Demons didn't sleep, thus they didn't dream. However they did need to rest every now and again so Crowley was relaxing upon a park bench, arms draped over the back, legs crossed and eyes closed. It was a beautiful late spring day, the sounds of sparrows cheeping and children laughing setting the soundtrack to his midday "meditation". The demon was fully alert to all of it yet deep in quiet repose at the same time. He allowed his thoughts to drift and play through his mind like the motion of gentle waves upon a beach, each one rising to the forefront of his awareness before fading back into the swirling miasma that was his infernal nature.
His thoughts drifted from thinking of all the good things of Earth such as fine whiskey, the beauty of aurora borealis, the majesty of the great whales, the awe inspiring sight of a total eclipse (demons were able to look directly into the sun without fear of going blind) and twenty other things of the sort that made Earth so dazzlingly spectacular despite the efforts of humanity and Divinity to run the planet into the ground until it lay a barren desolate baking place hotter than any hellfire he knew.
Coral reefs were dying. Polar bears were starving. Humans were killing each other in the millions as they had done since the very Beginning. And for what? There was no point to it all as people went about their lives living selfishly driving themselves mad with greed and rage, preying upon the fellow members of the human species with deceit and malice. Hells bells, humans were capable of a certain stripe of evil that rivaled even the most violent of demons. And it was all "good" in the eyes of God.
What utter horseshit, Crowley mused. God was a monster. Capricious, childish, vile and sadistic. What kind of entity would create existence as chaotic, dangerous and painful as it was? God knew everything would happen and commanded humanity to be as boorish and prone to destruction as they, the demons were. Fuck that, he thought.
Crowley let out a disgruntled sigh, consciously pushing the thoughts of exactly what he'd like to do to the High and Mighty if given the chance, least of which was a fucking punch to the deity's fucking face before he got creative with his vengeance. But no, that wouldn't do. If he gave in to dwelling on his hatred he'd drive himself to self destruction and he had a solid sense of self preservation to protect.
An image of Aziraphale emerged in his mind. My one true friend. It was a marvel that God had produced such a honorable and intelligent being. Certainly the only good thing the deity had ever done. He still didn't understand how an Angel could befriend him. By all rights they should have somehow been at odds after all this time. But no, Aziraphale was still there, a steadfast companion and confidant. A loyal and trustworthy companion. Crowley truly felt for him. Cared for him if pressed on it. But of course that was a secret he would never voice even if tortured with the greatest pain Hell had to offer.
Was he also attracted to the Angel? Crowley snorted at the thought for the thousandth time. He was a demon after all. His thoughts weren't exactly pure. He'd often thought of Aziraphale whilst he pleasured himself and he wasn't bothered by it in the slightest. His thoughts were his own. No one would ever know about them. And he'd certainly never EVER act on them. Thus this was his eternal secret.
A new sound roused him from his thoughts. A soft droning of deep beats that he could hear growing steadily more complex and varied. Is that a fucking didgeridoo? It was a powerful sound. He could almost feel the notes in his chest steadily beating with the rhythm of his heart. His eyes snapped open and he glanced around the park to locate the sound. But there was no one as far as he could see that was playing the ancient Australian instrument. Suddenly he noticed that the sound was gone upon opening his eyes. He closed them again for several seconds but the sound of the didgeridoo was gone.
"What the hell?" Crowley asked aloud, his brow furrowed in total confusion. He was so sure he hadn't imagined the sound. It startled him that he couldn't understand where the sound was coming from. He hadn't imagined it he was sure. He'd physically heard the sound with his ears, he was certain of it. Besides, why in all that was unholy would he imagine the sounds of a didgeridoo of all things? He shook his head as if to clear it and stood up. But had he imagined it? He supposed it was possible as there was nothing in reality that could confirm it had been real.
But why a didgeridoo? He was bothered. Spooked, even. He needed a calming cup of tea and the company of his angelic comrade. Maybe he'd ask Aziraphale what he thought about this. He felt a strong need to tell him. Almost as if the ancient music wanted him to tell the angel. His golden eyes widened at the thought behind his dark shades. Fantastic, maybe I'm going mad. Hell help me.