HI THERE! Welcome to my first attempt of write something in english! Well, I'm lying. I did not officially write it in English, I just translated it from my (almost) homonymous Portuguese fic, that's it. There are differences in the title because doesn't allow me to publish with the same name and I was dumb enough to give a title in English to the Portuguese version.

But in the end it is (almost) the same shit and since I do not practice my English because of my laziness it may have lots of mistakes – or may not! Because of the sweet friend of mine that had voluntary herself to correct possible atrocities. BUT any cruel grammar mistake that you possibly find it is my fault, yes.

Actually, the main reason of this translation it was because Sara (the sweet friend I told you) asked. Well, she liked it, my beta reader also liked it and I thought that other people also may like it, and I really hope you do XD

Warnings: violence with a considerable amount of blood and gay angels. And possibly a lot of grammar mistakes.

Angel of Death

From the window of the dark and stuffy room he could hear the screams, the desperate begging and the roars of the crowd. He could feel the heat of the flames in his own body, by far that they were. He could also see the faces contorted in pain, disfiguring themselves as the fire consumed the bodies. Those sounds and the images, they were his everyday ghosts, the haunting would drive him crazy anytime and he knew that he would never figure out how to deal with them. How could it happen when those who burn in the flames were a part of himself?

Loneliness has always been part of his existence, like a vicious supplement of it. He didn't really hated people. No. He loved them, mainly those from his own people. He didn't exactly think that everything wasn't right and he also didn't felt misunderstood. It was something more and something less which he wasn't sure about yet even if he knew what it wasn't. Even when big brother France was with him in his childhood darkest lonely moments or when he used to have sex with another country he could set him free from such burden, such a doubt and such absence. Suddenly, he saw one of his few bonds fall apart when he got in a war against big brother France. But even before that, isolate himself was simply part of his nature which was ironically represented by the geography of his country. But sometimes, even the most powerful empire gets sick of it.

And there he was, drowned in his own nature without at least see that, carried by the tide of his problems, anguishes and yearnings. His incapacity was evident, but it was like with the others countries: He simply couldn't go against his boss' orders. He would talk with his fairy friends whenever he felt like he couldn't stand it anymore and they would push him forwards with their words of comfort. They were his only and best friends – all born from himself – which would save him from madness. Unicorns, fairies, gnomes, all of them ready to lull him when necessary. But even these magic creatures were unable to shut the desperate yells and erase those horrible scenes that threatened his sanity. Arthur was slowly downing without even noticing.

Back to that dark and stuffy room, his face was apathetic. He felt like he was almost out of energy, unable to react as if wrapped in the chains that he used to restrain the prisoners that waited for death. Sick of that place, he decided to go out for a walk. He walked on those dark, empty halls – just like every room in that palace – whose own steps echoed in the air back to his ears, when his attention was caught by a particular scene. A young man was standing in front of a body that was in the middle of a pool of blood, resting on the cold stone floor. On the chest of the lifeless body there was a hole. The man, unknown by Arthur, was sandy blond and wore a baby blue tunic stained with blood spatters. He feels the presence of the island nation standing there and turns to see him revealing his beautiful sky-blue eyes that glowed with a sadistic amusement. Even though Arthur wouldn't admit it, he was completely dazzled by the intensity of that look and he felt himself resisting coming back to reality.

"W-who are you and what have you done with this good man?" He demanded. The guy just smile.

"Nothing. He was like this when I arrived." He pouted, poking the body with his barefoot covered with blood.

"I don't believe you. I want the truth."

"It is the truth. This guy wouldn't last, anyway. You know, tuberculosis is a terrible disease." The man said with indifference. "I wouldn't give him two days. And he asked, so I helped."

"He asked you to kill him?" Arthur looked skeptical and the man happily nodded. "Well, not exactly kill him, but to finish with his suffering, y'know?"

By instinct Arthur hands were already in the scabbard of his dagger. "If what you're telling me is the truth, so where is your sword or any other weapon you might have used to kill him? I see nothing with you."

The man grinned and showed his right arm, previously hidden by his body. There was blood covering it until his elbow. Blood that was still fresh and dripping in the floor, making a small second pool where the remains of the corpse rested. Arthur felt an urge to puke and covered his mouth and nose with his hands.

"You see, this isn't the most hygienic way to do it, but is the easiest anyways." He laughed amused by Arthur's reaction.

"Are you telling me you killed that man with your arm?" Y-you are not a human." The other nodded happily again. "Nor a country. What the hell are you?" He asked without looking at his direction. He couldn't stand another violent scene like that.

"I'm an angel!" He beamed. His arms covered with the blood of that innocent lad.

"Don't play with me, you bloody git!" He yelled and pointed to the lifeless body. "Do you want me to believe an angel would do such an atrocity?"

"You use really difficult words." He laughed. "Believe me, I did it. You know, we angels are not exactly those sweet fairies that humans think we are, oh no no no. But we are not evil also, no. We help humans, of course, because we love them and all we wish is to see their souls happy!"

