Hi there. I'm not sure what else to say besides that this is my first real fanfiction, and I hope you enjoy. ^^
I don't own the Hetalia characters.
Why am I even doing this…?
Before he'd known it, Britain found himself standing before America's front door. Under any normal circumstances, the Brit would expectedly be the last person found visiting the latter nation, especially during such a stormy day.
But of course, these weren't any normal circumstances.
America hadn't shown up to the world meeting.
Without the loud, enthusiastic country present, the meeting had proceeded with a sense of solemn yet almost empty energy. When it had concluded, there were several speculations as to why the US hadn't shown up, the most popular being laziness.
At the time, Britain couldn't envision himself being the one to drive all the way down to America's home, yet after an embarrassing, ill-timed argument with France in front of some other countries, Britain found himself taking on the role of checking up on America to prove or disprove the assumptions. Although he wouldn't have dared admit it in front of the other countries, the argument had sparked slight concern for the missing America,
"Ah, that lazy American! I should wonder what his excuse is…"
"He probably slept in late and couldn't be bothered to show up…"
"He never missed a meeting before, wonder what happened to him…"
Britain stood up as the meeting concluded and was met with a din of questions over his former colony's absence. Not in the mood to join in with his own comments on the matter, he began to make his way to the door before his name was suddenly called in an infuriatingly familiar voice:
"Leaving so soon, Britain? We thought you might have some idea where the silly American went off to today."
The nation sighed without turning to face his lifelong rival, "Honestly, I don't see why it's such a big deal." He replied.
"Do you think he just couldn't be bothered?" he heard China inquire before turning around to see them.
"Well, I don't know about that. I haven't known America to skip out on a meeting," Japan answered quietly.
"Well, he's not here now, so I don't see why it seems to be such a big deal." Britain huffed irritably, turning toward the exit again.
"It's surprising to hear you say that, mon ami, I thought you'd be a little more concerned for the nation you raised…" France said, almost mischievously.
Britain whirled around to glare at him, "Exactly what business is that of yours, frog?" he snapped.
France shrugged casually, "Calm down, mon ami, if you didn't want to admit your sexual tensions then you don't have to get so worked up about it." His comment caused the other nation to bristle in anger, but he went on, "I am just saying; did America not show up because he is dying perhaps?"
Britain froze, rendered speechless for a few seconds, "And…and what's to say that he is, frog? He looked perfectly fine at the last meeting!"
France shrugged, "So much could have happened since the last meeting." He said vaguely, seeming to enjoy the look on conflict on his enemy's face.
"No, it doesn't seem likely." China spoke up.
"Yes but, this is the first meeting America has missed," Japan implied grimly, "It is a bit worrisome."
"Aha, you are worried, are you not Britain?" France chimed in, looking almost eager for Britain's reaction. The other country looked like he was visibly restraining himself from throwing himself at the provoking nation.
Instead he looked away, almost ashamed or embarrassed by his reply, "So what if he is? He's independent and fully capable of taking care of himself," He crossed his arms, "If he is dying it's his own fault." He added harshly.
"Well, it was only a speculation." France said, shooting Britain a triumphant look, "And like you said, if he is dying, it's on him."
Britain stared steadily at France with a gaze threaded with hostility. Suddenly, he noticed Canada for the first time since the meeting started, still sitting at the table behind France. The younger country seemed to flinch at France's comment, and continued to stare downward at his bear. Britain stared questioningly at him, but the shy country never looked up to meet his gaze.
Japan and China gazed at him questioningly, and Britain rolled his eyes at the taunting France. The nation smiled deviously at him, to which Britain turned his back again and promptly left the room.
Not too long after, he found himself in his car, on route to America's home.
Britain rapped sharply on the front door, and waited almost impatiently for an answer.
If he really was too lazy to show up, I'll thrash him. Britain thought irritably. All because of some thoughtless comment from a less-than-desirable person, he was standing outside the house of his former colony in the freezing rain with the reluctant need to check up on him. Britain continually looked behind him, as if he expected to see France or someone else witnessing his presence at the obnoxious American's home, and sighed.
Almost two minutes had gone by before Britain tried knocking again. Another two minutes, again unanswered…Just open the damn door already.
