A/N: I know, I know. I'm supposed to be working on my other fic. But, I had this story playing in my head and uh... Btw, this is rated M from the get go for the angel thing...religion and blasphemy and other stuff...sorry.
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Everywhere, people were screaming. Crying. Lying. Dying.
Arthur could hear each word. Every whisper spoken. They uttered of a man lying broken in a pool of his own blood. A hero whose sacrifice would cost him his life.
"Human beings are so bloody stupid."
Lost in the masses of a crowd, Arthur observed the number of people grow. They gathered around him, completely engulfing the man with unknown faces – unknown voices. Everything seemed to centralize at a single point, countless gazes focusing on one dying man.
"You knew this would happen. Help them all you want, boy, but, all they're going to sodding do is watch you die. How long will it take for you to realize that?"
The green eyed male broke through the crowd. It was an easy thing; they could neither hear nor see him. He stepped into the eye of storm, glancing down -as everyone else – at the boy who lay bleeding.
"Don't worry, you're not going to die yet." Arthur uttered softly into the young man's ear. His voice was calm and soothing -just as an angel's should be. It was Arthur's hope that the American heard. Even if the boy's eyes did not reflect his face nor his ears vibrate with his words – the angel hoped to God that they pierced through. That, in these painful moments, comfort reached him.
Because there was no human being offering what the angel tried to give.
"I won't let you die, Alfred."
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Alfred tightened the blanket around himself, creating a make-shift barrier from the outside. Just an inch from his bed stood the personification of the devil himself. Violet eyes ablaze, blond hair fizzed into a curly antennae that stood to attention in front of his forehead – truly a horrible sight.
"Mattie, I'm sorry! Really, really sorry!" Alfred uttered useless apologies under his shield. His punishment was about to be exacted. Because none could ease the fury of a brother scorned.
"Alfred. Do you have any idea what you did?"
The blue eyed male drew a breath, noting the repression in his sibling's voice. It wasn't the soft tone the man usually used. Nor was it the frustrated timbre that only showed itself when the man was aggravated.
"I saved a cat?" Alfred answered, his voice an entire pitch below a whisper. Hell was only a moments away from being set forth.
"You jumped in front of a pick up truck to save a cat!" Matthew tore the blanket off the injured man's body, leaving Alfred a vulnerable mess. But, he didn't stop there.
"WHO FUCKING DOES THAT ANYMORE!? Do you know you could have died?!" the violet eyed male screeched, his face burning a fiery red. Hell had arrived. "Why are you so stupid, eh?! MORON!"
Alfred shrunk away from the tyrannical form his brother. The yelling itself was evidence of the other man's anger. But, the swearing was a prelude to three hours worth of misery. "You almost cut a fucking artery, Alfred! What if you died, eh?! WHAT IF THE AMBULANCE DIDN'T GET THERE IN TIME?!
The injured teen curled farther into himself, using a pillow as a shield from hurtful truths. "You keep doing this! WHY?!" There was a second of reprieve as Matthew drew in a sharp breath. "This is the fourth time you've been here this month! And the ninth time this year! It's February, Alfred! Are you TRYING to die?!"
Matthew kept with his tirade, snatching the pillow/shield from his brother. Alfred hugged his knees as a replacement. Neither male seemed aware of the audience in the room.
"Hon hon hon~ Mon chére Matthieu est trés mignon, oui?"
The voice went unheard by both siblings along with the following response.
"Just because your charge grew some balls since the last time I saw him doesn't mean you did, Frog."
Atop a sterile cupboard in a corner of the hospital room, Arthur sent a scathing glare at the French man. Despite the murderous emotions, the other responded with a chuckle as he floated beside the ranting male. He cooed at his charge, muttering compliments that Arthur could not hear. The green eyed being sighed, sliding off his seat.
"As much as I agree with you, Matthew, I want you to stop. You're going to make Alfred cry." Arthur spoke, striding over to Alfred's bedside. His actions garnered a sympathetic glance from the other spectral being. It was unfair, really.
Francis Bonnefoy was an angel. Responsible for the well being of the human being called Matthew Williams. And, with the almost countless number of feathers gracing his wings, he could fly.
Arthur was an angel. Guardian of the human, Alfred F. Jones. And, on each wing was the graceful silhouette of six feathers. Twelve in all.
