The Allies congregated around the fire, each holding make-shift bowls made of half a hallowed out coconut in their hands. For the past few nights of being stranded on the island it was France who had taken it upon himself to cook for the group. This was mostly due to the fact he would blatantly refuse to eat anyone else's cooking, but more importantly, he was the only one with enough culinary expertise to make something edible from the foreign ingredients found on the island. But seeing as the Frenchman was still unconscious the duty had to fall on someone else. China was the second best cook present, but since he had left to look for the rogue England earlier he couldn't cook either. So by process of elimination, the task fell squarely on Russia's shoulders. England looked down precariously at the questionable… gunk settled in his bowl. It was hard to tell what was in it from it's sheer density of the concoction and overall bad lighting. He tried moving the bowl around to get a better look at the stuff but to no avail. Instead he settled for glancing over at China and America finding it no surprise that their expressions mirrored his own.

"What is this aru?" Wang Yao enquired first, sniffing at it almost immediately scrunching his nose, "it smells disgusting".

"Food," the Russian replied simply, smiling and taking the bowl to his mouth gulping down the contents with no trouble at all.

'As if this could be classified as food,' Arthur frowned.

"This looks like something England would make," America commented not missing a beat.

The aforementioned nation gaped and let out a stunned, "I beg your pardon?". China laughed slapping America's arm in camaraderie, "You are right! It even smells just as bad aru yo!". China and America laughed amiably as Russia and England glared at them.

England could feel his anger boiling. How dare they insult his cooking, he'd show them… Taking the bowl to his lips he tossed his head back letting the strange, dense substance crawl down his throat; It felt a lot like slime as it went down. This action effectively silenced the two laughing nations as they stared, shell-shocked at the crazy man before them.

Arthur chugged, and chugged, making sure to consume every last drop of the vile concoction before setting the emptied bowl onto his lap as naturally as he would have with one of his beloved tea cups. The man's face remained composed, not belying the utter disgust he felt festering in the pit of my stomach as he turned to face Russia. "You are an impeccable chef Russia, that was delicious," he complimented, his expression remaining pleasant. The Russian man smiled, pleased by the Englishman's display. "Why thank you, at least someone here can appreciate good cooking, da?"

Arthur turned expectantly to regard the shocked faces of his two awestruck allies, especially that of America's. He celebrated internally, yes, this was his reward for his brave feat. `Take that you bloody git, that's for saying my cooking was similar to this junk. If you are so convinced our cooking is so similar I'll make it appear just as delicious as mine!`.

"I don't know about you, but I've lost my appetite," the Big Mac-loving nation admitted whisperingly to Yao as the two watched Arthur. The latter nodded concurring silently. Neither were able to tear their eyes from the crazy Brit. Of course, Arthur was ignorant of that comment, his internal smile reaching from ear to ear.

"Would you like seconds comrade?" the Russian cut in through man's reverie, "I doubt such little food is enough to satisfy a nation of your status". England suppressed a shudder of surprise and disgust at the suggestion. He looked to Russia's face, it took all he had not to let his eyebrows draw up in disbelief. Instead he fixed on the man's conniving smile-- yes, as usual Ivan knew exactly what was going on in Arthur's head. His suspicions were confirmed by the hardly noticeable glimmering of his violet eyes. The man was trying to make this experience as torturous as possible. 'Fucking sadist,' his mind snarled. Russia (heck, practically everyone) knew of Arthur's pride when it came to his cooking. That and the fact he always had to prove America wrong. It was his inherent nature and staying true to that, he would not turn this challenge down.

"It would be my pleasure," Arthur beamed confidently following the silence that dragged on a little too long. Handing his bowl back, the Russian accepted it with a pleased kolkolz (though he had to wretch it from his hands, the Brit was holding on to it so hard his knuckles were going white) and heaped huge globs into it. He didn't stop until it was filled it to the brim with the stuff before handing it back to the (uneagerly) awaiting Brit. 'For English pride!' he reminded himself gingerly accepting the bowl, reluctant to have it back.

