Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aziraphale had a little secret. 

Just a small one, say… about the size of a cricket ball. 

It was called Clarence. 

Not that the existence of Clarence was a secret, not at all. He’d sat in a plush little dog bed next to the fire in the cottage that Aziraphale shared with Crowley, as well as with six now fully grown ducks: Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo, Simon, and Camilla. Clarence had come first, before the ducks, before they were ducklings, before they were even eggs. Because when in a state of feathery angelic broodiness, Aziraphale had found the lost cricket ball in the park, and the part of his hindbrain that was particularly avian to go with his wings, which was in a “nesting” phase at the time, had come over all maternal the moment he’d laid eyes on the egg-like white orb, and immediately adopted it. 

He’d taken it home, and begun trying to incubate it in a nest made of his own down feathers, on the duvet in his bedroom. 

In a drunken-inspired effort to distract Aziraphale from trying to hatch an inanimate object, Crowley had brought home a box of six duck eggs for him to incubate instead, “to get it out of his system.” The eggs had hatched, but Aziraphale still didn’t want to let go of Clarence the cricket ball. 

So they’d kept him around, and Crowley hadn’t supposed much harm could be done by having a random cricket ball like a bizarre ornament by the fireplace, provided it kept his Angel happy, which it did. He mostly just ignored it. 

What he didn’t know, however, is that whenever he was away, or whenever Aziraphale needed some comfort, he still sneakily incubated the ball. He’d take Clarence from his cosy bed by the fire, and sit on him for a bit, while he read a book, or knitted, or crafted little booties for the duck’s feet to protect them when they went for walks together. 

The ducklings turned out to have developed a little bit of supernatural something from being incubated and raised by an angel and a demon, and little Donatello, a black cayuga duck, had shown it first by learning to miracle a packet of snacks to his beak whenever he wanted. 

But none of the ducks had been incubated by an angel alone for anywhere near as long as Clarence had by now…

“Angel? Dinner’s ready!”

Aziraphale looked up from the sofa, startled out of the book he’d been reading, and craned his head to check that Crowley hadn’t come out of the kitchen to call for him, and had just yelled from in there, before he stood up, picked up Clarence, and returned him to his warm nest by the crackling fire. He then went to join Crowley for his supper. 

The clock on the mantel ticked on, the log fire cast a warm flickering glow across the cosy cottage lounge, the ducks were all outside, dozing next to the pond in the garden. A few rooms away, there was the clink of cutlery on crockery as an angel and a demon enjoyed a delicious dinner together. 

… Then the cricket ball moved. 

It wobbled, then stopped for a moment. 

… Then it wobbled again, and rolled in a little circle around the soft dog bed and stopped once more. 

Then it hopped in the air a centimetre or two as if it had just hiccupped, landed on the edge of the dog bed, and rolled off into the coal scuttle. 

The clock ticked on.

Outside, in the darkness, a fox crept around the fence which surrounded the garden, and peered up at the mesh netting which covered it to provide protection from airborne predators such as hawks and buzzards. It bobbed its head up and down, contemplating trying to jump or climb. 

By the pond, Donatello opened one eye. 

Normally, when a predator is sighted, any normal duck response would be loud quacking and running for cover, but Aziraphale and Crowley’s little ineffable flock weren’t normal ducks. They opened their other eye, suspicious.

Donatello wiggled their tail feathers, and winked. 

There was a short sharp crackling sound, and a miniscule thundercloud manifested over the fox’s head just long enough to zap its nose with a tiny lightning bolt. The fox yelped, its fur standing out all over its body, and fled. 

Donatello closed their eyes again and went back to sleep. 

Aziraphale glanced up at a small flash of light outside the kitchen window, followed by a tiny thunderclap. 

“Foxes again,” Crowley mumbled around a mouthful of stew. “Must be a new one, haven’t had any for a while.”

They finished dinner, and cleared the table. Aziraphale began washing up, as they took turns - whoever cooked dinner, the other washed up that evening. He was just scrubbing the slow cooker pot when Crowley called through from the lounge. 

“Angel?”

“Yes dear?”

“Why is there a lightbulb in the coal scuttle?”

“Pardon?” Aziraphale paused, up to his forearms in hot soapy bubbly water, and thoroughly confused. 

“And how is it lit?”

Aziraphale rushed through from the kitchen, hands dripping. 

“Whatever do you mean, dear? OH!”

Crowley was staring down at a brightly glowing orb amongst the lumps of coal. Aziraphale’s eyes darted guiltily across to Clarence’s dog bed, and saw that it was empty. 

“Oh dear…” He sank to his knees, and inched closer, his stomach full of butterflies, wondering what on earth he’d done. 

He reached forward, and nudged a lump of coal aside. There was a squeak, and the light rose into the air slightly. Crowley hissed in alarm and grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulder, dragging him back in an effort to keep him safe. They both blinked. 

The light resolved into a ball, the same size as the original cricket ball, but now made of a series of spinning rings, each festooned with tiny eyes, and stubby little wings. At the centre of the spinning rings was a golden glow. 

It resembled a miniscule trueform angel. 

Aziraphale moved closer again, easing out from under Crowley’s overprotective hand, and peered at the little ball.

Mostly its wings were pearlescent white, but at the tips of each feather, in a regular pattern, was either gold and blue, or black and red bands. Its many eyes were a mixture of blue, or slitted golden. 

(Illustration by SleepySkele, Can’t see the image? Click here.)

“Oh no.” Crowley looked aghast. “What have we done?”  

Aziraphale reached out and carefully picked up the little ball, immediately smitten by it, cradling it gently. 

“Clarence,” he cooed. “My handsome little Clarence.”

“B… but… but… he’s not a duck! ” Crowley spluttered. “The rest were fucking DUCKS!”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale chided. “Language!”

“But HOW?” Crowley wailed. 

“Clarence was never a duck egg, was he?” Aziraphale explained. “Besides, I told you he was a little developmentally delayed.”

“But he was a fuc… bloomin’ cricket ball , Aziraphale! He was never an egg at all!” 

“But then he became an egg, for an angel , aided and abetted by a demon . Look,” he held Clarence up proudly. “He has your eyes. Or at least some of them.”

Crowley snorted, grit his teeth and spun around, on one hand not wanting to admit he’d helped influence an inanimate object into whatever the fuck Clarence had hatched out into, but on the other hand, feeling all soft and weird inside that Aziraphale had pinned him down with the phrase ‘aided and abetted’ as befits demonic activity. 

Aziraphale was stroking the soft tiny feathers on Clarence’s little wings, and the ball let out a quiet purring sound at the contact, snuggling into his palm, eyes closed contentedly. He didn’t appear to need the wings to fly, he just floated and spun. Aziraphale sat back, gazing adoringly at him. 

Crowley sighed, and sat down next to him on the floor, leaning against the sofa, and peered at their strange little hatchling.  

“Kinda got into the habit of calling Clarence ‘he’ all this time. D’you reckon we should change to ‘they’ like the ducklings?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale shrugged. “Probably best, I mean, Clarence looks more like a genderless creature than any of the ducks do - they have drake feathers and suchlike, but Clarence has nothing. It certainly makes more sense. Would you like to hold them?”

Crowley bit his lip, then held out his hands nervously. It was intimidating, even being so tiny, because Clarence resembled a miniature angel far more than anything else, and as such Crowley’s demonic senses were screaming “DANGER!” at him, but he could also see the little golden eyes, and the red and black banding on some of the feathers, no doubt due to the times that Crowley had been helping to incubate the clutch of duck eggs, and Clarence had been included in the group. He supposed he should be ok. 

Aziraphale held out the little golden creature, and carefully lowered Clarence into Crowley’s cupped palms. The little orb was warm, and rather than resting on the skin, floated just above, spinning gently. Clarence opened their eyes and gazed up at Crowley curiously. 

“Um… hi, I guess?”

Clarence’s wheels spun a little faster and they fluttered their tiny stubby wings, then bumped gently against Crowley’s finger. 

He burst into tears. 

“Crowley?”

“THEY’RE SO SMALL!”   Crowley wailed through his tears. 

Aziraphale wrapped an arm around him and rested his head on Crowley’s bony shoulder, while his demonic husband sniffed. He tactfully withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out. Crowley stroked Clarence’s wings with a fingertip, passed them back, then took the handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. 

Clarence jumped in alarm, fluffing all their feathers out, eyes wide open, then let out a stream of distressed squeaking noises. 

“Shh dear, it’s alright, it’s just Crowley, nothing to be alarmed about,” Aziraphale soothed the little orb, cuddling them close and kissing their wings. The alarmed squeaks subsided, and they watched Crowley carefully, blinking, to see what else he might do. 

“Sorry, kid,” Crowley apologised, and reached out to stroke Clarence’s feathers again. He looked up at Aziraphale. “So, what do we do with them next?”

“The best we can, dear,” Aziraphale replied. “Just as we did with the ducklings.”

“We’ve only just got them sleeping in their own pond!” Crowley protested. “Leonardo kept waddling into the bedroom at night until a few months ago. I don’t even know where to start with… whatever Clarence is.” He looked down at the little ball. “What ARE they, anyway?” 

“Unique, I should think,” Aziraphale replied.

“No, I mean what do we even call them? Celestial Globe? Ethereal Puzzle Ball? Marginally Occult Orb? Slightly Demonic Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch?”

“Well, as they currently defy explanation, I suppose ‘Ineffable Orb’ will do as well as any. But Clarence for everyday purposes. They’re a Clarence. Aren’t you, sweetheart?” Aziraphale finished, nuzzling Clarence’s wings with the tip of his nose.  Clarence squeaked happily.

“D’you suppose they need to eat?” Crowley asked.

“Only one way to find out. Fetch me a bowl of milk will you, dear?”

Crowley hastened to the kitchen and returned with a little dish of milk, which he held out. Clarence lacked any obvious orifices, so Aziraphale simply held them next to the dish and waited to see what they’d do.

Clarence blinked and peered at the new thing curiously, before floating closer, then tipped over the edge and landed with a splash in the milk, letting out another startled squeak and flapping their little wings frantically, Covering Angel and demon in it. They floated up and out in apparent disgust, and sat on Crowley’s head, still dripping milk indignantly.

“I think that’s a ‘no’ to milk then,” Crowley said despondently, wiping it from his face in irritation.

“On the plus side,” he said, brightening up, “that means no nappy changing or nesting material muck outs.” 

They took Clarence’s squishy dog bed upstairs and put it on the bedside table, then placed Clarence gently in the bed. Aziraphale was still concerned that they hadn’t consumed anything, before Crowley pointed out that neither of them needed to consume anything either, it was just habit, and the little orb seemed perfectly fine, not fussing for any nourishment that they could tell, and seemingly lacking any way of consuming it anyway. 

The next challenge was the bright golden glow that Clarence emitted constantly, so Aziraphale fetched a soft knitted blanket he’d made a while ago, and tucked the little creature in with it, so only a soft muted light emanated through the cloth. Clarence seemed happy with the arrangement, and snuggled into the blanket in their nest happily. 

They weren’t sure if Clarence would sleep or not - it not being essential for celestial or occult beings, and, like eating, something they themselves only did out of habit, but Clarence seemed content to doze, closing all their many eyes, folding their little wings, and at least entering some kind of resting phase. 

Aziraphale had woken several times in the night - not because of anything Clarence had done - they seemed quite content and silent all night - but purely out of overprotectiveness, to check on their little supernatural hatchling. He peeked under the blanket, and the first few times, Clarence had opened their eyes and blinked up at him, but after that only a few eyes opened, and then none - so they were presumably in a deep sleep by that point. 

When morning came, Aziraphale carried Clarence downstairs, and while he breakfasted, offered Clarence the opportunity to try consuming morsels of everything on his plate, but aside from nudging them with their wings curiously, Clarence didn’t make any attempt to eat or drink anything. They did flick their wings in annoyance whenever they poked anything liquid however. They floated around the breakfast table, investigating everything with insatiable curiosity. 

“Well, at least we know they don’t have any interest in food anyway,” Crowley said, reaching out to pick up the little ball and cradling them in his hands. Clarence closed their eyes contentedly and snuggled into his palm, with a gentle vibration that could be taken for purring. 

