Author's Note: This story is loosely based off of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's short story A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings. Anyway, please read, review, and most importantly, enjoy!

The first thing he was aware of when he awoke was the waterlogged earth that was consuming his body, dragging him deeper into mounds of oozing mud. He struggled against the saturated sand and soil furiously, flinging himself upwards to snap free of the persistent, vacuum-like substance.

And it was only after his third attempt at breaking free that he realized the tearing pain fleeting throughout his back and wings, causing him to return to flopping in the grime as though he were nothing more than a dying fish.

At this, he heaved an exhausted breath before resignedly splaying out his limbs carelessly, eyes still unsettled as his brain brawled with vertigo and nausea. This was not the time to panic. He had to get out of the rain and muck before he could begin contemplating why he had fallen from the heavens so abruptly.

It wasn't unnatural for him to be sent as a messenger to the humans, but normally he'd have his satchel with him, and a forewarning before being dropped from the sky. He tended to gently tread his way through the air when travelling to earth, and didn't routinely collapse into a mess of sore and broken appendages when being sent on a mission.

Before he could analyze the odd circumstances pertaining to how he had ended up in this little village in seemingly the middle of nowhere, he was met with the sound of an angry man stomping through the courtyard with a shovel. Large leather boots flattened the soggy grass as he walked through the drizzle of rain that lingered after a three-day long rainstorm.

"Goddamned crabs," the beastly man spat venomously under his breath as he impaled the shovel into the soil, sifting it as he walked.

Startled, the fallen angel lowered his once dandelion-yellow hair into the mud and closed his eyes, trying to camouflage himself within the surrounding grass. Perhaps his mangled wings weren't all that noticeable anymore after being coated in a healthy helping of sludge.

Still, he felt a flicker of excitement at hearing the man speak fluent English; the language he had once felt twisting around his tongue as he uttered strings and threads of words out of his mouth that had always been so soothing and tasteful. His attraction toward the sounds seemed to be magnetic, and he had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from being reeled in.

He didn't speak much anymore and missed the small pleasantries of earth, such as speaking in his native human language. Angels didn't tend to need language very often unless they were communicating with their human counterparts. Angels answered to God and God alone, where language had no use.

Then, the gargantuan human stopped mid-way through his rant, squinting his eyes at the patch of grass no more than a few feet away. "What have we here?" he queried in a hearty voice, drilling his shovel into the ground before stepping forward and kneeling beside the angel's limp form. "Such a filthy creature…"

The angel opened his eyes and scowled, green irises meeting the cloudy sky once more. Who was he calling filthy? The nerve!

The human stumbled backward, boots splashing through the overflow of mud as he tried to regain his balance. Obviously, he hadn't expected the creature to still be living.

Meanwhile, the angel managed to painfully lift himself into a seated position, but fell onto his knees as soon as he made a further attempt to stand. His knees sunk into the mud as his terribly heavy and fatigue-ridden wings loomed over the rest of his body, dragging him down and forcing him to stay there.

"W-What are you?" the stunned human finally managed to ask, retrieving his shovel and holding it out in front of him in a defensive stance.

The angel tried to speak, letting out a jumbled set of words that did not fit together in the lilt of a strong sailor. He choked on his own breaths, eventually surrendering in his efforts to speak, eyes laden with unbearable fatigue. He crawled forward on his knees, enormous wings lagging behind him as his ragged and torn clothes soaked through from the rainwater that continued to fall.

There was a heavy silence after that, numbing his brain before he collapsed face-first into the sludge of soil and grass.

"Is he dead?"

"What is it?"

"It's an angel, of course!"

"An angel? I bet he's just a big phony! If he's a real angel, let's see him perform some miracles!"

"He's all dirty and wet—just some crazy, old man!"

Said angel groaned, head aching as he came to his senses again, eyelids fluttering as he rolled over on his side, curling into himself tiredly.

Someone's voice spoke in front of him, causing the angel to hazily creak his eyes open about half an inch.

"Even his feathers are all crumpled up. This is probably just some costume that he's wearing. I want my money back!"

The angel shuddered. What money? God, he was freezing.

"Hey, maybe his feathers are magical!"

