Disclaimer: I don't own Good Omens. Please don't sue me, I'm a nice person really.

Warnings: Slightly gory, slightly fluffy near the end, slash/yaoi hints, which you could probably ignore if you wanted. Not much of a plot, as stories go.

Author: Koneko Cain

A/N: This came to me just after finishing the book for the second time. It's very random, and probably doesn't deserve to be posted. That said, I'm pathetically proud of it because it's my first completed Good Omens fic. Enjoy.

Hell of a Day

"Ehh... See, I can explain everything. That is, well, er." Crowley trailed off, nervously backing away from the imposing and rather, well, furious figure of Hastur. Crowley had been well aware that the duke of Hell would have it in for him, so to speak, after the whole apocalypse fiasco. However, he hadn't expected to come home from a satisfying day of bruising the souls of humanity to find the other demon in his flat, waiting for him. In a way, at least. Apparently Hastur wasn't as stupid as he looked, or seemed most of the time. He'd gone to a phone box, dialed Crowley's phone number, and sent himself along the telephone line and back into the dreaded answering machine. Then, he'd simply waited patiently (or not) for Crowley to press the button and check his messages. Now, with a horrendous migrane caused by an incessantly blinking red light, Hastur was out for a little revenge. He didn't take being made a fool of lightly, and had only just escaped the wrath of Hell, since luckily for most of those involved Heaven and Hell were simply trying to pretend nothing had happened.

"I heard that message you got. From the angel." Hastur sneered. Crowley paled. "Like him, do you?"

"Er. Well. Um..." The smaller demon tried to think of an answer to that which didn't involve either admitting or denying it.

"Don't worry, Crowley. He's next." Hastur laughed in a way that made him sound as though he was gargling toxic waste.

"Not bloody likely." Crowley frowned. If there was one thing he hated, it was... well, Hastur. And hearing someone threatening Aziraphale in front of him, to get to him, in fact... He wasn't sure what he should feel about that. He went with 'irate', and supposed it was as good a reaction as any.

"Oh yeah? Wot're you going to do about it, then?" Hastur gurgled his unpleasant laugh again. Now, Crowley though, if only he'd thought this far.

"Erm." He tried to think of something he could possibly do in this situation. Run away? No, Hastur would catch him in no time. The door was open, but unfortunately Hastur was blocking it, standing right in the doorway. Another flask of holy water would come in really handy right about now, Crowley mused miserably. He was really enjoying the world. Being sent back to Hell in very small bits and then put back together just so he could be horribly tortured (this being after Hastur had done to him whatever Very Bad Things he had planned) was not his cup of tea. This was definitely not turning out to be a good day.

"I'll tell you wot I'm going to do. I'm going to drain every drop of blood out of you. Then I'm going to put it back in and do it all again and again, until I get bored." Hastur grinned horribly.

Crowley wondered how Hastur was going to drain his blood, then decided very quickly that a) he didn't want to know, and b) he was probably going to find out soon enough anyway.

Crowley then wondered if demons could be knocked out with such things as telephones, or keyboards, or whatever else was on the desk behind him within grabbing and hurling range. It was about then, as he took a step backward and wondered who he should pray to, that he got his answer. Yes, demons could be knocked out.

Hastur stopped advancing abruptly, his laughter dying in his throat as he lurched forward and collapsed on the carpeted floor, eyes rolling back in his head.

"Oh, my." Said Aziraphale, standing in the doorway holding a fire extinguisher from the hallway outside Crowley's apartment, which he'd just clocked Hastur over the back of the head with. The angel looked down at the incapacitated duke of hell in a rather surprised way, then hastily put down the fire extinguisher. He seemed quite shocked at himself.

"Er." Crowley said, staring at Aziraphale with slightly wider eyes than normal. He wasn't wearing his usual sunglasses, and it looked rather funny.

"Yes." Said the angel. "Quite."

Aziraphale moved around Hastur's feet and closed the apartment door to avoid any unwanted attention, then the two of them stood silently for a long moment, looking down at Hastur.

"Sooo..." Crowley began, trying to figure out exactly what to do now that they had an unconscious (and likely to be waking up soon) duke of the underworld on their hands. "Thanks?"

"You're quite welcome." Aziraphale replied properly, then frowned slightly. "He's going to wake up soon, isn't he?"

"Yes." Crowley frowned too.

"That's... bad." Aziraphale summed the situation up, and they both stared at Hastur a little longer.

"Oi, hang on a minute, you're an angel. Of course! Why didn't I think of it before?" Crowley brightened up suddenly, then turned and dashed from the room. Aziraphale followed him, not really wanting to be in the same room with Hastur, unconscious or not. Reaching the kitchen, the angel found the demon filling up a glass of water from the tap over the sink, grinning madly.

"Whatever are you doing? Is this any time for a drink? I think we have slightly bigger things to worry about-" Aziraphale began, only to have Crowley thrust the glass of water at him.

"Bless it. Go on, you can do it." He encouraged. Aziraphale gave him the same slightly pitying look one gives to someone who seems to have snapped and gone insane under duress. Then, albeit slightly slowly, the pieces began to click into place in his mind.

"Ooooh, now I see. Holy water, yes? But..." Aziraphale paused, frowning a little. "You can't just throw it over him and melt him while he's asleep, that's hardly fair."

