England gets sick and is forced to stay in bed. It's a very tiring day... until Ireland shows up unexpectedly. Or is it even the actual Ireland? Another dream version of him perhaps?

I hope you guys enjoy this even if it's a little short!

England laid in bed, slipping in and out of consciousness. He had come down with an illness that left him bed-ridden for two days now. He assumed it was because he pushed himself too hard for the past week. This War was taking a lot of energy out of him. He wasn't sure how much longer he could last like this.

The illness was so dreadful, England couldn't think straight. It didn't help that the British nation couldn't tell whether he was awake or asleep. He was falling asleep and waking up every several minutes, he could bearly tell what hour it was, or if it was still the same day. He was very miserable, to say the least.

The rest of the members of the United Kingdom were so kind as to stay out of the house all day while England suffered. He had long since passed cursing out his brothers in his head. In his state and condition, he was surprised he even remembered his brothers' names.

England was so out of it, the sound of the front door opening didn't catch his attention. He was unaware that another person was in the house until he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He turned his head toward the door, wondering who the person was.

The footsteps stopped outside his door where they remained quiet for several moments. After another minute of complete silence, England grew annoyed.

"I know you're out there!" England groaned out loudly, "Stop messing around and show yourself!"

The door opened slowly, allowing a familiar red-head to enter. His green clothes were drench and dripping wet. The dirt that smeared his cheeks almost successfully covered the man's freckles. His boots were also covered with drying mud, tracking dirt all through the room.

The red-haired man crouched beside England's bed and stared at the blond laying before him. Looking into those empty green eyes, England knew who was in the house with him. He couldn't believe it.

"Irish Free State?"

"Hey, England," the Irishman said slowly. Once again, there was no emotion to his voice. His expression was as calm and still as the day he parted from the United Kingdom.

"What are you doing here?" England asked in disbelief rather than in agitation.

"I heard you were sick and thought I should visit."

"Have you come to see me in a weakened state and laugh at me?"

"England, there may be tension between us but I'm not like our brothers."

"You say that now."

"And I told you centuries ago that I wouldn't... Do you even remember what I told you then?"

"I'm doing good enough to even remember who you are."

The two were silent as the rain tapped against the window. England was still amazed Ireland even came to visit. It was true that the Irish nation was good at heart, but they were separated for almost a year now. It seemed too early for them to be nice to each other. Unless...

Am I dreaming...? England thought to himself as he stared up at Ireland. I must be. He would never visit me out of his own free will.

"Irish Free State... right?" England asked.

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Can you crawl into bed with me?"

There was a long pause before Ireland stuttered out, "Wh-What?"

"Lay next to me in bed. Like you use to do when we were little."

"E-England... That was a long time ago. Besides, that might not be a good idea."

"Why not?"

"If you haven't noticed, I'm soaked to the bone in rain water."

"And?"

"Your sheets will get wet, I'll make you cold, and your illness will probably get worse."

"You don't have to get under the blankets with me. You can just lay above them."

"You don't mind if the sheets get wet?"

"No. It's not a problem right now."

Ireland looked around the room while shifting his weight on his bent legs awkwardly. After a moment or two of this, Ireland sat on the bed and laid next to England. England moved closer to him, wrapping his arm over his brother's chest.

"I thought you wanted me to lay here. Not snuggle."

"I thought you knew better."

"Apparently not."

England rested his head on Ireland's chest, feeling the cold, wet moisture of the red-head's shirt against his warm cheek. His sleeve became damp from resting his arm over the rain-soaked shirt.

"How long were you out there?" England asked out of curiosity.

"About four hours."

"No wonder you're so cold and wet."

Ireland stayed silent as England continued to rest his head over Ireland's chest. Through the half unbuttoned shirt, England could feel how smooth Ireland's chest was. It wasn't muscular like Germany's but very flat like Italy's. Almost too flat.

His arm around Ireland, England could tell he was a bit skinnier since the last time they came in physical contact. He could almost feel his ribcage through the shirt.