Just then, the angel arched his back and yelped in pain as someone plucked out one of his dirty feathers mercilessly, leaving him writhing in place. It was only when he kicked his feet out and his toes collided with cold metal that he noticed that he was no longer in the courtyard and was currently in some sort of triangular cage…

If he wasn't mistaken, it was a chicken coop!

How long had he been unconscious for, anyway?

"Aw, he's so boring! This wasn't worth two dollars!"

"Hey! Wake up, already!"

The angel furrowed his bushy eyebrows, trying to get his mind to work properly as his wings continued to mourn the loss of a feather on his back.

A moment later, he was being bombarded with sharp rocks, causing him to properly rouse and cower into the corner for protection. The children who had paid to see him brightened up considerably, each laughing at the creature's reaction as they took in the scene before them.

"Just a stupid old man pretending to be an angel! Well, how do you like being part of the freak show?"

…Freak show? What in the world was going on?

Some more rocks clanged against the bars of his cage. One managed to impale his shoulder, leaving behind a blossom of red in its wake.

Everything suddenly hurt; each muscle was aching in its own way as he used his injured wings as a shield to protect his face from the offending stones. Each hit sent another flurry of pain up his spine and the intricate design of his wings, leaving him with no choice but to endure the harassment until he could figure out a way to free himself.

And it didn't look like such a time would be arriving soon.

Eventually, he'd grown so accustomed to the pain and abuse that he hadn't even noticed the moment when the laughter had died down and the crowd had retreated for nightfall, leaving him to wallow in his own filth.

As the sun disappeared under the horizon to make room for the stars, he ran his slender fingers over the bars of the cage, testing their strength as he pressed against them experimentally.

Fortunately, he need not have resorted to futile attempts at overturning the cage when a small figure wandering through the night approached him vigilantly, kneeling beside the compartment in immense curiosity and awe.

"A-Are you okay, mister?" the blue-eyed boy with an adorable cowlick at the top of his head interrogated him, tilting his head to one side.

The angel resolutely ignored him, not trusting the child after his encounter with previous 'visitors'.

"Guess not," the boy shrugged, reaching out a hand to pet the angel's wing. "You're hurt."

The angel winced, turning away and ruffling the tufts of feathers he had left with a moan of discontent. He crossed his arms and buried his head in them, back still throbbing.

"What's your name?"

The angel widened his eyes, a little bewildered by the question. He wasn't supposed to be addressed by a name— not anymore anyway… However, he did still hold his human name close to his heart, storing it for safe-keeping. He wondered if he could trust the boy, and after one long, calculating look into the boy's innocent eyes and cherub-like face, he had made his decision.

He tried to speak again, saliva seemingly frothing in his mouth as he gargled out sounds. "Ar…Ar—gh… Arthur."

"It's nice to meet ya, Arthur. I'm Alfred," the boy introduced himself confidently with the brightest smile he'd seen in a while. "I'd shake your hand, but I'm 'fraid I can't fit my whole fist through the cage. How 'bout we shake pinkies?"

Arthur stretched his lips into a smirk, green eyes still slightly bleary and seeing double as he took the proffered pinkie with a weary sigh, feeling a bit better after finally encountering an accommodating soul. He took note in the back of his mind of the American accent that the boy carried.

So, he hadn't landed in his home-country, after all…A minor disappointment.

Alfred went on obliviously, rambling. "You must be really confused right now; I know I would be. Anyway, Farmer John's the one who found you and locked you in here. He's been making money off of the people in town who want to see you with their own eyes. None of the others believe you're really an angel, but I do. And even if you aren't a real angel, I don't think you should be locked up like this…"

Arthur cleared his throat, grimacing at the strained sound of his voice. "T-That's q-quite kind of you."

"Whoa!" Alfred suddenly exclaimed, causing Arthur to jump out of his own skin in surprise. "Are you British?"

Arthur simply nodded, deciding to save his voice until he could get an opportunity to strengthen it again in solitude. He rubbed his left wing absently as the conversation continued.

