Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I'm making no money from this!

A/N: Gah, I am so sorry for how long it took me to update. I only write when I feel inspired. Thanks for all the nice reviews! Oh and some actual plot appears.

Send Me an Angel

The bright afternoon sunlight filtered in through the apartment window and Alfred pursed his lips with a frown. He had honestly planned to spend most of the day flying, but those plans had definitely been cut short with his unexpected visitor.

The Britannia Angel – well, Arthur (if that was his real name) – had put on a knowledgeable and theatric display of the complete encyclopedia of English profanities after being denied a wish to grant. The American had only been able to laugh at the quaint British antics which promptly garnered the young man a silent treatment of sorts. Apparently the effects of Britannia's hangover had made a triumphant return, so he was relegated to nursing a glass of water while roosting on one of Alfred's two kitchenette chairs.

That had been an hour or two ago, and it was starting to get uncomfortable in the bat cave (re: student housing). Striding into the angel's point of view, Alfred winningly ignored the stare digging at the back of his head and threw open his refrigerator door. The American figured eating would at least get his mouth out of having to talk with the heavenly being. Unfortunately, all he had in his ice box at the moment was a couple of old frozen pizzas, some condiments, and a few cans of soda.

Shrugging, Alfred reached for a coke. He nearly dropped it though, when all of a sudden a wave of sparkles zipped along the can and, lo-and-behold… the beverage had been transformed into a pepsi.

Alfred stared at the drink with wide eyes and then turned his head to look over his shoulder at Arthur. The toga-wearing man was giving a half-smile, his thick eyebrows lowered as he cupped his aching forehead in his hand. The star-topped wand was lightly being twirled between his fingers.

"Very funny." Alfred grinned fakely and forced his gaze away. He stared down at the can in his hand and saw that the pepsi was now some diet variety of pink-coloured pop.

"…." The blue-eyed student licked his lips in distaste but slammed the drink onto the counter and snatched up a clean glass anyway.

Alfred adjusted his glasses at the bridge of his nose and stared challengingly over at the Britannia angel.

To his satisfaction, Arthur gave him a frown and looked off with a dour expression.

"Heh, so you're good at changing the colour of things," Alfred quipped as he cracked the tab on the can open and tipped the drink to pour it out. "You know, that really doesn't help me figure out a wish."

It was a sore point, and immediately Britannia's shoulders hunched, feathers sticking out in annoyed angles. "You grand tosser..." The angel muttered, flushing angrily.

"It'd also help if you spoke American." Alfred squinted his eyes and proudly lifted his glass to his lips.

The Britannia angel jerked his wand at the human quickly in a motion that looked rather a lot like giving somebody the finger, and the glass in Alfred's hand vanished into thin air.

Pink soda went cascading down the front of Alfred's jeans.

"Hurk-!" The American let out a startled sound and his eyes went wide behind his glasses as he looked down at himself.

A pleased little smile curved Britannia Angel's mouth. "Bugger that. Here's an idea – How about you wish for a new pair of trousers, instead?" Green eyes looked down amusedly at wet, clinging clothes. "Smashing idea, isn't it?"

Alfred shifted around and tried (and failed) to nonchalantly grab a new soda.

Oh this guy was good.

Scratch that.

This guy was evil.

One change of jeans later, things developed into a mutual existence of tolerating the other. Alfred plunked himself down in front of his video game console, taking out virtual alien invaders.

Britannia Angel skulked around the apartment, but it soon became clear splendid isolation was impossible to achieve in the small living space, especially with the video game sounds exploding throughout everywhere. Eventually the Brit took a tentative seat down as far away from Alfred as he could be while still being seated on the same couch.

Alfred gave a quick look askance and they both tensed when their eyes met. The student swiftly fixed his gaze back on the television screen and Britannia Angel looked away slowly, still mindful of his recovering hangover.

A beat passed and Britannia Angel huffed out a strategic breath, seemingly steeling himself for something unpleasant. "Right." The angel cleared his throat. "Look, this mess just feels like a bad dream…" He trailed off with a mildly regretful tone as if he had done the whole binge drinking and morning after thing before. "I'm going to be the bigger man here and admit that perhaps we got off onto the wrong foot-"

"Says the one who got my pants all sticky." Alfred injected with a snort and a hard jab at his controller's joystick.

Britannia didn't answer right away and Alfred paused for a moment before quickly and awkwardly adding, "With soda."

"…Well," Britannia said with a tangibly thin patience, "Like it or not – and I definitely do not – I'll be staying here until you make up your mind."

The matter-of-fact words filtered through, and Alfred paused for real this time, hitting the button on his game and turning to look squarely at the large-eyebrowed man. "So you have to stay here?" Truthfully, the American hadn't thought that far ahead when he'd first towed the angel home with him.

Britannia shot him a superior look over crossed arms. He tapped his fingers against his bare bicep (admittedly not so much toned as it was wiry) a few times before sitting up straight. "Yes, quite. Now that that's settled…Where do you have your guests sleep?"

