Author's Note: Well hullo thar! And welcome at last to a new chapter! Ahaha I actually could have posted this like a week ago, but there is SO MUCH MORE TO IT D8 I was gonna make it one chapter but it got out of hand so now it's 2 :T Good news being I have a good half of chapter 3 already so the next update should be sooner rather than later! I'm a pathetically slow writer sometimes XT… That being said! This is also not meant to comment on any kind of religious views or nothin' like that. This is just me having fun with the idea of the afterlife and at poor Francis' expense, so enjoy it along with me X3


Chapter 2:

All Frogs Go To Heaven

He recalled a sensation of floating. A placid, gentle drift like riding the waves against the pebbled shores of Nice in the summer, or of a perfectly drawn bath filled to the rim and mounded with glittering suds. The sensation of warm light all around him kissed his skin with its gently curious rays as a calm, perfumed breeze tossed the soft golden tendrils of his locks around his face. It was like the dreamy haze between being asleep and waking, of lying in bed on a Saturday morning knowing he had no reason to get up and nowhere to be with one arm draped loosely around Arthur's waist. He could almost feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest, smell the sex and sleep tousled blonde hair against his nose and lips, and hear the ticking of his lover's favorite antique clock keeping a slow and steady rhythm to let him have the blissful illusion of keeping that moment just a bit longer than time truly allowed.

He oft wondered in that warm and hazy dream state if his slumbering lover would awaken and feel like pancakes, or possibly an omelet, or, on the rare occasion when he was in the mood and they happened to have fresh, ripe strawberries and cream, Belgian waffles. Nothing was better than sneaking out of bed just before Arthur would awaken to fill the house with the scent of his expert cooking just for him. That would either entice his green-eyed beloved out of bed to shyly come to the kitchen to watch, or if he was not drawn out of his dreams by the sumptuous aroma he would have the extraordinary pleasure to wake him with a kiss and a tray of breakfast in bed embellished with a single red rose.

Only something was not quite right.

There was no Arthur by his side, fidgeting adorably and mumbling in his sleep. There was no reassuringly wise tick of the clock on his dresser or the familiar aroma of old books that permeated his entire apartment. There seemed to be no semblance of Arthur's expensive and deliciously plush bed or his fine linen sheets draped scandalously over his naked body. Most notably, there had been no nagging for him to get his lazy ass out of bed and to work in only the most elegant, British of ways that always served as his alarm the nights he spent at his lover's. All he could feel was a peaceful, warm sort of numbness as he drifted on in that strange and wonderful place where his mind flitted pleasantly through random thoughts and quickly forgot anything was amiss at all.

The vaguely disturbing feeling like he was late to something crossed his mind once, but he could not remember for the life of him what it might be. He scraped at the corners of his psyche to recall the date, the last time he had seen on the clock, or even the day of the week, but all answers seemed to elude his mind, no matter how hard he tried to focus it on something tangible. The notes of a song tickled teasingly at his ears, but just as he thought he recognized the tune it vanished into a ghost of a melody, too faint to distinguish or even to be certain it was there. His entire being felt everywhere and nowhere all at once, material and incorporeal, as if his mind had been severed from his body and he was trapped in his own skull. Though the notion to try to move never seemed to percolate through his sporadic thoughts. Everything was so blissfully calm and peaceful, he couldn't fathom why anyone would ever dream of being the one audacious drop of rain to ripple the glassy surface of an untouched pond.

That dubious honor was taken from him by an all too familiar sound rousing him from that eternal peace as a proverbial boulder hurled straight into the pond of his dreams; the sound of bickering. At first, it was faint and muffled, like Arthur's downstairs neighbors arguing over something trivial again, but as the exchange of annoyed quips and slander went on it grew louder and clearer until it seemed the combatants were locked in verbal mortal combat right at his bedside.

"…ainly not agree to something so depraved, what kind of an argument is that? If you're going to attempt to best me at least make sense! Not that someone like you is even capable of it…" a smooth, haughty voice barked in a tone barely controlled.

"Aww, do you have to put it that way? That makes it sound like you don't like me!" a second more amused, but still mocking voice replied.

"Of course I don't like you! Whatever gave you the ridiculous notion that I did? I'm trying to sort out the details of this mess so we can both come to an agreement and just move on with our business and go home!"

"Go home?" the second voice queried, "But going home means back to work!"

"Of course it does, you nitwit! I'm behind enough as it is! I can't afford the time to stand out here haggling with you when you clearly have jurisdiction in this matter!"

