Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Hazaa! Thought this was dead did you? Pah, the grave cannot keep me! Anyway, onto more sane topics, sorry this took forever to update. There was school work, but other than that I was lazy and this chapter just lay 2/3 completed on my desktop waiting to be finished so yeah...here it is!

Thank you for all the support you have given me, all of you, and, since your review was so lovely Ice Princess, it was really a kick in the butt to get me going. I checked my reviews this night after scrolling through my e-mails for updates and that popped up so yeah... But anyway, on with the story! Enjoy!

Arthur woke slowly, forcing his excruciatingly heavy eyelids to open-despite wanting to go back to sleep. He'd done enough of that. Once open-and the light was no longer blinding- he looked around his bedroom to notice three things. One, the fire has gone out a long while ago. Two, it was dark outside, but it was around 10am when he came down with something so he at least slept for 6 hours. And finally, three, Scotland wasn't there any more.

With a sigh, he sat himself up, letting the once cool wash cloth fall onto the duvets and placed his feet on the floor. Suppressing a yelp when his feet hit cold wood, he reached the corridor and continued on. Well it's not like I expected him to stay...he has stuff to do anyway. And it's not like I'm getting up to find him, just using the loo, that's all...

But before he could reach the said toilet, he bumped into a large warm mass, making him stumble back a few steps as it retorted,

"What the bloody fuck are you doin' outta bed?"

England, shaking his head to rid himself of the reeling feeling but only making it worse, looked up to see an irritated Scotsman holding a tray of soup with a cup of tea. Only just stopping himself to sigh in relief shut up it's just the bloody cold, that's all, he was about to splutter an excuse when Wales suddenly joined the situation, who was soon followed by the Irish counterparts. Realising a stupid excuse had no chance of getting past the likes of all of them, he sighed slightly and let his shoulders slump, allowing them to guide him back to the bedroom as they argued over him.

"Honestly, now ain't a time ta be wanderin' around, aye?"

"If ya needed somethin', ya should'a just told us."

"We are yer brothers after all."

Reaching the bedroom, they got him back into bed and placed him under the covers, then proceeding to put the tray down. Seamus then proceeded to dunk the spoon in the broth and up to his brothers lips.

Nearly tilting his head, England merely looked at them confused. He could take care of himself, so why were they-?

Then his face fell.

Oh no, I am NOT letting them baby me.

For the second time that day, when he opened his mouth to protest a foreign object was shoved in it, making him gag-yet again- but he forced himself to swallow. It would actually taste nice if it wasn't rammed down his throat at 100 miles per hour and was by his own hands. Hastily sipping some tea and then placing it down he exclaimed,

"I can eat with my own hands thank you. I'm not a child."

The brothers merely smirked at this, causing the youngest, Patrick, to respond back cheerily and mockingly,

"Well we wouldn't want ya to burn yourself now would we?"

All of them chuckled at this, well except Arthur. His face was set in a deep scowl, going redder than it already was as he glared at a particular part of the bed, hoping for it to swallow him whole so he won't have to suffer through the embarrassment.

"Come on then Arthur, ye need some nourishment in you, no?" Wales chided, rubbing his leg in a soothing manner, making Arthur-eventually and reluctantly- eat the broth as they babied him.

Though it seemed pretty evident that they couldn't continue, because ten more spoonfuls in Arthur went deathly pale, snapping a hand to his mouth. The brothers already knew what was going to happen but Scotland asked anyway as Wales moved the tray in preparation.

"Think yer gonna be sick?"

Nodding sharply, Arthur shot up, racing to the toilet with Wales and Scotland in tow, leaving the two Irelands in the room to awkwardly sit this one out. They couldn't have him feeling crowded.

England made it just in time, letting his hands fall to the bathroom floor to support his weight as he hastily let out the contents of his stomach. Scotland held his hair back as a few daring bangs attempted to get in the way as Wales rubbed his back in a soothing manner, murmuring words of support. That didn't stop him from coughing and hiccuping as he pathetically gasped for breaths between heaves and sobs.

