It had been a wonderfully overcast winter afternoon in the normally not so sunny United Kingdom. A pleasant chill hung in the fresh air, an icy wetness layering the green grass and trees nicely. Honestly it had been the best weather seen anywhere in his country for weeks (there was no rain for once, hurray!) and Arthur Kirkland was taking full advantage! How could you not!? A pleasant day should be shared with pleasant people after all, and if you didn't have any pleasant people in your life; you just call your family! So that's what Britain did.

The normally uptight Nation had invited his brothers Ireland, Wales and Scotland (much to their surprise) over for a spot of afternoon tea and biscuits in his beautiful, all be it wet rose garden. And it was going fairly well considering each mans obvious personality differences and their tendency to clash with one another on almost every subject. The four had sat chatting together for some time; even going so far as to joke and reminisce about older, darker times. Personally, the Brit thought they were all just happy to take a break from the stresses of their everyday lives. He couldn't blame them in the slightest.

It had also been a nice change from the hassle of his day to day life as a powerful Nation.

The key word here being, had.

Crisis and trouble just couldn't seem to leave him alone for just one blooming afternoon it would seem. But of course he shouldn't really be surprised, things never went quite so smoothly for the poor man. If there wasn't a War or a crisis threatening to madden him, then it was his family or allies. It was a true wonder he hadn't been locked away sometime ago, but hey, small miracles right?

He had been standing in his old kitchen when everything had decided to go to hell around him. Wales and Ireland had long since thanked him for his (rare) hospitality and left on important business. Leaving his older brother Scotland the only one still hovering around. He leaned lazily on the kitchen counter top eating up left over biscuits while England stood over the large brass sink; cleaning the fine chinaware and vaguely listening to the redhead chatter on about lord knows what in his thick accent.

Then it happened.

It was the loud unmistakable 'BANG' of his large wooden front door being forcefully kicked in and the air shattering, distressed scream of his name from across the large, empty house that had the Scotsman choking on his biscuit in surprise and caused the beautifully patterned, very old plate to slip from England's soapy grip and smash loudly to the floor, shattering indefinitely.

"DAD!" Again he was being addressed, it was a horrific call for help filled with pain and panic. England's eyes were wide with fear, his body frozen stiff in place as his brain screamed at him desperately. Something is wrong! Someone's dead! The world is ending!

Get ahold of yourself man!

He knew that, high, shrill, frightened scream all too well. It was the 'Dad we messed up royally and now we're hurt or in big trouble scream'. That scream only came from one little Nation.

New Zealand.

"DAD HELP ME!"

"Let's go!" Scotland had recovered from his coughing fit and was now racing past him to help, he griped Arthur's shoulder tightly as he rushed by; snapping the blond from his daze. Talk about being caught of guard. As he raced down the hall, England couldn't help but think about how long it had been; he defiantly hadn't heard a scream like that for a very long while. At least not since New Zealand was only a small lad and he and Australia had gotten their little arms stuck inside one of his tractors while playing out in the fields.

What an odd thing for him to think about at a time like this.

His and Scotland's boots thumped urgent and heavy against the old wooden floors as they raced past the hallway towards the foyer and front door. Towards the impending disaster, whatever it may be!

"New Zealand, what in blazers is going on her-

He stopped mid scold as he rounded the corner quickly, his voice dying in his throat and his eyes fell on his sons.

Oh no.

Their eyes made contact then and the slight relief that flooded through the panicked Kiwi when he spotted him was so, amazingly obvious; it was kind of flattering.

"Dad!" New Zealand stood teary eyed in his foyer, his smaller body shaking as he struggled to support the much larger weight of his older brother's arm and body on his tiny shoulders.

Australia 'stood' propped up against his younger brother, his tanned bandaided face flushed and sweating heavily, his body practically limb as he struggled to breath though his unconsciousness. This was new and defiantly not good.

"He's having a heat wave!" Zea explained, voice desperate and shaking. "He...he just collapsed suddenly!" His legs wobbled with emotion, struggling to stay planted firmly under the dead weight.