"I bloody well can," Crowley assured. "Besides, I'm going to do it anyway, why wait for him to wake up first?"

"Well... You have a point there. But still, I can't just-"

"He's evil, right? You're supposed to thwart evil at every turn. You can't get much more thwarted than being melted into a puddle." Crowley pointed out.

Aziraphale still seemed a little unsure about it, but he supposed technically Crowley was right. Besides, he'd seen Crowley sticking up for him (sort of) in front of Hastur, and felt rather flattered. It was only right to help out someone in need, even if that someone was a demon. Although, pretty much everyone knew by now that Crowley was about as good at being demonic as he was at being angelic. At least they tried, which Aziraphale supposed was the point in the end.

Sighing in a very put-upon way, Aziraphale made a gesture over the glass of water he held and said a few words in latin, just to make it seem more impressive. He supposed he could have done it in English, but Crowley was standing there watching him, and... well, he was showing off.

"Is it done?" The demon asked nervously and hopefully at the same time. Aziraphale nodded.

"Yes, yes, here. You go and do it and I'll stay in here and pretend it's not happening. You can call me when it's over." Aziraphale held the glass of holy water out to Crowley, who instantly threw himself back against the wall, yelping.

"Keep that stuff away from me!" He squeaked, in a very un-Crowley-like voice. Aziraphale gave him an odd look, noting the wide, snake-like eyes and sweat trickling down his forehead. He was clinging to the wall as though he wanted to go through it.

"Ohh, yes. Sorry about that." Aziraphale smiled sweetly, which led Crowley to mutter a few inventive curses, being somewhat flustered by the almost-melting. And, oddly enough, by the smile.

"Well, pour it over him!" The demon encouraged, still hovering near the wall and nervously eyeing the glass now sitting on the counter.

"What? Me? Are you insane? I'm not going to melt someone, I'm an angel, for goodness sake! You'll have to do it yourself." Aziraphale said sternly, drawing the line at having created the holy water.

"How am I supposed to do it? Do you know what one single drop of that stuff will do to me?" The demon whined, but Aziraphale stood firm. He went over to the sink, rummaged in the cupboard beneath it for a moment, then, smiling triumphantly, he held something out to Crowley.

Two minutes later, Aziraphale watched in amusement as Crowley took the glass from him (he'd carried it into the other room again, being mercuful and all) with hands covered in both a pair of rubber gloves and, on top, a pair of flowery oven mitts for added protection. The demon was moving very slowly and carefully, not breathing. To a human it must have looked like he was handling a vial of some highly contagious super-virus, like in the movies. Aziraphale half expected him to drop it, the way his hand was shaking. Soon enough, however, Crowley had the glass positioned over Hastur's prone form. Then, blinking, he stopped.

"Er." He said, only just now noticing the fact that it was likely to splash him if he poured it from that height. Shaking even further, he crouched down next to the duke of hell and very, very carefully, poured the holy water onto his chest. Then, equally as carefully, he placed the glass down next to the now bubbling, melting body, took off the gloves, stood up and ran across the room to put his desk firmly between himself and any drops of holy water that might be left. That and he didn't particularly want to be close to Hastur, since the former duke of hell now looked like a greenish-black puddle of bubbling innards. Aziraphale was watching the thorough melting Hastur was recieving in horrified fascination, making all sorts of disgusted faces.

"Can you...Um. Glass." Crowley said in a voice that was almost, almost a whimper. Two near-extinction experiences were quite enough for one day, he decided. Aziraphale tore his eyes from the now completely liquified remains of Hastur and looked vaguely puzzled for a moment, before understanding what Crowley was on about.

"Oh, of course." He agreed, walking carefully up to the glass and picking it up, careful not to step in any Hastur. Carrying the glass back into the kitchen, he thought about washing it but instead shrugged and put it down the garbage disposal, deciding that Crowley would probably want that. Re-entering the other room, Aziraphale was pleased to see that Crowley had gotten rid of the mess, along with a good rectangle of carpet and the floorboards underneath. Noticing that Crowley seemed quite tired now, the angel hastily miracled it back to how it should have looked, although he was sorely tempted to make the new patch of carpet tartan, just to rub Crowley up the wrong way. Merciful, he reminded himself. That's what angels were meant to be. Glad that whole fiasco was overwith, the angel moved (avoiding that part of the carpet, just in case) across the room and sat down on the white leather sofa next to Crowley, who grinned manically at him.

"Well, that's the second time I've not been killed by Hastur. Um. Thanks." The demon said, then yawned. Not being killed really took it out of you, Crowley mused. He was used to sleeping - he quite enjoyed it, actually - and he felt he was very much in need of a good nap, right about then.

"So," Aziraphale picked up the television remote and switched the set on, flicking through the channels for something an angel would actually want to watch. "Do you like me?" He said it quite casually, and Crowley almost didn't notice the actual question. He did after a moment, though, and stared at the television thoughtfully.

"Yeah..." He said after a while, yawning again and figuring that Aziraphale's shoulder made as good a pillow as he was going to get. The angel smiled again, finally settling on a program about gardening, and wasn't really all that surprised.

End.

Random, I know. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing again, which I'm actually surprised I managed to get finished in one sitting. Does anyone feel sorry for Hastur? Reviews are always highly appreciated.