Britain grabbed the doorknob as if in an attempt to break open the door, but realized with surprise that the door wasn't locked. Quietly, he let himself in and gazed around the room.
The air of the whole house seemed…depleted, diminished, somber…completely the opposite of what he had expected of the normally optimistic nation. It was almost completely silent, save for the steady drum of rain on the windows and roof. Everything had a feeling of stillness, as if nothing in the room had been disturbed in quite a while. Britain found the whole uncharacteristic atmosphere eerie, and quietly made his way to the stairway, "America…?" he called softly toward the second floor, as he began to ascend toward it.
He made his way into America's room, which he'd assume would have some kind of America-like energy radiating through it, but it too had the dismal atmosphere akin to the rest of the house. However, Britain noticed the ravaged bedsheets on America's bed, as if they had been kicked off in a hurry. Turning a little, Britain saw the bathroom door flung wide open, and a shadow cast in the doorway. He made his way slowly toward the entrance, his unwanted worry growing with each step,
"America?" he called as he walked into the small white room. He looked down to behold the country in question, and gasped.
America, the strongest country and self-proclaimed hero of the world was currently curled up pitifully on the tiled bathroom floor, looking barely conscious and very uncomfortable.
Seeing no response to his voice, Britain kneeled down by America and gently shook his shoulder, "Hey, wake up already!" he called, receiving a sleepy look from the ailing nation.
America stared at him blearily for a moment, before blinking and attempting to sit up, "B-Britain! What the hell are you doing in my house?!" he cried, his voice grating painfully throughout the question.
Britain's expression of worry was immediately replaced with its usual air of annoyance, "You blew off the meeting today, America. Everyone was asking about you." He snapped, staring down at the younger nation sternly.
"The meeting…?" America asked blankly, and rubbed his forehead, "Oh…right…that was today…"
Britain sighed, "Yes, that was today, America." He confirmed wearily. He suddenly gave America a strange look, "What on earth are you doing on the floor anyway?"
America smiled rather painfully and shrugged, "What? A man can't sleep on his bathroom floor for once…?" he asked.
"Sleep on the floor…? You're not even trying to defend yourself." Britain muttered, "You look downright awful. Did you manage to get sick or something?"
America gave a small laugh, "What me? Of course not dude! The hero never gets sick!" As if to prove his statement, the nation attempted to stand up, but began visibly shaking and leaned into the wall. Britain was automatically poised to catch him if he fell, but America managed to trudge his way out of the room, leaning part of his weight on the wall. Suddenly, however, he fell against the wall and slipped down slowly, one hand holding his head.
"America!" Britain came forward and attempted to grab ahold of America, but the latter country struggled in his grip,
"Le'go…" he murmured, his breathing growing labored, "I dun need help…"
"Oh shut up with that already!" Britain snapped angrily, "You're obviously in no state to be walking around. Now if you could stop with your selfish sense of pride for once and allow me to help you to your bed at least…"
America stopped struggling, and sighed. Britain kneeled beside him, wrapping one arm around his body and pulling America's arm over his shoulder. He stood up with effort as America leaned into him, still attempting to walk in his weakened state, "You weigh a ton!" Britain commented as he supported the sickly country to his room. He finally reached the bedside after several awkward moments of supporting America's weight, and dropped him into bed. America quickly pulled the blankets over him and curled up, shutting his eyes tight.
Britain looked down at America, "Not so tough are we now?"
America sighed, looking up at him with lifeless blue eyes, "Shuddup…" he retorted weakly, rubbing his forehead again. He coughed painfully a few times, and Britain's gaze softened sympathetically,
"Now America…do you feel okay?" he asked quietly, gently touching the younger country's shoulder.
America sighed, "Of course I'm not, you had to freaking carry me into bed like some kid…" he muttered wearily.
"Why didn't you just call in to say you weren't going to show up?" Britain inquired. America seemed to shrug,
"Guess I never got around to it…" he rasped hesitantly.
Britain, looking unsatisfied with his answer, assumed it was only an attempt to hold onto his pride. Honestly, he couldn't imagine the egotistical country calling in for his absence and admitting to weakness, no matter how foolish it sounded to him.
