A/N Well, I'm not dead! Those who are reading my story High School Drama, please don't freak out; I promise I haven't given up on it. Just a little writers block as I move into different fandoms and stuff. I'm thinking of something special planned for that one coming up... :3
So, I used the usual human names for England, France, Canada and America and used their classic stereotypes as well. This was inspired by my most wonderful and beautiful bae, justrunningwind, who gave me the idea ;) Anyway, I hope this doesn't suck! Enjoy!
Francis awoke to a cool rush of air on his back as the comforter on the bed he shared with his husband was thrown aside and said husband, Arthur, hurriedly staggered out of their bedroom. Francis blearily rubbed the sleep from his eyes as the bathroom light was flicked on and the door slammed shut. He could hear the muffled sound of Arthur retching violently, hopefully into the toilet.
Francis gave Arthur a few minutes before sighing as he pushed the rest of the comforter off of himself and reached for his silk robe, tying it around his waist. He heard the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running. Glancing at the clock beside the bed, it was 6:16 am on a Saturday morning. He brushed the long golden hair from his face with one smooth motion before stepping out of their bedroom and lightly tapping the back of his knuckles against the bathroom door. From the silence now coming from the bathroom, he assumed Arthur had finished.
"Mon amour, are you alright?" He called quietly, hoping that their boys had not woken up from all the commotion. He knew how upset they got when someone was sick.
When he got no response, Francis pushed the door open anyway, slipping in and closing the door behind him.
He was greeted with a truly awful looking Englishman who was leaning over the sink, his head in his hands. He had his back to Francis, but from what he could see in the mirror above the sink, he looked pale and sickly. Francis' heart hurt to look at his usually so proud and dignified Arthur looking like an utter mess.
Francis stepped behind his lover and slide his arms around his slim figure. He could feel him trembling, a common reaction to vomiting, but also that he felt incredibly hot.
"Arthur, mon cher, es-tu malade? You were fine yesterday…"
Arthur groaned and lifted his head out of his hands, looking at himself and the man wrapped around him in the mirror. He scowled at his dishevelled appearance and pushed himself out of the Frenchman's hold, although he wanted nothing more than to wrap himself tighter in Francis' arms for comfort. But he hated admitting he was sick. "I'm fine, frog. It must have just been something I ate."
Francis snorted quietly, "Like the food you made last night? I had known that it had not been edible."
Arthur glowered at his lover and turned to walk swiftly out of the bathroom, but stopped short as a strong wave of nausea crashed into him. His hand flew to cover his mouth and used the other to brace himself against the wall.
Francis smiled sadly at him and placed a hand on the small of Arthur's back, turning him into his chest. He tilted his head up slightly with a touch of his other hand and looked with pity into his dull emerald green eyes. He then reached up and placed his forearm on his forehead. Arthur sighed but didn't move away, even leaning into Francis' gentle touch.
"Arthur, I think you have the stomach flu," He said, feeling the astonishingly hot skin of the man in front of him. "You have a fever."
Arthur scoffed, but said nothing and allowed the Frenchman to lead him out of the bathroom, back towards their bedroom. As they entered, Arthur pulled himself away from Francis and fell onto the bed, groaning as he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.
"Rest, mon amour," Francis muttered as he pulled the comforter over his husband. He leaned down and kissed Arthur's hot forehead softly. "I will go and make you some tea."
As Francis made to pull away, Arthur reached up and grabbed his pajama shirt sleeve. "Stay?" He asked quietly, his eyes darting away from Francis' blue ones in embarrassment. He felt so childish, asking for such attention.
Francis smiled and cupped Arthur's cheek with his hand. "I will only be gone une minute, mon lapin."
As Francis pulled away and strode out of the room, he heard a quiet: "Yorkshire Gold, please."
He smiled at how cute his partner could be, expectedly when he was sick, and entered the kitchen, where he proceeded to make the specified tea with two sugars, just as he knew Arthur liked.
The sound of a slamming door startled the young boy out of his sleep. Seven-year-old Alfred sat up and rubbed his eyes but froze when he heard a scary sound coming from the bathroom. He leaned over the railing of the bunk bed he and his brother shared.
