A/N: This is just a sappy piece of Scotland and England brotherly fluff because that is what my soul desired. Scotland might be a bit OOC here, but I figure I can't do too much damage, since he's not a canon character in the first place. *sobs* Also, I've done my best with his accent, but it's a bit patchy. I kind of meant to go back and fix it, but that obviously didn't happen. I've gone with my favorite human names for the UK brothers that I've seen around: Allistair for Scotland, Seamus for Northern Ireland, and Dylan for Whales. Anyway, hope you enjoy! I don't own Hetalia.

"Artie! Ya home?" Allistair opened the door noisily, looking for his youngest brother.

He was just about to yell for him again when he entered the living room. There, in a chair in front of the fire, book in his lap, sat Arthur, fast asleep. Coming closer, Allistair noticed the flush on his cheeks and his labored breathing. Gently resting the back of his hand on the younger's cheek, Allistair was surprised when Arthur leaned unconsciously into his touch. That, even more than the unnatural heat, told him that his brother was seriously ill.

"Hey! You find him yet?" Seamus called from the doorway.

Allistair shot him a glare, placing a finger on his lips. Confused, the Irishman quietly approached the Scot, eyes widening as he took in the scene.

"I'm gonna take him to his room. Let Dylan know, okay?" Allistair whispered.

Seamus nodded, then tiptoed out of the room. Allistair picked up Arthur's book and put it on the coffee table, then gently lifted his sleeping brother. Arthur stirred, eyes fluttering.

"Shh, Artie. I gotcha, just go back to sleep."

With that murmured reassurance, Arthur settled, head resting on Allistair's shoulder.

Reaching Arthur's room, Allistair nudged the door open with his foot. Gently laying the sick nation on the unmade bed, further proof that Arthur hadn't been feeling well all day. Allistair proceeded to pull the sweater vest off his brother, then moved on to his dress shirt. Once Arthur was down to just his undershirt, Allistair gently shook him.

"Artie? Arthur, lad, can you wake up for me?"

Arthur stirred.

"There you go, laddie. Come on."

Groggily, Arthur opened his eyes. "A-Allistair?"

"Aye," the Scot confirmed. "You're sick, Artie. We need to get you into something more comfortable. Now, I've done what I can with your shirt, but I need your help with your trousers."

At that, Arthur woke up a bit more. "I can undress myself, thank you!"

Allistair chuckled. "I believe you, so put these on." He handed him a pair of green flannel pajama bottoms. "I'll be right back."

Closing the door behind him, Allistair headed down to the kitchen. Seamus and Dylan were sitting at the table expectantly, waiting.

"What's wrong with Artie?" Dylan asked.

"I dinnae ken," Allistair told him, slipping into his natural accent. "He's runnin' a fever, but that's all I know."

"Can we do anything?" Seamus asked.

"I've got him for now, but I'll let you know," Allistair told him..

While they had been talking, the Scot had been gathering up what he needed. All set, he left the kitchen, heading back to his self-assigned post.

"Artie? Yeh decent?" Allistair called obnoxiously outside the Brit's door. Secretly, he was hoping for some passionate insults, maybe even something flying out of the room aimed at his head. Anything to tell him that the blond wasn't really as bad off as he seemed. However, all he got was a subdued, "Yes, you pervert."

Forcing a smile, Allistair opened the door. "Says the bairn tha' grew up following Francis around."

Arthur was sitting on the side of the bed, wearing the pajamas. Allistair noted, with some concern, that the younger was swaying slightly. Depositing his supplies on the bedside table, Allistair sat down next to Arthur.

"How're you feeling?"

"Fine," Arthur muttered.

Allistair nudged his shoulder gently. "I'm just trying to help you. Talk to me, Artie."

After a minute of silence, Arthur sighed. "My head hurts, a-and the room's spinning."

"You feel sick to your stomach?" Allistair probed gently.

"M-maybe."

"Do you want some medicine, or do you just wanna lie down?" Allistair asked.

"L-lie down," Arthur replied shakily, sitting himself upright. Immediately, Allistair shot out a hand to steady him, as he started swaying heavily.

"Whoa, easy there. Let's take this slow, okay?"

Arthur leaned on Allistair, panting slightly.

"Let me know if I'm going too fast, okay?" Allistair told him.

Arthur whimpered affirmation.

Over the next few minutes, Allistair worked to get his brother laying down. By the time he was horizontal, Arthur was practically translucent.

"You need to be sick?" Allistair asked, worried by his brother's lack of color.