"Me? Jurisdiction? Love, if I had jurisdiction here don't you think I would have been on top of things? And you know me! I am ALWAYS… On top of things."

A purr and a peal of lascivious, pleasant laughter echoed in his ears, followed by a garbled cry of revulsion, and only then, did Francis stir from his repose.

"Ugh! You disgusting, perverse simpleton! That is not even close to what I meant! Why must you always turn the most innocent of comments into something filthy?"

"Because it's fun?"

"Because you're an imbecile."

"At least I don't have a hot poker rammed three feet up my-"

"Do not EVEN go there. I came here to meet with you in a purely professional manner and I expect you to do the same! We have important business to attend to, so can we please keep the vulgarities to a minimum? If we can just go through our lists and compare one last time we can get this over with and-"

"Hey, I got an idea! How about we just flip a coin for it? Or arm wrestle! Or better yet, a drinking contest! Oh WAIT, silly me! I forgot! That's FORBIDDEN for you, isn't it!"

More laughter rang out from whomever was enjoying teasing their far too uptight companion, followed by a loud thud and a cry of pain. It interrupted the squabbling only but briefly and it continued unabated at an even higher volume than before. Francis could hear every caustic word between them, but he had not the slightest clue who they were, or even what they were arguing about. Why he should be so intimately privy to a tiff between two voices he didn't recognize was also quite the troublesome notion, and as his mind began to clear thanks to something to focus on he finally gathered enough wit to think to open his eyes.

Pale lashes fluttered against his cheeks and his lids parted, his deep cerulean eyes flickering with a faint glimmer as they adjusted to sudden pure light that flooded them. His world spun and blurred for several moments, but once it cleared Francis found himself gazing straight upward into the deepest of blue skies curtained with wispy clouds. A deep frown marred his face. He hadn't the slightest clue when he had fallen asleep, let alone why it seemed he had fallen asleep outside; in the middle of the day and in a place he was still unsure of no less. More disturbing that that, he discovered, was he was lying very neatly on his back, something he rarely did as he was prone to splaying across the entire bed in his sleep, and his hands were clasped peacefully over his chest like a corpse in final repose in a casket. That disturbing oddity he hurriedly righted with an unnerved gasp, pulling his hands away and using them to instead push himself up from the curiously plush surface upon which he lay.

He propped himself cautiously on his hip, letting his surroundings orient themselves around him, but when he finally got a clear look he froze mid-effort to get up. Stretching out into infinity, mirrored against the boundless blue, a vast expanse of gently drifting, misty clouds lay as far as Francis could see. They rose in tall pillars and dipped into gentle valleys, crafting a dream landscape out of nothing but fog and golden light. Francis stared, jaw going slack, eyes wide, scarcely believing his eyes and convincing himself he had to still be dreaming. It became even easier to believe in awakening in a dream as he happened to spot the origins of the mysterious voices as well, just moments after the shock of seeing his exotic locale.

Several yards away from him stood two figures shrouded in light and shadow. Indistinct at first, as Francis peered closer he could see one was a stern looking man with pure blue eyes, long blond hair slicked back over his head severely, and dressed in golden armor with a billowing green cloak. His handsome face was pinched in anger, and as he argued Francis saw his fingers brush the hilt of his sword, just slightly, almost as if to soothe it from flying from the scabbard and burying itself in the throat of the other figure on its own. Beside him a second man stood, his hands on his hips and a casual grin on his darkly tanned face framed in unruly brown curls. He too was dressed in armor, but his was a darkly burnished silver cuirass depicting a ferocious battle with a blood red cloak draped rakishly around his shoulders.

The sight in and of itself wouldn't have been too out of the ordinary, had Francis not noted after absolutely everything else the fact that the blonde figure was crowned with a halo of light and had a pair of magnificent white wings folded regally against his back. His companion boasted a set of wicked black horns atop his head, and seemed to radiate a darkly sinful aura beside the golden glow lingering around his adversary. Francis continued to stare, absolutely certain that someone had slipped something into his drink at a bar, or he had suffered a stroke, an aneurysm, or Arthur had finally gone and done it and really cracked him over the head with something as he was always threatening to.

Meanwhile, he was free to stare all he liked and go utterly unnoticed as the heated battle raged on.

"Do you even have your list?" the angelic blonde, and owner of the sterner, harsher voice snapped with his arms across his chest, "Did you even bother to come prepared at all?"

The horned brunette grinned and flourished a hand.

