This is the first time I'm posting a story with more than one chapter here at this site…! It's once again a story where I focus on a Father-son relationship between Arthur (England) and Alfred (America) ^^ It's just so cute, I can't help myself~ It'll be a little dramatic, a little sad, a little fluffy, hopefully a little heart-warming and a little angsty, and I really do hope it turned out ok! ^^

You might think that the characters are OOC, but then again, we haven't seen a situation like this in the anime or the manga, have we, so who can say that the characters wouldn't react like this…?

I decided to just make thisAU, because it doesn't fit with the timeline before the Revolution at all x) So there won't be any references to them being nations. You can just… think that Alfred is Arthur's adopted son or something, ok? ^_^'

Anyhow, I hope you'll enjoy~

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia – Axis Powers or any of its characters.


The large, mahogany desk was barely visible under the masses of paper work, important documents, utensils, files and so on. A small desk lamp had been shining for almost six days in a row, and was clearly in need of a new light bulb, as it kept flickering, as if to will the desk's occupant to get some rest.

Arthur Kirkland had no intentions of getting rest anytime soon, however, as he was far too occupied with the stress that had haunted him these last days. Well, longer than that, but it seemed that all sorts of time-craving work had just been waiting to pounce on him at the exact same moment. Thus, he had sacrificed such annoying – and unfortunately quite necessary – things as rest.

The slender body heaved a small sigh as he reached for his tea cup, only to find it empty. This meant he had to leave his office. It seemed these days he barely left the room, except for meals – he insisted to set a good example for Alfred. A sting of regret made itself known at the thought. The boy was probably feeling very neglected by now. The boy was used to the amount of work Arthur often buried himself into, and the way he'd stubbornly keep working until it somehow sorted out – even if he should push aside his own health in the process. However, he knew Alfred hated it when he didn't get the attention he so craved for.

Standing, Arthur winced as his body complained noisily, joints cracking and muscles screaming from sitting in such a tense position for so long – the old grandfather clock by the wall showed him that it was far into the afternoon already.

The house was silent as he walked out, and this struck him as odd. Sure, it was quite large and he and Alfred were the only ones living there, the elderly maid that had been working for him for ages only coming around every second day to clean, cook, do laundry and so on. Still, it was usually filled with life during the day – to be a small child, Alfred was quite good at filling the building with sound, warmth and life. Arthur shivered involuntarily, a small frown settling on his already troubled features. Where was Alfred anyway?

Heading down for the kitchen, he found the first floor equally void of sound as the second, and it was unnerving him a little. Setting the tea cup on the counter, he decided to go see if Alfred was nearby. He wouldn't be outside – the icy autumn winds and the heavy rain fall was enough to keep anyone remotely sane indoors. Although the kid might be stubborn and a little reckless at times, he wasn't stupid.

Deciding to head back up in search for the boy, he couldn't help the feeling in his gut telling him that something was off. He couldn't quite explain it, but it grew steadily as he knocked on the door to Alfred's room, not getting a reply.

"Alfred?" he called out hesitantly, knocking again. Opening the door slightly, he blinked at the dim-lit room. How many times had he not tried to teach the boy to turn of lights when he didn't need them, without much success, and now he voluntarily had only one light switched on? "Alfred…?" he tried again, a little softer this time as he noticed the small lump underneath the blankets on the bed.

Walking over, he grew more worried when he didn't receive as much as a reaction to his presence. A cough suddenly made him freeze in his tracks, followed closely by a sniffle as the lump trembled.

"Alfred," Arthur gently laid a hand on the lump as he stood beside the bed, only to feel it tense and stiffen under his touch. "Are you all right?" his voice had taken on the gentle, father-like tone he usually wore around the boy automatically. He couldn't help it; the boy had touched a soft spot in his heart the moment he'd looked into his eyes the first time they met. Arthur had from the very first moment – although he didn't know it at the time – let the boy through the emotional defences that had kept others at a distance for years.

He pushed the memory aside and pulled away the blankets, finding Alfred lying there, curled up into a small bundle and trembling. The previous worry immediately became heavy concern as he eyed the pallid shade of the boy's face, contrasting to the red tint marring his cheeks and his glassy, blue eyes, currently swimming with tears.