"Shit!" Allistor cursed and wasted no time skidding over to New Zealand's side, taking the large Aussie off him easily. Scotland with his great height and strength supported the limb young man with little issue as he turned to his younger brother for much needed direction.

"I don't know what to do!" The curly haired brunette wailed between sobs as England approached to comfort him. A simple gloved hand fell to rest on top of the short mans head affectionately. It's ok now.

I hope.

"Take him into the parlour, would you Allistor." Arthur instructed calmly, indicating to the well decorated room to their right. His hand fell from New Zealand's head to his shoulder supportively as he guided the distraught lad into the parlour after the Scotsman. "On the couch will suffice."

Scotland laid the young man down onto his back gently, propping his head up with one of those overly fancy pillows the Pom seemed to love so much, Australia did not fit well, his long legs flopping over the side of the couch a little awkwardly. The redhead stepped back with his hands on his hips and looked at England with a quizzical 'what is happening' stare.

That's a fair question. What in the wide world was going on!?

England wasted no time kneeling down beside his struggling oldest son, brushing away the sweaty bangs of brown hair and checking his forehead temperature.

Hot. Very hot.

This is not good at all.

"New Zealand. Fetch me some wet towels and a glass of cold water. " He instructed calmly, not turning his attention away from the gasping, unconscious Skippy. With an unseen nod, the young Nation ran off imminently to do as he was told, the old English house memorised from childhood. He was just glad for some direction.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with him?" Allistor questioned, moving to stand next to his younger brother in a bid to offer any assistance necessary. This was his nephew who was suffering after all.

"He's having a heatwave I'm afraid." Arthur explained as he began promptly unbuttoning the brunettes shirt. "This is fairly common for him, get his trousers will you?" The Brit pulled the sweaty explorers shirt off and threw it out into the hallway. "We need to reduce his heat to start with."

Scotland was quick to pull off Australia's big hiking boots and socks before he began unbuttoning his cargo shorts. "Does he usually pass out like this?" He questioned as he started pulling the article of clothing down Aus's tanned, muscular legs. He threw it to join the shirt in the hall.

Poor lad had nothing but his Australian flag style undies on now.

He had grown up nicely if you know what I mean- it must be his Scottish blood.

"Once when he was young back in 1889, 53°C!, that's bloody 128°F! The poor sod was completely unresponsive for 6 hours..." England replied, completely unaware to the Scots thoughts; the Brit stood up and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. God that had been one of the scariest days of his long long life, he was boarder line distraught with grief for his little boy, if that bloody frog France hadn't been by his side supporting him, he didn't know what he would have done. But that was along time ago now, surely Australia would be fine. He was a man now, no longer his little monster. He had to be fine.

But still, this was no doubt a bad sign. He was very much concerned to say the least.

"Should we be worried?" New Zealand asked, returning with a glass of water and an armful of damp towels just like instructed.

Yes.

"I'm really not sure to be honest." England took a wet towel and folded it up to place on the young mans forehead, it should help cool him down. "How long has he been on this heatwave?"

"A week I think, maybe 8 days- all days over 46°C (115°F). I visited him only 4 days ago and he was doing just fine- staying in bed like normal. Till I found him this morning on his kitchen floor." Zea explained, handing another wet towel out to Scotland who placed it over Australia's sweaty, toned chest to cool him. The Aussie was gasping and struggling heavily with his breathing, his body jolting mildly in shock.

"You did well to bring him my boy." England praised idly, stepping away from the occupied couch to pull back the heavy green curtains and open a nearby window. A fresh, all be it crisp English winter breeze swept its way through the parlour, making everyone shiver. Australia made a small moan of relief as the chilly air washed over his sweaty, overheated skin.

"Thanks... Dad." New Zealand mumbled appreciatively, crossing his arms tightly in a fruitless attempt to keep warm. "I've never seen the fever do this before. When he collapsed, I panicked." He mumbled, staring down at the sweaty gasping face of his brother.