"That's so cool! I haven't met many British people since they haven't been around here for a pretty long time. Well, that's what I've heard anyway. I haven't been around long since I'm only eight-years-old, so I wouldn't exactly know this kind of stuff… I always wanted to go to Britain! I heard it always rains in London, but I guess it can't be that bad, I mean, at least you get to play in the rain puddles and—"

"Alfred," Arthur interjected firmly, gaining some confidence back in his ability to speak. "I really shouldn't be talking to you… I don't think that I'm supposed to be here."

Alfred immediately stopped in the middle of his anecdote, looking awfully deflated all of a sudden. "Okay, you're right. Lemme try to get you out of here at least."

Arthur frowned, chiding himself at his poor treatment of the boy. The child had been the only one to lend him a hand, and he was already pushing him away. He watched thoughtfully as Alfred fuddled with the lock of the cage, examining it intently before digging around in the pocket of his knee-length breeches to pull out a pointy-looking twig.

"Gimme a minute. I haven't done this in a while," Alfred informed before attempting to pick the lock, biting his tongue in concentration as his nimble fingers worked their magic. A moment later, there was the sound of a distinct click followed by a thud as the lock fell from its earlier position.

The boy smiled triumphantly, swinging the door of the chicken coop open and expectantly waiting for the fallen angel to scurry out.

With an appreciative look directed in Alfred's direction, Arthur crawled out of the cage on his knees before staggering onto his feet woozily. He rocked back and forth on his mud-caked legs, unused to not having the help of his wings to carry him. He had a few close calls where he nearly tumbled over, but Alfred had rushed to his side and tried to pull him back up, even though he was half the size of the fully-grown angel.

Alfred hovered around him worriedly as he walked, never leaving his side as they travelled through the impoverished village. "Why are you here if you're an angel? Did God send you?"

Arthur shrugged his shoulders lightly, coughing roughly as they continued to get as far away from the farmer's residence as possible. "I'm not sure… In any case, that is not information that I should be r-relaying to you," he replied, still stuttering over an occasional word as he tried to smoothen out his tone. Why did he keep talking in the accent of a drunken sailor?

Oh, how he used to be so good with words. They flowed so freely and effortlessly… Now, his heart ached at the loss of the skill.

Alfred dropped his gaze to the sandy road, eyes considering. "Oh, okay… Hey, I know a place where you can stay for a while to hide from the farmer. There's a little shed not too far away. I always stay there when I'm looking for a place to run away to."

"And why would you be running away?" Arthur mumbled, rubbing at a tender spot on his temple. "Shouldn't you be at home right now? Your parents must be c-…concerned."

Alfred bit his lip and shook his head fervently. "No, I don't think they'll be too worried about me. They aren't around much…"

"I see," Arthur responded solemnly, regarding the boy with a growing sense of inquisitiveness. "Well, then, you're welcome to escort me to that temporary shelter you mentioned. After all, an old man like me tends to get lost. That's probably how I ended up here, eh?"

Alfred giggled warmly, ushering the whole world to experience his bubbling joy with him as he spoke. "You're not old at all! And you don't seem like the type of person who would get lost."

"I'm not a person at all, really," Arthur reminded, spotting the wooden doors of the aforementioned shed. He and his little companion welcomed themselves in. Alfred made himself right at home, plopping himself on a little pile of dusty blankets with a toothy grin.

Arthur pursed his lips, ignoring the fiery pain of his wings for a minute to contemplate things more rationally. The shed looked very inhabited and homely, something which he had not expected in the least. "Say, Alfred, why does this place look so… lived in?"

Alfred twiddled with his thumbs behind his back like a child who had just been caught getting into trouble. "Well, I guess the people who lived here before just abandoned all their stuff," he lied plainly, hoping the angel would just let it go. "Anyway, I'm going to go look for some water and old washcloths to help you get all that mud cleaned up, okay? Don't go anywhere!"

Arthur smirked coyly, amused by the urgency in the boy's final statement. It seemed as though the child was actually enjoying his company, and eagerly wanted to spend more time with him.

Well, that just wouldn't do. He still wasn't sure why he had ended up here, but he was pretty positive that he wasn't supposed to get personally attached to any humans during his stay, nonetheless, a child. The heavens would summon him back eventually, and those superior to him wouldn't be pleased with his actions.

