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

A/N: A fic I've been working on and off for a while, but kanami_yuuta (on LJ) requested something to do with Britannia Angel on the LJ A-Z fandom meme in my journal, so here it comes I'm finishing it! AU setting

Send Me an Angel

A steady putter filled the air as the small aircraft soared high up into the atmosphere.

The sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds that looked as soft as dollops of whipped cream against the bright blue backdrop of the morning.

Alfred F. Jones grinned to himself as he flicked a few switches and checked his gauges, before he tilted his flight path to get a look at the ground far below.

If it had been something like 50 years ago, he would've adjusted his goggles to stop his blond hair from fluttering wildly around his face in the wind, but as it was, the broad-shouldered American had to settle for the amazing view from his rented 2-seater Cessna.

It was really the perfect day to go flying.

He didn't get the chance to go that often, but when he did, he loved it more than anything. It didn't hurt that he was a certifiably awesome hobby pilot, too.

...Which was why Alfred was shocked enough to scream (in an embarrassing way he would later never admit to) when a loud THUNK shook the plane's fuselage, the metallic clanging making the blond man lose his grip on the steering.

"HOLY MOLY! What was that!?" Alfred yelled and looked around madly, yanking off his radio set so he could crane his neck.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted something large and feathered tumbling out of the sky haphazardly.

"Oh shit!" Alfred bit his lip in panic. He'd just hit something! "Damn. Damnit!" The blue-eyed student swore to himself, trying to twist in his seat and catch another glimpse of the bird. Oh god, what if he had killed it?

The constant buzz of the propellers as the plane kept on course made Alfred start to shift in his seat uncomfortably. What if the bird had been a mother? Even worse, what if it had been endangered...?

What if he had just slain one of the few PROUD American bald eagles left?

The distraught pilot jerked the steering to turn around and immediately pulled back the throttle to start descending.

'Ahh come on! Don't be dead- stupid, glorious bird!'

The small airplane touched down and skidded to a quiet halt, landing on a strip of deserted dirt road.

The engine died and Alfred jumped out, his boots making gritty sounds in the fine, sandy, terrain as he walked along the stretch of empty land.

"It had to have fallen somewhere around here..." Alfred muttered under his breath, his baby blue eyes scanning around.

The sun beat down more fiercely on the ground than it did up in the air, making the American squint as he searched. It was just as the bespectacled youth was beginning to think he'd made a mistake, when he saw it.

A couple meters away it was there, sprawled on it's side on the turf. The figure had wings for sure, but that was where the resemblance to a fine-feathered animal ended completely. Human legs and arms accompanied the body, and smooth skin was covered by a white garment that was a bit scuffed from the fall. A few long white feathers from those supernatural wings were likewise bent funnily, making the pilot give a short nervous laugh in guilt.

Could it... could it really be?

Alfred was in awe.

It was an angel.

Alfred immediately reached up and ran a hand hastily through his hair, trying vainly to neaten it and flatten that one stubborn fly-away strand. The tall blond blinked hugely behind his square-framed glasses and drew in a deep breath. He took a hesitant step forward.

"Shit!" The angel suddenly jerked up and swore loudly.

Alfred froze in his spot, eyes wide in a comical way.

He watched in stunned silence as the angel groaned loudly, pressing a hand to it's forehead and squinting blearily against the bright sunshine.

It got to it's sandal covered feet and instantly began staggering around, swearing creatively as it did so. Alfred's eyebrows shot up in surprise when he noticed the heavenly being was clutching what looked to be a... liquor bottle?

The sandy-blond haired angel raised said bottle to hang over his head, trying (and failing miserably) to take a drink a few times before finally discovering it was empty. He chucked the troublesome thing into some dry brush and nearly fell over.

Alfred's usually ever-present smile became strained, and dots of sweat beaded on his face as the young man watched the impressively drunken display.

A drunk angel.

Deprived of alcohol, the angel dragged a hand over his haggard face and looked around with more awareness. "Bloody hell. Where am I?"

The fine sheen of incredulous sweat now began rolling down Alfred's temple as he stared. A drunk, British angel.

"What the hell is this...!?" Alfred finally exclaimed, feeling a lot like the village idiot as he threw his hands up in the air.