"Fever?" Scotland asked as he causally shrugged of his large, warm blue and white coat and draped it over his shivering nephew who accepted it with a kindly 'cheers'.

"Yeah, heatwaves for him are like getting really sick with a fever- being delirious and hot." Zea mumbled in reply, hugging the coats delicious warmth close to his small frame; it smelt faintly of alcohol and smoke mixed with freshly cut grass- it was comforting. "Aus stays in bed when it happens and I check up on him."

"Well aren't you a good brother! I'm sure he'll be fine now thanks to you laddy." Scotland smiled cheerfully, throwing his large arm proudly around New Zealand and pulling him in close for a half hug. "Arthur could learn a thing or too from his son!" He joked, chuckling at the glare the Brit cast his way. "Arthur here was never so kind to me growing up! Hard to believe I know!" He added with a chuckle.

England really doubted that Allistor understood the seriousness of their current situation. His child was laying unconscious on his couch, desperately needing his assistance and Mr 32.9°C is my hottest recorded temperature was making jokes!

It was about time he left. He sure as hell wasn't helping here!

"New Zealand. Make sure your brother stays well hydrated." England instructed firmly before turning his attention to his own older brother. "I thank you for your assassinate Allistor, but I do believe it's time for you to be on your way." He quipped, already walking past the Scot to usher him out towards the front door. The Scotsman looked rather taken aback at the statement, he opened his mouth to object; spinning around to look at the Pom.

"But I'm not-

"Thank you again." Arthur cut in with a forced smile, walking to stand by the open door to send a message.

"Oh! Your coat, uncle Al." New Zealand placed the glass of water down and started to shrug it off but Scotland smiled cheerfully.

"You keep it for now sonny, its a little too nippy here in the 'sunny' United Kingdom for you. I'll collect it from Arthur later." He insured, ruffling those soft curly brown locks lovingly. Honestly, how could someone like his brother raise two such wonderful little Nations!? Well, they weren't so little anymore, New Zealand was- but Australia had shot up faster then any weed in a wet Scottish field, rivalling the Scotsman in height and muscle.

"Much later." The Brit grumbled to himself under his breath. Scotland decided to ignore him, God England got on his nerves quickly some times and it was taking all his strength not to let his famous Scottish blood boil into anger. He instead headed for the door and with a polite nod, he said his (unwanted) goodbyes before stepping out into the cold- the large wooden door almost clipping his heels on the way out.

"Bliddy wanchany horrid breether i' mine, fit daar he!?"

He lit up a cigarette, disgruntled.

What a bastard.

..

'Thank goodness he's gone. Good riddance to drunken trash'. Was all England could think when that door finally shut behind his irritating older brother. It wasn't that'd didn't love Scotland dearly, he did, it was just hard sometimes (all the time in fact) to play pleasantries with someone so grating and irritating to his nerves. The man just couldn't help himself when it came to poking fun and in return, England had developed a very very short fuse for his antics; this of course made the Scotsman angry, which in turn made him angry...and so on. So it was safe to say that any more time then an afternoon together was really forcing it. But all that didn't really matter now, he was gone!

And England can finally focus on the pressing issues at hand without being insulted nor irritated. What was he doing again? Oh right! Back to panicking then!

Marching back into the chilly parlour, he was met with the unchanged sight of his eldest stretched across the small couch glistening with sweat, his bare chest rising erratically with his shallow gasping and wheezing; still very much unconscious. New Zealand was no longer present, he had no doubly slipped away at the first possible opportunity to retrieve something that he thinks will help.

England walked in and knelt down beside Australia once again, his hand coming to rest on his soft all be it sweaty brown hair as he stroked it affectionately. You will pull through, I know it.

"You're a tough lad." He cooed lowly (it was more a fact really, Australia was one of the toughest, courageous and most foolhardy Nations he knew!) And he loved it. He sat like that for several moments, just stroking that soft hair repeatedly, lovingly like any parent would- silently hopping his touch would make him well once again. It wouldn't, but he can hope.