"Cheers," he held up his bowl in a sort of toast before bring it to his lips as his stomach set off in painful acrobatics at the contact. The Russian mimicked him barely raising his own bowl. Though he did not partake, Ivan was content to just watch his comrade with amusement shining in his eyes. England chugged, gulping this bowlful down a lot slower than he did the first time. He had a sneaking suspicion this was because his oesophagus was probably already coated with the disgusting stuff making it all go down slower. "Mmmmm," Arthur sounded after he finished his lips mashing to a thin line forcing a strained smile back on his face while simultaneously fighting back the disgust by rubbing his stomach (more to sooth it's sickly rumbling than for show).

Oh god, he could still feel the food sliding down his throat.

This was absolute torture.

America and China snapped out of their trance, mouths gaping. "Wow," China said simply. "You sure have a stomach of steel Arthur!" America shouted enthusiastically reaching over to pat England's back. 'I-I think I'm going to be sick…' England thought, the patting was certainly not helping. "I have underestimated you comrade England, you have excellent tastes," Russia stood and soundly slapped Arthur repeatedly on the back as that sickening sweet child-like smile crept on his face at being giving this golden opportunity to inflict even more torture on the poor island nation. Green eyes widened and shoulders tensed, 'Uuugghh--'

That was all it took.

In the next moment, Arthur was up, pushing past the other nations, grabbing the nearest bush and emptying his stomach contents.

Dinner had long since passed and the Allies were congregated once again around the fireplace. Save for Russia and England, none else braved eating the gruel that the heavily built nation claimed to be food. Especially after England's food poisoning. Though the others had missed dinner they hadn't been suffering in the slightest (not even America much to everyone's surprise). However, of the four, it was England who was feeling ill. He literally regurgitated everything he had eaten that day, and then some; every so often he would get up and dry heave out of necessity. He felt downright disgusting, worse than any hangover he had experienced in the many centuries he had lived. He was absolutely convinced Russia poisoned the meal despite the fact the man appeared to be just fine after consuming the stuff.

Sitting there as the others discussed battle tactics, Arthur felt small. His upper body remained bare, more so than earlier considering the ragged shirt he used to have draped across his shoulders was used to wipe his face after his charming display. All the heat from his body seemed to seep right out of him, he felt frail and he hated it. Instead of contributing to small talk, he sat rather slumped forward in place, arms folded across his chest tightly to distract from the hollowness in his middle while desperately trying to hold the warmth in his body. It was as if he swallowed the devil's food, which in hindsight was probably the case. He was pale and clammy and COLD, not because he was shirtless but because of his fluctuating body temperature. All his body heat seemed concentrated in his gut.

Feeling the urge to vomit again despite his stomach being empty for a while now, Arthur silently excused himself and fled to his designated heaving station. He did not notice, however, that one of his fellow allies had excused himself as well until he heard the footsteps and felt a hand rub against his back comfortingly.

"Hey… Are you okay?" the voice of his American ally inquired out of necessity, rubbing soothing circles into the Brit's back. At first Arthur tensed from the contact on his bare skin, but he was feeling so sick it melted almost instantly with the gentle ministrations. All this vomiting did a number on his energy levels as well as his strength. He found the strain of his upper body had made it to his legs, hence his need to support himself. However, he did not turn to face Alfred, he remained with his arm still bracing himself against the tree as the other patiently waited for his response still kneading in slow circles.

"…Do I look okay to you?" Arthur croaked acridly, his throat raw from exertion.

"…No," Alfred admitted almost shyly, it was a silly question to ask given the circumstance, "but you could have stopped yourself at that first bowlful you know".