Arthur shook his head, curling tightly into himself.

"Alright," Allistair sighed, running his fingers through the blond locks. "Get some rest. I'll be here if you need anything."

It didn't take long for sleep to claim the ill nation.

Seeing that Arthur was good for the moment, Allistair pulled out his phone and texted Seamus. Within minutes, he was at the door, large mixing bowl in hand.

"Is he that bad?" He whispered, shooting a concerned glance at their youngest brother.

Allistair took the bowl. "I don't know, but it's at least a possibility."

"Let me know if you need anything else." Seamus told him as he left, closing the door behind him. With a sigh, Allistair pulled the desk chair over next to the bed and settled in to wait.

~Hetalia~

A few hours later, Allistair was distracted from the game he was playing on his phone. Looking up, he saw Arthur twisting around in his sleep, a noticeable lack of color in his face. Hastily stowing his phone, Allistair reached out and shook his shoulder.

"Artie, wake up."

Arthur whimpered, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

"Arthur, come on, wake up!"

"It hurts, make it stop…" Arthur's plea was barely audible.

Allistair moved onto the bed, pulling his little brother into his lap. Prying off Arthur's arms from around his middle, Allistair then slipped his hand under the undershirt and started rubbing firm but gentle circles. At first, it didn't seem to make much of a difference. Arthur still had a death grip on Allistair's shirt, breaths coming in stuttered pants on his collar, broken by the occasional whimper. Eventually though, Arthur started to relax. His breathing evened out, and his hold on Allistair's shirt began to loosen.

"There we go," Allistair comforted. "Feelin' better now?"

Arthur hummed, nuzzling his face into his older brother's neck.

Maneuvering carefully, Allistair settled back against the headboard of the four-poster. Almost unconsciously, he started running his fingers through Arthur's hair, humming an old Scottish folk song. Within moments, Arthur had relaxed completely, falling into a restful sleep. Allistair couldn't help the wave of nostalgia that swept over him. Maybe this was how they could've been, if he and Artie had gotten along when they were younger. Now they could only move past centuries of insults and battle scars when one was barely coherent from illness.

Speaking of which, Allistair was starting to be really worried by the heat coming off of his little brother. Careful to not disturb the younger nation, he dug his phone out of his pocket and texted Dylan. Within moments, the Welshman was easing open the door, freezing when he saw their position. "Allistair?" he whispered.

Allistair motioned for him to come over. Once he was standing by the bed, Dylan rested the back of his hand on Arthur's cheek.

"He's burning up," he whispered, turning to Allistair.

"Aye, I ken." He answered. "That's why I called ye."

"What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to get me a wet washcloth to cool him off."

Dylan nodded, quickly moving into the bathroom. When he returned, he was carrying not only the washcloth, but also a glass of water.

"When he wakes up, maybe try to get him to drink a little," he explained.

"Good idea," Allistair said, taking the washcloth.

"Need anything else?" Dylan asked, setting the glass down.

"I think I'm good for now. Ill text either you or Seamus if anything changes."

Dylan ran his fingers through Arthur's sweat-soaked hair. "Alright then."

At the touch, Arthur stirred, readjusting his grip on Allistair's shirt. The child-like action brought smile to both the older nations' faces.

"Reminds me of when he was just a little one." Dylan commented.

"Aye," Allistair sighed.

Dylan gave him a sympathetic look, but didn't say anything. As he left, Allistair took the washcloth and began gently wiping off Arthur's flushed face. At the temperature shock, Arthur's eyelashes began to flutter as he returned to consciousness.

"A-Allistair?"

"Aye, laddie." Allistair replied, continuing to try and lower the fever.

"Wha-what's going on?"

"You're sick, Artie. You're runnin' a pretty impressive temperature right now."

"Can-" Arthur broke off, coughs shaking his body.

Immediately, Allistair started rubbing his chest, supporting his weakened body. As they petered off, the older nation reached over and grabbed the glass of water from the bedside table.

"Here, drink some 'o this," he said, holding it to his lips.

It said something about how badly Arthur was feeling that he didn't object to being treated like an invalid. After only a few sips, he turned his head away, rejecting any more.

"How're you feeling?" Allistair asked, setting the glass back down.

"A-a bit nauseous," Arthur replied, laying his head back onto Allistair's shoulder.

"Well, I've got a bowl if you need it," the older nation reassured him.