He set himself up on the cold floor, pleased to finally be out of the closed space of the chicken coop and in a more open environment. The shed wasn't much of a step up, but it was better than sleeping out in the cold all night.

When Alfred returned fifteen minutes later, he had dozed off into a light sleep, unused to being so weak and fragile on Earth. Normally, he would only spend short spans of time with humans, meaning that he wasn't affected by any changes during his encounters; the longer you stayed on the earth, the more you began to develop regular, human attributes.

Thus, being sleepy wasn't a good sign.

Arthur hoped he'd be back home soon, but he wasn't quite sure where that home was at the moment.

"I have what we need!" Alfred had said cheerfully upon reaching Arthur's side once more. In his hands he had a bucket full of water, a jar of some salve and two washcloths draped on his forearms. He put down his spoils on the wooden floorboards and sat cross-legged next to Arthur, drenching the washcloths into the water and wringing them out before running one down the length of Arthur's arm gingerly.

Arthur flinched when the cold water made contact with some of the cuts he had received back at the chicken coop. Goosebumps formed over his skin as his warm flesh recoiled at the attention.

"Your skin is warm, but you've been soaked from rain and mud for a while. Aren't you cold?" Alfred asked, perplexed as to what was wrong with the angel.

Arthur nodded his head, dipping his own fingers into the bucket of water before placing them on his forehead casually, assessing the situation. "I think I'm feverish," he announced nonchalantly, trying to come off as unfazed. Angels didn't tend to succumb to human illness.

Alfred jolted into action at that, wetting the other cloth and pressing it against Arthur's forehead importantly. "That's what I saw some of the mothers in town do to their kids when they get sick. It should help."

Arthur managed another meek, half-smile. "Thank you, dear boy. I'm capable of tending to myself from here on out, but I'm very grateful that you helped me out of that horrid cage. Maybe you should run along now." He tried to sound gentle and considerate, but couldn't conceal his growing panic much longer.

Alfred stiffened, eyes filling up dangerously with unshed tears as he blinked at Arthur helplessly. "Did I do something wrong? I-I can fix it and then find some food for you!" he exclaimed urgently, hands shaking as he tried to help clean off some more mud off of Arthur's arms and legs.

Arthur sighed softly and took hold of Alfred's wrist, holding him in place to grasp his attention. "Angels don't need to eat, lad, but thank you for the offer. Now, I really think you should go home before your parents come looking for you. They wouldn't take kindly to my presence, I presume," he explained smoothly.

Alfred hitched a sob, tears pouring from his eyes unabashedly as he clung to Arthur's arm pleadingly. "Please don't make me go! I need your help! Don't leave me!"

Arthur ruffled his feathers once more in a wordless stupor. He wasn't very good with children, seeing as he'd never had any of his own while he was still living on earth, but now the youngling wanted some sort of miracle as well? He should've sensed the true reason behind the boy's helpful streak, but had been too deep in his own delirium before to notice.

Hesitantly, he pried the child's fingers away from his arm and clutched him by his shoulders, holding him at bay for a heavy moment.

"What is it you want from me?"

Alfred's body continued to wrack with sobs, eyes swollen and bloodshot as he sniveled and opened his mouth to speak. "I want you to bring Mommy and Mattie back from heaven! You're an angel, you can do anything!"

Oh, no.

Arthur sorrowfully lowered his head, squeezing Alfred's shoulders reassuringly as those huge, crystal eyes twinkled at him desperately. How he hated having to dismiss this poor boy's last plea for help. "I'm sorry, child, but not even I can bring back the dead."

Alfred shivered, nose running as his eyes burned with shame and disbelief. He folded into himself for a second before yanking himself out of Arthur's touch and retreating into the corner.

"I'll never be able to go home," Alfred said in surrender as he reached for the door of the shed, rubbing his hands over his wet face.

Arthur closed his eyes and felt himself go rigid as his stomach gave a loud grumble of discontent, signifying hunger. "Neither will I, sweet boy."

Rather painfully, Arthur stood up and hobbled to the boy's side, placing a hand on the tiny, bony-back. "What happened to your family, Alfred? Why can't you go home?"

