A/N: Written for a school assignment. This is my first story that was beta read, so thanks mawaruchikyuurondo!

Warning: Two character deaths. I apologize in advance for one of them.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

The war between Heaven and Hell has been going on for centuries. The surface of the Earth quickly became a battleground between the angels of Heaven and the fallen angels of Hell for the final resting place for the souls of humans. The war rapidly spread to mankind, wars small and large being created by humans that were persuaded by the fallen angels, more and more being called demons.

But the Williams family was oblivious to the divine conflict. Their entire focus was on the small bundle in Mrs. Williams' arms. The small newborn was dozing off, tired from bawling when the doctor hit him on the behind.

The new parents smiled warmly at their son and ignored everything outside their own little world, not noticing two silent observers. From the dimly lit corner of the hospital room, scarlet red eyes stared intently at the newborn before glancing at the heavenly aura near the window. Green met red as the demon sent a fang-showing smirk to the angel, who frowned in response.

. . .

The child, Matthew, was five years old when he first saw them.

The taller of the two wore dark clothing: black jeans, black shoes that hurt Matthew's hand when he hit it accidentally while playing with his toys, and a dark bomber jacket. The man also had black wings sprouting from his back, the feathers hard and coarse. When Matthew asked him where he got them, the man gave a sharp laugh and said, "I was born with them, kiddo." Matthew liked him, but he always got in trouble when he did what the man suggested.

The shorter of the two wore the opposite of what the dark-clothed man did: he wore a white robe and sandals that were of Roman style and leather straps that went from the sandals to below the knee. He had wings, too, but his was the purest of whites and soft to the touch. Matthew liked him, too. The shorter man stopped him from destroying his plush polar bear toy that his mother got him, which was now his favorite playmate.

When he asked his mother what she thought of the two, she ruffled his curly blond hair and gave a warm smile. "I'm sure they're wonderful playmates."

She gave a quick glance to a corner of the room, as if for reassurance. Matthew followed her gaze, but he could only see cobwebs near the ceiling.

. . .

Matthew was five and a half when he found out their names and found out something strange about them.

He had just returned from school, a wide smile on his face as he raced to his room with his plush polar bear in his hand and his backpack still on. A girl from his class put a little red bow around the polar bear's neck and he was excited to show his two playmates. He only stopped running when he dropped the toy near the entrance of his room. The boy gave a quiet gasp and dusted off nonexistent dirt off of the polar bear.

"You think you're all high and mighty since you still live up there to, don't cha Arthur?"

Matthew froze, his grip tightening on his polar bear. The normally light and bubbly voice of the dark-winged man was dripping with malice, and it scared him. With sweaty palms, he opened the door of his bedroom so he could peek inside.

The dark-winged man held a shiny, golden object that was hovering over the white-winged man's head. Arthur, Matthew mouthed. Arthur struggled with an unseeable force as the other gave rough shakes to the gold object, his wings flapping to orient himself.

"Nonsense," Arthur growled, causing a forked tail to sway back and forth in annoyance. "You're just mad that you haven't got Matthew to sin and he is doing good, just things, Alfred."

The door squeaking open was the only thing that stopped them. Arthur's eyes widened as he gave a short cry of "Matthew!" Alfred's forked tail rose sharply and he released the gold object as if he was burned. Alfred barely met Matthew's gaze as he disappeared before his eyes, Arthur quickly following his lead.

When he came back to play with Alfred after dinner, both Alfred and Arthur was their usual selves: Alfred was loud and cheerful, and Arthur was quiet and ever watching. He never saw the forked tail or golden ring again.

. . .

He was ten when his father died.

The news arrived when the red-shirted Royal Police knocked on their door. The Mountie took his hat off and spoke softly to his mother in French, staring in sympathy when she let out a sob. It was only after the police left that Mrs. Williams explained to Matthew that, "No, your Papa isn't coming home again."

The child broke out crying with his only parent and only fell asleep that night when Arthur held him and his soft wings enveloped him into an embrace.

. . .

It was the night of his father's death that he experienced the first of odd, infrequent dreams.

In the dream he was cocooned in his bed, the bedsheets pulled up to cover his mouth. His polar bear plush was tucked comfortably underneath his chin.

A faint glow lightened the room, but Matthew knew it did not come from the moon as the curtains were pulled shut. Curious, he peeked over his covers and repressed the urge to hide when he heard his former playmate.

"I knew you had a hand in it, don't think I'm wet behind the ears, Alfred!" Matthew watched as Arthur scowled, his face illuminated by an unknown light source floating above his head. Red eyes shown gleefully in the dark.

"Oh, don't get your robe in a knot, Artie. I asked Mr. Williams' demon before I scared the deer to run out in front of his car," Alfred chuckled darkly. "He swerved away from the animal and hit a tree. Wouldn't even hurt a fly, now that's his downfall! His angel didn't even object! Can you believe that?"

The two shared a silence and Matthew closed his eyes.