They sat that way for a while, Arthur half-conscious, and Allistair rubbing gently circles on the ill nation's stomach. After some time, Arthur let out a choked whimper. "I-I'm gonna-"

Allistair quickly grabbed the bowl, putting it in Arthur's hands. For a minute, Arthur leaned over, panting heavily through his mouth. Then, he lurched forward, vomit spewing. While he heaved, Allistair snaked one arm across his chest, supporting him each time his body pitched forward. With his other hand, Allistair rubbed his back, offering what comfort he could. "Shh. Easy, it's okay. Just breathe, in and out. It's okay."

After about fifteen minutes, Arthur let his head fall back onto Allistair's shoulder.

"You done?" Allistair asked gently, still rubbing his back.

"I believe so," the blond nation sighed, exhausted.

Moving the bowl, Allistair retrieved the washcloth from earlier, gently wiping off the younger's face. Settling down, Arthur curled up slightly, tucking his face into the crook of Allistair's neck. The older nation chuckled, running his fingers through blond, sweaty locks. "Rest, laddie. I gotcha."

Before long, Arthur succumbed to sleep.

After waiting a few more minutes, just to be sure, Allistair texted Seamus. It didn't take long for the Irishman to show up. Wrinkling his nose at the smell, he moved over to the bed.

"Bad?" he asked quietly.

"Aye," Allistair replied seriously, still running his fingers through Arthur's hair.

Seamus took the bowl into the bathroom to clean it out. When he returned, he also brought a new washcloth. Then, he signaled to Allistair to wait a minute and left the room. When he returned, he had a glass of what looked to be some kind of soda with a straw sticking out of it.

"What's that for?" Allistair asked.

"It's ginger ale," Seamus explained. "I opened it when you asked for the bowl, so now it's flat and room temperature. It should be easy on his stomach, but it's got some sugar in it."

Allistair nodded, understanding. "I'll try to get some in him when he wakes up."

"Do you need anything?" Seamus asked. "You've been up here a long time."

"Well, since you're here, I need to use the john." Allistair said. "You wanna take him for a minute?"

Seamus nodded, sitting down on the bed. Slowly, Allistair shifted until he could lift Arthur, then placed him on Seamus' lap. They both let out a sigh of relief when he didn't so much as stir.

"I'll be right back," Allistair whispered, leaving the room.

Moving quickly, he headed down the hall to his room. First, he changed into an oversized t-shirt and sleep pants, then gathered up his phone charger and a couple of blankets. Then, he used the bathroom before taking his stash back to Arthur's room.

As soon as he walked through the door, Seamus looked up at him, worry in his eyes. Allistair put down the blankets on the end of the bed, asking, "What's wrong?"

Just then, Arthur let out a weak moan, shifting in Seamus' grip.

"I don't know, this just started as soon as you left." Seamus told him.

Quickly, Allistair settled himself back on the bed. "Give him to me."

Carefully, Seamus placed the restless nation back into Allistair's lap. Almost immediately, Arthur latched onto the red-haired nation, fisting his shirt and settling into the crook of his neck. Within a minute, he was perfectly calm and relaxed.

Seamus just looked at Allistair, shock written all over his face. It was no secret that Arthur and Allistair got on like cats and dogs. After the recent vote on whether Scotland would remain in the UK, their relationship had only gotten worse. Allistair smirked up at him, though surprise was reflected in his eyes as well.

"Right then," Seamus said finally. "Well, I'm headed to bed now, but don't hesitate if you need anything."

"Alright, goodnight then." Allistair said, absently rubbing Arthur's arm as a shiver passed through the sleeping nation.

"Goodnight." Seamus quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

With a sigh, Allistair settled back, closing his eyes. Before long, he too succumbed to sleep.

~Hetalia~

He was woken by Arthur, who now had a death grip on his shirt and was moaning in his sleep. Carding his fingers though the sweat-soaked locks, he murmured, half-asleep, "Shh, easy there, Artie. You're alright."

However, this didn't seem to calm the Brit, in fact, he became more agitated, beginning to twist and turn.

"N-no, no more," he whimpered. "Please, l-leave me alone."

That woke Allistair up a bit more. "Artie? Can you hear me?" He glanced at the clock. 2:53am.

Arthur curled up, shaking. "P-please. I can't take another night, n-no more…"

Another night? What- Suddenly, it clicked, and Allistair's heart plummeted.

"It's alright. It's over, I promise," he comforted, shaking the delirious nation gently. "The Blitz is over, remember? Alfred sent them packing."

Arthur cracked his eyes open, though they were glazed and unfocused. "A-America?"

"That's right," Allistair comforted. "He sent those Nazi bastards packing."