After a while his stomach finally settled, giving him some relief as he leant back, wiping his mouth on some tissue, biting back tears. Helping him stand, the brothers got him cleaned up again and then let him do his business when he explained why he was up, feeling more than embarrassed. Once he walked back out of the bathroom, the brothers guided him back to the bedroom and back in bed. The two Irelands were going to give a greeting but noticing that state of England, soon decided it was best not to.

For once, England didn't complain when they put sheet after sheet on him, all he wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep, and more so he found he just didn't have the energy to complain. Wales, noticing this, picked up the thermometer again and asked,

"Ah'm gonna take yer temperature again, so open up Arthur, 'kay?"

Arthur merely grunted at this and opened him mouth as Wales slipped the thermometer in, and swiftly closed it after. If England wasn't complaining, something wasn't right.

They all sat in awkward silence as they waited for the thermometer to beep, none of them bothering to pipe up as they put all their attention to monitoring the youngest- of whom was currently trying not to shiver due to the fever.

When the said thermometer beeped, Seamus-not wanting to feel as if he'd done nothing- took it from Arthur's mouth and read,

"40 degrees Celsius."

"Cool compress it is for you then." Patrick stated as he got up, picking up the bowl and going to fill it up again with cool water.

Arthur only replied with a muffled 'mmrph' as he tried to snuggle deeper into his blankets, but was stopped as Scotland pulled him onto his back and took a few blankets off of him, stating,

"You'll over-heat if ya do tha'."

"But I'm cold," England huffed, "Well at least I feel that way..."

Hearing a shift in fabric, Arthur turned his head to try and see who was moving but quickly heard it was Seamus' voice stating 'I'll go get a bucket.' And decided to relax into the bed again.

"Honestly Artie," Wales asked, "What did you do ta make yerself this sick?"

"It's Arthur and I'm not certain. It's probably just a cold I caught." He snapped, his voice trying it's best not to croak as it was weighed down with the cold.

The two brothers ginned in relief upon realising he still had enough energy to correct them and so relaxed a little more. Though the readings from the thermometer still unnerved them.

Once the two Irelands had returned with the equipment in tow, they got back to work with England. They got him to take the doses of medicine again, but slightly less this time as they weren't sure how much he absorbed before he threw up, and placed the cool wash cloth on his head.

"G'night Arthur." Wales said as he exited the room, allowing England to sleep. Sadly it seemed that he wouldn't be getting much tonight.

Temperatures ranged from hot and stuffy, to cold and pressing, and frankly, Arthur was sick of it (no pun intended). Fumbling, he realised his hands were of no more use to him than a ruler to a contemporary

Hearing footsteps, Arthur strained his neck and opened his eyes to a room only lit by moonlight and noticed Dylan walk in. He groaned as his elder brother tried to readjust the covers as he kicked them away. artist, and so he kicked the blankets off with a sigh of relief, glad to finally be rid of them. But the said fumbling had been heard a few rooms over to Arthur's great disappointment. They had left the door open so that they could monitor him.

"Arthur, at least put one blanket on." The figure stated, but was met with an annoyed grunt.

"Lloger..." Wales threatened in a tone England knew all too well and really wanted to avoid.

Meeting his teal eyes illuminated by the moonlight, Arthur complained,

"It's too hot and stuffy...I can't sleep."

"Well I kno' tha'." He answered, walking over to the bed, and, after pulling up a thin sheet over him, he went and re-soaked the now warm cloth and put it back on the youngest head.*

"A' least try ta get some though. Just close yer eyes." Dylan reasoned, settling down on a seat next to the bed.

Grunting, he allowed his eyes to close again and fell asleep swiftly, yet was met with nothing but night terrors.

Though it seemed Dylan had stayed as he slept, as through the night he felt a comforting presence, hushing him when he unconsciously whimpered in fear from night terrors induced by fever, covering him in the blanket when he accidentally kicked it off or replaced the warm wash cloth on his head with a cool one. Yet there was one time that stuck out the most.