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. But I know you hate waiting and pussyfooting around, so why don't we make this easy and you just take him!" he replied flippantly.

The winged man rubbed his temples exasperatedly.

"For the last time, I told you. The council already met on this matter and made their final decision, I CAN'T take him," he groaned, "They really only sent me at all to inform you that you have to take responsibility for him."

"Yeah? Funny, because I was told the same thing! We can't take him either, so he's your problem now, the end, case closed, finito!" the darker man gleefully informed him.

"You really and honestly expect me to take charge of someone like… Like… Like THAT? I could fill an entire library with the annals of his vice! The sheer number of sexual partners alone is enough to-"

"Certainly enough to make me think he's probably a swell guy and would get along fine with us, we just sort of get a little nauseated when we look at the… Other parts of his life…" he cut the other off yet again, sticking out his tongue in disgust, "All that lovey dovey, sweet and caring crap kinda... You know, makes us all gag. He would have been such a badass if he'd just stuck with that party animal, devil may care- pardon the expression, life he had!"

"Precisely the reason we have no place for him! A heart of gold does little good if you only act on it occasionally!" the golden figure roared.

"Oh come on. Occasionally? Give me a break. That's not exactly something you can turn on and off… You have a good soul, it's a good soul, period!"

"Really? Then how else was he able to act like a complete… A total… Charlatan and fiend half the time? The fact that he can be both at once only speaks to his qualities more fitting to YOU!"

"You wish! You're only afraid if you took him he'd hit on you and you'd ENJOY it. Admit it!"

"I will do no such thing!"

"He's JUST your type too, look!" the demon proclaimed, gesturing straight toward a paralyzed Francis, "He's manly, but so TERRIBLY pretty to boot and so-"

They both turned to look, and both stopped abruptly and went silent to see the very subject of their argument conscious again, his face twisted in an expression of sheer, unadulterated horror somewhere between the first time Gilbert had filched some of his brother's porn videos to share, and the first time he had tasted Arthur's cooking. An awkward beat of silence passed between all three, and the angel and the demon promptly turned on one another again.

"Great, just great! Now look what you did! He's awake!" the angel cried indignantly.

"Me? ME? It was you who started with the yelling! I was cool as a cucumber about the whole thing from the start!" the demon countered.

"Even if that was halfway true, you were the one deliberately provoking me and making things difficult!" the other hissed as he pointed an accusing finger.

"Deliberately provoking? DELIBERATELY provoking?" the demon repeated mockingly, "I'm just being me! If you can't take the heat then get out of the kitchen, as they say!"

He laughed, hands smugly on his hips. The angel looked away and rubbed his temples in disgust, and Francis took the opportunity to clear his throat and raise a finger to interject as he shifted slowly to his knees.

"Uh, pardon but-"

"Don't resort to trite old sayings to excuse yourself, take responsibility for your own actions for once, you insufferable cur," the angel spat before he could finish his sentence.

Francis waited for him to finish patiently, and once his venom had been properly unleashed he began again, a little louder.

"I realize you are… Quite busy, but I am quite certain this is some bizarre dream and I would really like to wake up n-"

"You know, you might get a little further in a good fight if you didn't use those boring, ancient insults like that. Just ONCE call me something really nasty! Son of a bitch, asshole, motherfucker, you know, one of the good ones! Get creative!"

Francis was interrupted once again before he could even be heard, grimacing and dropping his hand as the fight went on as if he weren't even there.

"Oh, I bet you'd like that. You'd LOVE to make me stoop to your level, wouldn't you? Get me to be as vulgar, uncouth, drunk, and promiscuous as you are! Is that the only way your kind can feel GOOD about themselves? Hmmm? Spreading your lies and your filth and-"

"EXCUSEZ-MOI, messieurs!" Francis bellowed through the din, twitching slightly.

The angel and demon both stopped at last, but remained in their battle stances and shifted their eyes warily toward the mere mortal that dared to interrupt. Francis had not thought past what he would do should he actually succeed in gaining their attention, and froze. He spluttered a few moments awkwardly, smiling, gesturing with his hands, and spouting nonsensical babble before regained his composure.

"I, er, uh. I wasn't sure, but…" he managed at last between nervous laughter, "Er… Désolé. This might sound a bit silly, since you are but figments of my imagination, but… I'm not quite certain where I am or what is going on, and I would rather like to return to reality now, if you don't mind."