America began coughing again, and all at once began shivering. Britain gave him an uneasy look, and found himself gently laying his hand across his former colony's forehead. At once, he felt a flashback to the times he made the exact same gesture to a little America, who even then looked in better condition than he did right now. He sighed, warding off the memories of the past to register an intense heat against his skin. He pulled back, and blinked at the ill nation, "How much water have you had today?" he asked, looking casually around the room.
America coughed, "N-none…I can't…" he trailed off, as if unwilling to admit something.
"You can't what?" Britain questioned, and America shrugged dully,
"Can't make it down the stairs…" he finished quietly.
Britain seemed a bit taken aback by the news, and gave the country a sharp look, "You can't make it down the stairs? How long has this been going on?"
America shrugged, "I dunno…maybe since yesterday…I couldn't really walk all the way to the bathroom without collapsing, much less down a flight of stairs…" he admitted reluctantly.
Britain sighed, "You idiot! You should have called someone before you let it get this bad!" he scolded, "Do you realize how serious your condition could get?" In a quieter voice, he added, "how are you supposed to be the hero when you can't even take care of yourself?"
America looked affected by his statement, and looked away.
Britain sighed, "Well, you're lucky I dragged myself over here. I'll get you some water and medicine if I can find any." Suddenly, he leaned forward and yanked the blankets off America's shivering body.
America immediately curled up in reaction to the sudden act, "H-hey! Dude, what'd you do that for?!"
Britain sighed irritably, "You're running a bad fever, and covering yourself up like that isn't going to help."
America shot him an exasperated look, "I'm cold though." He cried, much to Britain's annoyance,
"Of course you are, you're feverish. And you don't want it to get any worse, do you?" he snapped.
America huffed tiredly, "Fine, whatever…"
"Good boy." Britain said as he left downstairs.
Britain was able to find a few pills to lessen the symptoms of America's illness, but nothing seemed too reliable to heal his overall condition. He made his way upstairs with the water and pills in hand to find America curled up under the blankets again. Britain sighed in frustration, but let it go as he approached his former colony's bedside, "Here." He said, offering the water and medicine.
America opened his eyes, staring blankly at the items before they managed to register in his mind, "Oh…yeah…thanks…" he said quietly, and attempted to shakily lever himself up to a sitting position rather unsuccessfully. Britain slid an arm in behind him to help him prop himself up, and America gave him an odd look, "You mind?" he asked, and Britain shrugged and looked away irritably,
"I just don't want you to spill it on yourself…" he muttered as America downed a few of the pills. Even just holding the small water glass, Britain could see the younger country's hand trembling. Britain moved away from America, taking the glass and pills from him and set them on the small table near his bedside. America slipped down into a lying position again, trembling with cold.
Britain found his hand laying on his charge's forehead again, frowning at the results. He wasn't able to find a thermometer, but he didn't think America's temperature could be any lower than around 103 degrees…
As America dozed, Britain slipped into the nearby bathroom where the country had formerly been dozing and retrieved a washcloth, which he dampened with cold water and returned to America to place across his forehead.
Not seeing what else could be done while America slept, Britain made his way downstairs. He wasn't entirely convinced that America's illness was only a day or two old, and had some questions for a certain country he felt would know what was going on.
Picking up the telephone, he dialed the number and waited patiently as the other end rang a few times before the familiar soft voice came over the line, "Hello…?"
"Canada?" Britain addressed America's brother neutrally.
"B-Britain? Is that you?" Canada's soft voice inquired of the older country on the opposite line.
"Yes, it is, and I feel you know something about America." He prompted.
"America? Why…?"
"I'm at his house right now, Canada. Have you perhaps known that he was this sick?" Britain asked, and was met with a few seconds of tense silence on the other line.
"Oh…um…is he okay?" Canada asked hesitantly, sounding worried and the slightest bit of something else.
"I wouldn't say so," Britain replied grimly, "He can hardly walk and he's absolutely burning up. He says this hasn't been going on long, but I don't believe that for a second."