One for every remaining month in the life of Alfred F. Jones.
"Damn it, Alfred! Take care of yourself for God's sake!" Matthew rubbed the tears from his eyes, concluding his tirade. For the rest of his life, he would be ignorant that an angel had influenced him to stop.
"I'm real sorry, Mattie," Alfred whispered, untangling himself as he peeked out at his twin. Matthew dropped the snatched pillow back onto Alfred's lap as he seated himself down on the edge of the bed.
The American glanced at the doorway of his hospital room, in response, confirming the lack of peering eyes. Once the absence of witnesses was deemed, Alfred opened his arms up to his twin.
"Hug!" the blue eyed boy requested, keeping his eyes wide open with a bottom lip tremble. For a nineteen year old, the gesture was as genuine it could get. It made Matthew laugh.
"Y'know, we've got the same face, Al! It's weird seeing you do that, eh." Despite the comment, the younger of the two twins leaned into the hug – completing the embrace. He leaned his head onto Alfred's shoulder.
"Just don't do it again, okay?" Matthew whispered. "I don't want to lose you, eh."
The place in which Matthew kept his head was the perfect place to hide his tears. He bit his lip, holding back another sob when Alfred did not answer him. "Al?"
Matthew was unnerved by the man's silence. He pushed his elder twin away, keeping the man at the arm's length. Alfred gave him a nervous chuckle as he glanced away; he couldn't look his brother in the eye.
"Sorry, Mattie! But, I'm as hero, remember? I save people?" Alfred replied, bring up an arm to flex his muscles. Unfortunately, both limbs were covered in bandages. "I gotta help everyone I can!"
Alfred spread his arms again for another embrace. But, for the second time around, he forced the hug. "Heroes get hurt sometimes, y'know."
Matthew could feel his brother smile against his neck. "Don't worry though! I'll be okay!"
Arthur watched in silence at the heart wrenching family reunion. To any other, the sight of the two brother would grip at one's hear simply because of the untainted affection – the unbreakable bond of brotherhood. But, the green eyed male was not any other.
He was an angel. And any angel could see that this could see that the scene that unfolded was a prelude to tragedy. There was no doubt. Evidence of that was the green eyed beings reflection.
An ugly sight. A weakened sight. Wings almost bare – a glow that was almost invisible. Without them, the man could have been thought to be human. But, Arthur was not human.
The green eyed being trod towards his charge, reaching an arm towards the boy. He placed a grip on Alfred's wrist, focusing as he stared at the boy's happy face. Unaware of the angel's presence, the American continued to chat joyously with his brother. Unknowing of the kindness that Arthur was bestowing on him.
"Don't overdo it, mon ami," Francis remarked, leaning in to watch as the green eyed male worked. Even though there was no immediate change to Alfred's being, an encroachment of red began to crawl up from the blue eyed male's wrist. It crawled up the angel's arm, bulging like veins -pulsing with an ugly purple. They encircled Arthur's arm, moving to the next before stopping. Then they cracked. The very image of them was a reflection of Alfred's own injuries, only devoid of red fluid.
"There. I just reduced your sodding healing time by six months." Arthur dropped his arms by his side, seating himself on the bed corner opposite from Matthew. The marks remained."As if I'd let you spend half your remaining life in a hospital bed."
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"Can't you go back to Canada next week?!" Alfred whined, clinging onto his brother's suitcase as Matthew dragged it across the airport. It looked as a child would, screaming as their parents pushed a shopping cart along market aisles.
"Alfred! I took a week off school so I could visit you, eh! You're better, I have to go!" Matthew struggled with his carry-on, heading off to the airport security lines. "My flight's in an hour, I have to get to the gate!"
The violet eyed twin, took back his bag. Despite his actions, his heart twinged at the sight of the watering eyes of his sibling. "I have spring break in a month, Al! I'll visit you, then,."
Alfred let out a nonbelligerent noise, though he backed away from his brother with a nod. "You better, Mattie! Or else, I'm coming over to get ya out of there. Isn't it like really cold up there?"
Matthew sighed, stepping into the security line. "Really cold, Al. I'll see ya, eh." He waved goodbye, zigzagging towards the airport gates. Alfred was left behind, waving to a retreating back. He mouthed soft comments to himself. "It's real quiet when you're not here, Mattie."
