There Germany was, the taller blond nation clad only in a black wife-beater and a pair of boxers and meekly vomiting up his last meal. His skin was clammy and shone with sweat, his clothing soaked through and his hair drenched. His cheeks blazed red as his body sagged, his gut forcing him to heave, again. Nothing came out, but the torment continued for a good minute before Ludwig's grip slackened on the porcelain seat. He was unconscious before his body touched the cool, tiled floor.
Arthur was faster then he thought he'd be, catching the younger nation's head before it could meet painfully with the tiles He contemplated setting his head down on the floor, but something told him that was a bad idea. Just kneeling near the other blond's head was enough for the Brit to feel the ungodly heat radiating off the German. A calloused hand resting across Germany's brow more then confirmed there was a fever raging out of control, and England simply sighed. Judging by the drying state of some of the vomit that ended up on the floor from poor aim or bad timing, this had been going on for hours.
"Come on, mate, wake up," the Brit sighed, for now resting the sweat-soaked head on his lap as he tried to rouse Ludwig. All he got was a tiny groan and a far-too-hot forehead pressing against his hand, the German still very unconscious. England's frown deepened, his fingers instinctively brushing Germany's bangs back soothingly as his mind pulled together information.
'It is flu season over here, isn't it?' The Brit mentally sighed. 'And from what I heard, it's been pretty bad this year. His economy hasn't been too hot, either...Bloody twat, never seen him so sick. Well, I've actually never seen him sick.'
"Where's the bleeding thermometer?" England grunted, his previous rage fading quickly since being stuck over the john making pavement pizzas was a fair reason to miss a meeting. It took quite a bit of awkwardly shifting through the medicine cabinet while glancing back at the nation passed out on the tiled bathroom floor to find the small device.
Arthur visibly blanched from reading the temperature as his eyes flicked down at the German who was once more resting his head on a smartly dressed lap. Even for a country, whose body survived more then any human could, it was high. It was approaching extremely recent post-wartime levels, which was more then enough cause for worry. Cursing softly under his breath, England felt his mother hen side kick down the mental door it waited behind and started barking orders to the rest of his head. The island nation could almost feel his parental instincts seize control of his arms and legs, but after years and years of knowing himself, the Brit just when with it, letting his more worried side take over.
By the time his inner 'mother' was satisfied enough to stop making him hustle around the room like a madman, the puddles of vomit were scrubbed of the tiles, Germany was resting in a cool bath, his sweaty clothing and sheets removed and placed in the hamper, and fresh sheets neatly replacing them with a clean pair of clothes waiting to replace the ones the German had been wearing. England finally let his body settle back to a more controlled type of caring as her perched himself of the edge of the tub. The other nation had yet to stir, a towel cushioning his head and keeping it from slipping underwater.
England had long removed his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up, and he was already looking a bit stressed out. He didn't know how many pandemics, plagues, and mass illnesses he'd lived through during his time as England. He'd only been this bad off a handful of times. After another tentative search to make sure there weren't any buboes that his personal paranoia kept saying might be there, he let his fingers rest on the younger nation's sweaty brow.
"First time you've been this bad, eh? Forget you're not that far over 100 as far as being a full-blow nation goes. You've probably been around longer, Prussia never stopped bragging about you back in the 1700s after... A-After America gained independence," the Brit sighed. He resisted the urge to touch the wounds from that war that had left small, faint scars, or the embarrassing one Alfred had given him the second his army was announced to have surrendered. He shook the thoughts away, talking to an unconscious man was oddly more appealing then being lost in thought. "Anyway, I don't think I've seen you sick like this, before. Even after those wars... Kept chugging right along with maybe a head cold."
He just kept talking for God knows how long, his voice taking a soothing tone as his fingers moved to easily running through the light blond tresses that were slicked back on Germany's head from sweating instead of gel. The Brit could feel the German shuddering from the cool bathwater, but his fever was too high for his liking, and in needed to go down at least a degree. He wasn't sure how, but at one point, he'd drained the tub, towel dried the unconscious country, dressed him in the pajamas he'd found, and tucked him into bed all without stopping the steady flow of one of his old folksongs.
"-and there I was, the Kraken wrapped 'round the haul and knocking men into the water left and right! I had to launch my plan quickly, or I'd loose my ship and the rest of my crew. So we-" The Birt had somehow managed to get to telling stories of his pirating days by the time a small groan left Germany's cracked lips. He felt the man's head shift a little under his hand earlier, turning to his voice, but he didn't seem to care. Or just though it was the younger nation's sleeping body trying to get more access to his thin fingers that were comfortingly cool. He let the story drop when actual words were spoken.
"A-Arthur...?"