"P-promise?" Arthur looked up at him, eyes swimming.

Allistair gently thumbed away a lone tear that had slid down the flushed cheek. "Promise. Do you want something to drink?"

Arthur nodded, laying his head back down. Internally thanking Seamus for his foresight, Allistair grabbed the glass of ginger ale and brought the straw to Arthur's lips. "Slowly now, don't wanna make you sick again."

Dutifully, Arthur sipped the drink, managing about a fourth before he turned away, closing his eyes.

"Good lad," Allistair praised, putting the glass down. "Get some sleep, I've got you."

Sighing, Arthur shifted slightly before settling back down. Before long, both nations had fallen back asleep.

~Hetalia~

The next morning, Allistair was awoken by his stomach growling. He hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday, and now his body was protesting. Shifting slightly, he looked down at Arthur.

The younger nation was still asleep, cheeks flushed from the fever. His hair hung limply, damp from sweat, and his breaths came in soft pants through his mouth. However, he seemed relaxed, almost peaceful, and Allistair was grateful for that. The lad needed all the sleep he could get. As he watched, Arthur shifted slightly, curling into the older's chest with a soft sigh before settling once again, one hand still holding tightly to Allistair's shirt. The Scotsman smiled softly at the gesture, enjoying the feeling of being needed.

Just then, a soft knock sounded on the door before it was pushed open, revealing Dylan.

"How is he?" he asked quietly.

"He's still asleep," Allistair informed him. "Woke up once in the middle of the night, thinkin' he was in the middle of the Blitz."

Dylan winced sympathetically. "You need anything?"

"I'm starving," Allistair told him. "You mind staying with him while I go find something to eat?"

Dylan looked concerned. "You sure? Seamus told me what happened when you left yesterday. I could just bring you something to eat."

"I don't wanna risk it," Allistair replied. "I'm not sure if having food around would make him hurl again, and I don't want to do that to the bairn."

Dylan sighed, giving in. "Alright. What do I do?"

"With luck, he'll stay asleep. If he wakes up, try to get him to drink some of the ginger ale on the bedside table, but don't push it. First and foremost, keep him calm, and I'll be back as soon as I can." Allistair instructed.

Dylan sat down on the edge of the bed, and Allistair carefully placed the sleeping nation into his lap. Groggy green eyes looked up at him in confusion. "A-Allistair? Where are you-"

"Shh, easy there Artie," the Scotsman soothed, running his fingers through the blond locks. "I'm just going to get something to eat. Dylan's gonna look out for you while I'm gone, okay?"

Arthur hummed, leaning into the touch as he closed his eyes.

"Good lad," Allistair praised. "I'll be back soon," he said, meeting Dylan's gaze. The Welshman nodded.

Heading down to the kitchen, Allistair started mentally running through options for breakfast that he could eat quickly and get back upstairs. However, when he reached the kitchen, there was Seamus, just finishing making a full-on continental breakfast.

"Hey, how're they doing?" He asked, without turning around.

"As well as can be expected."

At Allistair's voice, the Irishman whirled around. "Allistair? What are you doing down here? I thought you'd be with Arthur."

"I was starvin' so I convinced Dylan to look after him while I found somethin' to eat."

"Well," Seamus gestured at the table. "I was going to bring you up a plate, but you're here now, so dig in."

"Thanks, don't mind if I do." Allistair immediately began loading a plate.

"How'd Arthur fare, sitting with Dylan?" Seamus as, curious.

"He woke up a little, so I tried to explain what was happening. But, I'm not sure how lucid he was, so I'm tryin' to get back as soon as I can." Allistair explained, briefly looking up from his plate.

In ten minutes flat, he had finished. Standing up, he was half-way to the door when Seamus interrupted him.

"I was thinking of bringing some soup up later for Arthur. What do you think?"

Allistair shrugged helplessly. "It's worth a shot." Then, he was gone.

Entering Arthur's room, Allistair was greeted by the scene he's half-expected, but hoped they could avoid. Arthur was twisting and turning in Dylan's lap, tears running down his face. "I won't allow it… You idiot! Why can't you follow anything through to the end… Why? Dammit, why? It's not fair…"

Dylan looked up at him helplessly. Moving quickly, Allistair knelt down next to the bed, cupping Arthur's cheek and thumbing away the tears. "Shh, Artie. It's okay. You're alright, I gotcha." Carefully, Allistair sat down on the bed, taking Arthur back into his lap. Immediately, Arthur latched onto the Scotsman's shirt, burying his face in the older nation's shoulder.