He finished in a wavering singsong, smiling cautiously. Surely, if he could remember that he was in the midst of a dream, even though it was the most shockingly vivid dream he could ever recall, if he could convince his subconscious he should be waking up he would. At the very least, he reasoned, he could control what went on and move to someplace a bit more pleasant, Arthur in the angel costume perhaps, though a much more scandalous one. However the scene did not change, did not fade, and he did not wake. All that came from his declaration was an uncomfortable glance between his dream mates and a deep sigh before they turned back to him.

"I do apologize," the angel stated carefully, "You were not supposed to see any of this, but… I suppose since we have lingered so long and human consciousness and will is a more powerful thing than we tend to remember, you were able to awaken."

"That, and our little lovers' quarrel WAS pretty loud, dear," the demon added with a smirk.

The angel whirled on him with a scathing glare, grinding his teeth, and Francis stared blankly at the both of them.

"Uh, oui…" he dubiously agreed, "And I shall be happy to let you get back to it. Do not allow my foolishness to deter you from important matters! You know, you don't even have to bother! Maybe if I just pinch myself it will be enough…"

Francis waved the duo off casually and proceeded to pinch himself on either forearm with his brows knitted in concentration and tongue between his teeth. A pained look crossed the faces of the immortals watching, and the angel cleared his throat.

"Look, I don't think you understand what's going on here. You see, this is not a dream. Well, not technically anyway. Well, I suppose it is something not unlike a dream, being that it is a place between places. It is mandated by will also. Oh, and kind of a gateway between two different states of being just like sleeping and waking I suppose you could say! It exists purely because of human consciousness and imagination as well… You know now that I think about it this place can be considered a dream of sorts, but one you're conscious in and so therefore-"

"I should really lay off the Descartes before bed, I suppose," Francis cut in, a hint of irritation in his voice, "Now even my subconscious is attempting to make sense of things that make no sense."

"More like lay off the Freud if you ask me," the demon added wryly, earning yet another glare before the angel went on.

"N-No. I'm afraid it's… Slightly more complicated than that. You're very much here, we're both very real, and so is this place. It's hard to explain, but you see- Um. How can I put this delicately… Perhaps if I start from the very beginning it will be easier for you to-"

"You're dead, dude," the demon bluntly interrupted with a cheery grin.

The angel slapped a palm into his forehead, and reached out without even needing to look to backhand his incorrigible counterpart across his smug face. The demon keeled backward with a yelp and hit the cloudy ground with a puff of glittering mist and a string of colorful oaths. Francis, on the other hand, knelt still as a statue, eyes wide, jaw hanging slack and seeing and hearing nothing but pure, unmitigated horror, never mind the sudden brawl that erupted between the immortals in front of him. There was just no way. Just that morning he had awoken in Arthur's bed thanks to a neat roll of his socks hurled in his face, had coffee and a quick breakfast of eggs since they had overslept, and parted with a kiss and an indulgent grope of his lover's all too delectable behind as they both left for work. He had just been happy, if anxious, whistling and singing with Feliciano as he baked and primped and prepared for his date. He had just seen his best friends, promised them a weekend of debauchery and merriment even, and flirted on the sly with a sexy girl before driving off to his anniversary date with the man he loved. There was just no way in heaven or hell he could possibly be dead.

"No…" Francis finally breathed, forcing a crooked half smile, though his lips quivered slightly, "No way… There's no way. I can't be dead! It can't be! I was just… Things were-! This has got to be some sick joke or something! H-Hah. G-Gil slipping something in my drink like the ass he is. Of course he might do that. Or a-a prank! Sure! Lovino can be a nasty little prick. Or it could be a bad trip, a stroke, a brain tumor, SOMETHING!"

The angel and demon heard his protests in between slightly crazed giggles, and managed to stop their altercation, glancing over in unison from their tangled heap on the ground with limbs akimbo and hands around each other's throats. They relinquished and cleared them, dusted their armor and composed themselves before standing back up, chagrined and ashamed.

"Sorry, man, but it's true. You kicked the bucket. Bought the farm, bit the big one, joined the choir invisible! You are stone cold dead as a doornail for sure!" the demon informed him with just a tad too much enthusiasm for Francis' sensibilities.

Luckily, the angel shoved him pointedly aside and stepped forward to take charge, regret on his handsome, stoic face.

"I'm so sorry," he apologized, wincing, "As rudely as he put it, what he says is true. I'm afraid you have indeed… Passed away."

