"Eleven?!"

"And possibly still counting, unfortunately."

"And you've already called for an emergency meeting tomorrow?"

"Ja, this is a lot more serious than we originally anticipated. It looks like you might be here for a while. Sorry, America."

"No, it's cool," Alfred replied, "I just feel bad that I can't really help at the moment, that's all. Uh, forgive me for asking, but . . . How's Prussia doing?"

"Not good," Ludwig answered, letting out a pained sigh, "but he isn't getting worse . . . I suppose that's something . . ."

For no more than five minutes, the two nations had been discussing the cases that had already been reported, and tried to establish a list of who they deemed as immune to whatever was spreading across Europe, and who wasn't. A piece of thin white paper sat on the table between Alfred and Ludwig with ten names inked onto the page, along with a small variety of symptoms and ailments.

Italy - cold
Ukraine - fever?
Austria - headaches
Prussia - cold
Netherlands - headaches, dizzy spells?
France - cold
Spain - coughing, sore throat
Denmark - headaches
Norway - coughing
Finland - cold
England- cold

It had been about thirty hours since the first serious case came to his attention. In that time, Germany had managed to contact most of Europe, and the list of affected personifications was proportionally short, to his relief. Less than a quarter of the continent was ill in one way or another, and he had a feeling that most of them had come into contact with the mysterious infection by now, which meant that the list wouldn't grow much more, if at all.

"Alright, so what do we do in the meantime?" Alfred asked, breaking the eery silence and glancing at a clock on the wall. "We have eighteen hours until the meeting starts tomorrow."

Ludwig nodded/ "You're not obliged to stay in Berlin, but you can if you want. I will just have to warn you that Italy, Prussia and Austria are all here too, and I have a duty of care now."

"Do you want me to stay and help?"

"Like I said, it's not really necessary. Hungary is helping too."

"If you're sure . . . I just feel bad for leav--"

"Look, I know there is somewhere else you probably want to be, America. If I were you, I wouldn't waste any more time sitting here and talking to me," Ludwig commented.

Alfred gave a small smile and agreed, thanking the German but also telling him to call if anything new happened or if he needed extra help. They said farewell, and within half an hour, Alfred was back at the private airport ready to fly back to England.

When he arrived in the tea nation, it was about 7pm. It was only a short drive in a hired car to Arthur's modestly grand house, along narrow country roads with virtually no signs of other vehicles travelling in the area. Alfred always liked those sorts of journeys. The countryside was so peaceful, green, and he firmly believed that there was no countryside quite like England's. It's one reason why he visited more often these days.

He knocked on the front door three times and waited a moment, before repeating the rhythm. There were no obvious signs of movement of the other side, and there weren't lights on anywhere in the house. Alfred paused for a second. Then he remembered. He stepped to the small flower pot that sat further to the left of the door and carefully tipped it, reaching a hand under it in search of a spare key. He felt it and grabbed it, placing the pot down again and heading to the door. The key went in. The door unlocked.

"Arthur?" he called out. He did his best to not be too loud incase he was asleep, but he couldn't help his sudden anxiety. "Are you there?"

No response came, so Alfred decided to quietly scour the house in search of the Brit. It's not like he would've gone out anywhere, so where could he be?

He checked upstairs first, thinking that maybe he'd just gone to bed to try and sleep away the illness. However, after a few minutes of searching, there were no results. Arthur wasn't there. Venturing back downstairs, the gentle creak of the wooden steps under his feet making too much noise for his liking, he began to search the lower floor instead.

"Hellooo?" he called out again. "Anybody home?"

"Oh, sh-shit . . ." a voice quietly hissed from another room.

'Arthur . . . ?'

Without hesitating, America ran through the room of the ground floor, until eventually stumbling into the kitchen noisily, now increasingly worried about England. And he had every right to be. On the cool tiled floor, Arthur sat propped up against cupboards, shards of glass littering the ground all around, and two warm trails of blood slowly flowing down the side of his head.

He looked like he'd been crying. What the heck had happened in the last ten hours to create so much havoc?! Watching his step, Alfred tried to get to Arthur and help him out of the kitchen, glad he still had shoes on. It took a short while for him to get there and try to clear a path, sweeping glass out of the way with his foot as he walked, but he was eventually close enough for Arthur to take one look at him and burst into tears again, and for Alfred to kneel down and hold him close.

"Hey, it's OK," he whispered, trying to comfort the other blonde as he gently stroked his hair. "I'm here now . . . Everything will be fine, I'm not going anywhere . . ."

"I-I'm so-orry . . ."

"What for? You did nothing wrong," Alfred replied. He rarely saw Arthur cry, and especially not quite in such a way, and it hurt. "Now, you may want to hold on tight. We need to get you out of here so I can sort out your head."

Feeling somewhat awkward, Arthur did as told and wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, wincing only briefly when the American managed to scoop him off the floor. Carefully and mindfully, he carried the Brit back through to living room and set him down on the sofa, silently arguing with himself over attending the meeting tomorrow. Whatever had gone down in his absence was clearly not good, and Arthur needed comfort and help. Ludwig did not.

Arthur sat quietly sideways on the couch, pulling his knees closer to himself as Alfred disappeared for a moment to find some water, antiseptic and cloth. He felt terrible, in both senses of the word. He felt guilty that Alfred was now having to deal with him and he had clearly gotten worse in the last few hours. It was about 1pm when the beginnings of a headache erupted, and it had progressively worsened as time went on. He couldn't remember exactly what happened, other than suddenly feeling dizzy when he was going to get a drink.

He sighed. The shelf of glasses on the wall must've been affected secondarily when he fell. It's the only thing that explained the glass shards everywhere, and he could only assume he'd knocked his head on the sharp corner of a cupboard handle as he went. He felt the drying blood on the side of his face and grimaced. He had collapsed. That's what happened. Arthur had blacked out, and had been like that for about half an hour, maybe a bit longer, uncomfortably resting against the cupboards.

'Oh God . . . I fucking cried . . .' he reminded himself, feeling incredibly embarrassed now. 'Right in front of him, a complete mess . . . Shit . . .'

"Right, fingers crossed that this is as simple as it looks on TV," Alfred said lightheartedly in an attempt to lift the mood as he came back into the room, all the necessities in hand.

"It's not rocket science, I'm sure you'll manage," Arthur replied quietly. "I can do it myself if it's hassle--"

"No, no way," Alfred interjected. He sat down next to Arthur, turned sideways to sit opposite him, and crossed his legs too, "because now there is no way I'm gonna leave you on your own again."

"Hey, I know I'm a mess, but I'm not that useless," he stated. "I mean, sure, I have my moments, but--"

"Arthur, you're perfect just the way you are, and don't you ever think otherwise."

<><><>

I hope you guys like this so far, things are getting intense real quick, just how (I hope) we like it!

Also USUK

Also shorter chapters = quick writing

Also UKUS

Let me know how you think this'll play out! I'd love to hear your thoughts <3

- S