The Words We Couldn't Say:
An Hetalia Fanfiction

Chapter 1: When the Angel Meets the Wolf

At the corner of O Street and 16th Street Northwest, nine blocks north of the White House, stands the First Baptist Church of the City of Washington, DC. The moon is raising high into the darkening sky, the sun gradually disappearing behind the city's skyline and horizon, the stars steadily coming into view. It is at this church, that a certain gathering takes place between the Angels and Devils, Succubi and Inccubi, all of whom knew at least one or two other people within the Church's meeting before they had perished. Throughout all their gatherings, everyone had heard one another's stories of their lives until death—at least to the best of their memory. But this meeting is different than the last due to a particular blond not being seen in front of the altar gently illuminated with the warm glow of vanilla scented candles resting atop which surrounds a three foot or so tall gold cross. Lining the walls from the railings above, between columns, were various flags such as South Korea, Great Britain, Scotland, and Sweden to name a few. The Church echoes with the dozen or so voices, when the self-proclaimed "famous" sommelier and couturier, Francis Bonnefoy, rose to his feet, clapping his hands in such a way as to get the crowd's attention; and once things had quieted down, he spoke, flicking away his wavy golden blond hair from his face.

"I'm going to assume everyone knows the news given the chatter, yes?" Francis called with his thick French accent, placing his hands on his hips.

"It's about Arthur, right?" All heads turn to Antonio, a man of Spanish descent who, even as an Angel, still had the women swooning over him. Whether it was his eyes, or charming smile, the sun-kissed, brunette man could never seem to shake them off. He didn't necessarily mind, but a little distance wouldn't hurt. "I didn't hear what happened to him, I just know he had gotten in trouble."

"Oh, I know!" Feliciano wiggles his way towards the front to be seen, whispering "Scusa" amongst other things as he came. "Arthur got in trouble because he kept attempting to perform spells or…something like that." A swift nod followed his words.

"Spells..? That's it?" Antonio assumed it had been much worse given how loudly He was yelling to make His point as clear as glass.

"Erm…" The Italian purses his lips in thought, and with a light bulb switching on, his honey brown eyes lit up. "Oh yeah! He also kept trying to leave Heaven." And thus comes the most dramatic chorus of gasps to ever come from the crowd—even Francis looked appalled. An Angel trying to leave Heaven is once in a Blue Moon and usually meant they sinned in one way or another. Some Angels that left became fallen, and Lucifer never wasted any time to snatch them into his own domain, promising a more fulfilling life without rules or guidelines, no one to criticize every little move as a possible sin or "fatal mistake" that could result in the loss of his or her wings.

"Are you certain that the blond is Arthur, and not someone who looked like him?" Francis asked as the gasps winded down, coming closer to Feliciano.

"I'm positive! Nobody has his eyebrows after all."

"While that is true…" The French man murmured, swallowing down a snicker. He places a hand on his chin, thinking deeply about this. "What in the world could he have seen that made him want to leave Heaven?" Was it boredom or curiosity? A person or persons? A dare or rash decision? Is Arthur attempting to escape from someone or something? Even if that was the case, nothing bad ever happened up above the clouds, and if he is truly being casted down, there's a good chance of the man losing his wings or being tempted by Lucifer. This is bad news indeed. Feliciano didn't seem too terribly bothered, not with his "check out my wings" attitude consisting of him asking Antonio amongst a few other Angels to examine his growing pure white wings. Best case scenario, Arthur was merely curious, and being here is only temporary which would mean he either keeps his wings, or he'll be forced to hand them over and drop in the ranks.

"AR-OOOOOO!"

"Alfred..! Don't do that, you could attract an actual wolf's attention!"

"Toris, dude, have you ever seen a legit wolf in D.C?"

"W-Well, actually, I've never been to D.C until now so—"

"So you got nothing to worry about." Alfred threw his arm around Toris, a green eyed young man with shoulder-length brown hair, dressed as the Ace of Spades—or something like that—while the all American blond haired, blue eyed man chose the costume of a wolf. According to Feliks, wearing the same costume every Halloween is drab and lackluster, and just about demanded Alfred to change his outfit for once if he truly wanted to be allowed into Gilbert's party. Alfred tried explaining how Jason Voorhees is a classically iconic costume that "literally anyone" can pull off, regardless if they did it year after year. But Feliks only repeated his demand, and made it clear that he wouldn't be let in if he didn't change things up. So Alfred decided on a wolf, sort of. More like a man wearing a wolf mask, dressed as your stereotypical high school jock boy.

"Ah! I forgot—I need to head back inside…" Toris stops them from walking any further on the recently paved driveway which led to Gilbert's Gatsby-styled mansion. He digs around his hand-made pocket of his pants, pulling out a fifty dollar bill.

"Should I ask why you have American currency?" Alfred scrunches his nose, receiving a nervous inward laugh.

