Of Devils, Angels, and Heartbreak

Vanya why

(A/N ok i'm really sorry for not updating this story in FOREVER but i'm not abandoning it I just hit a couple problems with writer's block and i've been in South Italy and Spain *cough* SPAMANO *cough* so i've like had no time to write. THIS STORY IS CONTINUING NOPE NO MORE LONGASS BREAKS NOT TODAY SATAN and i'll  update every week. Sort of? apologies for the Russian in this chapter because I can't type in Cyrillic to save my life so it's all written in Latin alphabet. That was the update on my life that absolutely nobody asked for and thank you to everyone who has read this story! Merci beaucoup, grazie, danke, spasibo, gracias, thank you!) 

 Arthur paced the length of his apartment, running his hands through his messy blonde hair anxiously. He had been on his toes the whole week, hoping that Alfred had gotten his attempt at warning him and not just dismissed it as a figment of his imagination. Arthur's feathery wings fluffed out, smoothing back into a glossy sheet when he folded them. He shuffled around, putting his hands in the pockets of his bleached white jeans. Thanks to the Vargas brothers, he had managed to get stuff other than the standard tunic, and wore a proud smirk when he thought about his small act of defiance.

"Monsieur Arthur!" Lucille called, knocking on the door frantically. "Monsieur Arthur ouvre la porte s'il vous plaît!" (mister Arthur open the door please)

"Good day Lucille, what is the issue?" He asked, opening the door and looking at the young woman.

"King Ivan has summoned most of heaven for the demon king's trap!" She cried, pulling on his arm.

"Bloody hell." Arthur swore, eyes going wide. He rushed to the window to see the last of a long line of angels descend from heaven through the exit, white robes and tunics glowing in the light, and with a sinking feeling in his gut the Englishman caught the glint of angelic metal.

"If we hurry to the portal we could get down in about half an hour!" Lucille pointed out, wings fluttering and a book clutched in her hand.

"Yeah fuck that." Arthur scoffed, kicking open the window and plunging down, tucking his wings back as he plunged through the clouds into the mortal realm, wind plastering his hair to his face.

Alfred, Alfred, Alfred... he thought, concentrating hard. A red flare popped into his mind, bringing him to what the sweetdevil was experiencing.

"Zdraste, Alfred F Jones." Ivan greeted, spreading his wings and extending his hand as a gesture of friendship. "Spasiba for coming."

"No problem." The king of hell answered easily, although the look in his eyes screamed distrust, narrow slits of electric blue behind his glasses. "Although, I must ask, what is the reason behind you asking to meet here?"

"Ah that, that would be in your definition of problem." Ivan chuckled, taking out his metal pipe. "Alfred F Jones, son of angel Amelia E Jones and James last name unknown, the previous king of hell?" He asked dramatically, others flocking out of the trees lining the clearing to ogle at the cornered American.

"Yeah unless you know another sweetdevil. What is the meaning of all of this?" He hissed, lashing his tail back and forth, drawing himself up to his full height, and even though he was still a good two inches shorter than Ivan, the Russian angel found his feet itching to inch back even the slightest bit while others drew back to the edge of the trees again.

"Now now malenki, i'm just here to take over control of hell, so that mortals can live in peace." Ivan chided, a light that slightly unsettled Alfred glinting in his eyes. "Good thing you are alone, da?" (little one)

"Cher, do you really zink zat petit Alfred came 'ere alone?" a French accent drawled, Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio swooping down from the trees to stand beside Alfred.