“Right, young Clarence,” Aziraphale announced, “time for you to meet your siblings.”

Clarence opened an eye and peered at him with a questioning squeak, then, when Crowley stood up to carry them outside, opened the rest of their eyes with interest. Aziraphale opened the back door, and they stepped out into the garden, where a gaggle of excited little ducks quacked and clamoured for their breakfast. 

Rather than letting a build-up of food contaminate the small pond, they had a paddling pool they filled with clean water each day, so they could scatter food on top for the ducks to dabble off the surface, plus another dish with regular grain and vegetables. 

Crowley held Clarence while they watched the ducks gobble up their breakfast, knowing they’d be too distracted by the food to meet their new sibling beforehand. Clarence watched in amazement at the strange new feathery creatures. Then the sights around them in the garden distracted them, and Clarence’s eyes endeavoured to look everywhere all at once - the sky, the cottage, the garden, the ducks, Aziraphale and Crowley, and it all became too much. Clarence sharply levitated up out of Crowley’s hands, and burrowed into his jacket to hide. 

“Poor dear,” Aziraphale sighed. “I suppose it must be very overwhelming trying to comprehend the input of so many eyes all at once as a neonate, it must take some getting used to. Here, give them to me.” He reached out and gently extracted Clarence from where they were quivering inside Crowley’s jacket, and cradled them in his hands, extending his own huge wings to wrap around them to reduce the agoraphobic feeling. 

“There, there. It’s quite alright, dear. Now see here, I have eyes just like you. Are you ready?” Aziraphale slowly allowed some of his own ethereal eyes to fade into our plane of reality, but Clarence didn’t seem to notice, simply looking confused. Aziraphale was baffled for a moment before realising. 

“Of course! Your eyes can see on all planes of existence at once as well just as mine can, so you could see mine hiding already , couldn’t you?” He stroked one of Clarence’s wings with a fingertip. “I suppose it must be extra overwhelming for you to be able to see so much more all the time - all our auras, the ducks’ auras, and everything else that no one else can perceive. You poor thing. That’s a lot of visual input to process all at once for a little hatchling.”

He thought for a moment. “I’ve had an idea. I’m going to place a miracle on my pocket, and Crowley darling, would you do likewise please? To render each of our jacket pockets ethereal-proof, so that you can hide in either of them if the sensory overload becomes too much for you. That way you won’t have to see everything all at once, and can take a little break, until you feel comfortable again. Do you like the sound of that?”

Clarence squeaked, and darted off to hide in Aziraphale’s pocket, then peeked out and blinked at him. 

“Alright, here we go.” Aziraphale snapped, and Clarence squeaked in approval, burrowing happily deeper into his pocket, evidently content now that the excess stimuli had been blanked out. Crowley snapped and applied the same miracle to his own. 

“I think we’ll go back inside for now, and then a little later, we’ll bring the ducks indoors one by one for you to meet.” Aziraphale headed back inside, leaving Crowley to check the ducks had everything they needed. 

Chapter Text

Crowley found a treat ball that had rolled under a rosebush and pulled it out, gave it a rinse in the paddling pool, then began to stuff it with treats and leafy greens for the ducks to roll around and pull the food out of later on the lawn. 

He’d spent a lot of time researching toys for them, and a low swing was tied to a branch of an apple tree for them to jump on, there was a bright yellow rubber duck on the pond which they enjoyed pushing around and dunking, and a wicker basket of nesting material swung from another branch for them to pick from and carry off to line their nests with. 

Crowley looked around for the football, which Michaelangelo in particular loved to play with, and finally spotted it stuck in the gutter by the roof of the cottage. No doubt Simon had miracled it up there in mischief. Crowley sighed and miracled it down again. The ducks could only do one or two very minor basic miracles each.

Next he went through a little wicket gate to the vegetable garden and cut a cabbage from a raised bed, then took it back and strung it from another tree branch for them to nibble on from below. After that, he fetched some more fruit and vegetables to take indoors with him, which he’d thread onto some garden twine and string up between two bushes for the ducks to nibble on in the afternoon. 

Everywhere Crowley went around the garden, Donatello, the little black cayuga duck, followed him like a shadow. Of all of the ducks, Donatello had the strongest attachment to Crowley, and was definitely the most mischievous of the group. 

Camilla was the shyest of the ducks, but also the one who craved the most affection, and as such would occasionally beg to be picked up and carried. Donatello kept trying to chase them off, wanting to keep Crowley to themself. Eventually Crowley picked up Donatello and put them on the swing, before picking up Camilla to give them some attention. After some cuddles, when Crowley needed two hands instead of just the one, he placed the shy little duck on his shoulder so they could ride around while he checked on the vegetable garden. 

(Illustration by ChipMae. Can't see the image? Click here.)

Next he eyeballed the assembled quackers and tried to decide who to bring indoors first to meet Clarence, before finally selecting Raphael as the most level-headed and gregarious who could be relied upon to greet a newcomer politely without becoming too boisterous, or hiding. 

Putting Camilla down on the pond for a paddle, he scooped up Raphael, who quacked indignantly, and carried them indoors with him. 

When Crowley got inside, he found Aziraphale fretting over Clarence, who was fluttering around the lightbulb in the living room light fixture, occasionally butting into it. 

“What are they up to?” Crowley asked, confused. 

“Honestly I have no idea,” Aziraphale replied, exasperated. “I think they keep trying to play with it, because it looks like them perhaps? I can’t seem to tempt them down again and I can’t reach.”

“Leave this to me, Angel,” Crowley grinned. “Tempting is my forté.” He winked, then stepped over to the lightswitch, and turned the light off. 

Clarence hovered up there a moment longer, confused, then boinked off the now dim bulb one last time, and floated back down to land in Aziraphale’s hands once again. 

“Look at you, you’ve got dust all over you from the lampshade. Crowley? Would you go and fetch me one of your old mascara tubes please?”

“Mascara? What for? If you’re gonna put it on all of Clarence’s eyes you’ll be here all week!”

“No, a used up one please, just the brush, and give it a very thorough wash with soap and water.”

“Oh you just want a spoolie, I’ve got a clean one of those in my make-up bag anyway, here, look after Raphael, I’ll go get you one.”

He put Raphael on the carpet, and the Braddock white duck waddled over to the fireplace and settled down in front of it with some contented quiet quacks, wiggling their tail feathers happily. 

Crowley came downstairs again with a spoolie brush in one hand, and a handheld vacuum cleaner in the other. He passed the spoolie to Aziraphale, then brought his wings out, and reached up with one to use his wingtip to brush the dust off the light fitting, then sucked up the falling dust with the vacuum nozzle. 

Clarence squeaked in fear at the sound of the vacuum and bolted into Aziraphale’s pocket, trembling. 

“Hey! It’s ok, I’ve turned it off again now, you’re fine, it’s just the vacuum cleaner, I’ll put it away, don’t worry, little buddy.”

Clarence peeked out again, wide-eyed, Crowley showed them the inactive vacuum cleaner, and then took it away again, then Aziraphale extracted Clarence from his pocket, and set about grooming their little wings using the brush, to ensure all the dust was cleaned off. 

Raphael looked up from their place by the fire, intrigued by the little spinning ball in Aziraphale’s lap, head cocked to one side. 

“It’s alright, Raph, you can come closer and meet Clarence - do you remember Clarence when they were an egg? You shared a nest together for a long time.”

Raphael got to their feet and waddled over, with a low raspy quack, then, rather than leaping on the sofa, which would have involved a jump and lots of flapping, instead nudged Aziraphale’s leg with their beak to ask to be lifted up. 

Aziraphale reached down and put his hand under Raphael’s chest, then lifted them up onto the sofa next to him. 

“Clarence, this is your sibling, Raphael. Raphael, this is Clarence.”

Raph reached out their head and neck carefully in Clarence’s direction, while Clarence’s wheels spun a little slower - apparently a sign that they were thinking or cautious. They reached out a tentative wingtip and brushed it against the tip of Raphael’s beak. 

The duck gave a soft rasping quack, and Clarence replied with a happy little squeak, and spun their wheels faster, fluttering their wingtips. They then floated closer, and all around Raphael’s head, inspecting them from every angle. Finally, they floated down and rested just above Raphael’s back. Raph turned their head to peer at the little orb, and then rested their chin on their wing, and settled down for a contented nap. 

Crowley admired their two little ineffable creatures fondly. While the ducks felt more adopted, Clarence felt like something different - they never should have existed at all. The duck eggs at least held embryos to start with, they just gained some extra talents from being incubated by an angel and a demon. 

Clarence, however, was never destined to be anything more than a cricket ball, which meant the only thing that had called them into being was the direct actions of Aziraphale and Crowley together - which felt an awful lot closer to parenthood than even hatching the ducklings had been. It made him feel a lot of very awkward emotions. Part of him was terrified that he and Aziraphale had potentially accidentally created something forbidden. Part of him was proud that they’d created this ineffable ball of life together, and part of him was panicking over what the hell they’d done, and what they were going to do, and what would become of Clarence. What space was there in the world for a peculiar glowing orb?

Angels and demons had a purpose - representatives of Heaven and Hell respectively, but what was Clarence? Clarence was a supernatural being somewhere between the two, and most decidedly not even remotely human. Crowley felt like, if the universe were a ball - Hell on one side, Heaven on the other, then Earth, and humans, were slap-bang between the two at the top. Clarence, on the other hand, felt like approaching the same position from a different point - the two meeting on the other side of the ball, right at the bottom, at the opposite point from Earth. So unknown as to defy explanation and not fit in anywhere - except with two rejects from Heaven and Hell. 

While Clarence may have superficially resembled a trueform angel, it was very clear that it’s not what they were. Aziraphale and Crowley may have come from the same original stock, hence the morphology - both merely wore human-shaped corporations, but neither resembled what their human shapes looked like on the outside. Clarence looked much more natural to them from that standpoint. But Clarence’s aura felt very different to either of them, while at the same time familiar. It wasn’t something that Crowley could translate into human language, but Clarence’s aura felt flipped , or inverted. Not in a bad way, just in a very very strange and surreal way which neither of them were used to. 

Crowley glanced up and saw Aziraphale studying him carefully, their eyes met, and he already knew that Aziraphale was understanding Crowley’s thought process without a word being said - or at least having something fairly similar himself. Aziraphale gave a silent shrug which simply said ‘I suppose we’ll work it out as we go.’ 

The flap in the kitchen door that led to the garden rattled as it opened, and a moment later, Simon the duck peered around the corner of the living room door. Simon was a pied black and white magpie duck, they spotted Crowley and Aziraphale on the sofa, Raphael sitting between them, and Clarence on Raphael’s soft back feathers, their own wings tucked up, and apparently dozing. 

Aziraphale nodded, and Simon waddled in quietly, gazing up at the newcomer on the sofa and waggling their tail feathers. 

“Simon, this is Clarence. Clarence, dear? Are you awake?” 

Clarence opened a sleepy eye to look at Aziraphale, and then the rest of them blinked open and scanned the room. Their wheels spun a little faster when awake, and one set of wheels angled down to peer at Simon. Their eyes flicked between Raphael and Simon, apparently beginning to comprehend that they were the same type of creature, although how Clarence beheld their parents was somewhat different.

From Clarence’s point of view, the ducks were little earth creatures with a tinge of ethereal and occult woven through their auras.

Aziraphale appeared to Clarence as both a 50-something-year-old-appearing bookshop owner, but also simultaneously as a creature with the head of a lion, eagle, ox, and human, with many wings. Balanced on top of that was a layer that resembled Clarence - spinning flaming wheels and eyes. Although at present, Clarence’s wheels merely glowed, there was no flame, at least yet, and no one knew if they’d grow any. Just as well however, as such a young hatchling might not have enough control over their flames not to be a fire hazard. 

