When America awoke the next morning, he was already wishing he could have the sore throat he'd dealt with the day before back (if it meant things would be better for him), as now, he was in much worse condition. Sure, his throat still hurt anyways, but it wasn't as sore as it was dry. It was as if someone had forced him to swallow recently used sandpaper; a piece of it which still had rough areas on it, but also some loose saw dust. Every time he gulped down some saliva to try and soothe his sore throat, the uncomfortable sensation would intensify. The fact that there was a lump of mucus stuck in his throat, along with how itchy it was, only made it more difficult for him to swallow. All these problems hadn't been the the worst of his current condition, though.
Despite the fact that he was wrapped in a thick blanket, he was still shivering due to some intense chills, which he couldn't come up with a single reason as to why he was experiencing them. It was also nearly impossible for him to breath through his nose, and the air his throat was being exposed to, since it didn't have the humidity of his mouth to protect it, was making the soreness and dryness worse. He was also somewhat nauseous.
America attempted to move from his bed, but after a few moments of having the blanket off his form and trying his best to lift himself up with his achy muscles, he abandoned his objective to leave the bed, and allowed his shaky limbs to rest. He crawled under the overlay, which had been heated overnight, due to the warmth of his body, and allowed it to embrace him as he curled up in an attempt to keep warm. He couldn't help but appreciate how his body did a better job at absorbing the warmth of the blanket, after being exposed to the cold air of his bedroom for one moment, than it had before. It was as if his body simply needed a reminder of what cold truly was, in order to not take warmth for granted.
This was not the first time America had been consumed by some terrible sickness, out of the blue, in the past two years. He could recall many times when he had to deal with some horrible symptoms of a random ailment, and the scientists would do nothing to help ease the discomfort. Despite the fact that the uncivil nation was used to being left to fend for himself during these times, there was something about having his sickness be neglected that caused a pang to form in his heart. There was often a part of him that longed for another human to comfort him during these times. Especially since he didn't understand how he could handle being sick. However, he believed, during the time he was at the mercy of the scientists, it was pointless to wish for another human to be gentle towards him and not take advantage of his weakness. He considered himself lucky that the scientists would lay off from torturing him during times he became sick, or when he had been too physically damaged or mentally shocked for the cruel experiments to proceed. He didn't understand why they would stop during these times. Wouldn't it be easier for them to take advantage of him while he was down? Whatever there reasoning for doing so may be, he didn't want to appear ungrateful towards the break.
Considering the fact that he wasn't on great terms with his caretaker at the moment, America hoped the humans, who now 'controlled' his life, would show him mercy in his time of weakness as the scientists did. He understood that the ones he was trapped with weren't nearly as bad as the scientists were, but there had been things they did to him which he didn't quite enjoy. He hated being forced to sit still when they wanted him to; it reminded him of being restrained and gave him anxiety. He hated having to deal with the uncomfortable procedures they would perform on him daily. He hated their patronizing voices, their superior body language, and their controlling actions towards him. Every time he tried to show he wasn't okay with what they were doing, whether it be out of fear or anxiety, he would end up having his arms restrained by the human who was larger than him. Since the human wouldn't let go of him when he attempted to make it obvious he didn't want to be restrained, he tried to avoid another situation like that in the future, after this happened a few times. He understood the fact that he was different than the other humans, but he still wanted to be treated as an equal.
Relief washed over him, as the idea of having more control over what he was able to do around the humans entered his mind. He wasn't expecting them to try and make the sickness better, or give him the warmth and comfort he'd always wished a human would give to him during the times he was sick. As far as he was concerned, there was no other remedy for a sickness than time, so how would they be able to make him better in a short amount of time?
America kept his eyes closed while he listened to the door of the bedroom open. He couldn't care less for the fact that the human who entered the room was coming closer to him. He figured the other would sense his sickness, and leave him alone. When the human gently shook his shoulder and talked to him with a soft voice, the uncivil nation groaned, in the hopes that the human would figure out he was not in the mood to wake up and waste his energy.