"Well...Y-you see, a few of us came up with a bet to see if you'd get drunk again like last year." Toris began, already backing towards the house blasting with music. "And since you didn't…W-we have to pay fifty dollars."

"…To who?"

"Lovino."

Before Alfred could reply, Toris dashed back towards the party, leaving Alfred bewildered and surprised. One, because Toris actually took place in a bet, and two, because the others assumed he was going to get drunk. Again. To clarify, Alfred has only gotten drunk three times during the past during the last four Halloween parties, and only got caught once when Gilbert was picked to drive Alfred, Wang, and a couple of others home when they were pulled over for speeding. At that time, they couldn't tell Gilbert was just barely drunk enough to have slightly impaired motor skills—but then again, everyone in the truck was absolutely wasted. Since then, the American made it a point to drive himself to and from the parties with water available in the car, and take anyone who didn't have a ride (plus was too drunk to even stand) home. Toris is one of these people, while not drunk, Feliks had taken him to the costume party and was going to be staying Lord knows how much longer. Toris would be staying as well, but not with his growing headache. Alfred adjusts the black and gold wolf mask against his face, waiting for the other man to return, when he heard the rustling of leaves from the bushes lining the driveway at his left along with a muffled whisper. He turns to face the source of the nose, an eyebrow cocked behind the wolf's mask.

"Bloody wings keep catching on everything…" grumbled a male voice laced with a British accent. The voice belonged to no other than Arthur Kirkland, the now (in)famous Angel sent down from Heaven. He stumbles out into view, flicking out his Cherubim wings in attempt to remove the twigs and leaves that had embedded themselves between the feathers. Alfred felt his jaw drop at the sheer realism of the wings and how they moved, his eyes sparkling beneath the mask.

"Dude, how did you make those things!?" Alfred exclaims, causing Arthur to jolt high into the air in surprise, placing a hand on his chest to calm his heart.

"W-What..?" Arthur breathed, looking to his wings and back to the mortal before he caught on. "O-Oh, I, erm—"

"Is there like a button or remote you have for them? Or does it work on its own? Where's the straps?" Without any regard for personal space thanks to his amazement at the workings of Arthur's wings, Alfred had closed the distance between them in seconds, although the mask was making it hard to properly see.

"I beg your pardon..?!" The Angel sprang back to keep Alfred from getting any closer and possibly discovering that his wings were indeed real.

"Sorry bro, it's just," Lifting the mask by the snout, the taller peels it off his head, revealing his face. "I've never seen wings look so realistic, which is why I never considered being an Angel for Halloween. On top of that, Demons are way cooler."

As he spoke, Alfred dug around for his glasses in his pocket, sliding them on, and upon doing so, he took a good look at Arthur. His cream colored tunic held in place around his waist and shoulders with gold brooches dirtied and charred at the hem near his knees and elbows. A few scrapes decorate his calves, and even his hair had dirt matted into it along with broken bits of leaves. Either Arthur parties too hard or got lost and wandered through some woods somewhere.

"Yes, well, I made them myself and it took a couple years for me to complete them." Arthur decided it was best to go along with making Alfred think they were fake,

"Seriously?" Alfred gawked, twirling the mask by the head strap around his index finger. "You should make a YouTube video about it; a crapton of people would appreciate it,"

Arthur furrows his brows, almost questioning as to what YouTube was. "Is that so..? I'll give that some thought then."

"More importantly, are you okay dude? Where'd you come from?" That caught Arthur off guard, and Alfred had started to come closer again, but the Angel held up a hand as a signal for the other to stop of which was seen. When the human kept still where he was, all with a worried expression, Arthur noticeably winced at the sudden sharp, shooting pain that travels through his right side of his body.

"I'm fine, just…"

"You're grimacing, that doesn't count as fine." Alfred snorts, hearing his name being called by Toris who comes jogging his way back to the blue eyed man. "Where've you been bro?"

"S-Sorry, I got caught in a conver…sation…" Toris now saw Arthur as well, much to his frustration. It's bad enough to be seen by one human, but now two of them. "He wasn't inside was he..? I don't recognize him."

"He came from somewhere over there," Alfred makes a lazy motion towards the east, Arthur taking this opportunity to sort of hop away on one leg. "Hey, dude, where are you going? Why are you jumping around like a rabbit or something?"

Alfred receives an exasperated groan from Arthur who is unable to come up with a logical excuse on the spot. He'd turn to face the two, then caught a glimpse of Ludwig within the entrance doorway of Gilbert's house.

"Please tell me you have a faster way of getting home." Arthur demanded, trying to move out of Ludwig's line of sight.

"Uh, I have a car if that's fast enough." Alfred snickered, starting to head in direction of it across the street. "Can you walk?"

