Hetalia Drabbles - Crossover One Shots

A Simple Cold - USUK

Knock knock knock.
"Artie? Are you home?" Alfred Jones called out after knocking on the brit's front door at least ten times. Arthur had to be home. It was 9:30 in the morning, and when Arthur hasn't answered any of Alfred's texts pestering him to go jogging with him, he began to get concerned.
Arthur always replied to his texts, no matter how stupid they were.

Giving up on trying to get Arthur to answer the door, Alfred rooted around in a potted plant by Arthur's front door until he found the spare key.

"Hey Artie? Are you okay?" Alfred said, opening Arthur's bedroom door. Arthur was still in bed, his sheets a tangled mess around his body, sweaty and breathing heavily. His face had a reddish hue to it, and his forest green eyes opened slightly once he heard Alfred enter the room. Alfred put one hand to the brit's head and quickly concluded he had a raging fever.
"Damn it, I have no idea what to do. I'll call Francis, he'll know what he's doing." Alfred said, half to himself, half to Arthur. The sick Brit moaned in complaint.

"Hey, your stomach doesn't hurt, does it? Do you think you could eat or drink something?" Alfred asked, wanting to do as much as he could to help Arthur get better.
"No.... Ju-st my hea..d..." Arthur managed to stutter out, obviously having trouble with the words.
"Hey, okay. You just lie here, I'll go make some tea and get you some Advil or something, okay dude?" Alfred asked, making sure to give Arthur a sweet, caring smile. Arthur weakly smiled back.
"Ok-k-ay." He could barely get the words out, panting and out of breath. Alfred wondered if he'd hit his head or something, he was having such trouble with vital things, like breathing and speaking.

Alfred got up and went to Arthur's kitchen, quickly realizing he had no idea what to do. He knew how to make tea, but didn't know which to choose from. He pulled out his phone and spoke into the mic as he pulled a teacup out from the cabinet.
"Hey Siri, what's the best tea to help with headaches?"
"I'm sorry, I couldn't understand you."
"God damn it Siri, work with me."
"What would you like me to work with?"
"Look up what tea helps heal headaches."
After a few attempts, Alfred finally managed to look it up, finding that herbal teas, like ginger and chamomile, worked best. Arthur had plenty of chamomile, so Alfred picked that one and started preparing the tea, while rooting around in Arthur's medicine cabinet to find the Advil.

"Here. This should help." Alfred told Arthur, giving him the Advil pills and the tea. Alfred sat next to Arthur's bedside for a while, watching him closely.
"Did you hit your head or something? What happened?"
Arthur shook his head lightly and shrugged. "Don't... Know."
"Hopefully this helps. I feel bad I can't do more."
Arthur looked Alfred straight in the eyes and smiled.
"You're doing... Just f-f-ine. Than-k you for be-ing h-h-ere."
Alfred put Arthur's feverish head in his hand and guided it to the bed, fixing Arthur's pillow so he'd be comfortable.
"Just relax. You'll be better soon."

Arthur did not get better.

Days went by, and Arthur's condition began to worsen. He couldn't move. He had trouble opening his eyes, and couldn't regulate his own body temperature. Alfred grew more and more concerned. Word got out that Arthur was sick, and many friends came to visit, with flowers and chocolates, anything that Arthur liked. It didn't help. He just got sicker and sicker.

Alfred finally was forced to call for an ambulance when Arthur was struggling to breath to the point he couldn't.

Days went by in a blur. It was hard for Alfred to focus on things. But one thing stuck in his mind.

Arthur had a terminal brain tumour.

Arthur was dying.

And he couldn't do anything to help.

Alfred sat by the brit's hospital bed, gently holding his hand. He couldn't do anything for Arthur, who was hooked up to several machines, helping him breathe and regulate his heartbeat, feed him and keep him hydrated. But all of it, it wouldn't help him. It was merely dragging out Arthur's days on earth, giving him a little bit more time. But nothing would save him.
No matter how hard Alfred begged.

Arthur slowly opened his green eyes, staring at Alfred with sadness. He knew he was dying. He knew he couldn't stop it.
"I don't want to die." He said. His voice breaking and trembling. "I don't w-want to leave."
"I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay." Alfred said softly. He felt himself crying. His body felt numb.
"I love you." Arthur whispered.
"I love you too." Alfred said.

That night, Arthur's heart stopped beating.

People's condolences passed straight over Alfred's head. People didn't understand. Everybody thought they were just close friends. Nobody knew. Nobody understood.
Alfred felt broken. A doctor told him Arthur was in a better place. Alfred broke that doctor's nose. Friends tried to help him get over it. He closed those friends out. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He was drowning in a sea of his own depression.

Alfred Jones killed himself a week after his lover's death.
He couldn't live without him.
So he didn't.