Arthur couldn't help but to stare one more time to that dead body. He didn't believe and would not believe in that bullshit. Angels weren't that cruel, they couldn't be. They're supposed to be pure and not to have blood covered arms. Arthur was always capable to see the unseen and for the first time he wished he could not. He ran in the direction of the angel, whit the dagger in his hands and attacked him.

Untouchable

When Arthur tried to open his eyes his head hurt as hell. His eyes slowly adapted to the ambient, the same room he were before finding that supposed killer and bloodthirsty angel. He wished it was a nightmare but then he looked to his side.

The so-called angel was staring at him with his amazing blue eyes full of childish expectations. He was kneeling by the side of the bed and his arms were already with no trait of blood so Arthur could see his apparently soft skin better. The sandy-blond gave him a relieved smile when he saw the island nation open his eyes.

"Thought you'd sleep, like, forever." He chuckled. "I was really bored, you know."

Arthur, careful as he was, touched his forehead and felt a swollen spot there. "What happened?"

The other made a thoughtful expression. "Let's see... You tried to attack me by running in my direction with your dagger but you hit your head in the wall and fainted."

"H-how?"

"Silly." He laughed. Yeah, he was the type that liked to laugh. "You can't touch me. No one who is alive can."

The short silence was broken by the Englishman.

"This is nonsense. Then how your arm touched that body?"

The man grinned more, as if he was waiting for that.

"That's because we became material for those who are in death's company."

"I was just thinking if you are not death yourself."

He shook his head negatively, failing to notice the irony in Arthur's voice. "Death is the preparation to the end. Like a phase. We made it real but it's not like we can be called death because without necessary preparation we could not touch people."

England sighed, trying to absorb the information.

"You're giving me a headache. What do you want from me?"

"Dunno. Help, maybe?"

"Why does someone like you would want my help?"

"I'm stuck here because of a crime I've committed long ago. And maybe, just maybe, you could save me."

The day was sunny and agreeable for an outdoors walk but unbearable inside the palace. At the meeting room the air was hot almost suffocating. If Arthur wasn't immortal, he swore he could die there. He glanced at Antonio who was standing near his boss. The Spaniard had an apathetic look, like the heat didn't affect him at all.

The negotiation was tense. It would define the future of two young future rulers of two of the most powerful nations in Europe. A young prince and a young princess were to be promised to each other without even knowing it. How cruel were their parents' whims. Arthur tried to concentrate in the Spanish king's reactions as well his own king's.

"We're going nowhere here, hm?" The newcomer's voice made Arthur shiver.

Whispering and without attempt to look in his direction, he said. "What the bloody hell are you doing here? What if they see you?"

"They can't. Only you can see me or hear me here."

Arthur pouted. "As if I care. Anyway go away, I'm really busy."

"Easy, Artie, I only wanna help."

"Don't call me Artie! And why would you want to help me?" Always suspicious. Every time Arthur spoke to that man, it was like the blue of his eyes were eternally stained with the scarlet of the blood. It prevented him to forget that scene of the last week, when they first met. Plus, that bloody angel would always follow him wherever he went; always talking like there was no tomorrow. Arthur almost never talked with him, except when it was to scold him. Most of the time he just listened. Also he didn't even know his name – if he had one – and didn't dare to ask, so he usually called him death angel.

"I like you and that's why I'm gonna help."

England gasped, a little shaken by the other's suddenly declaration but he never lost the pose. Coughing a little he avoided to think about it and masked the parallel conversation by covering his mouth.

"What you suggest then?"

"Propose a condition for the dowry. Suggest an alternative able to deceive the Spaniards just by now – not necessarily damaging their finances. Don't they want to pay all at once? Lovely, then. Make your king demand some conditions as well like giving the debts of transportation, accommodation, education and stuff like this to the Spaniards. Make him define at least the kind of education that the princess will have. Negotiate like them, Arthur. Don't forget to set a deadline for the payment of the dowry 'cause they could still try to avoid it's integral payment."

The geniality of the proposal was undeniable. Apparently that angel know politics way more than tons of kings. Arthur stared at him, dazzled, and gave him a small grin. He could get used to that bloodthirsty angel after all.

Misery was a criminal imperative for those dark ages.

Arthur and the angel observed the crowded and hot streets of London from the very same room they would spend most of their time together. The noises of people, speaking, selling, yelling, the trotting horses, the heat also spreading itself from the ground made that city a true hell in earth during summer. Far from the city, bodies were piled inside ditches and the number of deaths caused from diseases and even the heat didn't stop increasing.

Not far from their field of view, a young peasant was being decapitated.

"It's a process. Every country will have it someday." The angel said. "You'll need to help this queen, make her be worshipped by the people, otherwise, you will not develop."

"Why are you saying me this? Why do you always teaches me what to do?"

The angel smiled.

"I think it's because maybe it's my fault that you are who you are."

"What the..."