"…." Alfred blinked and puffed out his cheeks in displeasure at the onslaught of new developments. He blew out the breath noisily and gestured to the couch Britannia was by now well acquainted with. "Guests sleep on the couch."

"Wonderful."

The video game was clicked on again and Alfred tried to kill more enemies to drown out the sound of his guest beating a chair pillow into a less lumpy shape.

At some point, hunger won out to the awkward silence again, and the remaining stash of frozen pizzas were pulled out of the microwave and plopped down on the coffee table.

"Want any?" Alfred felt the need to ask, before he consumed all of it.

The Britannia Angel just threw himself onto his side of the couch and offered a few muttered recollections about having stuffed himself with hotdogs in an eating contest sometime the night before.

Alfred mouthed an incredulous 'OK…' to himself, shrugged, and chewed through the slices with gusto.

It was starting to get dark when Alfred finally set aside his game controller and blinked his eyes a few times, rubbing at them and stretching until his joints popped audibly.

The American looked to his side and stared at the Angel who slept more like the dead than anything else. His mouth was wide open with a bit of drool down his chin and – was that light snoring?

Alfred scratched the back of his head and checked the time – 9pm, the night was still young! The student grinned and went over to his closet to put on some sneakers, only to straighten from his task and see Britannia Angel up and about; disentangling his toga and adjusting his sandals as he came over to the door in front of Alfred, as if he meant to come along.

Alfred managed to hold back a laugh, just in case he was wrong. "Uh, where do you think you're going?"

Britannia Angel arched one prominent eyebrow at him. "I'm coming along, of course."

"…" Immediately Alfred's eyes shot down the Brit's frame. The guy was walking around in practically a sheet. Not a very long one either.

"I did say I'm unable to leave."

Alfred, with a conscious effort, made his gaze stray away from the bare legs up to the comfortable vicinity of Britannia Angel's face. Maybe there really was something up above, because the American was saved affliction from the proverbial foot-in-mouth disease he was prone to when Britannia Angel tapped himself on the head with his wand and was instantly spelled into some normal looking clothes – wings magically hidden from view.

Alfred walked along the sidewalk and passed by shops and small restaurants. He was on his way to the local sports bar that his classmates frequently – or in the case of Gilbert (an East German, self-proclaimed Prussian) maybe TOO frequently – hung out at.

Britannia Angel was incognito beside him, looking bored and inconvenienced.

"You know, nobody wears that stuff anymore." Alfred poked fun at the plain sweater, shirt and slacks, his companion had chosen to magic up. "When did you die, the 30s?" Alfred snickered to himself.

"Who taught you anything?" Britannia rolled his eyes and prodded the bespectacled teen in the side of his head with his wand. "People die and become souls, not angels. I told you, I've got more status than mere people."

"Hey!" Alfred scrubbed at the spot and sparkles came off on his hand. "You're actually carrying that glimmery thing around? I don't know about you, but down here on Earth we don't call that looking normal."

Britannia Angel blushed slightly, but gripped his wand possessively. "…Where are we headed to, exactly?"

The student stuck out his tongue and adjusted his glasses. "A party."

"Oh gods, no."

"At Papa Rome's campus eatery."

"…"

"Don't look at me that way. You're the one who got wild last night and now we're stuck going to parties together. Don't give me any details on that either, by the way, I don't want to know."

"As if you would be privy to that highly classified information." Britannia retorted, though a few embarrassed sweat beads dotted his forehead. "And I'm certain it was by far a vast improvement on whatever 'Papa Rome's' has going for it, in any case."

"We're still going, though." Alfred declared, and then stopped short, letting out a groan. "Don't even ask me how I'm going to explain you to everyone."

"I'm sure you can think of something. But," The British man smiled slowly, and Alfred felt his eyebrows turn upwards in wonder. "…You could always just explain this."

It turned out that spot had been the completely wrong spot to stop at, because the next thing Alfred F. Jones knew, the same wand he had made fun of was zapping stars at the window display of the interesting leather bondage store he had never had the pleasure of going into before.

The American was now nicely clad in tight, black leather, with the mannequin in the store wearing a hoodie and jeans instead.

"What the hell is this!" Alfred howled. "Change them back!"

"Ah ah." Britannia Angel was very nearly crowing. "What's that? You wish for your clothing to be transformed back?"

Oh.

So that was his game.

Arthur looked hopeful and smug. It suddenly dawned on Alfred that he could have easily – with just the slip of a tongue – wasted his wish on something as trivial as comfortable clothing (made in China).

"…Actually." Alfred strained out, his teeth set into a smile. "On second thought, these clothes look awesome."

Britannia Angel's smirk faltered.

"Yeah! In fact, I think I'll wear them all night!" There was something to be said about the American value of not-giving-in, because Alfred gave a thumbs up, turned right around and kept on walking, leather pants creaking pleasantly as he got a head start on the foiled Britannia Angel.

Green eyes guiltily glanced down below the beltline, before darting up and hooding indignantly when Alfred laughed something about him either catching up or being the backup.

Unnoticed, a few magically hidden feathers fell free of white, pure wings, and floated to the ground.

Britannia Angel huffed and quickly followed. "You wish!"

End Part 3

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