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oh dear I'm so sorry but I really really want to start posting this xD
It's my favourite ever written fan-fiction. It's also Hetalia but has barely any Canon, trust me. The only thing you need to know is that they are personified countries. This means that a lot of countries have been made like, humans. But in this, it's like... their immortal. But yeah. And uh, Canada and America are brothers. America and England/UK don't have the best relationship.
Canada = Matthew Williams
America = Alfred F Jones
England = Arthur Kirkland
Warning, this contains, like, minor yaoi D: I'm so sorry, just like, a little bitty bit.
This has a crapload of parts too. Anything with (d) or (f) before it and (/d) or (/f) after it is either a dream or flashback. Yes and also, the characters do /not/ belong to me, they are not mine, I do not claim any rights to them. All except Slovakia and Czech Republic, if they're mentioned
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America laughed once, a horribly false laugh. He needed to act normal, not show any of his previous night or the odd nightmares. He really felt a gnawing fear that gripped at his heart. Not only the terror, but a pinprick of sadness. The American's nightmares were not the usual ghostly dream, but daunting images of a gory movie. The still-frames from the dream were burnt in his mind, callusing it.
(f)Alfred awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. He caught his breath and laughed at himself for being so immature and foolish. There was no 'ghost' in his room, nor any other monstrous beast. The blond nation still, however, got up and clicked on his old nightlight. 'I am so gunna regret this when I wake up' America though, settling into his blankets again.(/f)
England noticed how his secret friend acted differently. Instead of laughing and being in the middle of every conversation, the American was checking over his shoulder and only smiling the kind of smile that didn't touch his eyes. This was very much unlike America, usually unable to take most things seriously.
Shaking off the paranoia that clung to him, Arthur resumed his work, struggling to listen to France. There was a spot in the back of the Brit's mind that told him to confront America, that something was terribly wrong.
(f)By the time America awoke again, it was only an hour after the last time he'd woken up. Sure the nightlight still shone comfortingly but something felt horribly wrong with this peace that was unsettling. Alfred's blue eyes scanned the room searching for anything out of the ordinary and finding he was just paranoid.
The moment he lied back down, something grasped Alfred's throat, sending a flare of pain shooting through his upper body.(/f)
England wasn't surprised when America asked to go home early from the meeting. The blue eyed nation lied, saying he hadn't gotten much sleep and felt ill. Of course, the first part of that was true. The other part was mere lies, supported by nothing.
Wishing him well, England let the young American leave. All through the meeting, however, the Brit noticed how quiet it was. Obviously because Alfred wasn't there, talking non-stop. He made a mental note to call Alfred after the meeting was over, knowing that something was wrong.
(f)The American gasped for breath, not able to get it back. The pain that pulsed through his body was nearly unbearable, seemingly endless as well. Fighting to bring his head up, America noticed that there was no one atop him squeezing his neck as he's suspected.
But someone, or thing, was choking him. And this thing was also screwing with Alfred. Whoever it was or whoever had sent it was going to pay. That is, if Alfred lived long enough to hunt them down.(/f)
England panicked after America didn't answer his phone. Sure he could be asleep but it was unlikely that he'd hide his phone away for the sleep or turn it off. He'd left a few voicemails. Tucking away his tie in his briefcase, Arthur caught up with Canada.
"Matt, wait up," The green eyed man fell into step with Matthew. "Has America called you since he left?"
"Huh? Uh, no, sorry." Matthew murmured shyly as always. "If he's not picking up, he must be asleep. You know how he is."
"Yeah," England shrugged. "Still. Wanna check his hotel room with me?"
"Okay, sure. Thanks."
The two men caught a taxi over to the hotel that most nations stayed in during trips to Britain. It took some string-pulling, but finally the two blond nations got a room key. Heading up to the American's room, both nations were silent.
Knowing America was most likely asleep, England and Canada quickly disposed of their shoes in order to keep quiet as they walked across the tiles. They silently made their way through the cliché hotel room and towards the bedroom. They soundlessly eased the door open.
As expected, there in the middle of the bed, America was sprawled. There was something wrong with his usually pink-tinged face. It was pale and drawn. It dripped with sweat. When England pressed his hand to his 'little brother's' forehead, it was clammy and very warm.
America was definitely sick.
(A/N:: Just so you all know, this story is on hiatus as my friend has the paper copy of it and I've been wanting to redo it for a while now. if you're someone who's checking for updates, please note this. They'll be up soon-ish.)
