Hey folks - any of you who have read this before (I know some people like to re-read fics) will notice a few changes here and there from the last time they perused it. I was pretty sick the other day and was bedridden, so decided to read some of my older stuff, and MAN was it full of errors! I figured it was about time I did something about that. Please enjoy a more soberly edited version of events...

Sometimes Friends, Sometimes Enemies, Always Brothers.

France sat in the waiting room, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently on the old linoleum floor. He tried not to be concerned, but it was a futile effort. England had collapsed in the middle of his address at the world conference: concerning enough for anyone, but considering what it took to bring a nation to its knees, France most likely had very good reason to be worried. He had told the others to stay away, so as not to overwhelm the emergency room, and accompanied the unconscious England in the ambulance. How much a doctor could really do for a nation was still up for debate, but their bodies were still flesh and bone, so it was better safe than sorry.

He looked up every time a doctor came into the room, but Arthur's doctor was taking an annoyingly long time. When he finally showed up, he seemed to be a little different from the other doctors in a&e – he wore a tie and white shirt that bore no pit-stains, with immaculate hair and a clean shaven face. Despite the doctors pleasant appearance, France found his middle-manager attire disconcerting. He showed France to an office quite a way from the emergency room and sat him down, serious look on his face.

"Before I tell you anything I shouldn't," the doctor began "Can you tell me how you know Mr. Kirkland?"

"That is a bit complicated." The Frenchman admitted "Long story short, he is my brother."

"I see." The doctor made a note "Is there anyone at home – wife, partner? Does Mr Kirkland live with anyone?"

"Non, he lives alone."

"Is there any other family close by?"

"Non… he doesn't get along with his siblings."

"Parents?"

"Non. Doctor, you are worrying me, what is wrong with Arthur?"

"Well…" the doctor seemed to reason with himself, flipping through the sheets of notes on his desk "Mr Kirkland collapsed due to a mixture of exhaustion and depression. He's going to have to take some time off work, at least a few weeks to get his bearings. Have you ever known Mr. Kirkland to suffer from depression?"

"Not since the 1920's." France replied with a chuckle.

The doctor didn't laugh, just raising an eyebrow. Most likely he didn't get it. France fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Doctor, is this… serious?"

The doctor didn't give anything away, but sighed through his nose, discarding his papers.

"Does Mr. Kirkland have any close friends who can stay with him?" he asked "I've prescribed him some medication, but he doesn't seem like the kind of man who'll take it."

With a light knock on the door, a nurse interrupted to let them know Mr Kirkland was ready to go home. France met him in the ward as he was fastening his tie and slipping his jacket on, waiting with his hands in his pockets. The taller man examined him closely – other than the dark circles under his eyes, he looked perfectly fine. He even smirked when he saw him.

"You're the one who came?" England teased "Good grief, what bet did you lose and who to?"

France didn't laugh. England's expression changed, becoming a little panicked and disturbed.

"Hey now, what's with the sour look, Snail Breath? You're looking at me like I just killed your cat."

His collar was crooked. Silently, France straightened it out for him.

"I was worried, mon ami." He told him.

"Well, that's charming and all, but I'm fine!" England assured "A couple of days off and I'll be back on my feet. I'll hop the ferry to Dover this evening and be ready and raring to go in time for work on Monday."

"I don't think that is wise, cher."

England snorted at him.

"I'm not a weakling, like you are." He said, slapping France's hand away from him "The British people are hardy! A little cold won't keep me down. You know me."

Yes, France thought. Yes he did.

True to his word, England skipped the rest of the conference and took the Channel Tunnel from Paris to London, trying desperately not to fall asleep on the underground the rest of the way home. He was extremely tired by the time he reached the front door of his Victorian terrace, but not too tired to notice that it stood sightly ajar…Shit. He definitely locked it before he left, and the days when he could carry a weapon around (legally) were long gone. Who the fuck was trying to rob him? Talk about bad timing: he was not in the mood for this, and he was going to viciously beat whoever he found inside. He placed his bag on the top step and strained his ear - was someone still there? Hang on, what was that smell? Surely not... England kicked the door open.