Francis let that lovely tidbit of information percolate into his brain over the course of several uncomfortable seconds of silence. Somehow hearing in sugarcoated kindness didn't make it seem any more true and his expression twisted from horror to indignant disbelief.

"Non," he adamantly insisted, reverting unconsciously to his mother tongue, "Non, ce n'est pas vrai… I-I simply refuse to believe this! If I were dead, I think I would know it!"

He balled his fists as he yelled, absolutely certain the circus of ridiculousness had to cease at any moment. The demon crossed his arms over his chest, resigned, and smirked at his companion who looked increasingly despondent and annoyed at the same time.

"Please, Francis. I know this is a lot to take in at once, but just listen. The human perception of the afterlife is cursory guesswork at best, but you did get some things right! Isn't this just what you imagined it might be like?" he intoned encouragingly.

"Yeah, just think about it! Look around you, think about how you got here!" the demon piped with a crooked grin, pointing up and down Francis' form, "Hell, take a look at yourself for one sec! Would you ever be caught DEAD wearing something that hideous? HAH! Dead! Get it?"

He broke off into hysterical laughter at the irony of his words, which Francis fiercely ignored. For the first time, he did look down at his own body and was shocked to discover the painful truth behind the behorned man's words. Instead of his glorious, sharp suit he remembered changing into after work he was clad in a disgustingly chaste, pure white robe that covered his entire body to the ankles and wrists and was as formless and shapeless as a repurposed potato sack. It was about as flattering as one as well, and did absolutely nothing for his fabulously masculine figure he so loved to flaunt. Horrified, he grabbed the silky, ethereal material and stretched it out and away from his body in his trembling fingers. The garment undeniably clung to his body, and he squeaked in a manner most undignified as he frantically patted himself down as if clad in the unwanted shroud of a corpse that wasn't even his.

"This isn't-! I would NEVER-! But! But I was just-!" he started to protest, looking frantically back up at the immortals, but halted his own words at the expression in pale blue eyes and the gentle shake of a blonde head.

"You were just leaving to get to the restaurant…" the angel began solemnly, his words reverberating with the image of a memory in Francis' mind, "You were running late, and it was raining. You stopped to buy Arthur that pocket watch. You wanted him to have it so badly, to see him smile, but it made you even later and you were in such a panic to be on time, to please him and make it all right, you never even saw the truck until it was too late. Don't you remember? The highway, the semi… The accident?"

As he spoke, the words dappled across his mind's eye like a hideous, bloody paintbrush casting the last moments of his life in gruesome color. He remembered buying the watch and flirting with the cute young salesgirl in her prim pink skirt and bun. He remembered rushing out into the rain, swearing, the incessant ringing of his cell phone, and the bright lights and the blare of horns. He remembered pain, vertigo, and blood, but most of all, he remembered his thoughts turning to Arthur to make him the last image and joy to hang on to as he faced his own mortality. Then, he remembered nothing, nothing but white light, drifting, and a peace he had been suspicious of all along.

"Mon dieu…" the Frenchman whispered, dawn of realization flickering in his cerulean eyes.

A sigh of relief left the winged spirit's lips as a calm smile crossed them. He took a step forward and reached out a kind and tender hand to help the mortal up from the ground to guide him at last.

"So now you understand. Now you see. It's all becoming clear to you and we can finally-"

Before he could complete even half his calming thought, Francis leapt from the ground and launched himself at him, full body tackling him and grabbing him desperately by the collar of his armor.

"YOU'VE GOT TO SEND ME BACK! ARTHUR IS GOING TO MURDER ME!" he screeched.

The angel reeled back, startled and stunned as the Frenchman yowled and shook him while the demon erupted into more laughter behind them.

"I think you're safe there, pal, seeing as you're already dead!" he commented mirthfully.

"SEND ME BACK! DO IT! Vite, vite! You said yourself this was a place BETWEEN life and death right? So there is still time! They've got to be down there with the Jaws of Life and the paddles and CPR and whatever the hell else they use! So hurry up and kick me out of here! Bring me back! I don't have time to go to the hospital!" Francis ranted, eyes wild and gesturing frantically.

"I-I-! I'm afraid I cannot do th-!" the angel yelped, only to be screamed over again.

"What do you mean you can't? Don't give me that! It's bad enough I'm late and Arthur's already pissed, but an accident and missing the date completely to DIE? He'll never forgive me! Send me back NOW! I have got to get to that restaurant! I don't care what's broken or what's bleeding or whatever! I am making that date come hell or high water!" Francis raged, jabbing a finger rapidly into the angel's chestplate.

