It was that simple. One minute, Crowley was there, and the next, he was gone. Just like that. No flashing lights, no thunder and lightning, no booming heavenly (or hellish) voices. The last glimpse that Aziraphale caught of his friend was his anxious expression due to the person he was speaking to on the phone, and the conversation they were holding. The angel glanced nervously around for a few precious seconds, realising that everyone in the Ritz had been far too absorbed in conversation or eating to even have noticed the demon's abrupt departure, before crouching down to pick up the mobile phone that had been abandoned on the floor beside Crowley's chair.
"Crowley, dear? Are you there?" Tentatively stage-whispering into the phone, Aziraphale began to feel the sour, urgent push and pull of extreme concern churning in his stomach. Being a celestial creature, the angel tended not to feel most human emotions, except when his dear slightly-more-than-a-friend was in potential danger. When no answer was emitted from the receiver, Aziraphale simply hung up (which didn't improve the situation one bit; in fact, it was the worst possible thing he could have done) and leaned back in his seat for another minute in order to contemplate the recent events. Eventually, he grabbed his overcoat from its usual place – dangling limply from the back of his chair –placed it on his shoulders and swept out of the restaurant in one fell swoop, with the almost mocking tinkle of a bell accompanying him as he exited.
Dean Winchester sat in the most comfortable and familiar place on Earth (and Heaven, Hell and Purgatory, of course): the Impala. Both his hands lay on the steering wheel as some classic rock played – TNT by ACDC, naturally – and his little brother was seated beside him, his head gradually nodding to one side as he began to drift off to sleep. The brothers had been taking turns in driving on the road for twelve hours straight, with the exception of breaks for food or just to stretch their legs, therefore were both tired out. However, it was currently Dean's turn to drive, so Sam figured he should catch some shut-eye while he had the chance. Just when the older brother was getting back into the 'zone' by concentrating on the road ahead, one of their many mobile phones started emitting a tinny ringing from the back seat. Usually, Dean kept such technology in the glove compartment in the front; however their last hunt had finished rather abruptly, with the brothers having to flee the scene from a particularly irritated sheriff who they had crossed paths with while exorcizing an especially tricky demon, therefore the older Winchester had carelessly thrown the phone in the back. Pulling over in the next lay-by on the highway, being careful not to wake Sammy up, Dean reached into the back seat, flipped open the phone (the hunter was still fairly stuck in the '90s way of life) and pressed the answer button.
"Hello?" The Winchester was reluctant to start off the conversation, as he always forgot which alias certain phones were registered under. But no one answered. Not from the other end of the line, at least. Instead, a strange whisper, almost like a chant, emanated from the back seat.
"Please don't be the fourteenth century, please don't be the four- Oh!" As soon as Dean noticed the extremely out of place figure perched awkwardly on the edge of the leather-clad seat, he yelled his brother's name aggressively, clutched the hilt of the demon-killing knife that was constantly protruding from his inside jacket pocket and prepared to stab their unwelcome visitor. Said visitor was very odd indeed. He wore a plain black suit, complete with straight black tie, yet wore a blood-red shirt under it. Snakeskin coated his feet in the form of classy shoes, yet the most prominent accessory of his was the sunglasses that adorned his face. He had pale skin and dark hair that was partially slicked back, with a few straggly strands, and he had good cheekbones. When he was initially whispering, his eyes were screwed shut tightly – well, they couldn't actually be seen because of his sunglasses, but that's how they looked. Then, the moment he realised he wasn't where he thought he was, they popped open instantly as he gaped in shock at his surroundings. Knowing the make of the car in which he found himself (it was a fairly useless yet occasionally helpful demonic power), he couldn't resist commenting.
"Wait a second… This isn't a Bentley!"