Alfred nibbled on his lower lip in contemplation before replying. "Mommy and Mattie got sick last year. W-We couldn't 'ford a doctor… 'S all my fault. I shoulda been a better person and maybe God wouldn't have taken them away! I didn't pray hard enough!" Alfred shrieked, pounding his fist on the wall and dropping his head onto the cool wood in resignation. He hid his face from Arthur, too ashamed to reveal himself any longer.

"Alfred… We have no control over these things, and I promise you that none of what happened is your fault in the slightest, alright?" Arthur spoke to the back of Alfred's dark-blond head.

And then, in a startling sweep of movement, Alfred spun around on his heel and wrapped his arms around Arthur's torso, burying his head into the man's tattered robe, greedily yearning for comfort again. Both wondered how long it had been since they had indulged in the sweet embrace of a hug.

When Alfred pulled away, he let his hand wander over to Arthur's wings, brushing over them in awe as he noted that they were all clumped together with dirt and mud, leaving a sticky residue that was binding them together.

"I'll take you to the pond, and you can clean your wings there," Alfred finally mumbled after a long moment, pulling on Arthur's hand insistently as he led the older man away from the shed he had called home for the past year.

Arthur followed obediently, not wanting to disconcert the boy any further.

He was led through the dusty, cobblestone streets that swiveled down into a jungle-like undergrowth, which smelled of drying raindrops, leaving the air moist and humid. He carefully mimicked Alfred's practiced steps down the crooked hillside and over to the edge of the river, cautiously testing each stepping stone before working his way further.

Alfred immediately hopped into the water, drenching his feet with freezing water as was his custom. He swiped away the residual tear tracks on his cheeks and shivered, finding pleasure in the paralyzing iciness of the river. He encouraged Arthur to do the same, but he mildly declined, choosing instead to gingerly scoop up the water in his hands before dumping it on his mud-caked limbs, relishing in the feeling of being just the slightest bit cleaner.

However, his precise cleaning methods proved to be ineffectual when he could not reach his wings, which were sticky and pulling on the skin of his back as they dried in their filth.

Seeing the predicament, Alfred gladly assisted him once more, splashing water on his wings haphazardly to get the job done quicker. When some of the stone-like mud refused to be washed off, Alfred ran his hands over Arthur's wings and picked the bits of dirt off of his feathers one by one. Arthur winced at the attention, still feeling the effects of being pelted with rocks previously. Regardless, he thanked Alfred once more, astounded by the boy's willingness to help a strange creature. He didn't seem the least bit hesitant or afraid of his actions, working diligently until every particle of soil had been removed from the Victorian-wings.

When he was finished, he smiled weakly at Arthur, setting aside his disappointment in their conversation in the shed aside for the time being.

Mindlessly, as they made their journey back to the shed, Alfred tried to strike the match for a discussion again, curiosity getting the best of him. "You said angels don't get hungry, why is that?"

Arthur remained silent for a moment, thinking through his answer. He had to be careful what he said around the boy, knowing that humans weren't normally supposed to be in contact with the spiritual world to such an extent.

"Things such as hunger, fatigue, and the action of crying are strictly human. Angels aren't as needy as the human spirit and body. We manage to thrive without such things," he quietly explained, quite fearful that someone might be eavesdropping.

Alfred had replied to Arthur with a simple, "Oh."

And then, the decrepit shed had come into view once more, and Arthur wondered how much longer he would have to wait for his mission to be revealed to him.

When Alfred awoke the next morning, eyes still crusty with sleep, he pushed himself up and off of his collection of worn blankets. He quickly snapped his head to the left and scanned the area that Arthur had spent the night at, muttering to himself how it was impossible that he was sleepy. Thus, out of sheer obstinacy, he had refused to go to sleep the entire night and forced himself to stay up, keeping himself awake by listening to the sound of Alfred's breathing combined with the hooting of an owl hidden somewhere in the thicket of trees behind their shelter.

But now, Alfred's eyes fell on the abandoned blanket that he had offered to Arthur, signifying that he was the only one left in the shed. As he mulled over various scenarios as to where the angel might have gone, he immediately fell into a panic that the creature had retreated during the night.