He flinched and recoiled with each blow, holding his hands up in defeat.

"Francis! Francis! Mr. Bonnefoy, PLEASE! You don't understand!" he pleaded.

"I understand PLENTY!" he retorted furiously, "I know that I'm hanging here in the balance, wasting precious seconds being DEAD and killing brain cells when I should be waking up and getting a police escort to my anniversary dinner!"

"Dude, chill out. That dinner is long gone, no way you're making it anyway!" the demon conveniently decided to interject, once his rival had borne the brunt of the mortal soul's fury.

As he predicted, Francis ceased his assault, but retained his hold on the angel as he peered suspiciously over his shoulder.

"Quoi?" he queried acerbically.

"You're way past your expiration date, is what we're trying to say," came the cryptic response, which was less of an answer than Francis had hoped.

"So what? I'm already at the hospital? In surgery? Life support? Dead on arrival?"

"DOA? Heh, you wish! Far from it! You were pronounced dead on the scene! You got the SLOW ambulance ride back to the hospital, my friend," snorted the demon, making little effort to corral his delight.

And finally, everything began to sink in. Francis released the angel, who took his hands gently and looked pleadingly into his eyes. He said something, presumably comforting, but all Francis saw was his lips moving just in the corner of his vision.

"Dead… At the scene…? So, then I… I'm already…?" he barely rambled.

"That's what we've been trying to tell you… You're not here because you're on the brink or in danger of moving on. It has been… Quite some time. Um. How should I say this? Uh… You've… Been deceased for about two months, human time, actually," the angel sheepishly expounded.

A beat of deafening silence passed between all three, during which the gamut of emotions Francis even knew he was capable of feeling slammed through his entire being.

"T-T-Two… Two… Months… Two… TWO? TWO MONTHS? TWO?" he stammered.

Francis staggered backward, unable to even begin to comprehend having shifted off the mortal coil for a full two months and being none the wiser. His hands remained bent into trembling claws, his eyes glazed over, and he finally exploded with an enraged scream of fury that crumbed into a nonsensical violent tirade in all French. He turned away from the immortal spirits standing before him, clawing at his hair and robes, kicking up mist and beating the clouds in a vain attempt at venting his volatile feelings physically. Behind him, both angel and demon sighed and regarded one another with at least a small measure of relief that at least they were all on the same page.

"Knew he wouldn't take that one well," remarked the demon.

"I should say not," the angel replied, crossing his arms over his chest and readjusting his wings, "No one would. But this is our fault and we at least owe him the decency of an explanation of what's been going on and why he's here."

"True that," the demon agreed, shifting his eyes toward Francis, grimacing at his tantrum and taking a slow, measured step backward, "Uh, but you do it."

"Finally you start making some sense."

Francis was still thrashing, jabbering in French and railing against the very force of fate itself as the angel approached him with his hands out in a comforting gesture.

"Francis, please. If you will calm down for just a moment we can explain. There is meaning to all of this if you will only listen," he implored.

Somehow, even through his rage and frustration and sorrow, Francis heard his words clarion and clear above everything else. He turned, still seething, but placid enough to compose himself at the angel's bidding and smooth out his wavy blonde locks.

"You COULD have simply explained from the sta- Non, non," he hissed, stopping himself and smoothing back his hair, "Contrôle-toi, Francis. This is doing little good…"

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, lifted his head and did his best to smile at the duo who had managed to shatter just about every belief he had about existence in the span of only a few minutes.

"Pardonnez-moi, messieurs. I lost my head a moment. I am sure you… quite understand," he bit out, still looking rattled, eyes dark.

The angel nodded solemnly and pressed his hands together.

"I do, I very much do, Francis. And I apologize this all had to come to light this way, but allow me to explain. Please. I'll tell you everything, I promise," he assured him.

Francis nodded numbly and clenched his fists at his sides, preparing himself to hear all he needed to hear, as much as he knew it would tear him apart. He had yet to hear about the world he had left behind. He knew nothing of his friends, his family, or even Arthur, and he could only hope that his imagination was a much darker and bleak place than the reality they remained in.


Aaaaand SCENE! I'm sorry I suck :T But now that Francis has that little freak out out of the way now he can focus! … Maybe. And hopefully you can guess who the angel and demon are supposed to be :T I left them nameless on purpose. More mysterious and otherworldly that way ooooooo. … … What do they have in store for poor Francis now? Well nothing he's going to appreciate much, that's for sure. Find out next time!