England's hand hesitantly dropped away in favour of grabbing the glass of water that sat closely on the small wooden side table. Picking it up he shuffled to tilt his sons head upwards and place the glass softly between his lips, he tilted the glass ever so slightly and let a small stream of water dribble its way into the other mans mouth. His stoic expression broke out into delight when he noticed the water was actually being accepted and swallowed!

"Good man! Keep it up!" He encouraged, overly joyed as if it was the worlds most amazing, jaw dropping accomplishment- it wasn't, but to him it was pretty close. England was no nurse (despite how well he filled out a costume, it's a long story) he had little to no bedside manner, Allistor can vow for that personally; so yes, this was a kind of a miracle. Arthur continued to hydrate the younger Nation until the light swallowing of Aus's throat stopped and water began dribbling from the sides of his mouth and onto the couch.

The poor lad must be ever so dehydrated, what he wouldn't do to have him wake so he could put him under a cold, refreshing shower- lord knows he needed it. Droughts were tough at the best of times, but adding that to an unrelenting heatwave just spelt horrid suffering for all; people, wildlife and Nation!

The old ornate clock upon the fireplace mantle chimed loudly, snapping the Brit from his thoughts. 6:30 already? Where the devil had the rest of his afternoon gone?! It was almost supper time and he had not prepared a thing!

What absolutely atrocious hosting skills!

"I know what you're thinkin' you old goat. Don't ya worry about it, I got it covered." New Zealand had reappeared in the hallway, a smile on his pale face- looking much more like himself, though his eyes were still slightly red.

Old goat!? How dreadfully rude...but, he could let it slide, for now. The young sheep loving Nation balanced a chopping board in his hands, he had obviously raided his pantry because it was topped full with assorted cheeses, tips, meats and fruits. Even the expensive ones, great. He had a loaf of fresh bread that England had baked this morning tucked under one of his coat arms, plates under the other and...good lord, a large knife tucked into the belt of his pants as he shuffled into the parlour.

"It's a ploughman's lunch...but for dinner!" Zea explained with a grin as England walked over to take the plates and knife away before he hurt himself. Good grief, he knew having his only well mannered son living so close to that wild older brother of his would have its effects! And to think, this wolly of a Nation was suppose to be keeping an eye on the other! It was a wonder that side of the world wasn't currently on fire. He blames himself for his bad foresight. What was worse was, they were his sons.

They placed everything down on the small wooden coffee table before sitting on the floor in front of Australia to eat (England would much have preferred the couch, but this will do).

"I figured this might be easier, since we gotta keep an eye on him...Christ I'm starving- oi pass me some grapes!" The kiwi explained, piling a piece of thick cut bread high with topping, England stared at him. Excuse me?

"What do we say?" He questioned, holding said fruit; a brushy eyebrow raised expectingly- god if was like Australia wasn't unconscious at all, he'd recognise those abysmal table manners anywhere.

Really? The Kiwi gave an inward sigh, he was too old for this! He was a full grow Nation for goodness sakes. Aghhh fine.

"...Ta."

"Good lad."

New Zealand just rolled his eyes but accepted the fruit before leaning back to drink from Australia's cup of water that sat on the side table. He tabbed the damp cloth on his brothers forehead as he leaned passed, collecting the excess beards of sweat lazily- all the while biting into his dinner.

Everything gonna be just fine, it had to be.

...

"I've got the toll." New Zealand whispered, his voice low and deadly serious as he blew away the steam on his hot cup of tea. Night had fallen and their supper long since finished as the pair continued to sit in the now absolutely freezing parlour room, unwilling to leave. The window still hung wide open to the icy English winter night, the two Nations wrapped up in soft blankets and sipping hot tea as the warm yellow light of an ornate table lamp washed over them; filling the small room with a comforting glow that didn't quite make it too the dark corners. It reminded England of his days without electricity, reading to his boys by candlelight- it was comforting.