Arthur couldn't help but laugh sardonically, "What can I say? It was too delicious I got greedy," a dry humorless laugh escaped him. A gust of evening wind whizzed by causing goosebumps to race up Arthur's limbs, he wrapped his arms protectively around himself. The ever oblivious American still had his hand working the smaller man's back so he felt when the other man shook beneath his fingers. This was when he conveniently remembered that he had in fact ripped Arthur's only shirt earlier that day, hence why the miserable, cold man was not wearing one. Guilt panged through his system, as a hero he could not allow this injustice to go on any longer (besides, he was starting to feel bad). Arthur rubbed his arms furiously trying to bring heat to them and was surprised when Alfred removed his hand. Arthur turned around completely to see if the younger nation had left. Once he turned full circle, he heard a rustle of clothing, and felt as Alfred leaned closer and wrapped something rather heavy around his shoulders. Arthur reached out to feel the fabric. Leather, just like--

"Your bomber jacket? Why..?"

America beamed. "Well, you look like you're freezing and I kind of ripped your only shirt". He shrugged before adding, "So I was thinking maybe you could hold on to that for me". Arthur could feel his face flush. He knew how important this jacket was to his former colony he was never without it, and now it was draped around his shoulders. The shorter nation turned away, avoiding eye contact, not bothering to mutter a single thank you as he sauntered quickly back to camp before his legs gave up. He heard an amused chuckle behind him and footsteps following for a bit before breaking off at some point. Arthur vaguely remembered the American say something about scoping out a place to sleep.

'Git,' he grumbled internally making for the campfire. When he arrived he noticed first that Ivan was gone, Yao was alone busily tending to something he had set over the fire. Dark eyes regarded him as he settled himself on one of the pieces of driftwood they had fashioned into makeshift chairs. He looked like he wanted to say something about the jacket the island nation now sported but seemed to think better of it and returned his attention to his wok.

"So, where's Russia?" England questioned uneasily, he was not up for anymore torture today.

"He went to sleep, aru".

'Thank God,' Arthur thought, noisily releasing a mouthful of air he wasn't aware he was holding.

The Asian nation let out a short bark of a laugh as he ladled his concoction into a bowl motioning for Arthur to take it from him. The latter paled considerably, he'd had more than enough of questionable liquids for a lifetime. A laughing smile broke out on Yao's face, "Heh, relax aru. It's not poison, it's to help your stomach, my people have been using this cure for centuries".

A look of skepticism and confusion was shot his way, "…I thought you were still bitter about the opium wars".

"I am," he replied, "I just don't want you dying off before Russia has finished torturing you". It was then Arthur realized that it was not just Russia who enjoyed watching him suffer through his own personal hell earlier that evening.

Tentatively taking the bowl out of the other nation's hand the corner of his mouth twitched in disturbance, "Y-you are too kind…".

'I swear everyone on this island is out to kill me in some way' Arthur deduced nursing the bowl. It wasn't poison (he was 75% sure) but it was unexpectedly tasteless and eased his aching throat as it oozed its way down.

As he waited for the antidote (or poison) to work its magic he watched the fire crackle. He realized as he stared off into space that he was fiddling with the jacket absently. His thoughts clicked into place he clamped his hand over his face wearily. 'Damn it, I let him be alone with me again, even after I swore to have at least one other person with us,' Arthur groaned in irritation. 'Thankfully the git didn't try anything. He was actually helpful for once too. I'll just have to be more vigilant next time'

After his short internal monologue he began to feel the curative affects of China's antidote. His stomach no longer complained and his body temperature returned to normal save for a slight chill. "I'm going to head to bed, thank you for the medicine" Arthur mentioned, pleased that it wasn't poison after all. He was exhausted both physically and mentally by the day's events and was more than ready to doze off for a decade or two. "Night aru," China said as the man retreated to where he had left his sleeping bag the night before.

He weaved quickly through the campsite towards his sleeping bag. When he got to it he noticed that his sleeping bag was not alone.

Beside it was another bag, ostentatiously decorated in red, white, and blue. Nestled peacefully inside it, whilst looking up at the stars was one particular person he did NOT want to be alone with. The other turned to him flashing a famous all-American smile, "Yo Iggy!"