"Psst, Mattie!" Matthew, younger than his brother by two years, squeezed his eyes shut tight as he heard his brother whisper to him through the early morning darkness. "Psssssst! Matthew!"
"Go back to sleep, Al," He muttered, turning over to face the wall and covering his head with his blanket. "It's Saturday…"
He felt the bunk bed shake and move as Alfred moved to where the ladder was before simply jumping off like usual and landing with a soft thump on the carpeted floor. Alfred then padded over to where his brother was on the lower bunk before climbing onto the mattress and shaking his irritated younger sibling.
"But Mattie, listen!" He said urgently, and Matthew heard the anxiety in his voice. "Don't you hear it?"
Opening his eyes and sitting up, he pushed the blanket off of him and he listened for any sounds coming from outside their closed bedroom door. Then he heard what Alfred was referring to, the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up. His stomach dropped and he covered his ears with his hands, hating the horrible sound.
"I think it's Daddy," Alfred whispered after a few minutes, hearing the toilet flush. "What should we do?"
Matthew slowly uncovered his ears and heard a light tapping on the bathroom door before the soft words of his other father. "I think Papa's gone to see if he's okay."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, waiting for something more to happen. A couple minutes later, they heard the twist of the doorknob open the bathroom door and the floor creak under the weight of the two men outside their bedroom. It sounded like they returned to their room and a few moments later, one of them, probably Papa, exited the room once again and headed into the kitchen.
"I'm scared, Al," Matthew whispered quietly, hugging his favourite stuffed polar bear close. "What if Daddy's not okay?"
"Don't be scared, Mattie!" Alfred whispered back, taking Matthew's hand and pulling him off the mattress and towards the door of their room. "Let's go check on them! It's my duty, as the hero!"
Not feeling very consoled, Matthew allowed his brother to pull him to the door. Alfred pulled the door open and tiptoed outside, Matthew mimicking him as they padded towards their parents' bedroom.
When they arrived, the two boys quietly peeked around the corner of the door frame. They saw their sickly pale looking father lying on his back. He had the blankets curled around him tightly, but he still looked to be shivering as if from cold, though Matthew thought it wasn't cold in the house at all!
He tugged his brothers' hand and pulled him away from the door and a little way down the hallway. "Al, did you see him?"
"Yeah… He looks really bad!" The elder of the two said, biting his lip. Even though he was trying to hide it, Matthew could tell that his brother was quite worried. "Maybe he's dying…!" He added in a rushed whisper, his eyebrows furrowing anxiously.
Matthew's eyes widened in fear. "D-dying?!"
"Ah, mes garçons, bon matin," Both boys looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of their papa. He was carrying a tray with a cup of steaming liquid as he stepped out of the kitchen.
Francis noticed his boys' anxious expressions and turned to set the tray on the dining room table before kneeling down to their level and beckoned them towards himself. Immediately, the boys rushed forward into their papa's outstretched arms and Matthew burst into tears.
"Now, now, mes chers, what is troubling you?" Francis cooed, hugging his boys tightly. He thought he already knew the answer and was proven right by Alfred's slightly muffled voice.
"What's the matter with Daddy, Papa?" He wasn't crying like his brother but his voice was thick like he wanted to be. "Is he really sick?"
"Il ne va pas mourir, oui?!" Matthew wailed in his first language, much louder than his usual quiet way of speaking. He clutched Francis' nightshirt tightly with one small fist while the other held his precious polar bear.
Francis smiled softly at the conclusions the boys had come up with on their own. He ruffled Alfred's hair gently and slid him out of his arm. He then shifted Matthew in his arms so that when he stood up a few moments later, he brought him up with him, stuffed bear and all.
"Your daddy is not feeling very well this morning, but he will not be dying anytime soon," Francis assured a sniffling Matthew, wiping a thumb over his tear streaked cheek, light smile ever present across his graceful features. He dropped that same hand down to touch Alfred's head; the young boy was gripping onto Francis' pajama pant leg and looked up at his father when he felt his fingers in his hair.