Australia lay beside them on the small couch, his breathing shallow, his face sweaty and strained. His situation improved but not yet any better.

"Excuse me?" Arthur questioned, pouring the large white teapot expertly to fill his own teacup, his eyes trained on his youngest.

"Death Toll. I've got it, Australia's Boss called before." The kiwi explained, his eyes shining sadly in the soft lamp light as they searched his brothers sweaty face for answers. How he wished he could shoulder some of his pain.

"Oh." England hadn't been aware that there even would be a death toll, not for a heatwave surely. That was stupid of him, of course there had been death- it was the only way you could explain Australia's sickly, suffering state. "How...how many then?" He took a sip of hot, delicious tea to calm his nerves.

"...over 800...so far."

"Jesus wept...in only 8 days!" The Brit cursed into his cup, his green eyes shifting to stare at his son with a sympathy. Poor lad, at least he looked to be sleeping a little more peacefully now. The cool night air doing wonders for his overheated, naked body.

New Zealand tore his gaze away to focus on drinking his tea, his shoulders shuffling comfortably in Scotland's large, warm coat.

"Dad...?"

"Hm..?" England took a sip of his tea, his eyes closed peacefully, listening. Australia's breathing was almost completely silent now, no longer a gasping, moaning mess. Good.

"Thanks for taking us in and looking after Aus. I know you probably have better things to do then look after a couple of dags like us." Zea whispered with a small, appreciative smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. England in turn placed his teacup onto the short table and stared across the wooden stretch at his son.

"My boy, you are absolutely correct." He stated firmly before his thin lips broke into their own small, returning smile. "You and your brother are most certainly the biggest 'dags' I have ever known. Always so horribly filthy and absolutely far too dangerously curious for your own good to say the least." He picked up his tea and took a small sip. "Honestly I can not count all the broken bones suffered between you and I can barely understand that barbaric speech you dare to call the English language." He continued from over his cup. New Zealand's smile faulted slightly.

"But...despite all the trouble you boys seem to cause me, and it's a lot, I am absolute in my decision that I wouldn't change any of it for the whole world." England's eyes crinkled happily. "You're both my 'dags' after all. And it's my job to keep you alive." He finished and was greeted with a wide grin from the young man across him.

That's my cheerful boy.

They sat in comfortable silence for several moments, both finishing off their tea and listening to the icy wind rustle loudly through the trees and bushes outside before it swept it's chilly way in through the large window.

With a shiver, New Zealand finally spoke.

"When ya think he'll wake?" He questioned, eyes level with the calm Brit, filled with curiosity.

"Well I dunno mate, how long do we dags tend ta kip for?" Came the dry mouthed, scratchy reply from behind him.

New Zealand and England both jumped in surprise, almost dropping their cups.

"AUS!" The kiwi cried in relief, his eyes prickling with delight. His brother had returned!

Both Nations waisted no time abandoning their drinks for standing and shuffling over to the occupied couch.

"My boy! How are you feeling?" England questioned as he helped Australia shift his cushion so he could sit up. The skippy gave a heavy, pained moan once seated. He looked like absolute shit: his sweaty hair stuck out at different angles, his face was flushed and groggy; not to mention his rippling arm and stomach muscles kept jerking every few moments in heat exposed shock.

"Bloody cactus." He replied slowly with a dry, rough cough. "Mouth's as dry as a dead dingo's donger." He groaned, reaching up weakly to wipe collecting sweat from his eyes. "And hot, very bloody hot."

England patted his sons head softly, pretending he understood any word of that. He didn't. Maybe he's still delirious?

New Zealand grinned in understanding before explains quickly. "He feels dead, his mouths dry and he's very hot."

"Oh..."

"Here bro, drink up." Zea handing the nearby glass of water to the older man who took it gratefully and started drinking it down as of it was his only lifeline to this world, he didn't even seem fazed when it started dribbling out the sides of his mouth in his hurry. New Zealand laughed and slapped his brothers sweaty bare leg lovingly. "There ya go bro, she'll come right! Crook my ass!"

