Looking For Confirmation (Open to any demons or angels)
Aziraphale might consider Crowley something of a friend, but that didn't mean he trusted the old demon. He knew the serpent well enough, he supposed, to still question anything he said, even after that whole affair with young Adam. So the first thing he'd done when Crowley left was attempt to contact Up There. He'd taken every precaution, not wishing a repeat of the last time. It was enough to be in a strange place, and he had no intention of ending up bodiless as well. The doors were well bolted, and blocked by bookcases for good measure, but he might as well not have bothered. Despite all his pal's warnings, he'd been shocked and disappointed.
Silence. No Metatron. No angels. Nothing.
It didn't mean anything, really, Aziraphale tried to convince himself as he wandered the streets of this unknown City, finally slipping into a restaurant that, while not The Ritz, (for they surely wouldn't know him here) was suitable enough. He couldn't seem to concentrate on the menu, having turned the waiter away twice, undecided, before finally just asking what he recommended when next he appeared at the angel's side. The wine he had no difficulty with- that was an automatic response and required no thought.
Maybe he was being left to his own devices. The Metatron had appeared less than pleased to have been summoned last time. It didn't mean it wasn't there. Not at all. He'd been sure that despite all Crowley's cryptic words there had to be a point, a small tendril of the ineffable plan at play. They just weren't telling him what it was. That had to be it. Had to be. Anything else was madness. He would need more proof before giving in to the concepts the demon had presented him with.