Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: I rated it M because I have the F word in there and am paranoid. If you're okay with that, read ahead!
England hated this. It was bad enough that he was feeling completely topsey turvey (he wouldn't be surprised if cows sprouted wings and migrated south for the winter), but if being ill wasn't bad enough, he had to be looked after by his brothers.
Many people would say that this is a loving gesture between family members, looking after the youngest and making them well again. But England's family...well...got along like politicians in the house of commons. And being right in the centre of it certainly wasn't helping his increasingly festering migraine.
"I keep tellin' ye'! Ah'm the eldest, so mah word goes!" Allistor barked over England who was, at the moment, huddled on a sofa with a thick, woollen blanket around him.
Ireland, who didn't often pick fights with Scotland, was arguing with him over whether they should give him another dose of medicine or not.
"Ye may say tha', bu' a' the end a' tha' day, he's still sick, so 'e needs 'is medicine!"
And finally, there was Wales, who, despite being the calmest of the isle brothers was quickly losing his temper.
"Will ya' all shaddap!" He roared, silencing Scotland and Ireland, and even making England jump slightly in the process.
"If 'e feels worse, we can give 'im more, but for now le's leave him to rest, alrigh'?"
The two brothers, despite being annoyed that they had argued about such a petty thing, and even more-so that they had to be stopped by Wales-the younger and calm one- eventually stopped glaring at each other and looked down somewhat sheepishly at their feet.
At that exact moment, northern Ireland burst through the front door with a shopping bag in hand, holding several items, and hurriedly closed the door behind him, shutting out the winter cold. Kicking off his shoes, he walked into the living room, and, upon sensing the atmosphere, asked slightly bemused,
"Bad moment?"
His grin was met with nothing but awkwardness, and so he quickly went to sorting out the purchased items in the kitchen.
"Les' get ya' up to bed then, aye?" Allistor hurriedly stated with a slight smirk on his lips, making his way over to Arthur.
The said nation, after realising that he was being lifted up bridal style by his brother, blushed in embarrassment and quickly found his voice, shouting,
"I can walk by my bloody self!"
Allistor, looking as disbelieving as possible, hurriedly placed him down, allowing him to stand and replied,
"Well, go on, do it then."
England, with a more determined look on his face than he felt, took a few wobbly steps, leaning heavily against the wall before the dizziness became unbearable and he slumped to the ground, landing on his knees and panting heavily.
"Told ye'." Scotland stated, leaning against the said wall, face no longer in amusement, but lined with seriousness and if one looked close enough, a slight hint of worry.
"If yer quite finished," Wales announced, making his way to help England, giving a slight glare to Scotland as he made his way past him, "I think it's time for some rest. Don' you Arthur?"
England, who was too pre-occupied trying to keep down whatever remnants of lunch remained in his stomach merely grumbled, unable to think up an insult or a reply-both of which seemed to currently be the same to him.
Noticing this, Scotland helped lift England up, an arm around each of the older brothers shoulders and half-carried, half-guided him to the bedroom, in which Ireland had dashed in to to prepare and warm for the sick nation.
After getting him settled down into a bed, with many mumbled curses and weak growls, England was decked in simple deep red and green plaid pyjamas, resting in bed with the blanket up to his chin, the fireplace glowing merrily at the foot of his room, radiating warmth.
Once all of the brothers had found a place in the large bedroom and were seated comfortably, northern Ireland-who was for once not bickering with southern Ireland- entered with multiple items on a tray, the said of which were: a thermometer (simple under the tongue type), a bottle of cough syrup, some ibuprofen, aspirin, a spoon, a bowl of cold water with a wash cloth and a glass of water.
Eyeing everything that was on the said tray, England stated,
"I really don't need all of that."
Ireland decided to pipe up this time.
"Of course ye do! Yer sick, an' so we need these to take care of ya!"
Grumbling, and swatting away any helping hands, England sat up, slightly deflated. He couldn't deny he felt like utter cow shit. His hair was wild and went out in every possible direction, but was greasy and damp with sweat from his brow. His face was flushed, yet his flesh was pale and quivered ever so slightly. Blazing emerald orbs were dulled and glassy, having become lacklustre. And he couldn't help but swallow every few moments with the pressing feeling that his stomach was about to all out reject him.
Taking his silence as acceptance, Dylan grabbed the thermometer off the tray, and, after Allistor gave Arthur a fake compliment, making his mouth hang open in shock and disbelief, he shoved the plastic sleeve on and placed it under England's tongue.
