Chapter 2

Despite his upset at his previous failure, two or three days passed and Alfred had completely forgotten about the mysterious disappearing thief.

Work was going well; his comic, though still relatively unknown, was gaining popularity faster than expected and he had even come across a picture of someone cosplaying as one of his characters. The photo filled him with a giddy sense of glee and some sort of dull pride. He had even received a couple of phone numbers from girls at the cafe, along with a few generous tips, though he had yet to call any one of them back, much to his own guilt and displeasure. It's not that they weren't pretty; he just didn't have the time. The comic book company had even provided him with a new graphics tablet to replace his old barely functioning one that had served him well for years, but even so, he was happy to be rid of it. On the other hand, his superhero career was also moving on, albeit more slowly. He could almost reach his full speed, even in public, and his hawk vision was almost perfect, as long as he kept his glasses on, though they sat awkwardly on the end of his mask covered nose...he really needed contacts.

Alfred was rushing home, having finished cleaning and closing up the cafe for the evening, a leftover, slightly stale blueberry muffin in one hand, his old backpack slung over one shoulder. In this backpack was his costume; he never knew when he might've needed it, so he took it with him to work. He took the back route. It was dodgy, especially at night, but fast and besides, he was a hero. One neon light illuminated the whole backstreet, liquid shadows creeping out of corners and gulping it up. Alfred took care to avoid the huge mudded puddles that littered the path. Suddenly, as if the gods had sent it just to mock his efforts, some rude person ran straight into Alfred, knocking him right into one of these said puddles and soaking him all over.

"Watch it!" He shouted angrily after the teen and his friends, picking himself and his glasses up out of the puddle. After wiping the dirty water from the lenses, Alfred placed the glasses back on his head. About three or four seventeen year-olds were speeding as fast as they could down the alley, laughing and shouting obscene remarks, throwing things high over their heads. Alfred narrowed his eyes; it looked suspicious. He jogged after them, slowing down to a walk as he passed them and quickly span round a corner. The youths had stopped running but were still chucking rocks and stones up into the sky. What were they throwing at? Alfred looked up and his mouth fell open.

A small angel passed high over him, moonlit wings huge in comparison. Alfred let out a small breath of air and a raw whisper of awe escaped his throat. The figure's hooded head whipped back even at this tiny sound before suddenly there was a harsh cry as the figure jerked like a fish and dropped like a stone. Alfred sped forward in alarm, out into the main part of the alley, in full view of the youths who seemed to be harassing this winged person. He was still falling, wings trailing limp and useless behind him, fluttering violently in the rushing wind. Alfred only just had enough time to break his fall, a burst of white feathers dislodging and exploding around him upon impact. Despite Alfred's superhuman strength, he hadn't expected the collision and his legs betrayed him, once again forcing him tumbling to the floor. His hood had fallen back, revealing a familiar face. On a closer look, Alfred could see that he his too-long choppy hair was dark with blood that was leaking from a large gash on his forehead and falling into his closed eyes. His skin was even whiter than he remembered, looking almost grey and Alfred guessed that this wasn't usual, even for the pale stranger. The hero blinked in surprise; how could the stuffy stuck-up old guy he met in the park be this kid who honestly looked no older than seventeen? A pained groan escaped the stranger's lips and startlingly green eyes opened slightly, fluttering downwards and a hand shot up to his left shoulder where blood was also streaming dark and thick from his wing, staining swan white feathers and deep shade of crimson. A agonised gasp was emitted from his mouth and he struggled from Alfred's arms and got up, still pressing a now red hand to his shoulder, which also seemed to be sporting an injury, and flapped his wings carefully before hissing in pain, deciding against trying to use the injured limb and stumbled forward a few steps on weak, trembling legs before he tripped and, panting heavily, didn't get up. His bare feet were also bleeding, tiny shards of glass deeply embedded into the soles. Green eyes bore into Alfred's blues, before closing again. The man coughed and gritted his teeth, unable to move without harming himself further. A single blooded feather fell from a wing and landed on a puddle's surface and Alfred suddenly realised what had happened on that day, where the criminal had gone and his eyes flashed, turning back to the man with accusation in his eyes, but he only looked away, slightly shamefacedly, knowing that Alfred had figured it out.