To Clarence, Crowley appeared partly as a tall, lanky, middle aged, redheaded human shape with golden eyes, but simultaneously as an enormous twenty foot long red-bellied black snake with a suggestion of black wings. Overlaid on that was something which may once have resembled Aziraphale’s wheels, but instead, barely visible, lurking in a distant corner of the aether, the rest of Crowley looked like soot-covered, burnt and broken, shattered wheels, all the eyes permanently closed save a single pair. Jagged edges orbiting each other slowly in the void, inactive. Red lightning occasionally crackled between the broken shards, and the whole held together with dull red flames. 

Clarence wasn’t disturbed by this, they had no idea what any of it meant, it's just what their parents looked like to them. They were too young to understand anything more. All Clarence knew was that red aura and gold aura both loved them very much, and Clarence could feel that love emanating off them constantly. It roiled out from each of their auras and poured into Clarence’s, and with every wave of love that reached out from angel and demon, Clarence became incrementally more vital.  

In short; Clarence didn’t need Earthly food, because they existed on love.

Crowley lifted Simon up to sit on the sofa next to Raphael, Clarence floated in a little circle above Simon, and then settled down again floating a millimetre above the two ducks. 

“Should I go fetch Camilla next then? I reckon they’d be the best one for duck three,” he asked. 

“Yes, I think you’re right. Then Michaelangelo after Camilla. Leonardo after that, and we should leave Donatello until last, they’re the feistiest.”

So Crowley brought in the remaining ducks one by one to meet Clarence, all greeted them with gentle curiosity and acceptance. Finally it was Donatello’s turn. They’d seen the others coming in and had been keen to join them, their curiosity piqued, so Crowley had had to lock the duck door to keep them outside, and they’d been quacking indignantly and pecking at the door for the past ten minutes. 

Crowley stepped outside and picked Donatello up before they could scurry through the open door, they flapped and quacked demanding to be put down again, but Crowley held them firmly. 

“Nope. Now, you’ve got to promise to be nice, ok? Be gentle! You’re going to meet Clarence, and they’re only a little hatchling, so no pecking, got it?”

Donatello quacked and wriggled in his arms. 

“Oi! Stop that, featherbutt! Now promise me you’ll behave!”

Donatello wriggled some more. Crowley stopped, and lifted the black duck up to eye level. 

“Now see here, you jumped-up feather duster, you’re going to be nice to your sibling, or you’re not getting any strawberries for a week, capisce?”

Donatello quacked at length and tried to peck Crowley’s nose. Crowley reached out finger and thumb with one hand and pinched their beak shut. 

“Yes, I know, I’m not nice either, and you want to be like me, but this is different . Clarence is only tiny, you’re not to scare them. Got it?”

Donatello quacked once, somewhat muffled. 

“Good.”

Crowley sighed. It wouldn’t make much difference if Aziraphale were to remonstrate with the little black cayuga duck either - as Donatello listened to Aziraphale about as much as they listened to Crowley - i.e: not a lot. So when he took Donatello through to meet Clarence, instead of setting them on the floor, Crowley decided to keep hold of them, just in case. 

Donatello reached out their neck towards where Clarence was orbiting slowly around the little gaggle of ducks now all nestled down on the sofa next to Aziraphale, and promptly tried to nibble the little orb. Crowley snatched them back sharply. 

“Oi! What did I just say, quackhead? Gentle!”

Donatello twisted their head round and nibbled Crowley’s sleeve instead.

“Stoppit!”

“Quack!”

“You’ll go to bed without any peas,” Aziraphale cautioned them.

Donatello settled their neck down into their feathers and sat quietly. 

“That’s better. Now, Clarence, this is Donatello,” Aziraphale indicated to the glowing orb. Clarence floated closer and did a little loop around the duck held in Crowley’s outstretched hands. Donatello followed with their eyes, but didn’t move. 

“Well done.”

Crowley put the duck down on the sofa, but they immediately leapt off and landed on the carpet, craning up to reach Clarence, who remained safely out of reach above their head. Clarence began floating around the room, and Donatello waddled after them, fascinated. Clarence seemed to find this amusing, and began floating in different patterns to make the duck follow - circles, zigzags, squares, and finally a spiral so fast and tight that eventually Donatello fell over in a sprawl on the carpet. Clarence bounced up and down in the air above them making amused little squeaking noises, looking delighted. 

Leonardo and Michaelangelo were watching from the sofa with interest, and scrabbled to get up and jumped off the sofa to join in the game. Soon Clarence was leading a trio of waddling ducks on a chase around the living room, to a cacophony of quacking and flapping feet (and occasionally wings), culminating again in a final spiral that left all three of the ducks spinning on the spot and falling over in a pile. Clarence seemed thrilled at the fun, and spiralled up to the light fitting on the ceiling, then remembering their erstwhile glowy friend, and butting it hopefully, in case it decided to illuminate again. 

Finally, clearly tiring, Clarence floated down and nestled into Crowley’s lap for cuddles, and fell asleep. 

Chapter Text

Clarence was extremely inquisitive, to the point that Aziraphale, who had become accustomed to going to sleep if only so he could snuggle up with his beloved demon, had to give it up again in order to keep watch over their new ineffable hatchling 24/7. 

While at first, Clarence’s bursts of activity were short, interspersed with nap times, they soon decided that the world was far too interesting to waste sleeping, and Clarence was determined to explore everything . 

Apparently attracted by whatever part of electricity lies on a plane of reality visible to their all-seeing eyes, they floated down to the plug sockets and attempted to stick a feather inside. A loud bang, all the fuses tripping, and one crackly, sooty wing later, Crowley had driven down to the shops to bring home child-proof plug socket covers for all of the sockets.

Clarence landed in the kenwood food mixer while Aziraphale had some bread dough kneading with the dough hook, and took a few turns of the bowl, becoming increasingly doughy, before Aziraphale spotted them, and then had to work out how to clean sticky focaccia dough off a celestial puzzle ball, and in the process discovered that Clarence enjoyed being tickled by the bottle brush between their rings. 

They frolicked in the water stream while Crowley took a shower, orbiting him and flicking water everywhere, before escaping from the bathroom at high speed, dripping water all over the bedroom. They tried to climb in the oven when Aziraphale’s back was turned, which was the point at which they discovered that Clarence had apparently inherited Crowley’s fire-proof aspect (but still not electricity-proof). 

Clarence wiggled under the fitted sheet while Crowley was making the bed, and rolled around, evading capture, and then, once evicted, promptly climbed inside the duvet cover and did the same thing again. 

The little ball chased the ducks around the house, then snuggled down amidst them while Simon gently preened Clarence’s teeny tiny wings, and the small orb closed their eyes and purred in contentment. 

While Aziraphale left to get some shopping, leaving Crowley in charge (against his better judgement), Crowley dutifully carried Clarence around with him. He stepped into the greenhouse, closing the door behind them so Clarence couldn’t escape, but while he was doing that, he heard a miniature thunderclap much like Donatello used on inquisitive foxes, and turned around to find Clarence, one wing caught in a venus flytrap, zapping the rest of the plant with little lightning bolts in retaliation. 

“HEY! Stoppit!” Crowley grabbed Clarence and disentangled them from the doomed plant, which had little wisps of smoke trailing from what was left of its leaves. “Ok, maybe the greenhouse was a bad idea, let’s get back inside again, follow me… NO! Leave the bumble bee ALONE!”

Crowley hastily brought his wings out as Clarence gave chase to the bee and fluttered off into the sky. Crowley launched up and managed to tackle the little globe and bring them safely back down to ground level again. 

“Look, don’t mess with bees. If you’d followed it back to its hive and gone inside, can you imagine how many stings you’d get? I mean, ok, it was a bumble bee, not a honey bee, but still. Don’t chase the tiny buzzy things.”

He ushered Clarence back indoors again and collapsed on the sofa. Five minutes later, he finally noticed that Clarence had floated off again, and headed off to track them down, finally locating them sitting in the pile of warm sheets in the open tumble drier, dozing. 

Horrified, Crowley picked Clarence up, and tucked them under one arm while he went in search of a sewing kit. He took them both to the kitchen table and set Clarence on the table under a colander with a heavy book on top of it for a few seconds, then measured out a length of red string and cut it off the spool. 

Releasing Clarence, Crowley tied one end of the string to one of the little creatures spinning rings, and the other end to his finger, then headed back to the lounge with Clarence bobbing along behind him like a small, glowing, grumpy balloon. 

Crowley face planted on the sofa, temporarily reassured by the constant tugging of the string on his finger, until Clarence began to squeak. He turned his head sideways and opened his eyes to realise that tying a piece of string to one of many constantly spinning orbiting rings that defies the normal rules of physics was not a great idea, as it had now tied itself into a gordian knot of M.C. Escher style complexity, getting worse by the second. 

“Oh shit.”

Fortunately, Clarence chose this moment to experiment with the idea of flaming rings. 

The string immediately incinerated, Crowley immediately panicked, grabbed Clarence, and ran outside with them, then jumped into the duck pond, still clutching Clarence to his chest, to put the flames out. 

Crowley rose from the pond, covered in duckweed and distinctly unamused. 

Aziraphale came through the door to be greeted by a faint miasma of smoke in the air. He paused, and dropped the shopping bags, before rushing through to the lounge. Crowley sat on the carpet, looking exhausted, still covered in duckweed, holding a fire extinguisher. 

Clarence floated in the fireplace, apparently having miracled several pieces of coal into orbit around them, and they occasionally set them on fire then squeaked in delight. Whenever they dropped one, Crowley pulled the trigger on the fire extinguisher. 

“Crowley?”

“ANGEL! OH thank someone you’re here. I need sleep.” Crowley stood up, thrust the fire extinguisher into Aziraphale’s arms, and promptly face planted onto the sofa. He held up one finger and said, muffled by the sofa cushions: “OH! And keep them out of the treacle!” Then fell asleep. 

Confused, because Clarence hadn’t shown any interest in eating up to now, Aziraphale went through to the kitchen, where he found an exploded tin of treacle on the table, which also covered all the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. He miracled it away, and went back to extract Clarence from the fireplace. 

“Come on now dear, time for a nap. What on earth have you done to poor Crowley?”

Clarence squeaked, and dived into Aziraphale’s pocket. 

“Well that will do as good as anywhere I suppose,” he sighed. 

The next day, Crowley was in the conservatory watering in the plants when Aziraphale called through from the lounge. 

“Crowley dear? Clarence is headbutting the lounge light again and I have a duck on my lap!”

Crowley came through to find the little orb butting against the lightbulb, seemingly confused as to why it wouldn’t play with them. They boinked off the bulb like a large and overenthusiastic angelic moth. He sighed and flicked the lightswitch off again. Clarence stopped and orbited the now unlit bulb in confusion. He reached up and caught Clarence in his hands. 

“I guess they like it because lightbulbs are close to their size and also glow.” He stroked Clarence’s wings.  “C’mon, I have an idea I’ve been working on…”

Crowley carried Clarence through to the spare bedroom, where he’d set up a spare paddling pool they usually used for the ducks, but instead of water, it was full of plastic balls as a ball pit. 

“Here you go, knock yourself out. But not literally, please.”

The little ineffaball gave a delighted squeak and dove into the pile, burrowing into the ball pit and popping up now and then like a spherical submarine. There was a flippy-flappy sound, and Leonardo the duck waddled into the room, examining the familiar, and yet unfamiliar thing with interest. 

“I mean, I guess you can have a go too, if you want. But fair warning, there’s no water in there.”

With a happy little quack, Leonardo spread their wings, jumped, and flap-scrambled into the ball pit alongside Clarence. Crowley tried not to laugh, but failed spectacularly. After coming up to check on them, Aziraphale decided that the other ducks were missing out, and went to invite them in to join in on the fun. 

The next few weeks passed with Aziraphale regularly reading books to Clarence to educate them about the world in general, while Crowley would sit and watch cartoons with them, or nature documentaries and other tv programmes that he thought might be educational and help the strange little creature learn about the world. 

It was hard to work out what Clarence’s mental age, or indeed, rate of development, might be, given their limited capability for communication. They didn’t speak, only squeaked with inflections of happiness, fear, questioning, affection, and other emotive sounds. They indicated interest in items by bouncing off them, and seemed to understand what Aziraphale and Crowley were saying without trouble. 

