The Improbable Alliance of One Angel and Demon~ Good Omens

Doubt

  Crowley stormed back into his flat, passing the old lady again. She was dragging another bag towards the stairwell. She smiled at Crowley, and he ignored her, heading for the lifts.

  He pressed the '6' button and felt the lift begin to ascend. He knew he didn't have much time to do whatever it was he wanted to do. Speaking of, what did he want to do? He could run away and never look back, but Crowley knew he would always wonder what had happened to the inhabitants of this little green and blue sphere, specifically one blond angel. The lift dinged, and the doors slid open. He stepped out and all but ran to his apartment. He had an idea, but it could go very, very wrong very, very fast. Screw it. He thought. Extinction'd be a preferable alternative to an eternity in Hell.

Suddenly, his ears popped and a cold chill ran down his spine. He knew what that meant. Hastur was getting close. Whatever he was going to do, he had to do it fast. He had one idea, one very stupid idea, and he was going to try it.

  He grabbed the gilded edge of the picture frame proudly displaying the original sketch of the Mona Lisa and shoved it to the side, revealing a steel safe. He unlocked it quickly, hands trembling. Inside were tongs,  a pair of rubber gloves and a tartan-patterned thermos containing the single most dangerous substance known to a demon. One drop of it and they're gone, extinct. It definitely should not have been given to Crowley, but he was glad Aziraphale did. He grabbed the gloves, tongs, a bucket and the thermos. He carefully unscrewed the cap, and as he did, he swore he could hear angels singing from deep within the dark recesses of the container. He gripped it with the tongs and poured it into the garishly red bucket, focusing intently on the task at hand.

  He ignored the sounds of someone who didn't know how to drive parking a car outside.

  He ignored the sounds of two demons, Ligur and Hastur, judging by the stench, stepping into the lift.

  He ignored the sound of the old lady murderess trying to make conversation, only to find her vocal chords incapable of producing sound.

  He ignored the demon's sing-song cries.

  He placed the bucket on top of the door, then discarded the gloves and tongs. At the last second he grabbed a plant mister, throwing himself into his chair and trying to look like he'd been lounging the whole time. The fact the he was out of breath and sweaty didn't help.

  "Crowley..." He could hear the two making their way through his flat. He swallowed hard and forced himself to kick his feet up onto his desk, adrenaline coursing through him.

  The door creaked open slowly, slowly, and the bucket toppled down onto Ligur's head.

  He watched the dissolving demon with little interest, instead focusing on a fleck of dust on his jacket's cuff.

  "Hi," he said, struggling to be heard over Hastur's shrieks. "Sorry about your boyfriend."

  "That's holy water!"

  "Naturally."

  "But, you- you're a demon."

  "A demon with holy water in a convenient and easily dispersible form." He pointed the plant mister at Hastur lazily. "So I'd watch what I say if I were you."

  "You don't frighten me," Hastur's voice quavered.

  Crowley laughed and stood up, taking a quick step towards the other demon in his flat. "Sure. Get out, Duke Hastur, or you'll be joining your friend." This tactic would have worked, if it weren't for the water droplet that had fallen from the nozzle of the plant mister and landed on Crowley's bare fingers.