"I was about to bring him some tea," Francis told his eldest son, shifting Matthew into a more comfortable position. Matthew leaned his head against his papa's shoulder and slipped his thumb into his mouth. "Would you like to carry the tray for me? Your daddy needs a little hero right now."
Alfred's young features creased into excited determination at his father's request. He nodded confidently, his anxiety dissipating. "Sure!"
Francis helped guide the tray off the table and into Alfred's small arms. "Careful now, mon cher. Avec la douceur…"
With the tray firmly secure in Alfred's arms, the trio made their way down the hallway and into the master bedroom.
Arthur was already sitting up, the extra pillow he usually kept between his legs when he was sleeping propped up to support his back against the headboard. Despite being upright, he didn't appear to look better to the Frenchman, his features displaying almost a green hue of sickness.
"Hey now, what's with all the commotion out there," Arthur asked, giving a tiny weak grin at his family. His voice sounded hoarse and strained.
"Here's your tea, Daddy!" Alfred exclaimed, holding out the tray with the balanced cup and saucer to his father, looking very proud of himself. A bit of tea had run over the edge of the cup from the jostling of the young boy.
"Thank you, Alfred," Arthur said gratefully and took the tray from his son, setting it on his lap and taking the cup in his hands. Even though the mere thought of drinking the strongly scented drink made his stomach roll with nausea, he knew it would make his feel a little better in the long run, so he forced himself to take a couple deep sips.
Now free of the tray, Alfred clambered onto the tall bed, shaking it a bit. The sudden movement caused the cup full of hot liquid in Arthur's hand to spill yet again, but only onto the tray.
"Faire attention, Alfred," Francis told him, sitting down on the edge of the bed with Matthew still in his arms. Alfred rolled his eyes at his Papa dramatically which earned him a stern look from his other father.
"Watch the attitude, young man," Arthur said, raising a thick eyebrow at his eldest son. "Sickness doesn't change any rules around here."
Now with most of the tea consumed, Arthur thanked his family once again and handed to tray back to Francis, who placed Matthew on the bed with Alfred before taking it and standing up.
"I will be right back," He assured mostly the young boys, sending a wink Arthur's way before ducking out the doorway to return the tray to the kitchen. Arthur rolled his eyes at the Frenchman's antics as he left.
"Daddy!" Alfred exclaimed, now excited again, missing Arthur's own eye roll. He stood up and began jumping on the bed. "Are you better now that you had tea?!"
Arthur groaned and clutched his abdomen as the bed shook with the force of the young boy, another wave of nausea hitting him like a freight train. "N-not quite, Alfred. Please refrain from jumping right now, okay?"
His expression changing into worry again, Alfred dropped down from his last jump with a hard thump on the bed. With Matthew trailing behind him, he crawled across the bed and his father's legs until he was in his lap. Matthew didn't crawl on top of his daddy, only along his legs and to his side.
"Are you hurting, Daddy?" Matthew asked, tears filling his eyes again as he looked at his father.
"I'm sorry!" Alfred cried, hugging Arthur around the middle, much to the grown man's discomfort. He couldn't bring himself to push him away, though. "Is there anything you want us to do? We can be your heroes today!"
Arthur smiled warmly at them, pulling both his boys into a hug. "Thank you, sweetheart, but isn't Uncle Antonio and Uncle Gilbert taking you lads out for today?" Antonio and Gilbert were very close friends of Francis'. So much so that the boys called the both of them their 'uncles'. "You wouldn't want to be staying home with your sick dad instead of going out, would you?"
Alfred's eyebrows furrowed as he remembered about the planned outing. Matthew piped up from his father's arms: "But what will happen if we go? What if you get sicker while we are gone and have to go to the hospital?!"
Immediately distressed once again, both boys began talking at once, spiking Arthur's headache.
"Boys, boys. Du calme," Francis' smooth voice rose from the doorway as he walked into the room once again. Alfred and Matthew's attention turned to their other father and they scurried over to him. Arthur mouthed a thank you to his husband over his children's shoulders. "I will be here with Daddy to take care of him."