Upon shaking America and receiving a groan in response, Russia couldn't help but worry when he examined his face. The others expression showed nothing but exasperation and exhaustion, but it wasn't the type that came off as stubborn. Instead, he appeared to be worn out and sickly. The fact that his skin was paler than it usually was (it'd already almost been a shade of white before he became sick, due to a lack of sunlight for two years straight), coupled with his poor breathing, only convinced his caretaker that he was sick.
America flinched when the other's hand touched his forehead. He opened his eyes in an attempt to figure out what his caretaker was trying to achieve by doing this. While he examined Russia's demeanor, he was able to detect concern coming from the other, or at least to him it appeared to be worry for his well being. America couldn't help but find this reaction towards his sickness interesting. Why would the human care this much about whether or not he was sick? Sure, maybe it was something important for him to become aware of, but why would it warrant sympathy? The scientists hadn't shown him too much sympathy while he was sick, other than not performing any experiments on him for a short amount of time.
Though the uncivil nation couldn't deny the fact that the other's hand on his forehead was a comforting act. The touch was so gentle; he couldn't come up with a single way this action could lead to harm. It made him less ashamed of his vulnerability and more trusting towards what his caretaker wanted to do with him. America couldn't understand why the touch was making him feel so safe around the human, though. It wasn't as if having a hand on his forehead would make his sickness go away.
More concern radiated from Russia's demeanor when he found the other was quite warm to the touch. There was no doubting the fact that America had a fever. Things could be worse, though. At least the other wasn't hallucinating, which made his caretaker believe the fever was mild. There would be no harm in making sure this was the case, though, so he set off to retrieve a thermometer, and returned to where America lay with the much needed instrument. He stuck the thermometer in the other's mouth, once it was prepared, and struggled to keep it under his tongue. At first, the uncivil nation didn't want the strange object in his mouth. For one, he wasn't a fan of it's design, and for another, his caretaker was pushing too hard on the based on his tongue. Since his struggling was making the pressure more intense, he'd eventually stopped fidgeting around, as pain flooded the base of his tongue. He wished there was a way he could tell the human to be more gentle. Was the other even aware of the fact that he was pushing the object into his mouth too hard?
A quiet beep came from the thermometer, alerting the human and causing him to remove the object from America's mouth. Though he was relieved by the fact that the instrument was no longer under his tongue, he couldn't help but observe his caretaker's actions with curiosity, while the other studied the thermometer. Why in the world would someone shove a piece of plastic into his mouth, take it out, and examine it?
Russia, on the other hand, couldn't help but become even more concerned when he read what America's temperature was. According to the instrument he used to check the other's temperature, his fever was currently thirty eight and a half degrees Celsius. Sure, the reading could've turned out to be much worse. Russia was appreciative towards the fact that he wasn't on the verge of having a dangerously high fever. However, there was still a possibility that the fever would end up being worse as time passed by, and he figured it wouldn't be pleasant to deal with the young nation if this happened.
There was no need for him to fret, though. He understood the fact that America couldn't randomly drop dead from having a fever, cold, or any sickness at all. It would take the fall of the country he represented to kill him off permanently. However, anything that could kill a human would cause him lots of pain, and possibly result in him being crippled for at least a month. He didn't want him to suffer.
Russia set off towards the kitchen, so he could search for a wash rag to soak in cold water. He pulled open the drawer that stored unused sponges and wash cloths for cleaning, and was delighted to find a white wash rag sitting in the drawer, waiting to be used. He grabbed the needed cloth from the drawer and ran it under cold water from the kitchen sink until he deemed the wash rag completely soaked. He turned off the water when the rag became chilly and wet enough, and squeezed any extra water from it, so it wouldn't be dripping all over America's face.