But now the other youths were approaching, looking mad, with rocks that looked heavy in their hands. One picked up an empty beer bottle from the floor and started twirling it in his fingers.

"What the hell, man?" One, wearing a beanie shouted. "Fuck off, before we beat your ass!"

Another, completely ignored Alfred. "Gonna fucking kill you, freak! Will teach you to fucking mess with us!" He screamed at the man behind Alfred.

Alfred was a superhero, and despite the winged man's criminal status, he knew he had to help. Heroes didn't leave anyone who was in danger and he took a wide stance, balling his hands into tightly bound fists.

"Back off, or I'll kick all of your asses." Alfred growled, voice low and threatening.

It didn't seem to faze them. A thuggish lad with huge hands laughed and walked closely to Alfred, staring up into the tall young man's eyes. The teen tried to shove the other but his wide lands never reached Alfred's chest. Alfred, as quick as a passing thought, grabbed his wrist and managed to flip him, grinding him into the dirt. His friends sprang. A bottle twirled through the air and Alfred ducked, grabbing his assailant's ankle and tugging strongly, pulling him into the ground. He jumped up, dodging the rock that one had swung at his head and knocking him out with a well aimed punch. Only one was left, a weedy little guy with a buzz cut and large watery eyes. He blinked twice, glanced at his unconscious friends and scarpered, running quicker than Alfred had ever seen a normal human being run before.

When he was sure that the youth wouldn't return and that the other's weren't waking up anytime soon, Alfred turned and swore to find the man lifeless, face-down on the floor, beautiful wings spread wide and floppy like a ragdoll. They shone white and sparkled with flowing blood, almost glowing in the darkness. Alfred rushed up and fell to his knees, quickly checking the stranger's pulse, only to find his heartbeat quick and erratic and he bit his lip nervously. Alfred picked the man up and was surprised at his minimal weight. Having superhuman strength made everyone easier to carry but this one was even more so and as carefully as he could, he delicately carried the fragile looking being home.

The angel woke with a start, finding himself atop a bed, wounds and injuries bandaged and cleaned, badly, but it was better than nothing. He looked around his surroundings. The room seemed perfectly normal, childish even, like it belonged to a hyperactive fourteen year-old. Posters of superheroes plastered the walls along with American flags and comics littered the room. Even the duvet was emblazoned with the Superman emblem. An x-box 360 was plugged into a wall at the other end of the room and on the bedside table was a half eaten burger. There was a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, so bright that it hurt his eyes. Groaning slightly, he sat up and swung his legs over to the side of the bed, settling his feet down on the floor before wincing and bringing them up immediately. He inspected the soles of his feet. The person who had patched him up obviously didn't bother or had forgotten to remove the splinters of glass from his soles and gritting his teeth, the angel pulled them out himself with his fingers, except the few that he knew he would need tweezers for. He took his fingers carefully up to his shoulder and noticed that blood was still seeping slightly from the wound. The man re-laid his feet on the carpet, only by the tips of his toes and bent over, letting his head fall into his hands and his fingers knot in his dirtied hair, blood still dried in his fringe, exhaustion almost overcoming him. His head was swimming. It felt like his brain was mushed up baby food, now being swirled by a doting mother for her young child. He heard a noise, a shuffle and instinctively folded his wings against his back inside his hoodie, hidden from sight. He tensed and walked over the bed, ignoring the sharp pangs of pain that shot through each of his feet like bullets every time he walked, sinking slightly into the bed with each painful step and jumped, landing heavily on his feet. He crouched down behind the bed. The door creaked open, and a handsome young man opened the door. He must have been in his early twenties, and he was tall and well muscled, though his glasses and spiderman t-shirt made him seem a bit geeky. In fact, he didn't look dangerous at all. His sky blue eyes went to the empty bed and the angel smirked when he started freaking out.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit..." He said, panicked, checking cupboards and wardrobes, filled with piles of messy clothes. "Shit, shit, shit, where'd he go?"