But the angel didn't let him finish. Still smiling he lift up his hands towards Arthur's cheeks. Almost submissive Arthur closed his eyes and waited for a contact that never happened and when he opened his eyes he found out those blue irises staring sadly at him. Arthur could hear his hearts thumps so strong he thought a hole could open in his chest.

"How would you feel if you could not even feel the skin of your beloved one?"

That angel was a complete mystery for Arthur. He talked about blood, death and sorrow like he talked about the weather but still he would show such love and tenderness for humans. He'd help anyone who begs for death. He erased all human suffering with a trail of blood. A mystery that aroused Arthur's curiosity and pushed him just into the angel, forcing him to involve himself with everything related to the sandy blond. They talked about fears, hopes, people and angels, about good and evil, the heaven and hell. Arthur felt hypnotized by the logic of the blue-eyed angel almost like a magnet. The acquaintanceship and all the years spent together made Arthur sentimentally attached with the angel in an almost platonic way. Suddenly he loved someone he didn't even knew the name.

The day Arthur decided to ask him about it the angel decided to tell him the whole truth.

"Long ago I met this angel. He resembled you so much. We hung out together a couple of times and we always talked about life, death, general nature and other stuff. We were like best friends until I made the worst mistake of my life."

He looked at Arthur in the eyes, breaking down so easily the Englishman's barriers. It was like he denudated him without any shame, exposing all of his secrets, all of his fears and griefs. And all with only a glance.

Arthur's lips trembled. Somehow he knew he would just hate what the angel was about to say. He was scared of whatever it was.

"I felt in love with him."

Arthur gasped.

"You're not saying..." He tried to finish his statement but the angel turned back to the window in attempt to hide himself from the recently disclosed truth. By instinct, Arthur grabbed his arms almost forgetting how to breathe when he felt the contact with the angel's soft skin. He hugged the angel, trembling and feeling impotent. The angel turned in his direction and embraced Arthur like there was no tomorrow.

Arthur felt the angel's lips touch his own, inviting him to a passionate kiss. Arthur felt the urgency the angel's tongue had in taste every spot of his mouth, like if it was a last breath. The island nation didn't resist at all. He grabbed that soft sandy blond hair and held it like it was what kept him alive.

Sky-blue eyes into Emerald-green eyes, the angel softly asked. "Hey, Arthur, do you know to kill an angel?"

The angel's weight was too much for Arthur to handle. He fell on the floor with the angel above him. He felt something wet in his clothes and, horrified, saw the angel bleeding through a huge hole on his chest. Despite the excruciating pain, his eyes were shining with happiness.

"Told you that you'd save me." He said weakly but happily. He coughed blood, accidentally squirting it in Arthur's cheeks. Emerald eyes were in shock.

"D-don't die! I don't even know your name! W-what's your name?"

The angel beamed, once more, like he waited for that question his whole life.

"Alfred. Alfred F. Jones."

And then Arthur cried like a child, holding the baby-blue bloodstained tunic.

He fell in love with him.

Together

In pirate ages, England was the best. His self-confidence spreading all over the seven seas, his fame making him respected and feared. It was England's golden age personified in a once sensible and in development young country. But it's known that ghosts loves to torment the successful ones. Every day, on land or at sea, in war or in peace, England would swear he could see the young angel that always haunted him in a once dark and stuffy tower. The very same angel who still has his heart and his thoughts even after death.

But no matter how sad Arthur was he'd never forget to thank him, because he knew that somehow Alfred was still by his side, invisibly guiding him and being the real reason of his success. Arthur would never take all the credit, even thought he would never say it out loud. He was always secretly giving all his glory to his beloved angel.

But then, someone once said that every empire will someday fall.

In Arthur's case, it started in a sunny day with calm seas and a lot of expectations. By the morning, he shivered and felt like it was finally the beginning of his comedown. That day he knew Alfred had finally left his side but he wouldn't accept it so easily.

Arthur felt lonely and betrayed and it was his entire fault. He felt like he killed Alfred a second time.

One day he heard something about a young boy, something Finland said to him. At first he didn't show any interest. Why would he? But he was so wrong and he convinced himself of that when he heard that the kid was one of his kind. He felt an impetus of conquer the kid like he never felt before. The idea of having the new world tempted him, seduced him like something forbidden, like a rule to be break. So human, to try to do what you're not allowed to. But what was Arthur but a human?

And he was guided to the New World.

When he first saw that miniature country he couldn't help but smile. He claimed the boy and took care of him with all the love and dedication he'd never gave to any of his others colonies. He even sacrificed himself when necessary. Arthur taught the boy how to write, how to think, how to act. He was growing happy at the same proportion that the little boy developed himself. He stared at those blue eyes and he knew it. There were the same shining eyes hiding the very same dark intentions. Implied love, was it.

And when Alfred once asked about angels Arthur thought it would be curious to share with him something he discovered at the day they reunited.

"Tell me, Alfred, do you know what happens with angels when they die?"

And the boy grinned.

Countries.

Reviews are welcome!