"Alfred! What's wrong?" he breathed. Alfred only stifled a sob, refusing to meet his eyes where he lay. Arthur sat down on the edge of the bed and pushed a few strands of damp, dark blonde hair out of the boy's round face, finding the skin far warmer than usual against his hand. Resting the back of his hand against his forehead, he gave a small gasp. The boy was burning up!

"How long have you been like this?" he asked, subconsciously stroking the soft locks of hair as he waited for Alfred to speak. On the outside, he tried to be strong and calm – inside he was slowly panicking. Alfred had never been sick before, and he'd never dealt with an ill child before – what if this worsened? What should he do? And why, for the love of all holy, hadn't Alfred told him he wasn't feeling good?

"Mm…" Alfred only breathed, before coughing again, more roughly this time, although it seemed he was holding back. Arthur didn't hesitate, pulling the boy up on his lap and rubbing small circles on his back as he waited for the fit to pass. Eventually, it did, but now Alfred was crying even worse than before.

"Alfred, look at me," Arthur spoke mildly. Alfred finally looked up and the pure fear made the Englishman's heart give a nauseating twist inside his chest.

"A-am I going t-to die?" the boy suddenly cried, his hands clutching at Arthur's shirt as though he was a drowning person clinging to a life boat.

"What? Why are you-" The realization struck Arthur and his eyes widened slightly. Alfred had never been sick before, and now that he seemed to be hit with a case of bad cold – he didn't dare believe that it was anything more ferocious than that – he was naturally terrified. "No! No, of course not, Alfred," he hugged the boy close and felt the warm kid clinging to him, sobbing into his chest.

"B-but… it hurts! Y-yesterday my throat was itchy and when I woke up this morning… everything hurt!" Alfred sobbed as Arthur swallowed heavily, running hid hand through the boy's hair, as he often did as a means to comfort him.

"I won't let you die, Alfred, I promise!" Alfred said, holding him at a little distance so he could meet the boy's eyes. He gave a warm smile and the boy visibly calmed down at his words. "Now, can you tell me where it hurts?"

"M-my chest hurts, and when I breathe I just want to cough… m-my head hurts too, and my throat, and… my body feels heavy." The boy finished with a sniffle.

"Hm, as far as I can tell you have caught a cold," Arthur murmured. Alfred made a small grimace.

"How can you catch a cold?" he asked, clearly thinking of the word used to describe things such as, for example, the current weather.

"Well… It's a sickness, but it isn't usually dangerous, it just makes you feel bad for a while before getting better," he tried to explain. "It often comes with fever, headache and a general ache, and might make you cough."

Alfred nodded drowsily, now almost relaxed against Arthur's chest, although still trembling.

"I'm c-cold…" the boy said quietly, even though he was wearing the sweater Arthur had given him some time ago, which was pretty thick and warm.

"I'm afraid that often happens too," Arthur murmured, rocking the boy gently in his arms as the blue eyes began to droop sleepily. "Alfred, why didn't you tell me?" The boy looked up at him and bit his lip.

"I d-didn't want to disturb you… You've been so busy lately." Arthur felt tears burn in his eyes, but refused to let them fall, only holding the boy closer. When he spoke, his voice nearly broke at the end.

"I'm never so busy that you can't come to me when you're scared or when you hurt, Alfred. I'm so sorry I haven't been much with you lately…"

"It's ok." And there it was; that accepting, forgiving nature of the cheerful, happy-go-lucky child, which had quite possibly been what attracted Arthur to him in the first place. "I'm sorry too…" Arthur was bewildered at this.

"What for?"

"For getting sick and worrying papa…" the boy's eyes dropped shut and his breathing evened out in his sleep, before the stunned man had the time to reply. Arthur swallowed heavily.

"Oh, Alfred…"

And a silent tear rolled down his cheek as he put the boy back in bed, carefully tucking him in before standing, determined to do his best to make the boy as comfortable as possible.


Ok, it's a bit short, but there will be more, IF you could leave me a few reviews, telling me what you think of my story so far~ I'd truly appreciate some feedback ^^