"Don't, Yo Iggy~, me!" England growled, "What are you doing here? This is my spot!". "I don't see your name on it," America mused childishly rolling over, propping his arm up to rest his head atop it to get a better look at the aggravated Englishman. Arthur stomped over yanking the sleeping bag from under the unsuspecting nation before jutting a finger towards the now unoccupied spot. There in the dirt, written in elegant script were the initials A.K.

"Well what do you know?" The American responded incredulously. England smirked, the American had already pulled that line on him back in the barracks one too many times so he had taken to actually signing his name on places. It was an odd habit he had developed, but at the end of a long day at war the last thing you want to do is fight over a cot.

"Oh well!" Alfred dismissed plopping his bag back in place dropping unceremoniously onto of it, yawning and stretching his limbs out in all directions. "I'm not going anywhere I'm too tired". Arthur scowled and stood over the man.

He was too drained to get into a fist fight with him over something this silly. Heaving a sigh of resignation he mumbled, "Scoot over, you wanker". He received a toothy grin as Alfred shuffled over before looking back up at the sky folding his arms behind his head. Grumbling under his breath, Arthur eased his weary body beside the American letting out a weary sigh and closing his eyes waiting for sleep to claim him.

Rustle, rustle, shift.

"Hey, England?".

Grumble.

"…England?".

…

"Enngggllllaannnnddddd~".

'Shut up,' Arthur thought. There was a long moment of silence and the Englishman allowed his body to relax, 'Sweet, sweet, silence' he thought as he felt sleep tug tantalizingly at the corners of his mind. There was a muffled rustling sound and a movement to his side but Arthur was beyond caring. Sleep was beckoning.

Alas it was not meant to be, for just as he was about to drift off, warm breath ghosted over his cheek and a low voice whispered breathily, "Arthur~". The man was instantly roused his face flushing an automatic red as he body stiffened upright scooting away from the offender who just burst out laughing.

"W-w-w-w--" Arthur stuttered unintentionally eliciting more laughter from the younger nation. Arthur fumed regaining his voice, "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?!"

The American who was leaning towards him smiled that charming smile of his and answered with a simple, "Nothing."

"Just nothing?! I was trying to sleep, is there any good reason for you to do that?"

"I was just checking if you were still alive."

"Of course I'm still alive! Why wouldn't I be?!" snapped the raging Englishman.

America's expression turned solemn, "you weren't feeling well earlier, you were practically puking your guts out". He leaned closer 'he is getting too close, too close, TOO CLOSE'. England's mind shouted in reminder. Gently, the younger nation brushed his past mentor's bangs away to get a good look at his face.

With an uncharacteristically meek smile America continued, "But you must be feeling better since you were yelling at me, and you aren't as pale as a ghost anymore either"

Well, that certainly didn't help the Englishman stop blushing. 'He—he was actually worried? Is that why he is here..? No, I can't just let my guard down like this!' He shuffled farther away glaring at the young man, "Of course I'm feeling better, you dim-wit. You are slow as always I see, and what's with the worrying? It's not cute"

America's eyes dimmed and his mouth twitched briefly before letting out a short laugh and leaning away. "I wasn't worrying. Worrying is what old men like you do, I'm still a young hero!"

England groaned lying down, "go to sleep".

"I'm not tired yet though," America whined lying back as well.

"But I am," he growled in response.

"Then go ahead and sleep".

"Okay. Then I WILL"

A horrified look crossed England's face as soon as the words left his mouth. Of course, falling asleep first was EXACTLY what the younger nation wanted him to do. After he was asleep the sick bastard was probably planning to have his way with him. That's why he wanted him to go to sleep first! 'It's my own fault for letting my guard down around this lecherous beast. We are alone now, anything can happen I must remain vigilant!' Arthur thought. 'I'm not going to let him have his way'

Arthur rolled over to face the beast in question putting on his best scowl and staring intently. America only smiled back painfully unaware of the situation, as usual. "You are still wearing my jacket," he noted with a grin.

