Summary: A short story about how NOT to prove if angels are real or otherwise, featuring a reckless young England & a stout-hearted young France.

Warnings: Please do not try this at your nearest turret!

Disclaimer: Please take the time to read the (lengthy) standard disclaimer on my profile page. It's for all my Hetalia stories, so once you've read it you'll never have to read it again. Huzzah! 8D

Story #61

"Angels Do Exist"

As a child, Arthur Kirkland –known to most as the personified Nation of England– had a queer experience. With a talent for seeing faeries and numerous other magical beings, he also sometimes fancied glimpsing heavenly beings, like angels. But it was rare.

It usually only happened when he was severely ill and delirious with fever.

One such time was when he was thirteen years of age in human appearance, and very much fed up with France's goading that his "imaginary friends" –angels included– did not exist.

And so, he swore to prove it once and for all.

To young France's horror, he arrived one day with England conspicuously missing from his infirmary bed, only to find him standing precariously on the very edge of an open window in one of his tallest castle's turrets, vowing to jump to demonstrate that angels would catch him.

From the street below, France ran like mad to reach him, all the while screaming at the top of his lungs for England to not be 'the stupide Anglais' that he was for once. What he really meant to say was that he didn't want the young Nation to jump off the tower and kill himself (in a most gory fashion— blood, innards, and brains everywhere!).

England, of course, would not have France ruin his little experiment to prove the existence of angels.

So, terrified as he was, he slowly edged himself off the ledge and closed his eyes as his feet ran out of ground. The last thing he heard from somewhere amidst the screams and hubbub, was a familiar voice admitting that faeries and whatnot were real and that there was no need to jump!

But it was a little too late for that now, wasn't it?

His body was plummeting, heart lurching frightfully out of his chest. He wanted to scream, cry, and even pray; but he did his best to keep his faith. Angels are real. They will catch me!

Suddenly, he felt oddly sleepy. Daring to open his eyes, what greeted him was the ground coming up to meet him at fantastic speed. That, and what he presumed were a dozen or more shocked faces of people— he couldn't tell because they looked more like blurred coloured dots on a green canvas.

Then everything was white and he felt powerful hands embrace him. He was too weak to speak but his heart rejoiced; lips curving into a smile. His experiment had succeeded! An angel did come and rescue him, just like he knew they would!

Looking up to be absolutely certain, he confirmed that there was indeed a being holding him, and— were those wings? He couldn't make out his saviour's face clearly; the bright sunlight cast it in perfect shadow. Then he thought he saw his angel's mouth open to say something, but he couldn't manage to stay conscious long enough to hear it…

"Stupide Anglais!"

-x-

England woke with a start.

"Finally! You are awake, stupide Anglais! Now listen 'ere! If you try to get up again wizzat ridiculous fever of yours, I swear, I will tie you to ze bedpo—" the French boy stopped as he caught sight of England's wide-eyed stare.

"What? Did I get even more gorgeous today?"

But England didn't seem to hear him.

He just continued to stare at his fellow Nation dumbly. France? The young English Nation thought in disbelief... Was he the one who caught me? No, I was certain the one who caught me was a real, bona fide angel…! No. No. Impossible. That winged being couldn't have been France…! Surely his mind was merely playing tricks on him.

Though no matter how hard he tried to recall the better distinguishing features of his experience, the memory was too faded and far past. Well, no matter! He knew what he saw— it was a real angel!

"I'm alive! Did you see who caught me?! It was an angel! I saw it with my own eyes! There! I told you so! Angels are real!"

"Oui," France said. For a moment Arthur thought he was being mocked, but no laughter followed. Not even a tug of the lips.

"Hah!" England resumed, unsure if it was an appropriate time to gloat. "Now you believe me! I told you—"

"Oui, oui! I know! Ze angels are real! But unfortunately, you were too heavy for your angel so you fell on me! And now your stout-hearted grand frère is in crutches! So don't do any'zing stupid again soon or I won't be zhere to catch you again when your angel slips up and—"

England's eyes were watering up fast, causing France stop in mid-tirade, quickly opting to pat him on the back comfortingly instead.

By the time the younger Nation's hiccups and wails of 'angel's aren't real after all…!' had subsided, France had fallen asleep, exhausted from the day's excitement and from soothing the stricken Nation with words like, 'non, non, angels do exist, zhey're just shy, zhey can't be out in open crowds! Now you know! Don't cry now petit lapin or your angel will cry too!'. It didn't take long before England allowed his own tired eyelids to descend, and slumber to drag his mind back ito the land of dreams.

The young Island Nation stirred sometime after and sat up to watch the older Nation sleeping soundly by his bedside. It was his fault that France was littered with bruises and scrapes everywhere, apart from needing crutches. But then again, if he hadn't teased him about his magical creature friends in the first place, he wouldn't have been compelled to try and prove him wrong, and none of this would have happened.

He sighed, and curled back under the blankets, watching the other's face until sleep found him again. Somehow, he felt better— and strangely reassured of the fact that angels did exist…

Thank you for breaking my fall… stupid frog.

Only, they were a tad different from what he thought.

The End.

(09/16/2012 - 03/16/2016)

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