After soaking a wash cloth with cold water, Russia returned to the young nation's room. Upon arriving next to his bed, he placed the cold rag on the other's forehead. At first, America didn't enjoy the uncomfortable change in temperature his forehead was experiencing. Which caused him to try and shove the unwanted piece of cloth away. His caretaker was gentle in keeping his hands away from the source of discomfort, which lessened his distress for having something cold on him when he already believed his environment was chilly enough. Fortunately, after a while of being forced to deal with this slight discomfort, America stopped trying to remove the cloth from his head, and allowed Russia to proceed in his attempt to lower his body temperature. He figured there must have been a reason why he was doing this to him, as the cold was, surprisingly, becoming more comfortable to his forehead. Besides, his caretaker had always been able to do strange things to improve his health. Even being forced fed the day before, as much as he loathed this, had diminished the agonizing emptiness in his stomach, and the comfort that came right after helped him understand the fact that the human didn't want him doing anything to hurt himself. Though he was scared by the action, there was something about it which gave him the impression that it was for his own good. That his caretaker was only doing it because he cared about him.
When the cloth became too warm to be able to help with America's fever, Russia left the room for a moment to soak the wash rag under cold water for a second time, and returned to the bedroom to place it back on his forehead. This time, the caretaker was much more confident that the one he was caring for would be willing to keep the rag on, so he set off towards the kitchen, in order to prepare breakfast. Upon arriving to the room, he was surprised by England and Canada's presence, as it was a bit early in the morning. Though their company did elate his mood, as it would make things more convenient for him, so he spoke up in order to grab their attention, "I just checked on Amerika, and he's sick. He also has a bit of a fever."
There was sympathy is England's tone, as he stated, "I'll make some tea for him, then. I'm sure it will help him feel a little better."
"Are you sure he's going to drink tea?" Canada inquired, "He doesn't understand that it will help him feel better, and it does tend to have a bit of a bitter taste to it. It's not something that someone who hasn't really drank it, or doesn't understand it's benefits would want to bother drinking."
"I'm sure that as long as I put some honey in it, he'll drink it."
After that was said, the three nations remained silent as breakfast was prepared. Russia had made oatmeal for America, as he figured it would be the best thing for him to eat in the morning while he had a fever. He grabbed the cup of tea England made by the time breakfast was done being prepared, and strode off to the young nation's room. Upon arriving to the room, he was happy to find America had kept the cold wash cloth on his forehead.
Russia removed the rag from the other's forehead, so he could sit him up and feed him. Despite the fact that America wasn't hungry, he was still willing to eat the food offered to him until he was gagging from eating too much. He didn't want to do this to himself, but he was afraid of what would happen if he didn't obey the human. Fortunately, his caretaker was sympathetic about the fact that he was only able to eat a quarter of the food offered to him, as he didn't force him to eat anymore of the oatmeal. Instead, he helped him wash down the food, by having him sip the tea England had made for him.
At first, America assumed the strange, warm liquid being offered to him was going to be disgusting. After all, it was a greenish-brown color, and most things that color didn't taste too great. Especially if they were a liquid. Besides, it had a bitter scent coming from it, though it wasn't too strong.
He changed his mind about the mysterious substance being offered to him when he had his first sip of it. The warmth soothed his throat; making it less sore and dry. There was also a sweet taste to it, which calmed America's nerves. The liquid gave him a warmth in his stomach, and also help diminish his discomfort from over eating. Though even if this substance was improving his physical well being, he still didn't want to drink it all, as the leafy taste that was developing from drinking it for a while was a bit overwhelming. When the mug was a quarter of the way empty, he pushed it away.
While America was being pushed back into a laying position on his bed, he couldn't help but worry about whether or not the sustenance he'd consumed was going to come back to haunt him later. After all, he had been queasy ever since he woke up, and he wasn't sure if the tea would be able to help him keep the food down, or instead, make things worse for him later on. He understood, based on personal experience, that vomiting would only make his sore throat worse and cause him to be more lethargic. He hoped his body would behave itself for his own sake.