A cure for the damned

Chapter 1

England POV
1947
Muffled voices were heard around the room, falling on buzzing ears. The muffles were blurring and slurring as the English man lifted his head to look around.
Bright colours that blended was all he could see. Bright colours that morphed into one. They threatened to consume him into the dark again, as black blotches were flitting around the edges of his vision.
England was supposed to be paying attention he knew that, but it was just so god damn hard when his thoughts were flying in all directions. He knew this world meeting was important. But he just couldn't get a grip on himself. He was completely lost in his confusion, completely helpless in his mind. He didn't even know how long he was sitting there for!
There was a sudden uproar to the muffled voices. The colours blurred violently around his vision. What in gods name was going on?
The Brit felt something touch his shoulder. He flinched at the light brush of somewhat gentleness that was assaulting his shoulder. There was a muffle right in his ear. A voice trying to speak to him. The buzzing in his ears intensified enormously but he was trying to figure out what was being said.
"....ur tu.....n get u...p En.....nd" the voice was soft and familiar. A slight accent that he couldn't quite figure out. Britain was trying to understand what this person had said but he couldn't in un-jumble his jumbled mind.
In his distraction he didn't realise that the person who had talked to him had put his hands up under is arms. The UK didn't realise until he was pulled out of the chair and forced to stand. The voices around became clear and hit him at full force. There was loud shouts and louder screeches and it was just so loud! The noise in itself made him want to pass out.
"I said GET UP Arthur" he knew that voice. He knew that voice! The hands from under his arms dropped making England become very unsteady. In result Arthur grabbed at the table with his shaking, weak hands and turn to look at the man.
"Why France I didn't know you knew how to use my real name" England said. He tried to sound smug but all that came out was a pitiful, tired noise.
England couldn't deal with any of his nonsense anyway. He had his own problems to worry about. Like being able to stand.
"It's your turn mon cher" oh god can't he just speak in English just this one time so that he can bloody understand him. Wait, it's his turn. England turn to see the front of the room. Was it just him or did it seem to be getting further away?
He took one step forward and nausea hit him like a steam engine. But as a soldier he kept on marching forward. The nausea built up, cold and hot sweats found its way to his body, shivers and shakes raked his body so hard he felt like he would seizure, his legs felt like jelly and the floor wasn't helping any as it wouldn't stay still. Black spots were dancing around his eyes. How in the world was he going to make it to the podium? It keeps getting further away with each step he took. His whole body hurt and it just wasn't fair.
Stupid boss. Stupid medication. Stupid threats. Stupid people who don't understand. Stupid stupid stupid.
When he finally made it to the stand the room went completely silent.

3rd Person POV.

They all knew something was going on with England. Something big but they didn't know what. They knew the stubborn Brit wouldn't accept their help until he absolutely needed it so all they could do was sit and wait and watch as their friend and colleague became sicker and sicker.
"Hello everyone-" it was said softly and slow, "goodbye everyone" and with that Arthur dropped to the floor.