"Of course I can walk!" He snapped, and upon attempting to properly take a step, he fell right onto his face. Toris gasps and rushed to the Angel, motioning for Alfred to help the fallen man to his feet. And now, Alfred could see the wings in detail. From what he could tell, Arthur wasn't even wearing transparent straps or anything of that sort, and unless the wings were glued…

"Are you alright?" Toris asks in a hushed whisper, both he and the other aiding in the Angel standing once more. Arthur started to protest when they supported him in getting to the crimson red jeep, but the landing from Heaven and wandering aimlessly wore him out enough that he quickly gave up—although he sits in the back seat with Toris wearing a scowl. And the wings, pressed flat against the seat, tickled Toris' neck to the point where he started giggling.

"I'm glad my wings amuse you," Arthur scoffed, pressing himself against the door as much as physically possible with Alfred putting the key into the ignition and starting the car. The radio cuts on to "Make You Stay" by the Girl and the Dreamcatcher as Alfred pulls onto the neighborhood road, coasting along beneath the street lights lining the sidewalk.

Arthur is not happy about this, not one tiny bit, even if it is a better outcome than running into Ludwig or Ivan. Ludwig is often sent from Heaven for "research" on the wingless beings, one of the strongest Angels amongst the Powers—angels of power and defense, warriors at heart. Many are initially intimidated, and Arthur still admittedly is at times. Ludwig isn't one to "snitch" or anything of that nature, so it's that which has Arthur avoiding him, rather fearing what the man would think of him. Ivan, on the other hand, is someone Arthur is legitimately concerned with seeing as how the last time he attempted to summon a demon (as drunk dare when he was human), a towering man named Ivan appeared instead; leading him amongst many others to believe he's a demon. Truth be told, he's actually one of the few hybrids to exist of Angel and Devil, and as a result, doesn't quite fit in anywhere.

Toris and Alfred chit-chat during the entire drive to the hotel Toris and Feliks are staying in before they'd fly back to Poland day after tomorrow. The two came to America as a sightseeing trip, which was Toris' idea, and convinced the other to tag along to find new outfits for his already over crowded wardrobe. Amongst all that, the pair tried "American Classic" food, having to invite Alfred whenever they were going somewhere with burgers (but he didn't always come with them). Actually, there had been a handful of instances where Alfred came for the intention of getting a burger only to order something completely different—much to Toris' and Feliks' astonishment. Every time, they re-learned that Alfred ate more than just burgers. Alfred pulls over to the curb of 15th Street Northwest, turning down the radio's volume whilst unlocking the doors.

"Hopefully Feliks returns shortly," Toris sighed, almost sounding disappointed.

"Relax dude, the party is only lasting for another hour." Alfred chuckles as the brunette climbs out of the vehicle onto the road, rushing to the driver's side all so he could give his friend a quick one armed hug through the window paired with a short thank you before leaving for the entrance of Sofitel Washington DC; a luxury hotel facing a couple restaurants and phone company shop. What seemed strange to Alfred was that the hotel is even labeled as "romantic" by anyone who looks it up.

"Ahem." Arthur clears his throat, gaining Alfred's attention and in response, wiggles around in the driver's seat to be able to see the other blond.

"I should start charging for this." He beamed, resting his cheek in a hand, elbow pressed into the center console.

"I rather you didn't."

"Why not? Am I a bad driver?"

"I don't have any money on me," Arthur admits, folding his arms loosely over his chest as Alfred gaped, his eyes growing wide. "…Is that really necessary?"

"Yes! What kind of person doesn't have money on them?" He exclaimed, bouncing in the seat.

"Well perhaps I don't want to be robbed! Did you ever consider that?"

"What about a credit card?"

Arthur cocks an eyebrow, his lips forming a thin line.

"Seriously dude…Do you have Euros then?"

"Euros..?" His green eyes lowered to his lap, his legs pressing together in such a manner which stung his muscles in his thighs.

"Yeah, like…The money British people use." Alfred explains, focusing his gaze on the other.

"Ah, no, wait, what makes you…" He hadn't bothered to finish his question, hearing his own voice when he started to speak. Arthur forgot that, even after all these years, he still carries an accent. "No, you see…I lost my wallet."

"You seem all too chill about it."

"Well I didn't have much in there to begin with, so the joke is on the person who stole from me,"

Alfred almost looked as though he didn't believe me, moving around to sit face front again. "You could take a bus then." He suggests, starting to dig for his own wallet—partially to make sure it was still in his back pocket.

"Why would I do that when I don't have any money?" Arthur huffs.

"Because I'll give you the money for it bro!"

"W-what…Nonono!" The Angel leaps from his seat to simply smack his hands on Alfred's which started pulling out a twenty from his wallet. Alfred's cerulean blue eyes, shielded by thinly framed rectangular black glasses, were wide and dazzling, staring straight at the smaller digits atop his.

