Buggered Omens Part II of Chapter III

[alchemistofbing]

Title: Buggered Omens - Chapter III
Author: The Alchemist of Bing 
Rating: T
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Germany, mentions of North Italy, France, England, a mysterious Hetalia character that is revealed in the story, and a baby whose identity I will reveal later on; slight (or nonexistent) Germany/N.Italy and England/France
Warnings: Theological theme involving angels, demons, and God (this is all done for the sake of good humor, staying loyal to the style of Mr. Pratchett and Mr. Gaiman); mentions of burning hospitals, threatening of old ladies, slight drunkenness, profanity, and Francis attempting to bed Arthur. again. 
Summary: Replacing the characters of Good Omens with our beloved cast in Hetalia! The end of the world is afoot and the only ones who could stop it are two silly characters pretending to be the world's icon of good and evil (one of them is an ex-incubus, which makes things even worse), a horseperson with father/son issues, and many other characters who have their own hairbrained ideas on how to create world peace or whatever. We're all doomed. 
A/N: Who in the world did I choose for Beelzebub? Ho~boy. 
Time Frame: Alternate Universe; but the literal time frame here is the late 20th century or later

Erasing human memories were one of the best advantages of being an angel, aside from forcing himself sober after a hard night of drinks, and missing all those dreaded hangovers everybody hated so much.

One of these advantages was the freedom and opportunity to observe mortals and their phenomenal existence for thousands of years. It allowed both Arthur and Francis to reach a level of understanding for humans and how they tick. And once, during an interesting conversation during the 60s, they had finally concluded that human beings were delightful in their way of striving to be unique and imaginative with their everyday life. To change and create instead of following the same earthly instincts animals usually adhered to for their survival. Their ineffable nature, Arthur had once said to Francis, made them free to decide for themselves the hand they would choose to take when their end finally came: either they would take his hand or, God willing, Francis’.

As of now, his companion’s absence made him uneasy and stressed. Arthur would never admit it, but knowing the demon for a millennia and losing him the next threatened the pace of his everyday existence. What would he do if Francis was forced to go back into hell to attend to his duties there after another disagreement with Duke Ludwig as punishment? Another demon might take over his place, and it might end up as a repeat of the Hundred Years War all over again. The unpleasant notion made him queasy.

Arthur walked to the back of his bookshop where a cozy sitting room had a warm light dancing in its fireplace. A table, a couple of chairs, and a little, elaborate cabinet on one side which held copious amounts of alcohol (despite the angel’s protestations that he had any alcohol in his own home) where it was originally for storing expensive china, tea cups, and silver. Arthur also had a second floor in his bookshop, but he really did not need any sleep. The angel settled on a comfortable chair and began to embroider a large, pink flower with his deft fingers - a little hobby of his which helped him pass the time after he realized that yoga was definitely not for him.

In truth, Francis was not the first demon he had butted heads with. The first demon and the original representative of hell on this earth had been an oddly cheerful yet naïve demon named Antonio. Francis told him that he was on earth during those days, having fun with the delights of the mortal flesh and escaping from his hellish duties in favor of having fun 'up here'. Every day was like a box of chocolates, he had said, and Arthur rolled his eyes at that and called him a lazy bugger.

The angel had never found it difficult to antagonize the demon Antonio at all, since the idiot was easy to rattle, and he remembered that he had fun battling against him during the Spanish Inquisition. After chasing each other all over the seas and influencing the minds of the sailors who all travelled to spread the name of Christianity for mixed reasons, either to lob off heads of heretics or to truly make them clean in the eyes of the Lord, both angel and demon had finally ended their battle with a rather brutal tomato fight.

Picture this: two ships sailing side by side, both captains were comrades, of course, and the men between these ships got along quite well. All the provisions these sailors had were tomatoes and spices, collected over the duration of their travels. But no matter how friendly the men were with each other, Antonio was still astride ship A, while Arthur rode on ship B. The angel remembered that it was Antonio who threw the first tomato at him, but he had been the true aggressor this time since it was Antonio who commented on how tasteless his long hair had looked like.

It all ended in tears.

On Antonio’s side, of course, since Arthur never cried. Not at all.

Apparently, when Arthur bothered Antonio for a quick talk to find out what was wrong, the demon explained that he was missing one of his comrades from Down There and had wanted to come back home after centuries of working his back hard to the bone (and getting beaten up by a Principality because of it). A few days later, Francis had taken over Antonio’s job with the other gleefully skipped back down to hell.

Francis had been the worse thing that had ever happened to Arthur.

After getting used to the easy and laid back ways of Antonio, Francis had been a challenge. It wasn’t because he was brilliant or smart or cunning, by jove far from it - it was because Francis enjoyed his work and he never hesitated to stick a foot in a pool full of sharks. The bastard loved fishing in troubled waters, and he had excellent practice tempting people to do whatever he wanted them to act upon (to him while he was flat on his back), and Francis was glad to get a bit of a promotion from his occupation as an incubus. He had understood, and studied very well, the seven vices mortals were capable of committing. Arthur snorted, well at least Francis had been hell before the whole business with the Arrangement happened. Well, less of an annoyance anyway.