"What the hell!" he shrieked "Not only did you break into my house, you got here before me?!"

"Oui." France replied, placing a vase of fresh lilies of the hall table "I took the airbus. I will never understand your objection to flying. And I didn't 'break in', thank you - it's not my fault you still keep the spare key under the porcelain cat. Still."

"That doesn't answer why!"

"You didn't ask why."

The two stared each other down, blue eyes meeting green.

"Go home."

"Non."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to."

England was getting frustrated, head starting to pound from his exhaustion and long trip.

"And what's your boss going to say when you don't turn up for work?" he parried.

"I took some time off." France revealed, pointlessly rearranging the flowers in the vase.

"How much time?"

"As much time as is necessary."

"Are you trying to piss me off?!"

"Non, but I expect it will happen anyway."

"You think your boss is just going to put up with you leaving out of the blue?"

"What, you think he can replace me?" France laughed "I think not."

England groaned and ground his teeth. Too tired for a fight, he finally kicked off his shoes and shut the door behind him, dropping his bag onto the hardwood floor.

"One week, and I'm kicking you out." He swore, pulling off his coat and scarf "I'm going to bed."

"Non, you are not." France insisted "You are going to have a shower and come and join me for dinner. We're having beef stewed in red wine with potato dofinouis and green beans."

"Now I remember why I hate living with you."

"Oui, oui, go have a shower, you are getting crusty."

Muttering under his breath, England dragged his bag into his room. Hearing the shower starting up, France went back to the kitchen. Although he wasn't intimately familiar with every nook and cranny of England's house, having come and gone over centuries, there were things he expected to see when he got here – a fully stocked larder (although the less said about the food, the better), clean, warm rooms and an organised, dust-free clutter. None of that had met him when he arrived earlier today – the pantry was empty, dishes stacked high in the sink, linen piled up and unwashed beside the machine, and a somewhat thick layer of dust covering the knick-knacks, doo-dads and piles of mess. England himself may not have looked any different, but his house sure did.

Waiting for him to get home, France had done enough food shopping to get them through the weekend, bought some flowers to brighten up the gloom and opened all the windows to get rid of the dank. He set himself up in the cosy spare room he always used when he stayed, packing his clothes away into the dresser. He bought a lot with him, but he could get home and back in a day if he needed to. He was glad he bought his cold-weather gear - the weather was already turning here...

He snapped back to the here and now as England entered the kitchen, going for the fridge.

"Mon dieu, go and dry your hair properly!" France ordered as he saw the soaking straw mop on England's head.

"I'm sorry, I thought I was a grown adult living in my own house." he grumbled in response "Clearly I was wrong. Any other orders you want to give me, Mummy France?"

"Oui, dry your damn hair!"

France grabbed the tea towel from him shoulder and launched at England, grabbing him by the head and rubbing.

"Oi! You! What?! That's a tea towel, you pillock!"

"You've already been in hospital once today!" He reminded him "Take care of yourself properly!"

England stopped struggling, arms going limp at his sides, but the waves of irritation flowed from him freely.

"Don't you glare at me!" France scolded, knowing his expression without even seeing his face "If little baby England knew how to take care of himself, Mummy France wouldn't be here now, would he?"

"Fucking hate you."

"Oui, oui. Shut up and sit down, your dinner's nearly ready."

"Get out of bed!"

"Fuck off!"

"I swear to God, England, if you don't get up right now, I am going to come in there and molest you until you do!"

"FUCK."

England was not a morning person. However, it hadn't been morning for a few hours now. Sick of amusing himself – not to mention cleaning up England's messy house alone – France was putting the boot in.

"Its like I'm living in the 12th fucking century!" England fumed as he pulled on a long-sleeved shirt "Shall I go out and milk the cow now, or draw water from the fucking well?"

"Both! And while you're there, get some bacon, three goose eggs and a bottle of disinfectant."

"Anything else, your highness?"

"I will write you a list."

France shut the door and let him change in peace, ignoring the muttering that inevitably came from the younger nation. Hearing the house phone ringing, he sprinted down the hall to catch it.

