Just a note, the boss mentioned is just a generic boss, not a real person who happens to be president of the United States.

I don't own Hetalia! end/AN/

America gently put his hand on Molossia's fevered brow, and feared that the heat of his body had only gone up since the last time he'd checked. "Hey, Mol, you there? Hey, talk to me; it's talking time."

He only got a groan in response, as though an attempt at words was simply too much for Molossia right now.

Okay, that had to be bad; America wasn't stupid. A nation, or rather, micronation, shouldn't be going through this kind of illness. The economy of Molossia wasn't that bad, was it? His red face and shivering body seemed to indicate otherwise, however.

"Come on, words. You have to talk to me," he insisted, gently smoothing back Molossia's hair from where it stuck to his forehead.

He'd found him like this, curled up on his kitchen floor. It was fortunate he'd dropped by to visit, because who knew how long he could have stayed like this? It wasn't as though Molossia had a lot of friends visiting all the time.

This time, Molossia whimpered, and it seemed like his eyes were filling with tears.

America decided he was pushing too hard; if Molossia couldn't do words right now, he'd have to make due. "Hey, hey, it's okay, you're going to be okay, I promise."

The sickness was clearly making him emotional, because Molossia couldn't help sniffling and blinking rapidly, some of his tears falling sideways off of his face. America smoothed back his hair again, adding, "We'll find out what's making you sick, and get you better, okay?"

America wasn't worried, even in this recession, of catching Molossia's disease. He was simply too small an entity to have anything that could affect America. He gently lifted him, sitting down next to him on the bed and pulling him into his lap.

"I'll sing, if you want. Maybe something by Kelly Clarkson? You like her, right?"

Molossia only shook violently, eyes half-lidded with fever. His lips moved just a bit, but it could have been just him swallowing; that seemed a little difficult for him, America had noticed.

America decided to sing some of his old lullabies, the ones he'd gotten from England. The warmth radiated, almost too hot, from Molossia into his lap.

He sang every lullaby he knew, from the quintessential 'Rockabye Baby' to 'You'll be in my Heart' from Tarzan. He even began to branch into country songs after a while.

Very suddenly, he realized Molossia had weakly intertwined his hand in his. Not only that, but Molossia appeared to be sleeping. Well, that was good for getting better, wasn't it?

He decided to take the risk of leaving him alone for a few minutes, just to call his boss and tell him what was going on. Why he'd be taking a few days off.

He speed-dialled on his phone, and stood impatiently waiting while the phone rang. It was picked up fairly soon.

"Yes, what is it, America?"

"Hey Boss. Listen, I've got to take a few days off; Molossia's real sick, and I don't want to leave him alone while he's like this."

"I'm afraid you can't. Please come into work as soon as possible."

"What? What do you mean I can't?" America was astonished. Not that he could usually easily get days off, but he had clearly shown the high stakes, hadn't he? "Boss, I'm coming in when he gets better, that's as soon as possible."

"No. Come back into work, now."

There was an uncomfortable silence. America was trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and his boss was awaiting an obedient answer. Well, he obviously hadn't been boss of the United States of America long enough.

"I'm not coming in! What's going on?"

There was shuffling on the other end, and sigh. "America, has it ever occurred to you how a micronation makes us look?"

America's throat went dry. "Just fine?"

"No, it makes us look stupid, like we can't control our own populace. That, and Molossia's boss refuses to pay taxes; can you imagine what would happen if a large number of people followed his example?"

"Boss… you can't be serious! No one's going to follow his example! What did you do to Molossia?" America could feel anger and fear rising in his chest simultaneously, as he glanced back at the thankfully-still-breathing micronation slumbering in the bed.

"We've arrested his leader, and have cut off the rest of the place from any resources, such as the internet or money. We're going to confiscate the land in return for the back taxes." His boss let out a sigh. "I know this isn't easy for you, but it's the way it has to be. We're not Australia."

"You can't do this! He's like- he's like my kid, okay? You can't just do this to him!" America yelled into the phone, losing it.

"I'm sorry, but that's the way it-" clack! The phone hit the wall.

"You bastard!" America cursed, running his hands through his hair and trying to figure out what to do. He had to save Molossia; he couldn't let him just dissolve this way.

A strangled noise came from the bedroom, and he ran to the bedside.

Molossia was trying to force himself up, but was failing miserably. His eyes were closed, his face burning red, his arms shaking violently as he pushed against the mattress.

"No, no, don't exert yourself; please don't," America said, catching his arms and gently forcing him back to lying down. Who would know what to do? Someone had to know how to save a micronation from being dissolved!

England! England could put a spell on him, and then he'd stay around forever!

America ran back to his phone, pushing the #3 speed dial. "Pick up pick up pick up!"

"Yes? America, if you're calling to ask me something stupid about Harry Potter-"

"No, shut up! This is really important! Molossia's dying, and I need you to come over here and save him!" America pleaded, voice reaching a high note on the end.

"Molossia? Who's Molossia?" England sounded confused.

"He's a micronation on my land, just get over here, please! They're trying to dissolve him!"

"I'm coming," England said with a sigh, as though this were simply a favor he had to do yet again for America.

America would have been picky another time, but this time, he said, "Hurry. I don't know how long he'll hold on."

"Understood. Goodbye." England hung up the phone.

America went back to Molossia, and gently kissed his forehead, an action he knew Molossia would have never allowed, if he had been significantly more conscious. "You're going to be okay; England's coming. It's going to be okay."

He had to wonder if it would be, however.

/AN/ I decided to make this a two or more shot, depending. I hope you guys like it, and gosh, Molossia needs more fan love! He's freaking awesome! And probably has a grudge against Prussia to boot.