(( Hi! Welcome to my Hetalia fanfic! I've written several, but this is the one I decided that was worthy to be posted (I guess). I might post the others…
Anyways, this fic is pretty much fluff. I don't really have the patience to try and fit my idea into history. I just wanted to write this story. Hope you don't mind!
Initiating chapter one… now! ))
America had left for the hospital as soon as he heard. He bought the first plane ticket for the next flight, and then nearly got into a car accident at first when he forgot about the change in which side of the road to drive on. He stole someone's parking spot as they were just backing into the space.
Having run all the way from the lot to the building, Alfred stopped in front of the receptionist's main desk while gasping for precious air. The main receptionist eyed him suspiciously as he grasped the edge of the desk, doubled over.
Suddenly, he snapped his head up to look at her. "Looking… for Arthur," he said forcefully, invoking a small jump from the girl.
She knew what he meant, not needing a last name or additional information. "Up the stairs to the right," she hesitantly said, pointing to the doors leading to the stairwell, "Then down the hall and around the corner. Second room on the left."
He nodded determinedly, then rushed off in the direction given to him. As soon as he reached the second floor, America slowed his pace to a fast walk in respect for those around him.
Though, he soon reached a dilemma. A four-way intersection of hallway. He looked from side to side, trying to figure out if he had to go around the right corner or the left. Spotting an old nurse coming his way, he grabbed her attention. Thankfully, his breath was pretty much caught now.
"Can you tell me where Arthur's room is?" he asked her, a bit panicked.
She motioned towards the left hallway while giving him a bored stare, replying, "Just that way. Second door to the left. He should be asleep right now, so don't wake him, sir."
Alfred walked past her, nervous now. He finally came to the right room, of which's door was slightly cracked open. Silently, he let himself in. Stepping in fully, he pushed the door back to the position it had previously been in. The lights in the room were out, the shades of the windows partially pulled down to limit the amount of sunlight let in.
Alfred's expression softened as he laid eyes upon the hospital bed in front of him. Sleeping peacefully was England, hooked up with an IV while slightly propped up by the elevated head end of the bed and a pillow.
Alfred snuck over to the other side of Arthur, next to the window. He took a seat in the single empty chair there, and stared at the ailing man. Now that he was closer, Alfred noticed that Arthur was actually heavily flushed with fever, and having a bit of trouble breathing normally.
America sighed, reclining a bit in the stiff chair. He quietly shrugged off his jacket, knowing that he wouldn't be able to bring himself to leave anytime soon. After that phone call from a doctor, Alfred had pushed his friend to the top of his priority list.
America's new phone number written on a scrap of paper was retrieved from Arthur's pocket when he was admitted earlier that day. Over the phone, the doctor told him that England was suffering from a relatively serious case of pneumonia. Apparently, it had developed after a bout of influenza. Such an occurrence, pneumonia resulting from the flu, had a tendency to happen often. Fortunately, he received treatment just in time.
Alfred looked away, thinking to himself. It's been almost two weeks since…
In the late afternoon, Arthur started to stir. Shifting a bit under the blankets, his eyes cracked open in confusion. He stared with his vision swimming at the ceiling, trying to gain his bearings. It was different from the one at home…
Suddenly, the memories of this morning came flooding back. He cringed, bringing his hand up to his unnaturally hot forehead to wipe away a few droplets of sweat. Arthur paused halfway, realizing something out of the norm in the hospital room.
He noticed Alfred at his side, sitting in the chair. His elbow was rested on his knee, his cheek on his hand, as he dozed in a slouched-over position.
Arthur looked at him, still only vaguely coherent. He must have been there for a while, judging by the cast-off coat and the relaxed (?) form.
"Oi," Arthur hoarsely let out. He tried to reach over for him, but came just short of touching America's knee. He shifted a bit more to continue his attempt as Alfred slowly came to, sensing a disturbance.
"Hey, you're awake," he responded with a dumb smile.
Arthur retracted his hand, bringing it back down to rest by his side. Looking a bit perturbed, he nodded.
"I heard that you were sick, so I came right over to visit," Alfred explained. "Maybe I should have picked up some flowers on the way…"
"… 'Don't like flowers," Arthur quietly said. Though, it wasn't completely true. He just felt a bit awkward by having America see him like this.
"Or maybe some hamburgers," Alfred added, seemingly failing to hear what his friend said. "They make me feel better whenever anything happens."
"… 'Don't like those either," he replied. His stomach felt a bit uneasy at the moment.
"So, how are you feeling?" Alfred asked right away.
England sighed, knowing that America probably didn't hear his negativity. "I'm fine," he lied, using a lot of effort to keep his eyes open.
Alfred shot him a skeptical look. "You don't look like it," he observed aloud. He reached over to lightly feel Arthur's forehead. "I heard that you have a fever of 104.2 degrees."
Not feeling well enough to convert that from Fahrenheit to Celsius, he settled on the fact that it must be bad. Plus, having Alfred's hand on his forehead was a bit distracting. Arthur could feel his face growing hotter than before, if possible, for some reason.
He turned his head the other way to shake off America's touch. "Stop it," he mumbled angrily. Arthur broke out into a coughing fit. He felt a bit dejected, feeling it reach down past his throat to his lungs. It sounded horrible, and was hard to stop.
Alfred flinched with a look of worry, wondering if he should go get help.
After calming back down, Arthur quietly asked, "Why… are you… here?"
"Like I said earlier. I came to visit you," Alfred answered with a reassuring smile. "Can't a friend do that?"
Arthur narrowed his eyes at America.
"But maybe you should go back to sleep. Get some rest, you know?" Alfred suggested. He stood up, stretching the tightness built in his muscles from sitting so long. "I'm going to get something to eat, since it's around dinnertime. Want me to get anything for you?"
Arthur slowly shook his head no. What he wanted was sleep. And peace of mind.
Alfred sighed. "Okay. I'll be back eventually," he said with another reassuring smile. He walked over to the door leading to the hallway. Yet, before leaving the room, Alfred added, "Oh, by the way, don't worry. I'm going to help you get better. Even if I have to stay at your house until you're completely well again, taking care of your every need." America looked determined. He quickly slipped out to let England get his rest.
Arthur stared at the now empty space in disbelief.
America? Taking care of him? With that thought bouncing back and forth in his mind, he actually had serious trouble with falling back to sleep.