared at the Radio for a full minute even though the voice had gone and was replaced by Bach's Cello Suite No.1
Meteors… All over the world… falling… seen in plain daylight…
'What in the World?'
Suddenly he heard the screech of tires and the abrupt stop of a car's motor engine turn off. He watched as a figure approached, his silhouette lightened by the meteors falling outside. Aziraphale froze in his spot. The familiar figure burst through the door, sending the little bell into a frantic fit of ringing.
"ZIRAH! ZIRAH!" Crowley yelled making his way into the store, upon seeing Aziraphale sitting at the counter he let out a sigh of relief.
"Crowley?" Aziraphale rasped. Suddenly everything around him felt very heavy, as if gravity were pulling him down.
"Zirah! You're okay! The angels they're falling! Those aren't meteors! Bloody Crowley must have something to do with this! Come on we're going to America!"
Suddenly the atmosphere in the store seemed to break. Almost as if a conflict between gravity and wooden legs had been started and gravity had finally won.
The legs on Aziraphale's chair buckled and the angel Fell with a surprised "Ohmmph!".
Crowley stifled back a snicker.
Author's Note: Because you see, while I was crying over the angels falling, my brother walked in and asked what happened and then he watched it on his own and he came into my room and he said.
'Look, I know the angels are dead,'
'THEY FELL!' I said
'right, fell, anyways, can you imagine Aziraphale sitting in his bookshop sipping cocoa and he suddenly falls out of his chair?'
And I burst into laughter and it was okay.
So I hope this makes it okay for all of you. Please review?