"…" Canada was silent for a minute before replying, "No…it's been…been going on for almost a week now…"
"A week!" Britain exclaimed, "Why isn't anything being done about this then? Why did you let him get this bad?"
"I didn't mean to!" Canada cried on the other end, "I really did try to help, and he wasn't that bad the first few days, and America told me he could take care of himself and to not worry over him…" He could almost see the look of despair on the other country's face on the opposite end, "I really tried to help…I never thought it would get this bad…"
Britain sighed, "It's all right, you don't need to blame yourself." That git. Why must he insist on doing everything himself? Britain cursed America silently.
"I guess…the least I could do is come over to help…" Canada offered.
"No, no…don't worry yourself. I'm here right now, and I've got it under control." Britain declined.
"Are…are you sure? I feel like I should do something…since I let him brush me off so easily…"
"Don't trouble yourself, I really do have things here." Britain said. After a brief goodbye from both ends, Britain hung up and left upstairs toward America's room.
He stopped once he heard an unpleasant, sickly noise echo from the bathroom. He rushed in to find America on the floor again, holding onto the toilet bowl and gagging painfully into it.
Britain tried to hide his look of disgust, and kneeled down by America, automatically rubbing circles into the sick nation's back.
After dry heaving for a few seconds, America closed his eyes and leaned back into Britain's arms, looking pallid and lifeless and alarmingly unlike himself.
Britain felt disturbed by the amounts of heat radiating from America's body, and attempted to lift him to his feet again, "C'mon America…" he consoled, struggling under the weight of his body, "use your legs…"
America shuddered, and rather dragged his feet along as Britain struggled with his body toward the bedroom, "That's it, we're almost there," he found himself saying. When he reached the bedside, he lowered America into it, replaced the wet washcloth in its former place on his head, and pulled the blankets over him again, "It's okay now…" he soothed, rather breathlessly from the ordeal, and took a seat by his bedside.
America didn't respond, but shuddered again.
Britain took America's hand, looking outright disturbed to see America like this. It was almost unnatural, inconceivable…for America to look so weak and ill. Strong, young America. Heroic, loudmouthed America.
Weak, vulnerable America…
America lay as still as a corpse in sleep, with the occasional twitch or jerk as his poor fevered mind traveled strange, frightening dreams. For a moment, Britain was transported back to a time where he fell at this very man's feet, defeated in battle, in war. The country who had broken their brotherhood stood over him, strong yet solemn. Victorious against the one who raised him…
And now…
That very same man lay before him, silenced and weak, and at once the memories of the past raced by.
Britain felt a lone tear slip from his eye, and hit the mattress where America lay.
Almost on cue, America seemed to stir. He spoke without opening his eyes, his voice weary and soft, "Bri…tain…"
Britain looked at him.
"You still…there…?" America whispered.
Britain nodded, "Yes America, I am…"
America's eyes fluttered momentarily, and he coughed several times before continuing, "Guess I'm…not so strong…after all…?"
"Come now," Britain said, "Even the strongest country can be weak for once."
America still lay there quietly, as if his silence was meant as a disagreement.
Britain sighed, "If you think that this one instance doesn't make you a strong country, then you're…" he paused, holding back the possible insults he could finish that sentence with, "…wrong."
America opened his eyes slowly, and glassy blue met with soft green, "Oh yeah…?"
"Yeah." Britain agreed, "Being…" he sighed, "being independent doesn't mean you're on your own…okay?"
America said nothing, and let his eyes close again. He coughed feebly a few times, and responded with a weak, "Okay."
Minutes of silence went by, with only the soft hum of the falling rain on the building and America's breathing to bring life to the scene. Time passed, and Britain found himself growing drowsy. His head lowered toward the bed, and soon he laid with his head next to America's, their hands still holding.
"Bri…tain…?"
America's tired voice broke into his doze, "What is it…?" Britain murmured.
"Stay here…okay…?" America whispered quietly.
"I will…" Britain agreed quietly.
There was silence for several more minutes, and both countries fell asleep together, their hands never separating.
America finally began to recover.
Meh, I hope the ending wasn't too cheesy. I tried to write it like it could be interpreted as either USUK or a platonic family relationship. XP
Reviews much appreciated.~