"It's Dinky-di, how's bout you give it a burl instead mate." Australia laughed weakly in reply as he finished draining the glass of its contents, handing it back to England who just looked confused.

"Yeah...nar, I'm sweet as."

"Too right."

Seriously, were they even speaking English anymore? He swore he could understand New Zealand just a moment ago. Honestly, it's like the lad could speak two languages at once.

"I'll fetch you some more water then." Arthur stated, squeezing his son's bare, muscular shoulder supportively before shuffling out of the parlour and disappearing down the hall, leaving the two brothers alone.

Silence passed between them for a few moments as the tanned older man struggled to get comfortable on the old, fancy couch. He was just so hot- it was unbearable.

"You sure you're right bro? You gave me one hell of a fright today." The smaller man stated seriously as he knelt down beside the couch and shuffled the cushions to help. Australia ran his hand shakily through his sweaty brown hair, slicking most of it it back quite efficiently. Those two ahoge just could be tamed!

"Yeah, cheers for that mate- you're a ripper. And I'm surviving- once this heatwave passes I'll be right as rain." The skippy replied before drew in a shallow, gasping breath for air. "Hey, do you care if I take my undies off- it's bloody hot in here!" Australia had already hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his blue boxer shorts and started to pull them down his legs when New Zealand stopped him.

"Ew, yes- keep your knickers on I don't wanna see your junk." He interjected quickly, face redding. "Ands it's bloody freezing as you loon. It's winter up here in this chillybin- Uncle Scotland had to lend me his jacket today." A shiver ran down his small frame as if to emphasis his point.

"Oh..."

More silence, a heavy, uncomfortable air had settled around the two. They both knew what was coming next- it had to be asked. Australia had to know.

"So...what's the damage...?" He finally asked, his voice low and cautious. New Zealand shifted awkwardly, his large eyes becoming sad and downcast.

"Look...bro, you're still not right, let's not talk abo-

"Zea." Australia cut him off dryly, his shaking hand moving to rest on his brothers. "Please mate, I need to know how many. It's important."

The younger nation struggled to meet his eyes, causing Australia to feel extremely worried and helpless. Please God be merciful.

New Zealand swallowed the lump in his own throat and nodded, his voice coming out just barely a whisper. "Y-yeah...Yeah..ok..I know. I was told it's about ...it's 811...so far..."

No...

What? How is that possible? That can't be right.

Silence! horrible, disgusting silence filled the void between the two as the information was digested.

Australia's eyes widened, his hand fell away from Zea's numbly as he lay back into the safety of the couch; his body over come with shock. How could this happen in only 8 days!? His brain struggled desperately to find an answer.

"Jesus bloody Christ.." He whispered, more to himself before he coughed dryly into his hand. No wonder he felt like utter kangaroo shit, his people were suffering far worse then he had realised. They were dying.

He was going to be sick.

"I'm sorry bro." New Zealand stood up and placed his pale hand on his brother's bare, sweaty shoulder to comfort him. I'm here for you. "I'm so sorry."

"...me too Zea, me too mate."

...

Chapter 1 or 2 complete! Poor Aus! Reviews would be great!

-So this is set in the horrid Australia heatwave of early 2009. The one that killed many and sparked one of Australia's most tragic recent events!

I also really love writing sick Aus!

Some slang terms:

Dag: Dork, Clown.

Cactus: Dead or Broken.

Crook: Quite ill.

Dinky-Di: The real thing/ Genuine.

She'll come right: It will get better/ become alright.

Dead Dingo's Donger: Dry

Yeah...nar: No meaning, used to fill in start of sentence / no.

Sweet as: Alright/ Awesome .

Too right: You're Right.

Cheers: Thank you.

Mate: Friend.

Ripper: Great.

Chillybin: Esky or Cooler.

Scotland says:

"Bliddy wanchany horrid breether i' mine, fit daar he!?"

- "Bloody wicked horrid brother of mine, how dare he!?"