The man, despite his hurting wing, shoulder, feet and forehead, had to restrain himself from laughing at the young man. After about two minutes of watching him, he let out a quiet chuckle and the man span round, eyes narrowed. He stormed around the bed and he swore silently to himself, suddenly serious and squeezed under the low bed, nearly gasping out loud as his injured wing scraped the wooden post. He squirmed through, and out the other side, running to the door.

"Hey!"

The angel looked back and gave a smirk before opening the door to find the man standing in the doorway.

"Jesus bloody Christ!" He shouted, leaping back, but the man already had his wrist in a snake like grip. "Let go of me!" He snarled, tugging his arm back, only for the man's hold on him to tighten painfully. He struggled and twisted in his grip and the man held up one hand, pushing him gently forward as he closed the door.

"Careful, you're gonna hurt yourself even more if you keep going on like that!" The man said, forcefully. "Calm down, take a chill pill! Wait until my brother arrives, he'll be able to patch you up properly." The man released him, though still standing in front of the door, as if unsure whether he would try to run away or not.

The winged man scowled and rubbed his bruising wrist. There was no doubt that this man was like him, with that strength.

"Who are you and where am I?" He demanded, shoulder's bristling.

The young man's eyes blinked behind his steel rimmed glasses. "Wait...don't you remember what happened last night?"

He blinked back. Suddenly his aggressiveness was gone and he looked slightly embarrassed. "What are you talking about? I wasn't drunk was I? We didn't..." His hand popped up to cover his mouth to stop a gasp escaping and he went bright red, wide green eyes contrasting violently.

The man looked confused until he realised what the angel was saying and shook his head frantically, turning pink himself.

"No, no! Nothing like that! You were being chased and..."

The winged man let out a sigh of relief and his hand dropped. He rubbed his temples tiredly.

"Dear Lord, you gave me a fright. Hold on, what was that about being chased?"

The man looked quizzically at him before continuing.

"You were being chased by a bunch of dudes and um...you were flying, but they hit you with rocks and you fell. And me, being the hero, saved the day!" His voice grew faster and more excited, and a grin lit up his childish face. The other didn't return the smile, but looked on coldly.

"Well, if that is all, I think I'll be taking my leave." He said calmly, making his way towards the door, but the taller man's face suddenly turned serious and he blocked the way.

"Sorry, buddy, but I can't let you do that."

The man froze and glared right into Alfred's eyes and Alfred grimaced, feeling the freezing cold radiate from the stranger's clear green eyes.

"Why not?" He asked, scarily calm, eyes acidic but icy.

"Um...Well," Alfred tried to make his own eyes hard and cold like the winged man's, but failed, not knowing how to at all. "You're a criminal. And I'm a hero. And heroes don't let criminals go free." Alfred said, puffing up his chest.

The man snorted and folded his arms over his own chest. "Superhero, my arse. You look like you're barely out of high school."

Alfred deflated, frowned and gently pushed the man to the bed. "Sit down." He said.

The man did not. "I'd rather stand."

"Sit down." Alfred ordered again, more forcefully. "I want you to answer some questions."

The man pulled a face but did as he was told. He glowered on the bed, pulling out his wings and flexing them slightly as not to further worsen his injury. Alfred watched in awe, with bright child's eyes and unconsciously reached out to touch them, but the man moved back even further on the bed and Alfred caught himself.

"Ok." He started, pacing the floor in front of the bed slightly. "First off, what's your name and how old are you?"

The man looked mildly annoyed and sighed melodramatically, looking to the side. "Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. And I am currently twenty three."

"Woah, seriously? I thought you were eighteen or something? You're old!"

