Overheated

Chapter 2

Notes: This chapter is from America's POV, and quite longer than the first one. There is also a cameo from England and France.

I forgot to mention it in the first chapter, but my knowledge in the medical field isn't that extensive, so there might be some inaccuracies, sorry about that.

Disclaimer: The lovely picture at the beginning of this chapter is from verymemeingfulart (verymemeingfulart.tumblr.com), I will never be able to thank her enough for this!

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Chapter Two

Alfred F Jones, the United States of America, wasn't crying. Nope. Absolutely not. Those tears that glimmered at the corners of his eyes had nothing to do with his emotional state.

And he definitely didn't sniff.

It was just that... Canada was so impossible at times. Considerate, polite and soft-spoken? As if. In his dreams, maybe. America couldn't wrap his mind around how his younger brother had managed to fool so many nations into thinking he was one of the sweetest, kindest soul that inhabited the planet.

Okay, maybe it was because he actually was. Most of the time, at least. And then, without any warning, he would fly off the handle as he had done a few moments earlier. Alfred couldn't believe he had been so hurtful. Not when he had done absolutely nothing to deserve it, especially.

In spite of common belief, America actually always noticed Canada. Well, almost always. But the point was, he had noticed how dejected and tired his little brother had looked during the meetings. He hadn't had time to address the issue then, but he hadn't forgotten about it, which was why he had decided to do something nice to cheer Matthew up.

But instead of being grateful, his little brother had decided to throw a hissy fit. Sometimes, America really couldn't believe him.

'Well, serves him right,' he thought surly, shaking his head, 'If he wants to keep crying over himself, I won't stop him.'

The thought didn't make him feel any better.

Alfred was so absorbed in his thoughts that he completely ignored a dull thud, but the sudden shout that followed it jerked him back to reality.

"Oh my God, somebody call an ambulance!"

America jumped to his feet, scanning his surroundings.

"What happened?" he asked urgently, immediately pinpointing the person who had given the alarm – a middle-aged, plump woman with greying hair.

He actually didn't need to ask. A moment later, his eyes fell on the spot the woman was pointing, where two passers-by were converging, summoned by her shouts.

A slim form was sprawled on its side on the asphalt.

The slim form of a fair-skinned boy in his late teens with his face partially obscured by wavy, glossy strawberry blond hair.

Alfred's heart missed a beat.

Matthew.

America didn't register the strangled gasp that seeped through his lips, nor that he had started running – the only thing that mattered at that moment was his little brother's pale, frighteningly unmoving form.

In his haste to reach him, Alfred shoved the woman away, but didn't offer any apology – he didn't have time for that.

In a moment, he skidded to his knees next to his brother, the previous quarrel completely forgotten.