He flung a final blanket off of his lap and sprinted outside barefoot, sparing no time to put on his shoes as he surveyed the grassy landscape. He gave a sigh of relief when he spotted Arthur standing a few yards away with outstretched wings, flapping them furiously and raising a few inches above the ground before tumbling down to earth once more.

"Arthur?"

"Damn it all!" Arthur moaned, giving a cat-like yowl of pain when he made a second attempt at flight with similar results. He did not notice Alfred's presence as he grieved over his disabled pair of wings, ruffling his feathers before drawing the appendages closer to his body once more, almost bundling himself around their soothing warmth.

Alfred approached closer, wrinkling his nose like a rabbit when the grass tickled his feet. "What's wrong?"

Arthur remained to be lost in his own concerns, shuddering for a second before spreading his wings once more and making his third attempt to hover over land. As he beat his wings, a cloud of dust scattered around him, leaving him shrouded in its cover as he leapt and tried to hold himself up, failing yet again. He hit the ground with his knees, pain vibrating through him as he accepted the blow, eyes stinging strangely from the dust that he had roused.

Then, to Alfred's surprise, he heard a muffled sob escape the angel. With wide eyes, he took a few more steps forward and put a little hand on Arthur's arm, chewing on his lip. "Are you alright?"

Arthur shook his head, swishing his wings once more in frustration before letting out another wrenching sob.

Alfred felt a lump form in his throat, unsure of how to help. He wasn't accustomed to seeing adults cry. "What's happening to you? You said angels don't cry."

Arthur flinched, running a jittery hand through his locks of hair. He didn't dare to meet Alfred's worried eyes.

"I'm turning into a human," he mumbled, finally finding his voice.

Extremely interested, Alfred retracted his hand from Arthur's forearm and tilted his head to get a good look at the creature. "But why?"

Arthur scoffed, burying himself in his useless wings again. "Because I'm the most miserable angel in all of eternity," he droned, running a finger under his eyes. He glared at the salty tears accusingly, wishing he could burn them.

"Did you get fired?" Alfred asked innocently, eyebrows tightly knit.

Despite himself, Arthur couldn't help but chuckle light-heartedly in response. He sniffled wetly and shook his head once more. "No, dear boy. This is my mission. My mission is to stay on earth because I craved it so much. It's my own bloody fault this happened. Now, I'm swearing and weeping like a child."

Alfred looked slightly offended. "Why did you want to stay on earth?"

Arthur's grass green eyes fluttered from Alfred's gaze to the morning air in front of him. He seemed to be staring at something that was invisible to Alfred. Gritting his teeth, he replied, "I didn't even deserve to become an angel. In a way, I think it was a punishment for ending my life prematurely."

"Ending your life?" Alfred asked in confusion, child-like hands coming up to tug on Arthur's robe.

Arthur hung his head in shame. "It's all in the past… best to not shed light on it now. Needless to say, I regretted it almost immediately. Naturally, I should've spent an eternity of suffering for what I did, but instead I was turned into an angel. And I'm so sorry, Alfred. I'm so sorry that ruddy people like me become angels while good people like you and your family never get to see each other again. You've every right to hate me for it."

Alfred screwed up his face in deep concentration, his chubby, child-like cheeks deflating somewhat. "I don't hate you, and I'm not mad that you couldn't bring Mattie and Mom back because I know that they'll be okay anyway. Besides, I don't think you're a bad person or angel—you're the only friend I have!"

Arthur's rubbed his itchy, bloodshot eyes before whipping his head to the side, confounded. "F-Friend?"

Alfred's face lit up radiantly as he snuggled into Arthur's side, pressing his face into the spot above his hip. "Yup! So, you can't go back to heaven, alright? You havta stay here for good!"

Shedding a final tear, Arthur patted Alfred's back and buried his face in the child's hair, memorizing the scent. He vaguely felt his wings continuing to deteriorate, meaning that there wouldn't be a single feather left on his back by nightfall.

"I suppose I must, if only to keep an eye on you," he finally responded coyly.

His heart soared when Alfred laughed buoyantly.

Thank you for bringing me home, Alfred.