A joint effort with some cartoons about fire safety for children had at least got across the message about not manifesting holy fire on Clarence’s rings, and they promised to help Clarence learn how to control that aspect of themselves later in controlled conditions, in a safe area outside. 

At that, Clarence had squeaked indignantly, and then floated through to the kitchen, where they’d bounced up and down on the oven with questioning squeaks. 

“Well yes, I know we said no fire in the house, but the oven and the fireplace are exceptions, those are safe for us to use, but we still have to be careful. It’s different. Once you learn to control yours, when you get older, then maybe things will change, but for now, you don’t want to put the ducks at risk, do you?” Aziraphale patted Clarence consolingly. Clarence squeaked in agreement. 

Homeschooling continued in a haphazard way as angel and demon tried to work out how one even went about educating a sentient spinning ball of supernatural power. While Aziraphale concentrated on more academic subjects, Crowley took on more worldly ones. 

He began escorting Clarence to the garden and teaching them about plants, flowers, trees, animals on the farms around them, wildlife in the woodland, rivers, and ponds. Humans, on the other hand, were where it got tricky. 

Clarence was too much of an oddity to explain adequately to humans, so they remained hidden away, and Crowley was careful to make sure that no one was around when he took Clarence outdoors. He made sure that the little ball learned to dive into his pocket when asked, just in case. 

One afternoon, while Clarence and Crowley were in the garden, with Crowley mulching the dahlias, the local vicar, Geraldine, called out and waved at him over the hedge. Clarence had been flying between the flower beds and was too far from Crowley when they heard the urgent hiss “hide!”, so dove into a pile of compost instead. 

Crowley made stilted small-talk with Geraldine, still feeling distinctly uncomfortable as a demon making polite conversation with a vicar, but she was completely impossible to dislike. She was a larger lady with dark brunette hair in a long bob, an infectious smile and gentle sense of humour, who got on incredibly well with Aziraphale. As such, Crowley was forbidden from playing any kind of prank on her, teasing her, or doing anything to mess with her whatsoever. Not that he could have brought himself to do so anyway. 

No matter how Crowley had tried in the past to give grunted one-word replies through gritted teeth, he couldn’t help but open up under the onslaught of overwhelming positivity, and always found himself giving in, and somehow laughing, something that he only usually did with Aziraphale. Her enthusiasm was infectious. He ended up sending her away with a bag full of fruit and vegetables from the garden - far more than she could use for herself, but insisting she use the supplies for the supper club she hosted for the elderly once a week. 

It was a good while before Geraldine headed off back down the lane, and Crowley remembered Clarence. He set about scouring the garden for the little orb, calling out with increasing urgency. Finally he spied movement in the compost heap, and dug in with his hands until he uncovered Clarence, covered in fermenting grass clippings and rotting vegetable peelings from the kitchen. 

“Oh you silly little thing, come on, time to give you a bath, you’re covered in muck!”

Clarence squeaked, and spun their wheels faster, sending compost flying in all directions. Their wings were caked with dirt. Crowley sighed and carried them indoors, and up to the ensuite, as letting Clarence play in the running shower seemed to be the easiest way to do things. 

The next morning, things were not so good. 

“Um, Aziraphale?” Crowley was peering at Clarence, who was huddled down in their basket on the bedside table. 

“What’s wrong, dear?”

“I think there’s something wrong with Clarence.”

Aziraphale was up like a shot and scrambling across Crowley to see. 

“Clarence, what’s wrong? Oh!”

The little ineffable orb peered up at their parents through swollen, red, encrusted eyes, blinking a few that could still open, while others were sealed shut with the worst case of conjunctivitis he’d ever seen, at least given the sheer, uncountable number of Clarence’s many eyes. 

“How on earth did this happen?” Aziraphale carried them to the bathroom and began to soak a cotton wool ball in saline from the medicine cabinet (which was mainly kept for the benefit of the ducks), then began trying to gently soak the worst of Clarence’s eyelids. 

“Well, they did hide in the compost pile yesterday when Geraldine stopped by for a chat.”

“Dear oh dear. Crowley? Get the Bentley and drive down to Boots in town, buy some optrex.”

“How much?”

“ All of it.”

Zahid was a pharmacist, which meant among other things, being aware of what over-the-counter medicines could be used for nefarious purposes to synthesise less legal compounds, or to cause harm when used to excess. A warning sign for such things was often a customer buying unfeasibly large quantities of something. 

The tall skinny goth guy strode into the shop, grabbed a basket, and promptly swept every box of optrex on the shelf into it in one dramatic move, then headed to the till, pulling out his wallet. 

Zahid fixed him with a questioning stare, eyebrow raised quizzically. 

Crowley countered him with an even higher eyebrow raise. 

“What?” he challenged. 

“Sir, may I ask why you need to buy all of these today?”

“Conjunctivitis.”

“The use-by date on these is fairly short, and you need to discard a bottle a few days after it’s opened, there’s no benefit to hoarding them, you’d be better to come back and buy more if you need it next time.” Zahid’s answer was tactful, rather than challenging, as he was working alone today, and wasn’t sure what the guy’s angle was. 

“Need a lot of it,” Crowley countered.

“I can assure you that nobody needs this much optrex. I can only let you buy two bottles today.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, sir.” Zahid was polite but firm.

Crowley mulled it over. Theoretically, he could miracle the human to forgetting he’d bought so much, but things weren’t that simple - the till and the stock levels would throw up problems and the poor guy would probably get investigated for it, maybe even lose his job, and Aziraphale would have words with him if that happened. He sighed. 

“Ok, two bottles.” He paid and left. He then sat in the Bentley on his phone, googling for all other pharmacies in a 40-mile radius. 

Anyone who happened to be watching CCTV in the region that day would have seen something peculiar. A tall skinny redhead going into each pharmacy and chemist, but dressed differently each time. His hair was styled in different ways, different lengths, different clothing styles (all black of course), different sunglasses, different facial hair (including a truly hideous 1970s moustache at one point). In short, Crowley, for want of suitable disguises, simply miracled up his outfits from the past 50 years or so, and wore a different one for each shop, just in case. 

Once he’d forgotten which sunglasses he’d used in some eras, he’d begun substituting in weird and wonderful ones that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Elton John’s wardrobe.

Crowley walked into the cottage, still wearing his ‘Fuck Shit Up’ jacket and 70s outfit, having forgotten to change back after the last shop. Aziraphale rounded the corner into the hallway from the lounge and shrieked in surprise. 

“OH GOOD HEAVENS!” He clutched at his chest, staring at Crowley’s face in horror. “I never thought I’d see that thing again, you promised me you got rid of it!” He recoiled as Crowley moved closer. “Don’t you dare kiss me until that hideous soup strainer from your upper lip has been banished unto the nethermost circle of hell.”

Crowley pouted. Aziraphale snapped his fingers and held a razor out protectively in front of him. 

His furry-faced demon leaned in as if to kiss him. “What, don’t like my nose neighbour?”

“Not a step closer or I’ll take care of it myself,” Aziraphale warned. “In fact no…” He snapped again, and instead of a razor, he was now holding a waxing strip. He glowered threateningly at Crowley. “So - you or me?”

Crowley sighed and snapped, returning his entire look back to modern day again. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“What on earth possessed you to look like that?” Aziraphale asked, relinquishing the waxing strip after a brief hesitation. 

“Pharmacy won’t let you buy lots of optrex at once, I had to drive all over the county to get enough.” He held up several bags from different shops by way of explanation. 

“I see, well, let’s get started with young Clarence, I daresay they’re not going to enjoy this bit very much, and heaven only knows how long it’s going to take to treat all of them.”

Chapter Text

Michaelangelo’s head swung back and forth, they watched Clarence flying over their head, as they paddled around the garden duck pond. After a moment, they were joined by Donatello, who also watched Clarence flying to and fro. None of the ducks could fly, not being wild-bred ones, but hatched from supermarket eggs from Waitrose. While they could jump and flap, or flutter down from a height safely, none of them could get off the ground on wing power and maintain sustained flight.

Sometimes, Crowley and Aziraphale had deployed their own wings, and carried the ducks up into the air, to let them experience ‘flight’, and let them flutter down to the ground again afterwards. Some of the ducks would gaze up at the wild birds flying overhead and sometimes wish they could also fly up and join them. Donatello and Michaelangelo quacked up at Clarence. 

The little orb fluttered lower and circled over their heads with a questioning squeak. Donatello quacked a little more. Clarence appeared to be thinking, their wheels spun a little faster. All their many eyes were now healed up, thanks to much care (and optrex) from Aziraphale and Crowley, who had made them promise never to hide in a compost heap again. They blinked a bit, then squinted, and concentrated on Michaelangelo. 

The little black and white duck bobbed in the water, extended their wings to keep their balance, and then as Clarence concentrated harder, suddenly Michaelangelo was levitating up and out of the water, quacking in surprise and delight, wings flapping, although redundant, as Clarence was the one making them float. 

Donatello quacked, demanding to join their sibling, but as soon as Clarence switched concentration to levitate Donatello, Michaelangelo plummeted down to splash back in the pond again with a startled expression. 

Clarence concentrated hard on Donatello, lifting them even higher than Michaelangelo, and then steering their feathery sibling on a little circuit of the garden, before guiding them back to the pond again, and letting go, exhausted. Clarence then fell onto Donatello’s back for a rest. Miracling your ducky siblings into the air took a lot more energy than they had expected. 

The other ducks had noticed the fun and had begun gathering round asking for a flight, but Clarence was too tired, and snuggled up under Donatello’s wing for a nap instead. 

The next day was a scorching hot summer’s day, and the sun beat down relentlessly on the garden. Most of the ducks were snoozing on the pond, floating in the shade of some overhanging bulrushes. Crowley was basking happily, while Clarence had been playing in the garden, pushing floating toys around the paddling pool. They squinted up at the sun, far too bright for their many tiny eyes, then floated over to Crowley and landed on his chest with an enquiring squeak. 

“What’s up, lil hand grenade?”

Clarence poked at Crowley’s shades with a wingtip. 

“You want to try my sunglasses on? They’re too big for you.”

Clarence looked sad. 

“Here, let’s try anyway…” Crowley took them off and tried to hook them over Clarence’s wings and rings, but with limited success. The little ball let out a sad squeak. 

“Hang on, I might have an idea, come on inside with me…”

Aziraphale came upstairs later to find Crowley sitting on their king-sized bed, drawers hanging open all around the room, and every single pair of sunglasses that Crowley had ever kept was laid out on the duvet between him and Clarence.

He was patiently miracling each pair into a teeny tiny size to fit Clarence’s many eyes, and so the tiny ineffaball was now sporting at least fifty pairs of shades, with Crowley still having many more yet to cover. Each pair was different - most were fashionable blacked-out shades such as Crowley’s Valentino ones, Georgio Armani, or vintage Ray-Bans, but several were versions of the more outlandish designs worn by Elton John - heart shapes, star shapes, multicoloured guitar shapes and more. Clarence was squeaking in delight as each new pair was shrunk and added, admiring themself in the mirror. 

“Crowley! How long have you been doing this for?”

“Hours probably. I swear the little tyke is manifesting extra eyes just so I’ll put more shades on them, but they’re enjoying it, and now look at how cool they look!”

Aziraphale sighed and went to get a cup of tea.

It took a year or so before Aziraphale and Crowley felt that Clarence was mature enough to be left alone in the cottage for short periods of time. They began with just twenty minutes or so while they popped into the village to get some shopping, and gradually progressed to an hour or two. Clarence learned not to try to set fire to things or try out new miracles in their absence, but to keep indoors and quietly read a book until they got home. 

Then one evening, Crowley took Aziraphale out for dinner, telling Clarence to be on their best behaviour for two hours until they got home again. 

As the Bentley rolled out of the driveway, a little way down the lane, someone in a Ford Focus watched it go. 

The human in the car was called Boris. He was in his mid fifties, with straggly blonde hair, and was smoking a cigarette as he watched the cottage. The number plates on the car were stolen, as was the car. 

He’d been scoping out the area for a few days, and spotting the fancy old car in the driveway, decided that the inhabitants must have a fair amount of money and probably other treasures worth stealing. Now both the guys had left the house, Boris decided his time had come to investigate further. He hadn’t seen or heard any dogs, there were some ducks in the garden, but that was it. The place looked unguarded. 