A series of knocking invaded his thoughts and had Arthur fleeing to his back door. Before he opened it, however, he made sure that he did not have a look of desperation on his face before straightening his vest and tie. When he opened the door, Francis was on the other side with a bottle of half-empty vodka in his right hand, looking messier than usual. Arthur sized him up, looking at the demon up and down and wondering if Francis had a small accident with the car and the lube again.

“You look like shit.” Arthur eyed the sniffling (sniffling?) demon before he motioned for him to come in.

Francis tromped inside through his door and moaned: “Arthur… mon ange…”

“What is it now, drunk bastard? You’ve been gone for a whole day and it wasn’t even your nap time.”

Francis collapsed on one of his comfy looking chairs in front of the fireplace and put the back of his free hand on his forehead dramatically, “This is horrible.”

“What’s horrible?”

“It is unthinkable! Impossible! It cannot be! Fils de pute, mon ange, do you know what this means?”

“What in Chri- your name are you talking about now?” Arthur pressed, crossing his arms in front of him, “Stop it with all this drama queen business and get on with it.”

But Francis, drunk over his head, thought it a great idea to give his one and only friend and kitten a tight hug. Arthur almost fell off his chair but was pulled further into Francis’ arms before his knees hit the floor, “Oh, mon ange… mon coeur… mon sweet cheri…”

“For hell’s sakes, Francis…” Arthur sputtered. He clawed Francis’ chest and tried to bite the arm that settled over his shoulders, “What the bloody… get off!” The angel moved to knee his gut, but he had to push Francis’ slobbering face out of his first, “What the hell, you bloody wanker, stop trying to… oi.” He finally managed to push Francis off him and was glad to see the idiot sprawled all over his floor. Arthur quickly stood up and pressed a shiny shoe on Francis’ crotch. Hard. This slight physical display was an unspoken threat that Arthur had effectively used many times before after he realized that the demon’s jewels were his most prized possessions. He took pleasure in the demon's yowl of pain.

“Don’t you… I can’t possibly,” the demon tore his glasses off his face and rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes, “It’s about the antichrist.”

“What about the antichrist? I thought that the whole antichrist arrangement was due after another thousand years?”

“Oh they were lying, mon ange, they’re demons,” Francis scoffed, “I was the one who delivered the child, Arthur. The antichrist himself. Ah non, this isn't happening...”

“All right, I get it,” Arthur growled and took his foot off Francis’ crotch, sitting down while he let the news sink in, “Are you telling me that…”

Francis stood up and gesticulated, spitting froth and vodka everywhere, “The end of the world! Armeggadon! With the trumpets and the horses and the one big crowd that does not compare to the one in Woodstock…”

While Francis tried to calm his nerves by pacing all over the floor, Arthur’s face went blank and empty, hands limp on his knees, although he was nodding automatically in a strange sort of way, “Well, that’s good, innit?” he finally said, “I- I… I mean we were working hard for the sake of the end End weren’t we? We weren’t just… just…” they both looked at each other, both of them thinking the same thing no matter how much Arthur detested it.

Damn.

“I mean this was already bound to happen.” Arthur said, although he sounded as if he was trying to convince himself instead, “We knew that it was going to happen eventually… right?”

“Are you saying that we should just let this happen?”

“Well what are we supposed to do about it? Wouldn’t it be nice for you to go back to hell and partake in some sinning, torturing, and furniture making or whatever demons like you love to do?”

“I don’t just enjoy the fine sins of the flesh, mon ange.” Francis took another drink from the bottle, “I happen to find comfort in the fact that I’d be able to sleep in silk sheets that do not turn into a large bonfire and eat food that doesn’t taste like fried politician dipped in sulphur sauce.”

Arthur shrugged and flipped a careless hand. After all, the end didn’t sound too bad. That meant he wouldn’t see this bastard demon anymore, at least. That's right, he thought, that was a good thing. “You’re just exaggerating. This is how things were supposed to be in the first place. Why should we interfere?”

“Do you think that you’d be able to eat your English dishes when your angel buddies drop in on Earth and force everybody to sing ‘Ah Halleluja’? I’d bet you a thousand marks that they’d think pickled eggs were made by Satan himself.”

“I happen to like pickled eggs. I think they’re heavenly.”

“Oh, and you were so sure that you weren’t going to fall.”

“Look,” Arthur stood and took the bottle of vodka from the demon’s hand sharply, “Even if we did try to do anything it’d be futile. This is God’s will and the End - the last battle between Heaven and Hell - will not stop for two blokes like us. I say it’s better to just let it happen.” Arthur moved to tip the bottle in his mouth.

“There’s no alcohol in heaven.”

He stopped. Mouth inches away from the sweet scent of impending intoxication.

“No cookbooks, no unicorns, no embroideries…”

“Francis, stop it.” Arthur snarled, almost letting the bottle of alcohol fall from his shaking hands.

“No tea, no Bosch. It'll be just like - vacation's over time, mon ange. No more fun. No more funny businesses, no more dinners... no more books.”

The angel faltered, and he paused for a while.

“… well... shit.”

Edited! Added some sentences and curved some painful sentences (I hope) :D