The Universe's Mixer

At first there had been no answer when Crowley attempted to contact Aziraphale post Angels and Demons soiree. Constant no answer on the mobile. To the point where he was starting to leave increasingly irritated voicemail messages for the angel that started out with something similar to, “answer your sodding phone, you do-gooding luddite” followed by something like, “what's the point of having a mobile if you're never going to answer the bloody thing” and ended with a standard, “call me.”

He'd left a message close to that about five times until one day he went to check his mobile and found that Aziraphale's number was missing. Deleted. Gone. The demon even searched his call history to see if maybe he'd deleted the number on accident, hit send on the old calls log and received the automated message of, “your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try your call again.”

So, as instructed, he tried his call later. Or rather, attempted to try the call again. Except that suddenly his call history with Aziraphale was also missing from his phone. He checked over and over again for a few days. And just when he thought he was done checking, he checked again. Crowley wasn't needy, he we concerned. The angel might have not been technologically savvy, but he wasn't the type to completely ignore someone. At least not Crowley.

There was only one option and he did it -he hopped in his Bentley and drove around town in search for Aziraphale's bookshop. Hours he drove and found nothing.

He stopped in the middle of the street, knowing that the two shops in front of him once flanked the angel's shop, got out of his car and scanned the area for anything suspicious. It was as if Aziraphale had never been in the City. Which could only mean one thing...

Aziraphale was gone.

“Bugger!” He exclaimed and dropped his fist hard on the roof of the Bentley.