My first Hetalia fanfic! I hope you all like it! :-D

Alfred = America

Francis = France

Arthur = Britain

Ivan = Russia

Cover picture belongs to its rightful owner and creator respectively

"Hey, France! Dude, like, over here!"

The personification of France turned around to see America stood behind him. He sighed.

"Oui, America? What is it?"

"Have you noticed that Britain's not here?"

France looked around and indeed noticed that the stubborn, big-browed, tea-drinking nation wasn't there.

"Why should zhat be a problem, Alfred?" Francis sighed. "That stupid, sassy, 'I'm-superior-to-everyone' idiot can deal with 'is own problems."

"Dude, he's always early and he hasn't been at our meetings for weeks!"

"You are worried that something has 'appended to him?"

"Yeah, it's too suspicious since Scotland's wanting to go independent, man!"

"Ah, oui,'e does, doesn't 'e?" France mused, stroking the stubble on his chin. "We should go and find 'im, then, mon ami."

"Uh, duh! C'mon, dude, let's go!"

"Oui, oui, I am coming, Alfred..." Francis sighed again and followed the eager American out of the Meeting Room.

However, they were stopped by a giant man with violet eyes with a strange smile.

"Alfredka, where are you going? The meeting will be soon, da?"

"Oh, Ivan... Me and Francis are just off to get Arthur. Have you seen him?"

Ivan simply smiled and a strange purple aura started to glow around him. He giggled and held up his 'Magic Metal Pipe of Pain', eyes glowing.

"Oh, uh, we're gonna go! C'mon, Francis!"

"Oh, no, Alfredka... I think Arthur will be just fine... After all, he was just so... helpless..."

"Dude, I-I think we're gonna go now!" Alfred pushed past the Russian, pulling Francis with him, and all Ivan did was chuckle.

"That guy creeps me out, man!" Alfred shuddered as the pair burst out onto the crowded streets of London.

"Oui..." Francis sighed, running a hand through his blonde locks. "I wonder if he did something to hurt Arthur."

"If he has, I'll be the Hero and save him!"

"Oui... Let us go to his house."

"Maybe he overslept, man."

"Knowing that stupid, stuck-up, stiff, neat, sour puss, he's not going to oversleep."

"Oh."

"Arthur!" America banged on his door loudly. "Arthur, dude, are you in there, man?"

No response.

"Arthur, please open up! C'mon!"

Francis's eyes widened. "Maybe Russia did 'urt 'im!"

Alfred slammed against the door, pushing through with all his might to get it to open.

"Arthur! I'm comin', man!"

The door pushed through and the Brit's allies stormed through. They looked into the lounge. They pushed up the stairs, through the nearest door.

"Arthur..."

The sight before them was horrendous. Bottles lay smashed and discarded all over his room, brown liquid staining the floor a grotesque colour. Objects of no identity were smashed near where the body of a young man lay unmoving and lifeless on the floor.

"Merde!" Francis swore, running forward to kneel beside the man's unconscious body. "Arthur, what on Earth...?"

"I'll call 911!" Alfred yelled.

"999, you stupid American! 999! We're not in America!"

"Fine!"

Then a moan was heard and Francis looked down to see England/Britain slowly open his eyes.

"Arthur?" Francis asked. "Can 'ou hear moi?"

"Stupid..." Arthur slurred. "...frog."

"At least he's awake..." France rolled his eyes.

"Can we pick him up?" America was knelt beside him now, eyes filled with worry. "Is it safe?"

"If we're careful..." Francis replied, and he and the other man gently picked Arthur up and, manoeuvring around the scattered debris as best as they could, placed him on his bad. Arthur moaned and clenched a fist as he opened his mouth to speak, eyes half closed.

"Why didn't you leave me on the floor?"

Both countries were stunned. They knew that the conflicting views on the Brit's brother's desire for independence was affecting him and making him ill, as much affairs did with other countries. Scotland was also ill, as was wales and Northern Ireland, the friction growing on the issue was getting worse everyday and would continue to do so for a long time after the Referendum had been held. America sat down gently next to Arthur's feet.

"Dude, we know you're all sick; we ain't gonna leave you like this, are we?"

"Everyone else has... You made me sick when you left yourself, therefore you have no idea what you're talking about."

Alfred gasped and frowned, turning his head away. Francis shook his head and sat down on the other side of Arthur, placing a warm hand on his cold head.

"Don't been ridiculous, mon lapin... Alfred is only trying to help. We were concerned for you, we thought that Ivan had hurt you in some way."

"It would be better than this... Half of my brother's people want to leave me and the other half doesn't. We're all fucked up..."

"Listen, Arthur," Alfred was looking at him now. "Whatever happens, the USA will stick by you, man. My boss doesn't want the union to go."

"Oui, neither does mine," Francis added.

"If your bro Scotland decides to leave, that's his choice, let his bosses mess it up and watch as they come back crying for help."

"All this has to happen before the bloody Election, and Russia in Ukraine. Why?" Arthur moaned, lifting his hands up to cover his face. Francis placed a hand on top of them and shook his head.

"I do not know, why, but know that we don't want the Union to fall."

"Oh, shut it, you bloody pervert," Arthur cursed, but he was laughing. However, his face went white and he sat up. "Oh, God... I'm going to throw up!"

He pushed himself off of the bed, but stumbled and fell. Alfred dashed past to go to the bathroom and came back with a bucket that Arthur used to hold his cleaning tools, which now were scattered on the floor. He dashed back into the room and held the bucket to Arthur's face as Francis, now knelt on the floor again, pulled the Brit up and held him from behind, pushing back his hair as the man vomited violently into the bucket just in time.

Alfred's nose twitched in grimace at the sight and sounds emitting from the bucket but held his tact for once while Francis simply supported the brit as he vomited and cried spent tears into it.

"I'm so sorry, Arthur..." the Frenchman whispered. "Je suis désolé.."

"Curse Scotland for this..." Alfred spat. "I'm so sorry, man." He placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"I know," was the Brit's muffled reply. "I know."