He left the stolen car parked at the side of the lane, and crept in on foot. He got to a ground floor window on the front of the cottage, and smashed a pane of glass to reach in and open it from the inside. It wasn’t even double glazed, it was too easy. No locks on the windows, no CCTV that he could see either, and no alarm system. He climbed in. 

Clarence looked up from their book at the sound of breaking glass, and floated through from the library. They’d seen humans from a distance, going by on the road. They’d seen them in books and on TV, but they’d never met one up close. This was a wonderful new delight. Perhaps Clarence’s parents had organised this new human as a special surprise, or to keep them company while they’d gone out. Clarence floated closer to the living room where they could hear the human rummaging around in cupboards and drawers. 

Boris investigated knick-knacks, checked drawers for things like financial information, tried to scout out anything that might be valuable. He decided he’d check the garage after the house, with a car like that, they were bound to have lots of expensive tools he could steal as well. 

He was expecting there’d be valuable treasures in here that he could sell - the guy in the black suit was wearing a fancy watch - there’d likely be more of them upstairs. He looked like the kind of flash bastard who collected expensive timepieces, probably be some Rolexes up there or something. 

He’d been expecting a lot of things from the cottage. What he was not expecting, however, were metaphysical horrors beyond his comprehension. 

Aziraphale and Crowley had both begun their existences with angelic forms - they weren’t man-shaped beings until they came to Earth, and those human-shaped corporations were just like suits they wore to conceal their true forms. 

So in Clarence, they didn’t see a supernatural ball of existential dread, but an adorable infant immortal being like themselves. Likewise, the ducks had been raised by an angel and a demon, and were perfectly at ease with such things, so weren’t bothered by Clarence’s countless eyes and glowing, spinning rings. 

Boris the burglar however, had never laid eyes on anything like Clarence in his entire existence. Clarence may have been small, but no human on Earth had witnessed such a thing without first hearing a forewarning ‘be not afraid’ command. 

All of a sudden, he was face-to-spinning-orb with a mind-melting ball of overwhelming existential dread. Thousands of eyes blinked at him on all planes of reality, peering into his very soul with a curiosity that flayed his very mind alive as the part-angelic, part-demonic creature struggled to understand the visitor to their home.

Clarence, sweet, innocent, naïve, little Clarence, did not understand this at all, and was just curiously trying to investigate the odd human. 

The odd human was making very loud noises and moving away. Clarence floated closer, and the human moved away faster. 

Oh! This must be like the game they played with their ducky siblings, chasing each other around the garden, what fun!  Odd human must want Clarence to give chase! Such a good game! Strange creatures these humans though, it was making very very loud noises, and its eyes were making lots of water as well. 

Clarence followed the screaming, sobbing, human through to the dining room. 

Oh, now the Odd Human is curled up and rocking. Interesting

Why is Odd Human under the table?

Boris was overwhelmed by the horrifying experience of being perceived on all planes of existence at once, something that no human was prepared to feel - being that angels were always very careful not to inflict their ethereal vision on humans, knowing what damage it could do. Clarence of course, had never been taught about this yet. They wanted to know the new human better, so they opened up a few hundred more eyes, to perceive Boris even better, and inspect the very depths of his soul . 

Boris’s screaming amped up a notch, and he scrambled on all fours to get away from the floating nightmare-ball.

Oh, Odd Human left the under-the-table space. Odd Human is now behind the curtain! Clarence can fit behind the curtain, too. 

Very dark back here, though. No problem, of course. Clarence can just glow brighter!

Why is Odd Human tearing their hair out? That seems painful.

Poor, poor Odd Human. Clarence will try cuddling! Cuddling is a soothing thing, right?

Oh, NO! Odd Human fell over!

Odd Human must have screamed himself to sleep. But we were having fun! 

Clarence orbited above the unconscious Boris, they’d been very proud of themself for comforting and protecting the poor odd human. But they wanted to play more. Clarence bounced up and down on Boris’s chest in an effort to wake him up again. 

When Boris came around from his nightmare, he found he was still in it, and the terrifying apparition was hovering right above his heart, still looking right into his very soul with all those horrible eyes. 

He began screaming again, and scrambled to his feet, then ran straight at the window: not the same one he’d broken to get in, unfortunately, and dived head-first through it to get away, leaving smashed glass all over the garden.

Clarence followed him as far as the garden gate, then stopped, knowing they weren’t allowed to go any further. Unfortunately Clarence had placed themself on the side between Boris and the direction of the stolen car, so instead Boris fled on foot in the direction of the village, still screaming, and with his tracksuit trousers soaked with something wet and smelly.

Clarence waved their wings goodbye at their new friend, and went back inside the house again to carry on reading.

Geraldine was watching Love Island and treating herself to a box of chocolates in the lounge of the vicarage, when she heard a loud banging coming from the church only a few yards away. She poked her head out of the window, and saw someone hammering with both fists on the church door. 

She flicked the TV off and hurried outside to see what was wrong. 

The thumping had stopped, but she found Boris slumped up against it, sobbing. The moment he saw her, he began babbling incoherently. It took her a moment to realise he was attempting to confess all of his sins. 

After a minute or two more of listening to his confused babbling, her hand crept into her pocket for her phone, and she began dialling the number of the local mental healthcare out of hours team, while patting Boris consolingly on the shoulder with her free hand.

In the dark, Aziraphale and Crowley didn’t spot the broken front windows when they pulled up a few minutes later. Crowley parked the Bentley in the garage, then they went in through the kitchen door at the back of the cottage. It was only then that Crowley picked up something strange. He sniffed and pulled a face. 

“What the heaven is that stench? Smells like human - a human who pissed themselves. Urgh.” 

They were met by an excited ball of Clarence, who squeaked, circled them rapidly, tickled them with their wingtips in greeting, and squeaked again, encouraging Crowley and Aziraphale to follow them through to the lounge and adjacent dining room. 

Crowley saw the smashed windows immediately and growled. Aziraphale manifested his flaming sword, face serious, and they advanced, checking for the intruder. Cupboards were open, drawers thrown on the floor, and mess everywhere. The source of the most unpleasant smell was tracked down to a damp patch on the dining room carpet, next to the window that had been smashed outwards. 

Clarence was bouncing from place to place, and it took them a moment to realise that the little ball was indicating the invader’s route into, around, and out of the cottage.

They began at the open window with the smashed pane, coming in from the garden, into the lounge, around the disrupted cabinets, under the dining room table, out again, behind the curtain, and then out of the smashed-out window, into the garden, and then Clarence stopped by the front gate, waiting for their parents to catch up, as they had opted to come out through the front door rather than the window.

Clarence pointed their little wings towards the village. Crowley, however, followed another, older, scent trail to the parked stolen car, before he and Aziraphale turned and looked towards the village, Crowley’s hands flexed angrily, and Aziraphale caught his eye. 

“No.” Aziraphale said in a warning tone. “You stay here and look after Clarence and the ducks, I’ll go into the village.”

“You say that like you’re not just as apt to smite the bastard as I would be to do something to him that he deserves. I should go just to hold you back.”

“And then I’d need to hold you back,” Aziraphale replied. 

“We’d each need to hold each other back.”

“But someone has to stay here with Clarence. They can’t come with us.”

“They broke into our HOME.” Crowley growled. “They could have done anything to Clarence and the ducks!”

“Crowley, Clarence seems positively thrilled about the encounter, I get the feeling that they didn’t comprehend the intentions of the invader, they’re all unharmed, and by the evidence of the human losing control of their bladder, hurling themselves out of a closed window and fleeing without even taking their car with them, I think we can safely assume that they were far more afraid of Clarence than Clarence was of them.”

“Fine, you go, I’ll wait here.” Crowley gently scooped Clarence out of the air to cradle them in his hands, and stroked their little wings. “I’ll clean up the mess and see you in a bit.”

Chapter Text

(Illustration by ChipMae. Can’t see the image? Click here.)

Aziraphale advanced carefully, flaming sword still in hand, until he saw humans up ahead, and quickly miracled his weapon away again. A nurse who lived a few doors up was already there with Geraldine the vicar, and between them they were tending to a terrified incoherent man sitting on the ground outside the church doors. 

Geraldine looked up as Aziraphale approached. “Oh Mr. Fell! Thank goodness you’re here!” She got to her feet, leaving Boris with the nurse, and came forward to whisper to Aziraphale. 

“Have you, by any chance, been broken into this evening?”

“Why yes, how did you know?”

“This man here has been confessing, at least he seems to be trying to confess, even though I pointed out we’re C of E, not Catholic, he insisted. But he’s so garbled. He did say something about a big old black car that made him think the cottage would be worth robbing, and I thought he might mean your place, he keeps pointing in that direction, but I can’t understand half of what he’s saying, he’s terrified. He keeps going on about gold light, eyes and something awful, and wings. I know you have those lovely little ducks, but I’m not sure if duck wings are what he’s gabbling about, he didn’t mention any ducks. I’ve called the community mental health team and they’re going to try to get someone out, but they said I might be better just calling for an ambulance to bring him in if I can’t take him myself.”

“Do you feel comfortable taking this… person…” (Aziraphale uttered the word with faint disapproval, still feeling smitey over the home invasion), “... to hospital yourself?”

“Honestly? No. Definitely not on my own.”

“NO HOSPITAL!” Boris yelled out from behind her. “TAKE ME TO THE POLICE THEY NEED TO LOCK ME UP!”

Geraldine sighed. “He’s been like this since I found him, he says he deserves to go to jail, he’s been ranting about so many places he says he’s robbed, and other horrible things he claims to have done, he says he deserves to be locked up. I haven’t seen anything like it - what could have scared him so much that he’d so spontaneously repent in such a panic? At first I thought he was mentally ill, but the things he’s saying, I honestly don’t know what to think, something has definitely rattled him, which is why my first instinct was the MHS department.”

“Well, that he broke into our home and caused property damage while trying to steal things is at least true.  My husband Crowley is understandably incandescent over the matter, and I’d be fibbing if I said I wasn’t rather angry as well. I’m not certain about the whole ‘pressing charges’ thing, he didn’t manage to actually steal from us - but if he has stolen from others, and more importantly, that he himself feels the need to repent and offer himself up to justice via the proper channels, then who are we to stop him pursuing this course of action, if it’s what he desires? Sin can burden a man.”

Geraldine nodded in agreement. “I suppose you’re right. He has literally been begging us to call the police, so perhaps we should. They can still take him to hospital as well for evaluation, and at least they’re better prepared than I am to escort him there.”

She turned back to Boris, who finally recognised Aziraphale as the other occupant of the black Bentley he’d watched leave the cottage earlier that evening. The moment Aziraphale came close enough for Boris to see his steely grey-blue eyes, the human began screaming again, seeing a similarity to many of those eyes that the terrifying apparition had been gazing at him with - many of the rest had been amber serpent eyes, but the rest were the same steely grey like a stormy sky. 

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks, his anger evaporating. He couldn’t remain furious at a human who was so clearly scared out of his wits, and he began to get an inkling of what had happened, as Boris began babbling about the golden wheels and the wings.

If Geraldine and the nurse hadn’t been there, he might have manifested his own true form to give Boris a good scare and set him on the straight and narrow, but the human wanted to repent in his own way, and as an angel, Aziraphale decided that he should let him take that course. He stepped back. 

“It seems that I’ve inadvertently scared him even more. I’ll wait with you until the police arrive to make sure you’re both alright, but I’ll wait over by the church gate so I don’t distress him any more. Then I had better get home to my husband and help him clear up the mess.”

An hour or so later, Aziraphale came back in through the cottage door, closed it behind him and leant against it with a tired sigh. 

“Everything alright, Angel?”

“Yes, dear; I just had to give a statement to the police.  They’re a bit short on manpower but they said if we could take some photos of the damage, they could try to send someone around tomorrow, but no guarantees.  They said we were best just claiming on the house insurance for the windows.”

“I miracled them fixed myself, and cleaned that damp carpet.” Crowley replied, coming through from the kitchen with a much-needed glass of wine for his husband. “Here you go.”

