This is my first fanfiction, so it's probably not as good as it should be. There will be no boyXboy pairs, just a flirtatious Francis. Warning: Sick!America, Confederate!Prussia.
Arthur,
So it's been awhile since I've talked to you and I know we're on a bit of rough ground since the war of 1812. Obviously you're not one of my favorite people to be around, and your food sucks, but I'm calling you in my time of need. From what I know, British health care is the best. After all, who helped me after the winter of 1609? It would've been the end of me if you weren't there. So let me tell you what's wrong. There's been a voice in my head, like another awesome part of me that I never even knew I had. It's a bad thing; this voice argues with me primarily about state's rights and I think a civil war is about to happen. No amount of McDonalds will help me (trust me, I've tried). I plan on coming over tomorrow after Lincoln is sworn in to be president. Please, do anything in your power to help me!
-Alfred
My hand quivers as I read the hastily written note. My initial surprise wasn't that a supposedly illiterate bloke could scribble out a measly sentence, but that he was asking me to help him. Well it makes logical sense, my achievements and exploits in the medical field being the best in the world. Not to mention my expertise's in the dark arts. Or maybe Alfred still cares about me, and trusts that I can give him a suitable remedy- no, that's absurd. I burnt down his bloody White House for Pete's sake! He could never forgive me after the numerous navel attacks and my banishment of British criminals to Georgia. I really mustn't ponder on the matter right now. There are countless things I need to accomplish to find dear Alfred a cure to his ailment.
For the rest of the night, I scour my massive library of remedial science, collecting a few tidbits of information that could possibly help the little twit. The next morning, I greet Alfred at the door. His condition is worse than I thought, his skin is white a pasty, with a slight tint of green, barely noticeable. He quivers and shakes, as if he was frozen for a fortnight on end. When I look into his bloodshot eyes, it comes to my realization that Alfred's days may be numbered. All this time I have loved him so dearly, acting like an older sibling towards him since i found him that day. I shan't lose him now. "Come right in old chap." I say, expressing my British hospitality. He can't see how much I'm worried about him. "Sit down and I will do what I can to rid you of your affliction."
"T-thanks Iggy." Alfred stutters as he makes his way to the blue cashmere sofa in the parlor. A spell pops into my mind. I've been itching to do it for a while, but there have been no countries that have recently had these problems. I dont want to hurt him, but it's imminent. Yes. Flying Mint Bunny approves of this also, but first I must get some help from a few mates. "Onhonhon! Did I hear someone say 'mate'?" Francis appears out of nowhere. "SHUT UP AND GET OUT OF HERE YOU BLODDY FROG!" I scream at him harshly. "You know you want me, love. Onhonhonhon!" He walks out laughing, as only a insolent Frenchman would. "Wanker." I mutter under my breath. I don't need that git messing with me at Alfred's time of need. I shall call Roderich and Elizabeta to help me. Roderich will not be much help, but Elizabeta's skillet is the better than any of my knockout pills. She also drabbles in the dark arts too, one of her good friends being Romania and all. A bloodcurdling scream comes from Alfred, giving me a fright. I try to calm him down but he seems to be in an uncontrollable fit of rage. Oh dear, I must call them quickly.