Wow... He's really skinny... I wonder if he's been eating enough...

Ireland brought his right hand up to run his fingers through England's hair. His fingers were a little boney, several scars covering his hand. His nails were also chipped and broken, showing that they had not been taken care of. England only saw a glimpse of that hand before closing his eyes.

I'm sick... I probably just imagined it... Or my eyesight distorted his actual hand with something unpleasant...

England was soon able to relax from Ireland's touch. Though he could tell his older brother was feeling awkward doing this, it felt just as it did when they were young. England enjoyed it when Ireland ruffled his hair.

Though the shirt was saturated in rain water, England snuggled his head further into Ireland's chest. He could hear the Irishman's heartbeat and feel his chest rise and fall with his breathing. The shirt was quite thin so England was almost able to feel Ireland's very flesh.

"South..." England breathed out with a sigh.

"What is it, England?"

"...Kiss..." It wasn't a command but an uncertain request. England never asked for a kiss from Ireland. He could never bring himself to ask Ireland for something like that. Most of the time he didn't need to. Ireland usually initiated the kissing and other displays of affection.

"What was that?" Ireland asked, his voice faltering in uncertainty.

England blushed lightly at the question, thinking Ireland was teasing him into repeating his request.

"You heard me," England murmured, a little agitation in his tone.

"Are you sure? You could get me infected. You know that right?"

"You're the country of good luck. Chances are this illness will not effect you in the slightest."

The Irish nation mumbled something under his breath before pulling England's head up. England closed his eyes as he waited to feel his brother's lips brush against his. He wanted to feel the warmth and love Ireland gave him when they were close to each other.

When Ireland's lips touched England's, the younger nation was met with a strange feeling. Ireland's usual soft, warm lips were dry and cracked. The chapped lips were a little rough as they scratched across England's mouth.

What is this?

England opened his eyes to see a face slightly different from the one he's use to. There were shadows under Ireland's closed eyes. Not too dark but they were noticable. His red hair, though wet, was messier than usual. The colour from his face had almost completely drained, making his freckles more visible.

This was not Ireland's face. Those were not his lips. That hand wasn't his brother's. This body wasn't his. This wasn't Ireland.

Bad dream. Bad dream!

England tried to push away from this distorted version of Ireland, but the man quickly wrapped his arms around England. Due to the illness he was under, England didn't have enough strength to fight back.

Suddenly, England felt the man's tongue slip through his mouth. Repulsed, the British nation tried to bite the offending organ or pull away from the horrid mouth. Instead, the man persisted and even slipped some of his saliva into England's mouth. The Brit wanted to spit it out but his natural reflex forced him to swallow. England was disgusted with what was going on, and angered that he couldn't do anything about it.

Slowly, England felt his body weaken. He was losing the energy to struggle. His eyes became heavy as he tried to stay focused. He was growing numb by the minute.

The man's tongue finally slipped out and he watched as England slowly drifted off. England was forced to look up into those dark green eyes that should belong to his brother. Not this imposter trying to pass as Ireland.

England closed his eyes and, when he opened them again, the man was gone. England looked at his sheets to see that they weren't wet. He also looked at the floor of his room to find that the dirt was nowhere to be found.

What a horrible dream...

It wasn't until a few moments later that England realized he wasn't as tired as before. Intrigued, he reached over to his night stand to retrieve the thermometer, and check his temperature. After a few minutes, he pulled it out of his mouth and checked where the mercury stopped. He was amazed to see that his fever went down quite a bit.

The sound of the front door opening alerted England. He heard his three older brothers walk into the house noisily, laughing and joking about their day. The British nation relaxed, glad that his awful dream didn't become reality.

That's right... South would never let himself go to waste like that... The South in my dream was just a bad image... Hopefully, it won't happen again...

In case you're confused, England calls "Irish Free State" by his old nickname "South" because he thinks he's back in the dream world. Although, due to this Ireland not being the same as what England remembered, he freaks out and thinks it's a bad dream with this Ireland trying to violate him.