Arthur stayed by Alfred's side, ignoring Francis' shouts of au revoir. It was during times like this the angel wished his human could hear him. So he could say: Don't worry, I'm here. I'll protect you.
But, Alfred couldn't. So Arthur simply stood in silence.
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The American woke up in a hospital bed two hours after he left the airport. It could have been labelled a miracle – the rate that these things happened. From the first step towards his apartment building, he had given up three taxis for other, more urgent looking, people. Helped four ladies cross the road and up stairs, one of which he tripped and dislocated his shoulder(of course, Arthur healed it before the man could notice, but still.) And had almost made it home with no major injuries. But, as luck would have it, the hero Alfred F. Jones had to come across a scuffle in an alleyway with four other people.
"You stupid fool."
Alfred glanced up, pouting at the Austrian that stood at the door – Doctor Roderich Edelstein. "Mr. Jones, you left this hospital miraculously healed from a car crash last week. Why are you here again?"
Arthur answered before his charge had a chance "Because he's a bloody idiot, that's why!"
The angel was seated at the end of the bed, glaring at the blue eyed human. "What kind of person jumps into a fight with four sodding people?! Your brother just told you to take care of yourself! But, did you listen?!"
Alfred pouted at the wall and away from his doctor, unaware that by doing so, he was staring right at Arthur. "I had my head bashed into a brick wall?"
"You could have died, Mr. Jones," the doctor stated.
"As if I'd let him. He's not fated to die anyways," was the angel's unheard response.
The Austrian doctor strode gracefully into the room, stopping at Alfred's bed side. "You are very lucky that you have medical insurance, Mr. Jones." He allowed a wary glance at the clipboard in his hand. "The impact to the wall ruptured your right eardrum. And because one of the perpetrators -all of which the police have caught, I assure you – threw rocks in your face, your left eye is damage. Debris in your eyeball...You're lucky someone found you right away and called an ambulance."
"No, he isn't. I could have fixed everything before he woke up!" Arthur butt in, scowling. "Then, he wouldn't have noticed any injuries at all! But all because someone had to find him, I can't. Since you human beings can't stand the idea of an injury just disappearing!"
"I'll prescribe some medicine to ward off the pain and infection, but other than a few more tests you're free to go home. You'll have to keep your injuries wrapped and come in for a hospital visit every week though."
Alfred dropped back in his pillow, noting the familiarity of the hospital. He groaned, closing his one good eye. "Have at me, doc."
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"This is ridiculous." Arthur remarked, glaring at the peaceful man – doused in sleeping pills and unconscious on a bedroom floor. His doctor had advised the American against walking into empty alleyways. So Alfred had strutted into one filled with bright colourful lights and obscene posters pasted on flaking walls. With people half dressed in ten degrees Celsius below zero.
All because a kid had asked the American to accompany him home to the other side of the red-light district.
"You're bloody lucky that it wasn't any worse!" Arthur yelled upon deaf ears. He crouched down beside the sleeping male, emerald eyes invisible behind a mat of blond hair. "Sodding hell, Alfred! You help humans more than angels do!"
Silently, Arthur cursed his fate – hating and loving the fact that he was given such a difficult charge to protect. But, more so, the angel cursed Alfred's fate.
Nineteen years ago, at the dawn of the child's birth, the angel that came to be known as Arthur Kirkland blinked into existence. Feathers had dusted the entire frame of his wings – power and exuberance shown from the angel's entire being despite how small those wings had been.
But then time passed – the first feather was lost. Then the second and the third.
For each month that passed in the life of Alfred F. Jones, a feather would fall. Nineteen years and two hundred and twenty eight feathers were now gone between the angel and his charge.
There was twelve feathers left now; six on each wing.
Alfred had twelve months left. One year to live.
He, the hero who saved people. Who selflessly gave all he had for the happiness of others. He, in twelve months would die. And Arthur – with all the power he had in the world – could not save him.
"Damn it, Alfred. For once, why can't you do something that makes yourself happy?!" Arthur shouted into his knees, grateful for once that no one could see him. His pride would be broken if any living being saw the tears that spilled from his face. Angels didn't cry – shouldn't. The pure image of strength, that was what Arthur should have been. And that was what Arthur was not.
"Be selfish for once! You only have a year left, so put your happiness above everyone else's!" Arthur knew he shouldn't say these things. He knew that by definition, they were blasphemous. Happiness for all others was key. But, it was unfair.