"Let's both agree that Matthew is not to be harmed, shall we?" and an affirmative grunt was the last thing he heard in his dream.

The next day he woke up to the promise of his mother's pancakes and he forgot all about the dream.

. . .

He was sixteen when he tried his first smoke.

He hacked and gagged when he first tried it. But with encouragement from Alfred and a new group of friends, he smoked it until the butt of the cigarette was all that was left. When he got home and his mother caught the scent of cigarettes on his breath, he was scolded by her and was taught a non-censored lesson on the effect of smoking by Arthur.

He never smoked again.

. . .

He was twenty-nine when he realized the importance of schooling.

He had survived six years of primary school, seven years of secondary school, eight combined years of college and medical school, and three combined years of internship and residency; a total of twenty-four years of school and training to become a pediatrician. Within those years, Arthur had taking to shooing Alfred out of the room and helping Matthew with his schoolwork and studying.

Not once had the white-winged man gave him the answers to any problem he had trouble on. Arthur only tapped the problem with his index finger and refused to respond. It was only after five minutes of struggling that Arthur gave him a hint on how to solve the problem; he never gave the correct answer until Matthew finished completely.

Matthew was thankful for the harsh treatment on school though. He had watched many classmates struggle with their grades and felt sorry for those who dropped out. He on the other hand, had stuck with Arthur's strict policy on schooling and used his problem-solving skills on treating children.

Not only that, his job helped him support his lonely mother, who had raised him by herself since the age of ten.

At the end of his one-year anniversary of being a certified pediatrician, Matthew made sure to thank Arthur.

. . .

He was forty-nine when he almost killed somebody.

He didn't mean to, especially one so young. He was making a quick round in the maternity ward for a coworker when a nervous nurse came up to him and explained that he was needed in one of his night patient's room. He thanked her kindly when she gave him the room number and the patient's condition.

He already had an idea on what was happening, and the patient's appearance confirmed his suspicion. The patient, a girl, was already admitted to stay the night so Matthew could monitor her condition frequently. Her parents had brought her to the hospital coughing, with a fever and asleep. After a few tests Matthew had diagnosed her with pneumonia and requested that she should stay the night. Her parents agreed and he found an empty room for and gave her a dose of antibiotics.

The rashes that covered her skin announced that her body did not accept the drug. Matthew exited the room to get antihistamines to prevent the rashes from getting worse. He returned shortly with the vial and needle.

"Well ain't that a sad sight," Alfred tsked, slinging an arm around the Canadian's shoulders. "Look at her, been hacking all night while still asleep. The poor girl must be hurting, being sick like this. We should put her out of her misery, huh Mattie?"

"Alfred! That is no way to talk about somebody. She is not some dog you can put down, you git!" Arthur scolded. The two looked the same since Matthew first saw them: young and fit, not a wrinkle to be seen.

Matthew gave a small smile as the two argued and calmly wiped the girl's arm with an alcohol swab. "No worries, she should be just fine after she gets the shot. The only thing we have to watch is the pneumonia."

When the girl recovered from her illness, both Matthew and her parents were glad. But he could still remember the small urge to let her die from her allergic reaction, how he had let himself pause before he had administered the antihistamine to her.

. . .

It was that night that he had his last odd dream.

The scene was different this time. The only thing Matthew could see and hear was pitch black darkness and the voices of his former playmate's.

"I thought we both agreed not to harm anybody after Mr. Williams' death."

"Now that's where you're wrong, Artie. I remember word for word: we promised not to harm Mattie. We never mentioned anybody else." A laugh. "'Sides, her angel had quite the backhand."

"And I hope it hurt like holy water."

. . .

Matthew was eighty years old when he died.

Arthur knew he was dead before he saw him, but that did not stop the fact that the man whom he guided for seventy-five years and watched for an additional five was no longer here. He let out a shaky breath as he closed Matthew's eyes, making him look like he was just sleeping.

"Welp, another point for you, Artie."

"Oh, please. This is not one of your little games, Alfred. This is a matter of where his soul rests for the rest of the eternity," the angel glared at the demon, who was lounging on the visitor's chair.

"Well I needed something to keep me occupied in the last two thousand years of being paired up with you. It's getting a little boring though. It's like you know if they're going to be good or evil or something."

"Even if they are condemned I try my best to have them show even the smallest bit of goodness while they're still naïve."

"Yeah, yeah. Everybody has a bit of goodness in them, and all that junk," the demon yawned, standing up and stretching. His wings flapped lazily as he glanced at the clock. "It's time for me to leave, I guess. My new client should be born any minute now. Peter Kirkland's his name."

The angel let out a loud sigh at the name and the demon smiled widely, offering his hand for the angel to shake. "Looks like we're going to be together for another lifetime, doesn't it?"

Arthur took his hand with a huff and the two disappeared to greet the newborn child into the world. Only Matthew's old polar bear plush watched over Matthew's body.