Arthur huffed in irritation and clenched his teeth. "Alright I know I'm on the smaller side but I'm not that short-"

"-Now that I think about it, you do speak like an old guy. Or maybe that's just because you're British?"

"Aren't you meant to be interrogating me?" Arthur asked, frustrated. His impressive brows were furrowed deep.

"Oh yeah! Uh, I don't really have any more questions, I kinda already know that you're guilty." He grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his head.

"Would you mind leaving me alone then?" Arthur asked hopefully.

" 'Fraid not, Artie, can't have you escaping now, can we?" Alfred said in an overly enthusiastic voice, ignoring protests of ',my name isn't Artie!' He collapsed onto the bed, elbowing Arthur in the ribs.

"Scooch over, will you?" He complained, and Arthur shuffled over towards the very end of the bed, pressed right up against the headboard. "Must be cool having wings." Alfred looked at him with slight jealousy. "What's it like up in the air? You must feel so free, like...like an eagle or something."

Arthur's permanently angry expression faded into something more wistful and he looked more like the young man that Alfred had rescued a night ago rather than the old(ish) guy that had scorned him in the park.

"It's the most wonderful thing. Watching the world beneath my feet and feeling the wind rush through my wings. It's fantastic." Suddenly that look was gone and Arthur just seemed sad. "But I don't think I'll be able to do that for a while." He said softly, stroking the feathers on his uninjured wing.

There was silence. "I suppose I'll be going to prison, then?" He said, still not looking at Alfred.

"Yeah, not for too long...you don't sound all too upset. Have you been to jail before?"

"Hmm."

Alfred was more than a bit confused about the vague answer. "What?"

"It's doesn't matter." Arthur answered, looking very withdrawn and secretive.

"Now I'm curious. Tellll meeee." Alfred whined, grabbing Arthur's sleeve, only for it to be yanked away.

"Curiosity killed the cat." He said, anger beginning to boil on his features.

"And satisfaction brought it back." Alfred replied. "Come on, Artie!"

"Bloody hell, stop whining, and for the second time, my name is Ar-THUR, not Ar-TIE." Arthur said, emphasizing on the last syllables of his name. "Can't we talk about something else? Or better yet, not talk at all!"

Ignoring his second request, Alfred carried on talking.

"So, why were those guys chasing you anyway? They seemed pretty pissed."

Arthur looked guilty and squirmed slightly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash only slightly smaller than the one that Alfred had retrieved before, and looking away, handed it to the hero, who frowned and snatched it out of his hands.

"A bit low on cash, are you?" Alfred said, tucking the money into his pocket.

Arthur scowled and still didn't look at him. "More than a bit." He said. "I don't have two pennies to rub together."

Suddenly a doorbell rang very loudly, making Arthur jump and Alfred grinned.

"That's Mattie! My little bro's arrived!"

Author's note: Ahh! So sorry for the crappy chapter T^T Only on the second chapter, and I already suck. Especially at action scenes. I'm no good at them but this is a superhero fic, so there are going to be lots :( Any tips for me? One more thing, to any American readers, does Alfred sound at all American? I'm trying to make him sound as un-British as I can without making him speak French, but I don't think that I'm succeeding.

Thank you so much to anyone who read or favourite-ed this story! Special thanks to princesspug, Sam and Kakita101 for reviewing my first chapter :3 You are all nearly as awesome as Prussia! princesspug, thanks for the name suggestion, I don't think Alfred's superhero name will come up for a while but I there's a large possibility that I will use your name, as I am absolutely HORRIBLE at names of any kind. Does anyone else want to make a suggestion for Alfred's superhero name? So what you guys think should happen next? And also, what are your favourite parings, you never know, I might just include them.

Just to clarify, Arthur is twenty three and Alfred is twenty one. And I know that the age difference is different but I made it a bit smaller. Call it artistic licence.

Both Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland belong to Himaruya Hidekaz.