In his tar smothered view of the world caused by the fever, Arthur scanned his room lethargically for what seemed like the millions time that night, energy drained and spirits crushed as everything seemed to move at a snails pace racing in the bleeding Sahara desert. Just as he was about to voice his complaints and actually move to do something, a nostalgic tune was being hummed in the background, pulling forth memories of lighter times, when they were all together and unbound by war, famine, and strife.

"Holl amrantau'r sêr ddywedant, ar hyd y nos..."

Smiling ever so slightly, Arthur turned his head to the source of the sweet melody, opening his eyelids to let feverish forest green orbs lock onto his older brother. Noticing this, Dylan paused in singing and smiled, murmuring to his brother,

"I t'ought ye were asleep."

Letting an amused snuff of air out in response, Arthur simply replied,

"There's a difference between closing one's eyes and falling asleep."

Wales only hummed in agreement.

"True, tha'."

A pregnant silence passed through the room as Arthur shifted awkwardly under his covers, avoiding eye contact and choosing now of all times to start to feel embarrassed. Dylan merely leant back into his chair once more, knowing his brother all too well and faced the ceiling, asking,

"Do ya want me ta continue?"

Hearing another shift in the blankets, he smiled inwardly to himself and nodded his head in a habit of confirmation, also to himself. Gently sucking in some breath, he continued.

"Dyma'r ffordd i fro gogoniant, ar hyd y nos."

Closing his eyes again, Arthur sighed contently. Even if he didn't state his gratitude, he knew his brother could see it and was very glad that they understood each other so well.

"Golau arall yw tywyllwch, I arddangos gwir brydferthwch, teulu'r nefoedd mewn tawelwch, ar hyd y nos."

Slowly, gradually, Arthur could feel himself floating into the warm embrace of dreams, of times peaceful yet sadly long gone instead of the rotten grip of nightmares.

"O mor siriol gwena seren, ar hyd y nos. I oleuo'i chwaer ddaearen, Ar hyd y nos."

His current surroundings started to disappear around him and were replaced by that of his dream. The bed that had seemed like a prison to his even though the night hadn't yet passed was replaced by a lush bank of grass. The night stand next to his bed became a great oak tree that loomed over him like a parent would, shading him. Luminescent moonlight was replaced by the brilliant glare of the sunlight, beating down and warming his body. Yet through all of this, the voice continued to guide him to safe and happy dreams.

"Nos yw henaint pan ddaw cystudd, ond I harddu dyn a'i hwyrddydd, rhown ein golau gwan i'n gilydd, ar hyd y nos..."

Giggling, he ran down the hill to catch up with his brothers who were making their way down to the cerulean lake to go fishing, leaving their irritated mother to hold the majority of the equipment. A gentle breeze caressed his cheek as he made his way to splash in the lukewarm water, his brothers and mother laughing happily along side him without a care in the world. Here, he was content, and although his brothers could be annoying at times, he wouldn't want to know what he'd be without them.

Grunting quietly as his joints clicked in distress, Dylan stood and made his way over to his little brother who was currently peacefully sleeping off somewhere in dreamland, breath equal and steady with a gentle look on his face. The older of the two bent over the resting form and kissed the top of his feverish forehead, whispering as he closed the door behind him, (as he was sure Arthur wouldn't wake for a while), he whispered,

"Sweet dreams Arthur."

And Arthur, apparently only dozing after his brother had stood up smiled to himself before falling into sleep again. As if he could have anything else.

A/N Not certain if this is only me viewing it, but the font and size of the words changed when I was copying and pasting it...this hasn't happened before. If it has occurred to you I'm sorry, but I'm not certain what to do to fix it. If not then ignore this rambling.

*"Well I kno' tha'." He answered, walking over to the bed, and, after pulling up a thin sheet over him, he went and re-soaked the now warm cloth and put it back on the youngest head.*I believe that even though northern Ireland is technically the youngest, I believe he is made up of Ireland originally so I see England as the youngest in the group. Plus, it works better for me when I'm writing. (Tee-hee, lazy writer!)