Aziraphale took a grateful gulp, and followed Crowley through to the lounge, where Clarence was snoozing in their dog bed by the fireplace. He explained what he’d found in the village, and some of the things that Boris had been ranting about, which explained Clarence’s unintended role in the whole episode. 

“Well that confirms it, then,” Crowley sighed, sipping his own wine. “We can’t risk taking Clarence out of the house: not if they cause humans to lose their minds at the very sight of them.”

“But then Clarence will be stuck in here permanently - all their life! That’s no existence for any creature to have to endure. Even the ducks get to go out on day trips with us to ponds, lakes, rivers, and the seaside. We can’t leave Clarence stuck here forever!”

Crowley appeared to be thinking about something, his brow furrowed as he worked through it. 

“I mean, neither of us could be around humans if we didn’t wear these corporations either, could we? We’ve known that since the world was made…”

“Well of course not. Without my corporation I look fairly similar to Clarence, just much, much larger.” 

“I think I have an idea…” Crowley said. “Don’t get your hopes up, I’ll see if I can pull some strings.”

A few weeks later, Crowley drove Aziraphale and Clarence, hidden in Aziraphale’s pocket, into London. They parked a few streets away from the main Heaven and Hell portals at Broadgate tower, and Crowley led them to a small quiet bar nearby. It was nearly deserted, but in the corner sat Eric, a disposable demon. He smiled nervously at Crowley. 

“Hi,” Eric greeted them in a very low voice, almost a whisper. “I’ve set up the meeting, our own guy can’t risk doing this for you, but he’s introduced me to his oppo from upstairs - they do collaborate on projects from time to time, all hush-hush of course, both sides pretend not to notice, because they get things done so well.”

“Thanks,” Crowley knew they were working outside of the proper channels, and Eric and their contact were taking a bit of a risk helping them out. “Where are they?”

“She’s in the back room, go down the hall as if you’re heading to the bathrooms, then second door on the left, it says ‘staff only’ but you can ignore that, she’ll see you there. I’ll keep watch out here in case anyone comes in.”

A cheerful voice called out “come on in!” when Aziraphale knocked on the door. It was a voice one might associate with kindergarten school teachers, bright and warm and immediately welcoming. Her appearance matched. She was short, slim, with black hair in a pixie cut, and big dark eyes and dark skin tone.

“I’m Sartorael, I’m told you could do with a little help? Oh, I say, that’s a very old model isn’t it?” She eyed up Aziraphale from all angles, walking around him. “This is some truly excellent work, how on earth have you managed to keep it in such superb condition? This almost looks like a pre–Eden model from my predecessors.”

“It is,” Aziraphale said, not without a little tinge of pride. “I’m very fond of it, as is my husband Crowley here. I’m Aziraphale.”

“Were you looking to upgrade it then? I certainly don’t see any flaws to fix.” Sartorael looked confused. 

“No, we are both more than happy with our corporations, but we wondered if you might help out someone else for us…”

Sartorael couldn’t see inside Aziraphale’s ethereal-proofed jacket pocket, where Clarence was hiding so as not to be overstimulated by all the scary sights and sounds of London on their way. They also felt it safer to keep their little orb hidden from any other angels or demons they may bump into. So when Aziraphale opened his pocket to let Clarence peek out, Sartorael’s eyes widened in surprise and she took a step forwards. 

“Oh Heavens, who on earth is this absolutely beautiful little being?” She reached out a fingertip in greeting. Clarence shyly ducked back deeper into Aziraphale’s pocket again, leaving only one eye peeking out at the stranger. It happened to be one of their eyes which looked like Crowley’s. 

This fact suddenly registered with Sartorael, who glanced up at Crowley with puzzlement etched on her face. Crowley lifted a finger to his lips. 

“We were told you could be discreet,” he reminded her. 

“Oh. Oh my. Well yes of course, but, but… how?” She looked truly awed and amazed.

“Honestly, we’re not entirely sure either,” Crowley replied, “but this is Clarence, they’re here now, they’re ours to love and protect, and… they need a corporation they can choose to wear when they need to, to stay safer on Earth, and not scare the humans. There was an incident.”

“I see.” She crouched down and held out her hands towards Aziraphale’s pocket. “Well we can’t get you all measured up for your first corporation if you hide in papa’s pocket, can we? Would you like to come and say hello, Clarence?”

With an encouraging nudge from Aziraphale, Clarence rose slowly out of the pocket, floating, and using several of their wings to shyly hide parts of themself, in a very traditional angelic response, which neither Aziraphale nor Crowley had seen them do before. 

“Well hello there, Clarence, my you look absolutely spiffing, such beautiful plumage! And you have your papas’ eyes don’t you? I’ve never seen feathers quite like yours in all my existence. Would you like to come sit with me and we can work out what you’d like?”

Clarence opened a few wings and examined the stranger curiously, then floated over and placed themself in her cupped palms. 

“Wonderful. Now I do this a little differently to how your parents might be used to - back in the old days you got what you were given and made the best of it, but we haven’t done things that way for thousands of years now. I’m going to bring my own aspect out now, is that alright?”

“Clarence can see your aspect already,” Aziraphale pointed out, “nothing of our true forms is hidden from their sight, which is why we had to do the pocket trick - getting so much visual input from all planes of reality at once can be rather overwhelming at times for the poor little mite, but they’re getting used to it in little doses.”

Sartorael nodded, but brought her wings and eyes out anyway. It was only then that Aziraphale and Crowley could see that many of her eyes were pure silver, and some others were pure void. It seemed that she was inspecting Clarence rather more in-depth than most angels could, or at least in a different manner. 

“Now tell auntie Sartorael what you had in mind, and we’ll work out some ideas.”

“Oh, Clarence is nonverbal” Crowley said. 

“They don’t need to speak to be heard, I’m picking up their wishes just fine…” She paused, looking a little confused. “Um… I see. Er. Well that’s certainly different than the kind of thing we usually do. Is there a particular reason why…? Oh. Oh ok. Yes. Yes I can see why that would be preferable, and why it would make you feel more confident, yes. That sounds perfect then…”

She closed all of her eyes and seemed to be concentrating. “If I just sketch out a little rough idea for you - I think those feathers of yours are absolutely beautiful, sweetie, but we’ll have to do some tweaks. It would seem like a shame to lose those beautiful colours but… OH! Oh my! I have an idea! Oh gosh yes it would fit you perfectly! Let me just…” She reached out a wingtip and touched one of Clarence’s wingtips with her own. 

“There, what do you think of that?”

Aziraphale guessed she must have been sending some form of telepathic images to their little ineffaball, because whatever Sartorael had thought up, had clearly just been seen by Clarence, whose eyes lit up in sheer delight, and they let out an excited loud squeaking noise and began to bounce up and down happily on her palms, wings all a-flutter. 

“What’s going on? What did they choose?” Crowley asked. 

“You’ll get to see when it’s done - Clarence is going to look absolutely spiffing, you’ll love it, I promise.”

“Can we see?” asked Aziraphale, a little apprehensive that it may be something unsuitable. 

“Clarence is happy with the design, and it will be Clarence’s corporation, so only they get the final choice, and they’d like to keep it a surprise for you. I can assure you that it won’t be anything that would make any human suspicious, they’ll blend in perfectly on Earth. I’ve been doing this for millennia, trust me, your little Clarence will be as beautiful in their new corporation as they are out of it. Now this is going to take some work, so pop back in about a month, and I should have it ready.”  

Clarence floated up out of her hands and bumped softly off her forehead in an affectionate thank-you gesture, then did several excited, high-speed orbits around Aziraphale and Crowley alternately, until they settled down a little, and then rested on Crowley’s shoulder, purring into his ear. 

“Well pocket time again until we get home, young’un. Better go in Aziraphale’s pocket as I’ll be driving and don’t want to bump you every time I change gear.”

They left, with a very happy little Clarence, and a faintly bemused and curious angel and demon.

Chapter Text

Their next drive up to London from the cottage was rather different than the first. Before, they’d been apprehensive over whether their contact would be able to give them the help they required. Clarence, of course, had been even more anxious about leaving the safety of home and being out in the big wide world for the first time. 

On this trip, however, Crowley and Aziraphale were intrigued to see what Clarence’s new corporation would look like. Clarence was a hundred times more excited about it, and could barely keep still. 

“Our little darling orb is dancing a jig in my pocket,” Aziraphale observed, glancing down at where his jacket was wiggling about, as inside, Clarence spun their wheels extra fast in anticipation. Aziraphale had to give them a gentle talking-to once they arrived, to remind Clarence to stay nice and still and quiet until they got inside. Clarence squeaked, folded their wings tight, closed their eyes, and nestled down into the silk-lined pocket as quiet as could be, although still vibrating ever so slightly as they tried to restrain themself. 

When they got into the quiet pub, Eric was there again to stand watch, still nervous. He nodded in the direction of the back room again, and Crowley knocked. 

“Coming!” came Sartorael’s cheerful voice. There was the sound of some things being shuffled around as if to hide them, and then her smiling face met them at the door. “Lovely to see you all, where’s our special little customer today?”

Clarence jiggled a little more in Aziraphale’s pocket to ask permission if they could come out yet. Aziraphale gave an encouraging nudge and let Clarence free. They floated up and circled Sartorael excitedly, occasionally bumping softly off her head in many excited little friendship-boops. 

Sartorael laughed and held her hands out to invite Clarence to land there, and stroked their soft wings. “Now your papas can go and wait outside while you try on your new corporation, then you can show them what you’ve chosen in a few minutes, after I’ve checked if there’s any fine-tuning you’d like me to do.”

Hesitant, but respecting Clarence’s privacy, Aziraphale and Crowley went back to join Eric in the front bar, but Crowley couldn’t stay sitting still, so paced up and down nervously, while Aziraphale made stilted small-talk with Eric. 

After about twenty minutes, they heard a door creak down the hall, and Sartorael poked her head out and called: “Coo-ee! Time to come see your lovely little Clarence’s new look!”

Aziraphale scrambled to his feet, and accompanied Crowley down the hallway, where Sartorael ushered them in. She’d set up a silk painted dressing screen across half of the room, and they could see a golden glow from behind it. 

“Your papas are ready to see you now, sweetie, come on out!”

Clarence came out from around the screen, two faces looked down, and two jaws dropped open in shock. 

Clarence was resplendent in a glorious array of beautiful colours - the copper tones of Crowley’s hair, the black of his jacket, the gold of his eyes, the scarlet of his snake belly, the pale blonde to white of Aziraphale’s hair, the blue of his eyes, the tan and beige of his favourite suits, and in addition, a splash of stunning iridescent scarab-green. 

Clarence quacked. 

Rather than a human-shaped corporation, wanting to feel that they fit in better with their siblings, Clarence had chosen a duck shape to present themself to the world. The stroke of genius that incorporated all the colours of their parents had been Sartorael’s, and she’d crafted Clarence the very finest Mandarin duck corporation - probably the most beautiful duck in the world. A little smaller than their siblings, who were all farm duck varieties, with the added bonus that the Mandarin duck had a natural capability to fly, and with a great deal of agility. 

“Wow.” Crowley took his glasses off and knelt down in awe, lost for words. Aziraphale knelt down as well, tearing up. 

“Oh Clarence, my dear little sweetheart, you look amazingly handsome! You couldn’t have chosen better, it suits you perfectly! Your siblings are going to be so happy to see!” 

(illustration by GayDemonicDisaster. Can’t see the image? Click here to view.) 

He held out his arms, and Clarence waddled forward, then with a hop, skip, and a flutter of wings, jumped into Aziraphale’s arms for a cuddle, wiggling their little tail feathers, and quacking happily.  Crowley reached over and stroked their soft feathers in awe. 

“The colours are amazing, I don’t believe it!” He looked up at Sartorael, who was beaming from ear to ear with professional pride. “That really was a stroke of genius.”