England, nearly gagging in the process, held it still under his tongue as his brothers continued to talk around him, waiting for the results.
"Whaddya think 'e did to make himself this sick?" Patrick asked, looking at the others.
"No clue." Seamus replied, folding his arms and leaning back into one of the many chairs the were placed around the room.
"Maybe 'e went out in this weather withou' proper clothin'." Dylan suggested, but was met with doubtful hrmms.
With a chuckle, Allistor piped up, "Maybe tha' American bastard gave 'im somethin'."
At the mention of Alfred, Arthur poised straightening, but as he was about to make a comment, Dylan placed a hand under his chin, making it stay firmly shut. With a glare aimed at his direction, unable to protest, England noticed that Wales was absorbed in the conversation again and slumped against the masses of pillows behind him, pouting.
Returning to the conversation, Wales listened in to the bickering beginning to arise with a passive face.
"Well even if he can be an utter arse, he'd be far too busy complainin' about 'imself now wouldn''t 'e?" Northern Ireland piped up, fuelling the rapidly heated debate.
"Bu' 'e's so obnoxious 'e wouldn' even know now would 'e?" Scotland retorted.
"Now obnoxious as 'e may be-" Ireland was cut off short in his reply by the beeping of the thermometer, and they all brought their attention back to a rather dishevelled and annoyed England.
Taking the thermometer out of his mouth before Wales could, and hiding a smirk, Scotland read out,
"39 degrees Celsius."
Inhaling through his teeth Wales picked up the ibuprofen and as he shook the bottle he spoke,
"You're going ta' stay in bed for a while now, an' no use in arguin', you'll just get yerself worked up more."
With a sigh, England sat up without the pillows support, mumbling embarrassed to the bed sheet,
"Alright then...sorry about the trouble."
They all seemed to perk up at this, exclaiming 'Don't worry!', 'We'll take care of ya!' and 'Everyone gets sick sometimes!'
Smiling slightly, Wales poured out the right amount and held the spoon to Arthur. Thankfully, to his great relief, England swallowed it all and downed the glass of water with the aspirin without complaint. The cough syrup however was another matter.
"Why do I have to take medicine for something I don't have?" England protested, brow furrowed and mouth pursed in a straight and determined line.
"It's ta preven' anythin' from developin'!" Ireland chirped, the brothers nodding in agreement.
"This is preposterous!" England exploded, "I don't even have a-" His rant was cut short as a wave of coughs racking his body, stopping his brothers in agreement as Scotland placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, waiting for the coughing to subside and then saying,
"What was that about not having a cough?"
"Bastard.." England muttered under his breath, wiping the tears growing at the corners of his eyes with the back of his sleeve-The brothers chuckling light heartedly as he now took the medicine without complaint.
Once Arthur was settled in bed with mountains of blankets, assuring them he'd boil to death before he froze, the brothers trickled out of the room, leaving only him and Scotland.
Opening a weary eyelid, Arthur looked up at his eldest brother in question as he placed a flannel in the cold water, ringed it, and once certain more water wouldn't pour out, carefully placed it on England's forehead.
"Why're you..?" England mumbled questioningly, his glazed eyes skimming over his brother who was perched on the side of his bed.
"Ta bring down your temperature of course." He answered, forcing Arthur's hands -of which were clumsily threatening to take the damp cloth off- back under the covers and tucking him in.
"I am your brother too after all..." Allistor whispered underneath his breath, thinking Arthur couldn't hear. But he could, all too well.
Upon realising the pain he caused his brother from slight rejection, he turned his head sideways and murmured a 'thank you', earning a smirk and snuff of air from his brother, as he felt the weight shift from the bed.
He was about to reach out, to ask for him not to leave him despite being the bloody united kingdom and on any other day he would cringe so hard from that action his face muscles would give out. But before he could protest, gentle fingers made their way through his hair in a soothing manner, relaxing him and making his eyelids droop with exhaustion.
Scotland, noticing this whispered,
"Ya can go to sleep, dinner won't be for a while."
Arthur, nodding weakly, letting the tug of sleep get a good grasp on him as he began to lose feeling and let his sight dim. A deep gentle voice accompanied him, humming him to sleep which only paused for a moment to state,
"I won't leave ya, so rest Arthur." Of which then hurriedly added,
"Sweet dreams."
Arthur slept contently.