The winged man in question whirled around at the outburst and the two strangers stared at each other in unworldly displeasure.

Seeing him face to face, Alfred nearly laughed out loud at how much crazier this situation could get. The angel (was he really?) was even more ridiculous looking than he had first accessed!

Green eyes glared out from under huge, thick eyebrows, framed by a messy fringe of windblown hair. The American didn't get the chance to make a comment though, because not a moment later a finger was pointed at his face accusingly.

"You HIT me!" The angel slurred in accented anger, waving his arm in drunken exaggeration. "What in the world is your problem, y-you you... you WANKER!" The Brit poked the air establishing his point.

Alfred's mouth fell open in shear disbelief. The boozed finger pointing was starting to strike a nerve, and the disbelief was now truly transforming into self-righteous offense.

"You hit ME." The obviously British freak repeated, volume raised high, emphasizing a different part of that statement which was quickly becoming Alfred's least favourite phrase.

"Me? ME? Hey waaait a minute pal, you flew into me!" Alfred shouted back, thrusting a hand in the direction of his dinged up plane (which was a rental, too). Hell! He couldn't believe he had been worried and even in awe of this guy...

The angel scowled deeply and even though he was the shorter one, he somehow managed to stare at the taller blond in a way that made it feel like he was looking down his nose at Alfred. Something in the move naturally sent the American's hackles rising in irritation.

"I'll have you -hic- know," The pissed (in more ways that one) Brit drawled out, rolling his shoulders and flicking the wings on his back. "I am The Britannia Angel! And I have magical f-flowers... POWERS, the likes of you have never even dreamed of!" The inebriated Britannia Angel finished, raising his chin and crossing his arms in a self-important manner which probably would've fooled a gullible wuss, if there were one around, that is.

As it was, Alfred's eyes went wide and this time he really did laugh an honestly amused chuckle. He rubbed at one blue eye underneath his glasses and then scratched his chin in amazement. "You don't say? Haha! No. Really. Who set you up to this?" The taller blond looked around amiably at the deserted area and put a hand on his hip.

"Where's the camera crew? Did I just get Punk'd?? I'll admit you had me going there for a second... But c'mon, you should just tell me already!" The pilot grinned and raised a normal-sized eyebrow at the weirdo.

"You think you're hot stuff, don't you?" Britannia Angel spluttered in his toga, as if he weren't used to street-smart Americans not believing his crap. "You hit me with your bloody flying machine!"

A frown appeared on the pilot's face. Again with the hitting thing. Alfred stared back at the craft which sported a small dent that hadn't been there before take-off. Admittedly, the damage looked authentic, and he had felt the mid-air collision... but there couldn't be any way... it couldn't be...

The Britannia Angel took out a wand (a wand!) and the human watched in shock as he stumbled over and shot a blast of sparks, not only fixing the dent in the plane, but also morphing the machine from a tidy white colour to a shocking bright purple.

"It's... it's real?" Alfred whispered in horror.

The surge of magical energy must've been a little too much under the influence however, because the next thing Alfred knew; the angel had hurled up all over his Cessna's landing gear and passed out in a drunken heap.

"Ah christ!" The American ran over and quickly knelt, lifting the Britannia Angel up against one of his arms in the shade of his airplane. Alfred watched as the smaller man's chest moved up and down gently. His feathered wings were soft on his skin.

It really was real.

Gingerly, Alfred scooped the angel up into his arms, a little surprised at how light he was. Light as air, really.

The American looked around his landing site in the hopes that he really wasn't alone, but the blond's shoulders soon sagged when he realised that it just wasn't the case. Alfred's blue eyes rolled skyward in exasperation and he heaved out an aggravated sigh as he climbed back into his plane's cockpit, setting his unexpected passenger into the seat next to him.

"Who in the world thought it would be funny to send me this load of trouble..." He mumbled, shaking his head even as he fired up the engine once again.

As the aircraft lifted off the Earth and back up into the atmosphere, Alfred pursed his lips and wondered how the hell he was going to explain the obnoxious paint job.

Oh well, no one had believed him about the alien and UFO sightings.

No one was EVER going to believe this.

End Part 1

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