“Well Clarence told me that they really wanted to be shaped like their siblings, and showed me visions of some very beautiful ducks, But I was thinking of those pretty bright feathers in their trueform wings, and then your red hair, your black suit, and Aziraphale’s hair and suit, both your eyes, and it came to me - I didn’t have to compromise on colour when there was already such a variety of beautiful colours in nature - hummingbirds, peacocks, pheasants, and then I remembered the most colourful duck in the world, that matched you both so perfectly.”

Aziraphale passed Clarence to Crowley to cuddle, and got to his feet. “We really can’t thank you enough for this, what do we owe you?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all, honestly it was a privilege and a pleasure to be invited to be a part of this, and it was so enjoyable to break out of the mould and have free rein to create something different for a change, to break up the drudgery of making boring human shaped corporations for angels. I loved it, that’s all the recompense I need, truly.” 

“Are you sure?” Crowley asked. “There’s nothing at all you’d like in return?”

Sartorael thought for a moment, and then finally made a suggestion. 

“If you insist, then perhaps, at some point, I might like to take a little holiday down here, stay near the sea, in the countryside, meet your other ducks and the beautiful cottage and garden?”

“Absolutely!” Aziraphale beamed. “We have a guest bedroom already set up in case we want company over, and I’m sure the other ducks would love to meet you as well. You’re welcome to come and stay whenever you like.”

“Thank you. And take care, little Clarence. Let me know if you’d ever like any tweaks. I’ve made this corporation far more resilient than Earth ducks are, so you shouldn’t have to fear discorporations. Have fun with your siblings, I’m sure they’ll enjoy teaching you how to swim and dive in that lovely pond of yours.”

They left the pub with Clarence cradled in Aziraphale’s arms, quacking softly, and eagerly looking around them. Now that their many eyes were wrapped up and concealed, they no longer had to deal with all the sensory overload they’d experienced in their trueform. Their new corporation came with so many interesting new senses, like the taste buds, and Clarence was curious about how they worked, so was tempted to try dabbling some fruit and veg with the other ducks that evening. So far they’d only worked out that Crowley’s nose was not in fact very tasty. 

Clarence had been sitting in Crowley’s arms before they left, getting to grips with their new appendages, and having seen Aziraphale kiss the tip of Crowley’s nose on many occasions, they decided to try an experimental gentle nibble. 

“Hey! Tha’s m’NOSE!” Crowley had grumbled. 

“Shh, this is a perfectly reasonable thing for Clarence to do right now. It's not as if they have HANDS, dear. They have to explore the world somehow, and now they have a whole new way to do it.”

When they arrived home, Geraldine the vicar was walking near the village and waved them down. Crowley pulled over and Aziraphale wound his window down with a smile.

“Oh Aziraphale, just the person I was looking for, I do wish you’d get a mobile phone. You offered to do some baking for the church fête next month, I wanted to ask if you would do a gluten-free one as well? The last time you did a lovely one and it made Arnold feel ever so included… oh! You have a new duck!” She peered in at Clarence sitting on his lap. “Oh isn’t he adorable!”

“Well we certainly think so, Geraldine, meet Clarence, Clarence meet Geraldine. Like our other ducks, Clarence is nonbinary despite their plumage.”

“Terribly sorry, Clarence, lovely to meet you. You have very beautiful feathers.”

Clarence quaked happily, and waggled their tail.

“May I stroke them?”

Aziraphale looked down at the little duck in his lap. “Would you like that, Clarence? Geraldine would like to stroke your feathers, is that alright with you?”

Clarence responded by standing up, and reaching their head out towards the vicar. 

“That’s a ‘yes’”, Aziraphale clarified, and Geraldine stroked their soft plumage. 

“Oh what an adorably soft cute little thing you are!”

“And of course I can bake a gluten-free cake as well, I’ll be baking a dairy and egg-free cake too for any vegans attending. I swap the butter for vitalite and they still taste delicious. Would you like to come around and pick them up on Friday evening before the fête?”

“That’d be lovely, thank you, Aziraphale. Lovely to see you too, Crowley, the apples made the most delicious apple tarts and I took them to the local nursing home, they went down a treat! Lovely to meet you too, Clarence, bye for now.”

“Cheerio!” Aziraphale waved as Crowley drove them off, then looked down at Clarence. “How was that then, young duck? Your very first human interaction, I daresay you couldn’t ask for better than Geraldine, she really is a lovely lady.”

“Not their first, remember?” Crowley prompted, the burglar incident still made him grouchy and protective. 

“Well, first in their new life, I mean. First purposeful human interaction, where you didn’t accidentally terrify anyone.”

Aziraphale carried Clarence around to the back garden, where the other six ducks were eagerly awaiting their arrival, having been alerted to their parents’ return by the sound of the Bentley’s engine. They gathered around, quacking and nibbling at Aziraphale’s trouser legs excitedly, keen to find out who the new duck was. 

“Right, you lot,” Crowley declared. “Settle down. Now I don’t know if you’ll recognise them, but…” 

Raphael, one of the Braddock White ducks, was standing on tippy-toe and craning their neck up to Clarence, quacking loudly.

“Oh, you do recognise them? What, all of you?”

Aziraphale bent down and placed Clarence on the grass with the other ducks, who circled around them and made a fuss, some nibbling and grooming Clarence’s feathers, others touching beaks, and all of them bobbing their heads up and down in greeting, tails all a-wiggle. 

“Well I didn’t expect that,” Aziraphale confessed. 

“Me neither - how d’you suppose they recognise it’s still Clarence?”

“Perhaps it’s more to do with personality than shape? I have no idea, but at least they’re making them welcome.”

The ducky flock urged Clarence to join them in the pond for their first experience at swimming in their new shape, and before long, Clarence was diving under water, and splashing up a storm, having a whale of a time. 

They spent the next few weeks learning all the fun ducky things to do, although the rest remained jealous of Clarence still being able to fly - albeit this time using wing power alone, so Clarence began practising levitating the other ducks one at a time to “fly” alongside them, and became quite good at it. They still couldn’t manage to levitate more than one other duck at a time though, so they all took turns. 

The other ducks, along with Crowley, tried to encourage Clarence to try some different foods, but they remained unimpressed by everything offered. 

Clarence was delighted however, at the opportunity to go out on day trips with Aziraphale, Crowley, and the other ducks, or sometimes just the three of them. Now they had a ducky disguise, they could go for trips to the seaside, to local ponds, lakes, and rivers, to swim in different places, and got to do lots of people-watching, which they enjoyed. 

They took Clarence into town, to the cinema, to the park to meet other ducks (who were all baffled by Clarence and didn’t want to play, like their siblings back home.) Crowley even smuggled Clarence into the zoo to look at all of the other animals there.

Crowley smuggled the little duck into the theatre, the opera (for Aziraphale), and the British Museum. Mostly by the method of hiding Clarence under a large hat, and bringing them out after getting past the entrance. Aziraphale pointed out that they could simply miracle Clarence to be invisible, but Crowley insisted that smuggling them in on his head under a hat was far more fun for both of them. 

Aziraphale was even less impressed when he found Crowley had bought seven donkey jackets to match his own, and miracled them down into duck-size for his little crew. 

“And WHAT, may I ask, are THOSE?” Aziraphale asked, as he watched Crowley putting a little black jacket with fluorescent orange patches on it onto Donatello. Clarence and Raphael were already sporting theirs.

“Duck Shit Up jackets,” Crowley replied. 

“And what, exactly, are you planning to ‘duck up’?” He did not look amused.

“Not sure yet, whatever looks like it needs it. Possibly the next fox who tries to break in.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and left them to it. 

(Illustration by Skelligiri. Can’t see the image? CLICK HERE.)

But being a duck full-time could be a little tiring for a young ineffaball, so from time to time they’d slip out of their corporation and re-take their true form to relax a little - very strictly only at home, out of sight of humans though.

Chapter Text

While Aziraphale was always happy to help out with community events and church fundraisers or fêtes, and had become good friends with Geraldine the vicar through a shared love of good chocolate and wine and a shared sense of humour, he didn’t attend church services, being somewhat indifferent to human’s preferred way of communing with the Almighty. He had his own ways of doing so, and had been rather jaded by unpleasantness he’d seen in the past. 

Geraldine knew that attending services wasn’t his thing, and absolutely didn’t judge him for it, although she was a little confused, seeing how clearly spiritual he was in all other respects. She left an open invite and made sure he felt welcome if he ever did decide to join them. He did, however, happily join her in prayer now and then, which further confused her over his absence from services. 

She’d come to understand that Crowley was absolutely not ever going to so much as step foot inside the church, let alone come to any services, and always had a reason to excuse himself when the topic of religion was raised. But despite his gruffness, she could see he really did have a heart of gold, and was always helpful in ways that he pretended not to be - almost incidentally helpful, and there was a never-ending supply of fruit and veg donated whenever it was needed for things. Geraldine had also learned from Aziraphale to never, ever say ‘bless you’ to Crowley if he sneezed. She had no idea why, but respected it nonetheless. 

Geraldine arrived a little earlier on the Friday before the fête as promised, as she was passing by the cottage anyway, and figured she could chat to Aziraphale while he finished up the baking, and have a cup of tea. She headed around for the back door, as was more common for most people, and was excited to see the ducks, who she’d brought a little treat for in the form of a bag of peas. 

She rounded the corner of the cottage, the smell of baking cakes wafting out of the kitchen window ahead, and the pond hove into view, with six happy ducks swimming around on it. 

Geraldine stopped in her tracks. 

She’d been expecting to see the new Mandarin duck there as well, but instead there was something amazing. 

She fell to her knees. 

“Oh good lord.”

Clarence wasn’t wearing their corporation today, and was floating over the duck pond in their trueform. 

Unlike Boris the burglar, Geraldine wasn’t an abhorrent person. So instead of being filled with horror and existential dread at the sight of Clarence, she was immediately filled with awe, like she was being filled up with light and love more than one human could possibly contain. Tears sprang to her eyes in sheer joy and she reached out to the apparition, knowing instinctively that it was good and kind and loved her. 

Clarence looked alarmed, and glanced towards the kitchen window, letting out a loud squeak. Aziraphale looked out and his jaw dropped in horror. He ran for the kitchen door. 

“Oh my goodness, Geraldine! Are you alright? Clarence! Go and find Crowley!”

“It’s so beautiful!” Geraldine was sobbing. “So, so beautiful!” Tears streamed down her face. “I’ve never felt so blessed in my entire life.”

Aziraphale did a double take at that. This was definitely a very different reaction to the one Boris had had. He gently encouraged Geraldine to her feet, and steered her into the cottage, getting her to sit at the kitchen table, where he hastily passed her some tissues. Crowley stumbled in in a panic, followed by Clarence. 

“Clarence, go outside for now, please dear, we need to talk to Geraldine without you.”

“Please don’t send it away,” Geraldine begged, "it's so beautiful. What is it?”

“Um. Well, er…” Crowley was stumbling, trying to think of what to do. He looked pleadingly at Aziraphale for help. 

“That, my dear lady, was Clarence.”

“But… Clarence is a duck.”

“As well. Sometimes. This is Clarence as they truly are. The duck shape is a disguise.” He decided to go with honesty to see how she might take it, on the basis that if she did begin to get distressed at the idea, they could always perform a miracle to make her forget the entire thing afterwards. He was curious to talk to her about it however, based on her reaction being so different than the burglar’s.

“What… what are they?”

Aziraphale passed her a hot mug of tea, she was too stunned to notice that he’d apparently called it into being without the tedious steps of boiling a kettle and brewing it first, then he handed a coffee to Crowley, and sat down with his own mug, and invited Crowley to do the same. 

“Honestly my dear, we don’t truly know either. The closest we could say is that Clarence is a blessing.”

“They look like… what some sources say angels really look like.”

“Correct. Angels do often resemble Clarence, but of course far, far larger. We don’t know if Clarence will grow larger or remain their current size. They don’t seem to have grown thus far.”

“Wait! That distressed man who came to the church door that night, the one who robbed your place - he was ranting about gold, eyes, rings and wings - it was Clarence he saw, wasn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Aziraphale replied. “And I think, perhaps because he was not a good person, the vision drove him mad. When an angel perceives you, unless they have learned to rein in their divine aspect, then a human can feel the perceiving. They can experience themselves being examined intimately, with no secrets hidden away, no lies, just the very truth of their being exposed, leaving them the most vulnerable they’ve ever been. It’s a traumatic experience for most, which is why we… they… have to be very careful to hide parts of themself away.”