"'Allo?"

"France?"

"Ah, Germany! What can I do for you?"

"I called to check on England," Germany managed to sound both concerned and surprised "It's not like him to leave meetings early."

In the background, France could hear Italy sputtering about ('Hey, hey, Germany, say hi for me too, okay Germany?' 'Shut the hell up, little man, West is on the phone!' 'Whaaat?! Why are you being so mean?!' 'Both of you, please calm down, Mr. Germany's call is long distance!').

"Merci, Germany, but he'll be fine." France assured him "The doctor has ordered him to take a little while off, that is all. You know he's bad at taking holidays."

"Really?" Germany asked, clearly suspicious "It isn't serious?"

"Non, of course not. Why would you think that?"

"Well… you're there." Was the blunt response.

Was it that surprising? He and England had been in each others pockets for centuries.

"Oui, I am staying to make sure the idiot does not kill himself with warm beer and disgusting food."

There was a brief silence on the line.

"Ja, okay." Was the weary answer "I will call again in a few days."

With that, he hung up, leaving France listening to the dial tone. He put the phone down. While it wasn't unknown that Britain and France were closer than they had been in a long time, France didn't suppose he was fooling Germany. He knew he was an essentially selfish person, and he was sure others knew it too, so him coming to stay with England would be a pretty clear indication that something was wrong. As the handset his the receiver, France noticed England standing beside him.

"Who was that?"

"Mon cher, you scared me half to death! How does such a loud man walk so quietly?!"

"And the phone?"

"It was Germany. It was his meeting, remember? He wanted to know why you went home."

"What did you say?"

"That the doctor ordered you home, which he did."

England huffed through his nose, scratching his neck. France noticed that his clothes - while never exactly tailored or stylish in the first place - were oddly baggy. Had he lost weight?

"Well?" England asked when France didn't say anything "Weren't you going to make a list?"

"Non, I will come with you." He insisted "You will just lose it."

"Feel free to go home any time."

"Get you coat, and bring an umbrella. I know what your cockamamie British weather is like."

France watched Britain carefully as they mooched around the supermarket. He had changed – the differences were subtle, so much so that he was sure no-one would notice unless they were looking for them. His shoulders were ever so slightly slumped as he walked, as if they were too heavy for him to hold up properly, and he stared at things with a look of complete and utter disinterest. Even when he smiled, his lips were closed and his eyes were dull. He moved slower. He didn't yell as much. He didn't lose his temper as often. He spent three minutes looking at a can of baked beans.

"Hello, space cadet!" France called to get his attention when it started to freak him out "I will buy those beans for you if you want them that badly."

Snapped rudely back to his senses, England slammed the beans back down on the shelf and stormed off to the wines and spirits aisle. Whatever he picked up, France put back, taking it right out of his hand and placing it back on the shelf.

"What the hell!" Britain declared "Cease your infernal games, you nit! I'm getting a drink!"

"Non, you are not." France corrected "It will aggravate your condition."

"You're aggravating my condition! Go home! Fuck off back to Paris! Get out of my face! I'm a grown fucking man, and I can decide what I do with my life, I don't need you hovering over me like mother. Fucking. GOOSE!"

England panted, out of breath from screaming. France took it in stride. His composure broke, however, when fat tears started rolling down the small man's face. Spluttering, he furiously wiped them with his sleeves.

"God, why-why am I crying?" he choked, trying to back away from France "What is this?"

France couldn't stand it: he grabbed England's shoulders gently and pulled him into a soft, but firm embrace.

"It does not matter why, mon ami. Go ahead and cry."

"I don't want to!"

"I know."

He broke down entirely then, falling against France and crying like he hadn't since he was a small child. The larger man supported him, gently shushing, ignoring the looks and glares of those around them.

You know what makes a fun story of an afternoon? Bursting into tears in the middle of Tesco for no reason! But seriously, depression's a bitch (personal experience).

Hope you enjoyed it (can you 'enjoy' stories about depression?) enough to look out for future chapters.