Title: The Ducks at St. James Park

Summary: Sometimes, we do not realize that the capability of ducklings to observe their surroundings goes beyond differentiating the types of secret agent bread. Especially when it comes to a certain angel and demon.

Disclaimer: I do not own Aziraphale or Crowley. But I own the duck. Her name is Betty.

This is my first Good Omens fanfiction, so go easy on the criticism and phrase it nicely, okay? Thank you.


Once, there was a duckling that lived in a giant pond, with rotting plants and flying stones. Actually, the flying stones came only when the spawn of the giant people came. Those were Bad days. They waved their awkward wings about but never seemed to take off. She could sympathize with them, really; after all, it took her many weeks just to flap her wings. At least, that was until the rocks started flying and scraped hard against her feathers. It left a bald patch, and she was Most Displeased. After that, she took great pleasure in "relieving" herself on top of their sandwiches. Their faces would contort in the most pleasing manner, and they would let out the most pitiful sounds ever. Then the Bad days would turn into Okay days.

Of course, not all giant people were bad; there were those who would meet up and whisper in soft voices, throwing her bread. They looked dangerous at first, decked in black, but they had bread, so that was alright. Those were Good days.
However, on some of those Good days, there was one who moved gracefully, and in his presence she would feel all survival instincts melt away, leaving her with a most unnatural woozy sort of happiness (Kind of like the feeling you get when you've been inhaling too much nitrous oxide, but of course Betty did not know that). She was terribly suspicious at first, as he did not feel quite right, completely different from the other giant people but yet resembling one. It confused her terribly, but the duckling did not mind, as warm fingers cupped the bread and cooed its way into her trust. She could trust him, she thought. And most importantly, he brought bread.

And there was the One. He felt different too, but not in the woozy happiness sort of feeling. He gave off the feeling of a crocodile with its crinkled skin and scales, grinning sweetly before it ate you, tearing gleefully into your flesh (Betty was terribly close in that aspect; Crawly had become Crinkly before he decided that Crowley was the one for him).

It didn't help either, that he was wrapped in the colour of the night. Whenever he came, she felt queasy; she anticipated something cruel, evil or predatory, but nothing happened.

Mr. Nitrous Oxide would slip his arm into Mr. I-Like-Duck-Meat and the presence of Mr. Nitrous Oxide would have the same effect on him as he had on her. He would grunt, but his shoulders relaxed and his menacing aura would dissipate in a matter of seconds. The duckling stared in awe. All her life she had only understood the concept of prey and predator, and this was something entirely different altogether. However, she was not a very curious duck, like all other ducks, and she left these sort of days as Weird days.

And there were the Very Good days. Mr. I-Like-Duck-Meat would even bring bread for her. Though he did it reluctantly and with a terrible scowl on his face, it was like having a predator provide your meal. She would stare at him in amazement, not comprehending this new concept. However, at the very, very furthest corner of her eye, she would catch Mr. Nitrous Oxide positively glowing, and although she did not understand why, she unconsciously realized the reason for Mr. I-Like-Duck-Meat's doing, and all bread felt good.

The End.