"Shh, it okay, lad, everything gonna be okay," Allistair comforted, running his fingers through his hair.

Gradually, Arthur calmed, the sobs turning into shuddering, hiccupping breaths.

"There we go, that's better," Allistair soothed, rubbing circles on the Brit's back.

Dylan just looked on in awe, having never seen this side of Allistair before. "How did you do that?"

Allistair looked over at him. "The bairn doesnae know what's goin' on. I just treat him like I would any frightened creature."

Dylan continued to stare until Allistair jerked his head towards the door. "Seamus's made quite the spread downstairs. It'd be a shame to make him eat it all himself."

Taking the hint, Dylan slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Settling back against the headboard, Allistair refocused on Arthur, who still had his face buried in his shoulder.

"Artie? You with me?" He asked gently.

Now that he'd had a break, Allistair could tell that Arthur's fever had gone up. Taking the washcloth and dunking it in the abandoned glass of water, he began wiping off the back of Arthur's neck. "Arthur?"

The ill nation relaxed a little, but didn't respond. Gently, Allistair turned Arthur's head so that he was facing him. His gaze softened at the sight that greeted him.

Arthur's eyes were closed, tears still trembling on fair eyelashes, and tear tracks were clearly visible on heavily flushed cheeks. Even in sleep, his breaths still hitched slightly, and as Allistair watched, another tear slipped down and landed on his shirt.

"Aww Artie," Allistair sighed, beginning to wipe off the younger's face. Arthur stirred slightly at the touch, curling closer with a soft sigh. By the time Allistair finished, he was shivering, chills from the fever kicking in. Reaching over to the end of the bed, Allistair grabbed one of the blankets he'd brought in the night before. Shaking it out, he draped it over Arthur. The blond grasped it tightly, curling up and pulling it closer. Wrapping an arm around the sleeping nation, Allistair settled in for a long day.

~Hetalia~

A few hours later, he looked up from his phone when the door opened. Seamus walked in, carrying a bowl of soup. "How is he doing?"

"He calmed down once I took him from Dylan. He's been sleeping since then."

"Well, I've brought this, if you wanted to try it." Seamus said, sitting down on the bed.

"I'll give it a shot." Allistair gently shook Arthur. "Artie? Come on now, wake up for me."

Arthur stirred, eyelashes fluttering, but didn't wake. Allistair shook him a little harder. "Come on Arthur, rise and shine."

With a soft moan, Arthur finally opened his eyes. Allistair smiled. "There we go. Now, I've some soup for you to try."

Immediately, Arthur turned away.

"Come on now, it's been over a day since you've eaten. Just a few bites? If you feel sick, you can stop, okay?" Allistair coaxed.

Arthur still shook his head. Gently, Allistair tilted Arthur's chin up until he was looking at him. "I'm worried about you. See over there?" He pointed at Seamus. "Seamus is worried about you. Dylan is downstairs, worried about you. We care about ya, Artie, and we wouldn't ask you to do this if we didn't think it was best for you. So can you at least try, for us?"

Arthur sighed, saying quietly, "Alright, you wanker."

"There's the Artie we all know and love," Allistair said, barely containing his relief at the insult. "Now, do you think you can manage, or do you need help?"

A light blush dusted Arthur's cheeks. "If you don't mind…"

"Not at all," Allistair answered smoothly. "Seamus?" The Irishman lifted the spoon to Arthur's mouth.

When the bowl was about half empty, the color abruptly fled Arthur's face. Allistair noticed first, rubbing the ill nation's back. "Artie?"

"I believe," Arthur said in a slightly trembling voice. "This is enough for now."

"Yeah, I think so," Allistair replied softly, starting gently circles on his stomach.

With a heavy exhale, Arthur laid his head back down on Allistair's shoulder. The older nation moved the bowl into Arthur's lap, silently communicating that Arthur could hurl if he needed to. Seamus quietly took the remaining soup and left.

After about twenty minutes, Arthur finally relaxed with a relieved whimper.

"You good?" Allistair asked, continuing to rub his back.

"For now," Arthur murmured, curling closer to his older brother.

"You did good," Allistair praised, switching to running his fingers through the younger's hair. "Get some sleep."

It didn't take long for Arthur to follow the instruction. Allistair smiled softly at the peaceful expression on his little brother's face as he placed the bowl back to the side. They weren't there yet, but it was definitely a step in the right direction.

P.S. This story was originally inspired by a piece of art, which you can view on zerochan, just type /253551 after the website.