Arthur started for a moment releasing he was clutching the jacket, 'damn, I was clinging onto it again'. "Of course, it's cold, and you did rip my only shirt if you've forgotten".

"Oh I haven't forgotten anything," he mocked Arthur's accent on the last word waggling his eyebrows lewdly hinting about what happened earlier that day.

Caught off guard by his response Arthur's mouth gaped open, "You are vulgar!"

Alfred hollered clutching his stomach finding the older nations face absolutely priceless. "He heh, no but seriously I'm cold too. Come over here," he motioned opening his arms wide towards the gapping Brit.

England's face went from red-with-embarrassment to white-with-dread, "there is no bloody way I am going over there after what you pulled earlier. You could freeze for all I care!"

"Hey, you participated too!" Alfred defended.

"You pinned me to the ground," the Englishman deadpanned.

The other nation sighed wearily, "just come over here, please? I'm cold, I promise I won't do anything".

Arthur looked at him skeptically getting an eyeful of Alfred pulling off his infamous puppy eye look as he shuddered pitifully. The Brit's mind blanked feeling his face flush from nostalgia and his resolve slowly slipping away. He forcefully shoved himself into reality and reigned his thoughts back in. He always fell for that trick back when America was still his colony making the kid the spoiled adult he was now. He was not going to fall for it again. "Freeze for all I care you bleeding wanker!" he snapped rolling over to avoid those eyes to punctuate his finality.

"Too bad! I see an opening~" Alfred declared.

Before Arthur had enough time to realize what was meant he was pounced, arms encircling and pulling him flush against the American. The Englishman began struggling, trying fruitlessly to wriggle out of the ungodly vice grip on him. "Unhand me!" he squawked.

"You can't escape me Arthur!" Alfred cackled. "Besides, you are warm I don't wanna," he added with a yawn resting his chin on the shorter blonde's head.

"You and your damn strength! Let me go America or I swear I will wring your bloody neck in your sleep," Arthur threatened giving up on thrashing and settling on trying to claw at the younger man's arms towards freedom. There was a prolonged moment of silence on part of the American (save for England was now nosily trying to chew off the latter's arm) enough for England to pause.

"America?"

…

"…Alfred?"

Snore

England shifted to glance up to see the American's eyes which were closed. The younger nation was sleeping peacefully with his glasses comically askew on his face. The older nation shook his head letting out an exasperated sigh. He smiled fondly plucking the glasses off the other nation's face and setting them aside. There was no way he would be able to escape now, Alfred's grip didn't relent even in sleep. So England made himself as comfortable as he could given his current position before shutting his eyes.

"Good night, dolt" he muttered.

Author's Note: I. Am. SO SORRYYYYYYYYYYY. This took WAY too long to push out. To be honest, this chapter has mostly been finished since I posted the last one. The problem was every time I got down to writing it I had writers block or I was working on my HungaryxPrussia fic (link in my profile!) or an assignment for school of some sort. BUT, school is over now so I have no excuses from now on!

This is the funniest chapter so far and you guys actually get some fluff in here too. I know how you fangirls (and boys) like your fluff~ Sorry there was no France in this chapter, I got a lot of reviews requesting more France. I might fit him into the next chapter. To be honest, I am getting sick of writing this fic, but I do intend on finishing it. There are probably 2-3 chapters left, then I will write a separate fic to continue this from Alfred's point of view. From now on I will use just the human names to refer to the characters 'cause I found it very annoying to switch between the country and human names while reading so I apologize for that in this chapter. The next chapter will be up next week hopefully, I have no beta and I'm a perfectionist so bear with me. Also, reviews really help with the morale. Hint, hint. See ya soon!

Next chapter teaser; mornings can be awkward in more ways than one.