Geraldine looked at him, eyes narrowing, wary. 

“What are you?”

Aziraphale exchanged glances with Crowley, who shrugged, then sat back with a sigh. 

“I suppose I must preface this with the traditional greeting of ‘Be Not Afraid.’” he said. 

Geraldine’s eyes opened wider. 

“Are you trying to tell me you’re an angel?”

“Well… yes.”

Geraldine burst out laughing, catching angel and demon off guard. 

“Nah! Not you! You’ve hung out in the vicarage with me stuffing your face with jaffa cakes and downing glasses of pinot grigio, getting rascally drunk and telling silly jokes!”

Crowley snorted. “He never said he was a good angel.”

Aziraphale shot him a dirty look. 

“Well I always heard Crowley calling you ‘Angel’, and while I thought it was a nickname, it definitely fits. Next you’ll be telling me Crowley is one too!” Geraldine was still giggling. An awkward look passed between Aziraphale and Crowley. 

“Well.. not any more, no,” Aziraphale said, carefully.  Geraldine stopped giggling, confused. She understood the implication of an angel ceasing to be an angel. 

“Oh now you’re REALLY pulling my leg. This big softie might be an atheist or something but if he’s a demon then I’m the Virgin Mary.”

“Nah, you don’t really look like her,” Crowley replied. “But you do have a similar laugh.”

“What the hell did you put in this tea? Either I’m high as a kite right now, or I’m passed out somewhere having the most hilarious dream.”

“The tea is tea, and you’re awake,” Aziraphale said, sincerity in his voice. “We can choose to make you forget all this if you prefer, if it would bring you peace, but we didn’t want to lie to you. I may not be much of an angel, and Crowley dear may not be much of a demon, we have both deviated from our assigned paths, and met somewhere in the middle. As a result, neither of us are welcome in Heaven or Hell any more, we’re on our own side: down here, with you.”

“And Clarence? Are they an angel too?”

“No, not quite, not exactly. Honestly, we’re not sure. They do look like a very tiny angel, but that’s presumably because they took their form based on the original forms of both me and Crowley, although Crowley no longer looks like that. The duck shape - that’s what we call a ‘corporation’: like a suit that we can wear so as to appear more human, or at least, in Clarence’s case, look like something that belongs on Earth, so as not to arouse suspicion. Clarence didn’t have one initially - they have to be crafted for you in Heaven or Hell. But we were able to arrange for one to be made for them, and they wanted to choose to be a duck, like their siblings.”

“Are ALL your ducks little angels?”

Crowley laughed out loud at that one. “Definitely not. More little demons than anything, but no. They’re neither. They’re all just ducks. Ducks hatched and raised by an angel and a demon, and maybe a little more special than regular ducks as a result, but they came from perfectly normal duck eggs, with genetically ducky parents, we just adopted them.”

“And Clarence?”

“You wouldn’t believe us if we told you. Clarence is different, let’s leave it at that.”

“Well it’s pretty obvious that Clarence is something supernatural, but how do I know you’re what you say you are?”

Aziraphale thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. A packet of Jaffa cakes appeared on the table between them. 

“Well, that could just be a clever magic trick.”

Crowley cackled at that. “No, that was three hundred percent better than his magic tricks, please don’t ask him to do magic, it’s honestly painful to watch.”

“I was planning to do it to entertain the kiddies at the fête!” Aziraphale was indignant.

“What, and end up with all your lovely cakes getting thrown around in another food fight? Count me out.” Crowley let out a sigh, then took off his shades, and called his wings into reality. Unfortunately they were rather too large for the limited space in the kitchen, and a wingtip knocked a bowl off the countertop, smashing it on the tiled floor.

“Crowley!”

“Sorry…” he snapped his fingers at it, and the bowl reappeared, in one piece on the table. 

Geraldine was speechless. 

Aziraphale stood, and, rather more carefully, brought his wings out as well, followed by his halo.

Geraldine stared, eyes flicking between them in astonishment, for a moment, before she finally found her voice. 

“So why don’t you look like Clarence?”

“Well this is more of a socially acceptable version, a mid-point designed not to alarm humans too much, but just enough to give them the right idea. We’d rather not reveal our proper trueforms, you’ve seen what it did to the burglar, we don’t want to do that to you.”

“I still don’t understand how Clarence did that to him, but not to me.”

“Well you’re not a despicable person ashamed of horrific things you’ve done. The action of perceiving a human also reveals to that human, what is being exposed - things they hide from themselves, and that’s what creates the horror and dread - seeing their own true selves reflected back at them - it’s why he wanted so desperately to confess all his sins, he wanted to get rid of that burden.”

“Oh come on, I’ve done bad things too!”

“Evidently nothing truly bad, or you would have seen. You may think you’ve done bad things, but Clarence would have reflected that if you had.”

“Well, that’s the most affirming thing I’ve heard all day.”

Crowley and Aziraphale folded their wings out of existence once more. 

“You’re being remarkably calm about all this,” Crowley commented, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Inside I’m freaking out. Don’t suppose you’ve got anything stronger than tea?”

“I could tempt you to a glass of my home-brewed cider,” Crowley replied with a sly grin and a wink. 

Geraldine finally put two and two together, there had been a lot to process, but the significance of Crowley’s eyes had worked its way through her consciousness. 

“Is there a reason you’re ‘tempting’ me to consume apple products?” she asked suspiciously. 

“It is a bit of a habit with Crowley, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said. 

“No!” Geraldine gasped. “No, you’re…?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“With Eve and everything?”

“YuP.”

She turned to Aziraphale. “Should I accept?”

“My dear Geraldine, if you think you’re in any danger from Crowley, you’re very much mistaken. How many bags of fruit and vegetables has he given you since we moved here? No harm has come to anyone from those, just some lovely organic nutrients from our garden.”

“I’m sorry, it’s all just a lot to take in.”

Aziraphale patted her hand consolingly. “I know, dear.”

“So,” Crowley asked brightly, popping the top off a bottle. “... cider?”

“Got anything harder?”

“As it happens, I have some home-distilled apple brandy as well, it’s been laid down for a while now, and we’d been meaning to broach the first bottle, so today is as good a time as any, I’ll just grab one from the cellar.”

“Yes, please.” She turned back to Aziraphale as Crowley went to fetch the brandy. “May I see Clarence again?”

“Are you sure?”

Geraldine nodded firmly. “They’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Give me a moment,” Aziraphale said, and went out into the garden again to find Clarence. 

Clarence had been worrying by the pond, concerned that they’d done something wrong by allowing the vicar to see them without their corporation on. When Aziraphale came out however, despite looking serious, he didn’t look angry. Clarence squeaked questioningly. 

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart, it wasn’t your fault, I should have remembered that Geraldine was coming over this evening and hadn’t remembered to check a specific time, nor remembered to ask you to keep your corporation on.” He held out his hands, and Clarence fluttered over to land in them, gazing up at Aziraphale enquiringly. 

Aziraphale stroked Clarence’s feathers. “We’ve had a chat with Geraldine. We can still make her forget everything from this afternoon - if either she, or you, want that to happen, but considering she’s a human, she has accepted the facts surprisingly well, and she’d like to meet you again properly. Would you like that?”

Clarence seemed to think about this carefully for a moment, before squeaking an affirmative, spinning their wheels faster, excited to get to meet Geraldine again in their true form. 

“Very well, now I know that Crowley and I haven’t really talked to you before about how you should greet humans while in your true form - and even while it wasn’t harmful to Geraldine to see you, it was rather overwhelming for her, even if in a good way. So I’m going to give you a quick lesson on dimming your brightness a little, and being careful to avert your gaze so you’re not too intrusive. You may choose two eyes to use to look directly at Geraldine, but keep your others looking in other directions, I’ll show you how to control it, alright? “

Clarence squeaked and sat still, ready to learn. 

When Aziraphale brought Clarence back into the kitchen, Geraldine and Crowley were giggling over glasses of apple brandy. Aziraphale held Clarence in his hands, and gently set them loose to float just above the kitchen table. The little orb had opted to close most of their eyes, finding it easier than looking in all directions at once, as they weren’t practised yet, and had managed to dim down their bright golden glow several notches so as not to overwhelm the human. 

Geraldine still went all misty-eyed and reached out in awe towards them, then hesitated. Clarence floated forwards and into her hands, closing all their eyes as she stroked their soft feathers. 

“They feel so, so… comforting. There’s so much love, I can just feel it pouring out,” Geraldine whispered. 

“Clarence will more often be wearing their duck corporation when you meet them, but occasionally they like the freedom to be themself like this, but only at home, as it’s clearly not safe for most humans to experience. We had a talk in the garden, and they’re happy for you to know about their reality, so whether you’d like to remember, or to forget, we shall leave entirely up to you.”

“I don’t ever want to forget this.”

“Tell us if you change your mind, if things become too difficult,” Aziraphale reminded her. 

“This afternoon has been a revelation. I understand now why Crowley would never attend church services, and why I always felt so at ease with you, but why wouldn’t an angel want to come to church?”

“Probably for similar reasons why a chef on their day off probably doesn’t show much interest in dining at work, among other reasons. It’s never really been something that angels were interested in, most, to be honest, are a little baffled by it. I understand how it brings comfort to some humans, but it’s not something that I feel the need for. We have our own way of doing things, even Crowley does.”

“What… Crowley prays to Satan?”

“Heavens no. That’s just his ex-boss. The Almighty was ultimately our creator. Crowley never stopped talking to Her, even when She never talked back. Even if it hurts, he knew Her once. It’s not something we talk about too much, but you can’t not believe in something that you know for a fact exists. It’d be like not believing in oxygen, or water, or life itself.”

“The only thing I’d ever say to Satan is not repeatable in front of young Clarence,” Crowley muttered. 

“So how does Clarence change into a duck then?” Geraldine asked, tactfully changing the subject. 

“Oh, they can show you, would you like to show her, Clarence?” Aziraphale asked. “They keep their corporation in a kind of pocket dimension for safekeeping, and can slip it on and off as needed, they’re getting pretty well practised at it now.”

Clarence floated out of Geraldine’s hands, and spun their wheels faster, concentrating hard, flexed all their wings, tucking them in tight, and then with a soft ‘pop’ suddenly they were enveloped in duck. They stood on tippy-toe, flapped their wings, wiggled their tail, and quacked happily. 

Geraldine reached out for her glass of brandy, and finished what was left in a single gulp, then held it out to Crowley silently for more. He topped her off. Aziraphale gave his demon a mildly disapproving look. 

“Wow.”

Clarence waddled across the table, and snuggled up to Geraldine’s ample bosom, floofing their feathers up and closing their eyes for a nap. Geraldine teared up, and cuddled them softly, looking utterly smitten. 

“If you ever want a babysitter, well… orb-sitter, or duck-sitter, I’m in.” She declared. “You two can go for a night out together and I will more than happily stay here and watch movies with this lot.”

“You’re on,” said Crowley. 

“I must be the luckiest vicar in England,” Geraldine whispered, still stroking Clarence. “I’ve not only got a real-live angel in my parish, but he’s also married to a demon, and that is the most perfect example I can think of on why people should put their differences aside and love one another. However…” she continued, as Crowley opened his mouth to say something, “... your secret is safe with me. I won’t be sharing it in a sermon or anything, but it will definitely help me keep things in mind in a very different light than how I did before, and for that I wanted to thank you.”

She raised her glass. “Cheers.”

Crowley raised his in return, and hastily filled Aziraphale’s now-empty teacup with brandy so he could join in. “Cheers.”

Clarence lifted their head and reached out their neck towards the glass of brandy held tantalisingly close to them. Crowley hastily reached out and gently pushed their beak back from the glass. 

“Not for you, kiddo. I can’t believe you’ve turned your beak up at every kind of food and drink we’ve shown you, and now you’ve smelled alcohol, all of a sudden you take an interest.”

“I suspect they get that from you, dear,” Aziraphale replied drily, not without a little smile.