Life was cruel. And fate even worse.
Earlier, Alfred had given his jacket to one of the women on the red light district. He had said: 'because, you look cold, miss.' And he walked on.
Then the woman had pawned it off for another joint, the kindness Alfred had given her was wasted. Arthur saw. Even if Alfred didn't. And the angel protecting her still had much more feathers than even he.
"I...can't change the decisions you make, Alfred. Free will and all that shite you humans have." Arthur muttered softly into his knees. "I can't stop your accidents either. I can only choose to heal the aftermath."
Another stray tear dropped from Arthur's cheeks. "You can't hear me if I yell for you to watch out...I can't really bloody protect you."
Arthur placed his hand on Alfred's head, focusing once more. The encroachment appeared once more on his body, reaching his eyes and his ears. His hearing disappeared for a moment as well as his sight. They returned a few minutes later In the morning, the blue eyed male would be healthy. For the year that they had left to be together, he'd be be alright. Arthur would make sure of that.
The angel leaned in, kissing Alfred's cheek. "I'll be right here 'til you die, Alfred. Always.
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Alfred felt the rays of the sun burn at his face through an open curtain. Saliva was sticking to his cheek, coagulating with all the dust his apartment floor had gathered into a dark grey goo. His joints were sore as hell and his mouth tasted like the hospital crap that he had eaten yesterday afternoon. The butterscotch pudding at the back of his jaw wasn't bad. Other than that, he was peachy.
There was no weird ringing in his ears, no itch of his eye that he wasn't allowed to scratch.
Not bad.
The American trudged to his bathroom, grabbing a towel to dab his face. No water in the eye - doctor's orders accompanied with a threat of murder if not followed. Alfred stared at his reflection in the mirror, surveying the damage. There was no bruise nor cut beyond the bandages that he could make note of. Strange, but he was always a fast healer.
"Well, if you'd bloody hurry up, it's Monday. Your classes start in an hour."
Alfred twitched, quickly turning his head to the right wildly. He heard a voice – a deep British voice from where his toilet was. The American rubbed his head; did he get a concussion too? Or was the toilet really talking to him? The American shook his head. It was his imagination.
But still. His classes started in an hour. Shit.
"You'd better not slip on those tiles and break you neck, Alfred. I spent a lot of power giving back your sight and hearing – you would have bloody lost them, you know."
Alfred's breath stopped. The toilet knew his name. No way he was going to sit his ass on the thing now. What if it started commenting when he did his business? Or remarked on his size?
The American glanced back at the toilet. Really, he might have to see Dr. Edelstein again. Maybe the meds the guy have him was too strong. 'Cause if the toilet was speaking to him...
Alfred reached into the cupboard under the sink, grabbing his first aid kit for an extra set of bandages. He balanced it on his sink, slowly peeling the soiled bandages from his face.
"No use putting new ones, I practically healed them. I just left the bruises so no one gets suspicious."
Alfred flinched – he was getting scared now. Phantom voices from his right. What if it was ghost? If it was, he needed to run. Before the ghost got mad and the cops found him frozen dead in fear, staring at his toilet. They would definitely ask themselves: What did he see in the toilet bowl?
Slowly, the American stared at the bruise on his left eyes – the voice was right though: he could see. Yes, in the corner of the mirror, he could see a man seated on his toilet. Dressed in a white toga, green eyes staring right at Alfred, even when hidden behind thick blond hair. And eyebrows. His eyebrows was definitely staring at Alfred too.
No way was the guy sitting there before.
"Uh, what are you doing in my apartment?" Alfred asked, nervously turning towards the man. He remembered walking through the red light district. So, not a ghost? "Shit. Did I sleep with you?"
Alfred watched as the green eyed male's mouth gaped. The man's stare was more attentive now, his entire body freezing with his eyes on the blond haired American. Neither said a word as Alfred found a specific spot behind the man to stare at.
Wings. This man had wings.
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A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter 'til the end. Reviews make me really happy. And, uh, so does hugs. Feel free to critique grammar also, that'd be great, And warm weather. Ha ha, the weather's been crazy up here where I like. It was -25C (-43C if you include windshield) just the other day and now it's up to 3C. Hahaha. I'll shut up now. Curse social awkwardness.