"Ah…" Alfred sounded, still finding the appropriate words with an astonished Arthur realizing what he had done. Even if it was instinct, or the first thing he thought of, he didn't expect to actually go through with it. His wings brush along the seats behind him to fluff themselves and stretch out as far as they could, but all they could do was conform to the car's walls. Alfred's gaze trailed to Arthur, and their eyes met—Arthur's fretful pine and chartreuse orbs dash between the man and the overlapping hands; swiftly yanking his away then sink into the back seat. An awkward silence fills the gap between the duo, and suddenly, Alfred is putting away his wallet. The British man in back slumps his shoulders, having a gut feeling that the other knew his wings were real, especially since he and his friend had to help him off the ground; giving Alfred the perfect opportunity to see the wings in detail.

Alfred wasn't sure what to say himself, and instead of using words, he checks out the passenger window for traffic before pulling out. Arthur watched the world go past him, the lights illuminating the street, the unnoticing humans strolling the sidewalk, the architecture of Washington to the soft plush seating of the jeep of black fabric that could almost seamlessly blend into rest of the interior, to the muscular five foot nine blond man wearing a gradient red to purple varsity jacket over a dark blue t-shirt possessing a printed design of a white collared shirt and black tie. The man who didn't appear to be bothered by Arthur's wings, assuming he knew they were real, who was ready to give money to a complete stranger if it meant helping him. This behavior would be seen as foolish and possibly life threatening amongst other Angels, but to Arthur, it was soothing. He'd heard too many horror stories on the cruelty of humans, the things they will do to share an opinion and reject another's, how they can kill one another and somehow create a "logical" explanation for their wrongdoings.

These stories frightened him like so many other Angels as a way to keep anyone who isn't supposed to be leaving from doing such things, and it also made Arthur curious of the mortal's nature. Surely they can't be that bad. Arthur had thought; nobody could ever be so cruel to their own kind. Alfred seemed to be proof of that, and if there can be one, heroic, generous human, then there can be hundreds—thousands, millions. The Angel tears away his eyes from Alfred to look out the window again, and this time, there were no city lights and buildings, rather a blank canvas of Mother Nature and the star filled sky as clear as day now that they weren't in the city. How much time had passed..?

Alfred pulled onto the side of the road, shutting off the car before unbuckling and hopping out the open door, motioning for Arthur to follow him. Although confused, Arthur does follow suit and from the car, watched Alfred walking across the field on the other side of the road before coming after. He didn't understand why he was here—unless Alfred was going to murder him. Or ditch him. Or—

"Look up." Alfred whispered, pointing towards the sky. Arthur hesitates, but does so, and what he sees immediately captivates him. When his eyes adjusted, he could see the Milky Way painted like clouds along the twinkling stars, seeing the faintest hint of brown if he squints hard enough.

"Why are we here exactly..? The sight is breathtaking, but I don't see what this has to do with me." Arthur says finally, laying his eyes on Alfred who is staring at the night sky.

"Your wings are real, right?" Alfred spoke, making the other gasp as quietly as possible. "I took you here so we could talk about this and not have to worry about anything." He lowered his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I'm not about to go off and tell someone, if that's what you're thinking."

"Y-you're not..?" Arthur's voice sounded feeble, and perhaps for good reason.

"Dude, I'm pretty sure I just about saved your life. What kind of hero would I be if I told someone Angels are real, and I have him in the backseat of my car?" He began to laugh, shaking his head all the while. "If anyone believed me, I'm sure you'd be taken for experiments and become the next greatest American conspiracy. So instead of telling someone, I'll keep it a secret and…You can chill at my place."

"That's…Generous of you but—"

"You don't have anywhere to go, at least not tonight. If you do, you can go in the morning, but I'm sure as heck ain't about to let you walk around dressed like that past Halloween—it just looks ridiculous."

Arthur stood dumbfounded, opening his mouth to give a reply but nothing came out. He just hoped the other Angels were seeing this as proof that not every human is evil and cruel.

"Alfred." The taller extends a hand. "Alfred F. Jones."

"Arthur…Arthur Kirkland." The two shake hands briefly, exchanging a short lived smile.

"Seriously, can you imagine me ratting you out dude?"

"W-well it wouldn't surprise me…I can't guarantee your safety for offering to help me." Not that danger is a given, but Lord only knows what may come from this.

"BRO." Alfred fumbles to pull out his arm from the sleeve of the jacket, flexing his arm for dramatic effect of his muscles. "Do you not see these muscles? It's the hero's job to protect people, mkay?"

"Alfred, I'm not the only Angel to exist."

"I'll kick their angelic asses back to the clouds if they try anything, and that's a promise. I swear on every Marvel and DC comic book I own! Except for the first issue of Superman from 1938 and the 27th edition of Detective Comics that introduced Batman in 1939."