Matthew held his small arms up to Francis, indicating that he wished to be picked up. Francis complied, hoisting the young boy up into his arms once again.
"All by yourself?" Alfred asked, tugging at Francis' sleeve.
Francis smiled and reached down with his free arm, motioning for Alfred to come to him. Alfred grinned and jumped up into his father's waiting arm, almost knocking the Frenchman over. Alfred wrapped his arms around Francis' neck to help hold himself up.
"Absolutely, mon cher," Francis said, walking with his two sons out of the room and into their own. "I have got it all looked after here. Now. Where did Uncle Toni say he was taking you two today?"
Arthur smiled as the trio disappeared into the hallway and Alfred began talking excitedly, previous concern leaving his short attention span. It never ceased to amazing the Brit at how well Francis could handle the boys. He always knew just what to say to quiet their cries and to make them laugh. Unlike himself, Francis was truly a people's person, able to perfectly sense the mood and act appropriately. Arthur felt like the two of them were total opposites in many ways, that being one of them. But as they say: opposites attract.
Arthur sighed and sunk down into the sheets of the king-sized bed he shared with his husband. He hated being sick; he thought it seemed like a bad example for the boys.
"Désolé, mon amour," His Frenchman entered their bedroom with his usual graceful saunter, now free of the two boys. "I did not think they would be up so early."
Arthur just grunted in response, pulling the blanket over his head as a chill ran through him and he began to shiver again. He felt the bed depress as Francis sat on the edge and settled his hand on Arthur's covered leg, rubbing it soothingly. Although Arthur would never admit it, he always craved attention when he felt sickly and instantly felt comforted by Francis' gentle touch. Francis seemed to know that too without him ever having mentioned it, the bastard.
"When are your idiotic friends coming to get the boys?" He asked finally, his voice stifled by the bedding over him.
Francis laughed lightly, a sweet tinkling laugh that made Arthur's lips twitch into the smallest of smiles despite his discomfort. "They will be here at ten."
"Mm, okay."
A couple moments passed before either man moved again, the only sounds to be heard were the ticking of Francis' bedside alarm clock and the quiet sounds of Alfred and Matthew bustling about in their own room. It was Francis that broke the stillness first by leaning over his lover and beginning to dig at the edge of the blankets where Arthur's face was hidden to bring it into view.
Arthur groaned quietly in protest, scrunching his eyes shut tightly as Francis laid down next to him on top of the blankets. He pulled the covers away just enough so that his forehead and eyes were visible before leaning close and touching his own forehead to Arthur's. Francis was always one for physical affection.
"How are you feeling, mon beau?" He muttered, kissing the fevered brow of the man beside him.
"Don't call me 'beautiful', Frog, especially not now," Arthur grumbled, contradicting his unhappy tone by snuggling into the Frenchman and sighing contently when Francis' arm was draped over his shivering form, pulling him closer.
"You are beautiful, no matter what," Francis whispered into Arthur's short blond hair, tightening his hold on Arthur's blanket covered back. "I wish you could see it…"
Arthur gave a tiny snort of laughter and rolled his eyes. "You're hilarious. I'm feeling bloody awful, by the way, thank you for asking."
"That's too bad," Francis muttered with a more seductive tone than before and Arthur felt the urge to roll his eyes once more. "With the boys going out for the afternoon and evening, I was hoping for a little…adult time… ce soir, non?"
"Oh yes, that is too bad," Arthur replied, lifting his head to look into those mischievous azure eyes. "It seems your partner for said activities is out of order."
"Maybe you will be up to it a little later, mon trésor," Francis smiled and kissed the tip of Arthur's nose, making him blush slightly from the simple act and bury his face into Francis' chest.
"Gah, you're terrible," Arthur muttered, a small smile working its way onto his face. "The pet names alone…"
"Oui, but you love it." Francis stated, running his hand through Arthur's tousled locks.
"…Whatever, you insufferable git. Now hug me."
"With pleasure, mon amour."