Get Better (UsUk Hetalia Fanfic)

A/N: Heyyo! :P Its me. Well, obviously. But, hey! This is a Hetalia fanfic, which, if you dont know what Hetalia is, its an anime/manga/web comic that has the countries of the world personified. It is overly-stereotypical and very offensive, but that's what makes it funny :) so if you're not good with ethnic (?) -related humor, then please step outside :) thank you!

That, and it goes without saying that this is a yaoi (boyxboy), so no hate, or I will litterally come after you with a battalion of crazed purple Minions. No joke.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT own Hetalia [I wish I did :'( ], any and all characters, settings, etc. used, or mentioned in this one shot (besides any that are thought up by me) belong to their repctful owner(s).

Arthur = Britain

Alfred = America

If you didn't know ;)

Dedicated to: TheHeroOfForever because her UsUk story Curses! is amazing. Seriously. Go read it, if you haven't already! Its wonderful >.<

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"You bloody wanker!" An angry Brit paced at the foot of the bed a certain dirty-blond haired American.

"Dude, calm do-"

"Absolutely not! I mean, honestly, how idiotic can one get? Walking home in the pouring rain? Are you mad?!"

Alfred sneezed, his words slurring slightly, as he gave his boyfriend a skeptic look.

"Engwand, I'b pretty sure that the only one who's pithed off bight now is you." The nation only sighed in annoyance, handing the other a tissue.

"'Sides," America blew his nose loudly, sniffling cheerfully, "I'm the hero! Its only a cold. 'S not anything serious."

"Use proper English!" England scolded. The younger country rolled his eyes, sighing as he rested his pounding head back onto his pillows. It was silent, with the exception of England's irritated footsteps.

He stopped pacing suddenly, turning to Alfred with a determined expression. "At any rate, I will be taking care of you."

America's eyes bulged slightly, and sat he up quickly.

"Now, Britain, dude, you know thats not really necces-" He was cut off as dizziness attacked him, slumping back down into the covers. England rushed to his side, laying a hand on his lover's forehead.

"You can't even sit up, you twit." He muttered affectionately. "And you're burning up." He tutted quietly, then smiled. "Don't worry, love. I'll take care of you." He pecked his cheek softly before walking out of the room. Alfred smiled after him, the warmth of his kiss a much nicer sensation than the heat burning beneath his skin. Closing his eyes, he relaxed against his pillows once more. Then Britian's words sunk in, and he shuddered.

I pray to God that he doesn't try to cook for me.

*****

The nation woke to a cold washcloth being pressed to his forehead. He lifted a hand to touch it, only to have his wrist grabbed.

"Don't take it off, it'll help with the fever." His eyes shot open to the green-eyed man sitting on the bed next to him. Smiling slightly, he intertwined his fingers with hand that was grasping his. England blushed slightly, looking away.

"Thanks, Iggy." His voice came out weak and scratchy-sounding. Again, the Englishman flushed red, embarrassed at the use of his nickname.

"Well," he gathered himself, clearing his throat loudly, "I brought you soup and some aspirin. Hopefully it'll help with your sore throat." He pondered underneath his breath.