When France Sneezes...
Sick Bed
France sneezed. Somehow, that only managed to make the terrible, evil, wretched, dry soreness in the back of his throat even worse. Clear fluid leaked out the front, too. The travesty was completed by the fact that it went onto his pillow, yet did nothing to ease the pressure pounding at the front of his head. Mon dieu...first the Revolution, then Napoleon, and now this! He didn't even have the strength to reach over to the box of tissues that seemed so, so far away. Every time he reached for them as a drowning man reaches for a rope they seemed to move further and further away like Tantalus' fruit in Hades.
"England," America's voice cut through the haze. "Stop moving the tissues so France can't reach them."
"...But it's fun."
America sighed and inspected the downed France. "It's fun to laugh when people fall down. That doesn't mean it's nice!"
England took a closer look at France as well. Poking him with a pencil to see if his nemesis was still alive, the Briton came to the conclusion that, yes, France was still breathing. "That's a laugh! You, lecturing me."
America and England still weren't on super-good terms with each other.
France swung his tired eyes around to see England and blinked away the crispy flakes trying to glue them shut. "To kick me when I'm down is such cowardice."
"If it's a tactic I employ, I learned it from you," England growled. He growled in a surprisingly manly way for someone so slight.
The other nation said a few more things in one of his rapid-fire British rants but France lost interest, only catching bits and pieces such as: "...smarmy bastard..." "...always in heat..." "...craven..." "...dog snogger..."
Eventually England finished his speech. Seeming proud of himself, he moved the tissues back to France.
France reached for them desperately and wiped them against his tender skin. A few token drops fell out onto the tissue. However, the dam clogging his sinuses refused to give.
Oh, oh the humanity! He couldn't sleep! He couldn't breathe! The mighty France was surely dying a slow, painful death! Where would the world be without his wine or fashions? America and England would be lost without him.
"I figure we'll be pretty well off," England replied to his thought. Had France said that out loud?
The blonde nation turned away from his British counterpart. Such abuse, but he would be the bigger man.
He could be the bigger man damn it! He already was in one area for sure.
---
After some time had passed Austria and Hungary came over to see how France was doing. Austria's boss had told them the other nation had taken ill so they decided to come wish him well...also possibly apologize for the time Hungary hit him over the head with a frying pan. It appeared as such, to Hungary, that illness could make people feel bad about past wrongs done to someone even if they'd never even considered guilt before. Still, she'd decided it would be polite to apologize.
She stood by the fact that France deserved it. Maybe if more people whacked the Frenchman upside the head he'd stop trying to hit on them or their husbands.
Protectively, she entwined her smaller arms with Austria's. His only response was a subtle darkening of his cheeks and a bashful attempt not to look at her. Like always, he failed.
She was so busy watching Austria not looking at her that she almost tripped over her pint-sized charge.
Italy had the tendency to cling to her when they went to places the child deemed scary. Shopping, going to the theater, and every other public place usually had him hugging her leg. Walking into France's house to see the other, much larger men in the room must have terrified and sent him barreling into her.
Hungary only managed to avoid tripping over him by shifting her weight at the last second. She whispered many thanks to the fact that she was not one of those girls that was prone to tripping over nothing. At the same time, the tactic forced her to let go of Austria and his warmth.
Scowling at the now-sobbing Italy, she picked him up and let him try to bury his face in the folds of her blouse and hair.
France was lying in bed looking like he was about to die. His skin was paler than it should have been, a bright red patch of skin encircled his nose (which was also leaking something foul), and he was groaning about the injustice of the world.
A tall blond stood next to France and beamed words of encouragement at him. She'd never met America before, but he seemed like a pleasant enough young man. There was absolutely no relationship to the stories England told.
Speaking of, the Briton was moving the box of tissues whenever France reached for them. America looked like he had long since given up reprimanding him for it.
Prussia also appeared to have arrived at some point, with his little brother clutched in his arms. The blond bundle observed the scene with calm blue eyes. Upon seeing Hungary, Prussia grinned. "Well, if it isn't my brother's ball and chain." Therein lay his fatal flaw; he was perfectly pleasant to be around as long as he didn't open his mouth.
As they stood there glaring at each other, Italy and Germany reached out to each other and shook little hands.
Hungary stared at them. How cute!!! She loved cute things! Before Prussia could protest, she grabbed the blonde child from his arms and let him settle into hers. In the beginning the child protested, but settled down after Italy offered his white hat as an olive branch. Germany stared at it before taking it and placing it on his head with the utmost seriousness.
How sad would it be if these two adorable children got sick from being around France? More importantly, how adorable would they both look in matching outfits?!
Prussia's accusations of kidnapping fell on deaf ears as she fled France's house.
---
Austria decided not to get involved in the altercation behind him and instead approached France. He brought a hand to his chin while thinking, and he donned a puzzled expression as his brows knotted together in concentration. It was adorable...or so Hungary said. In recent years he'd found her opinion of him to be slightly biased.
How to make France better? He was obviously very ill. Was there anything that could cure him?
"He appears to have a cold." The young aristocrat concluded.
"No," England muttered. "He's just speaking bloody French."
That did it.
Since Austria's arrival, he'd seen France be nothing but totally docile towards England's snide remarks. Apparently, insulting France's cherished language had been a bad move. But in all fairness, whether he knew it or not, England had been begging for a fight.
"At least I don't need a load of phlegm to speak! How dare you insult the most beautiful language on the planet!" France raged in French to emphasize his point. He got England onto the bed through use of a death grip on the other man's tweed lapels. With no weapons readily available, France attempted to smother England with a pillow.
The smaller country struggled under France for a moment while America and Austria looked on.
England managed to temporarily pull the pillow off of his reddening face and gasped, "...Toss...er." France replaced the pillow seconds later and England's words were turned to muffled noises.
"This is what you get for insulting the language of love! I, the God of Love, shall smite thee!"
Austria watched the scene unfolding before him, completely horrified (and yet at the same time writing a piece of music that would suit this moment perfectly). "Shouldn't we stop them?" He turned to America only to see the younger nation grinning and pumping his fist into the air.
"Yay! I'm so glad that France is feeling better!" America cheered.
England had somehow gained the upper hand and was banging France's tortured head against the headboard, chanting 'tosser' with each deadpan blow.
"I wonder if this means England will get sick too," America said thoughtfully to Austria, recognition suddenly coming to life in his blue eyes.
In retrospect, Austria supposed he should have seen it coming. If he'd listened to the words of his boss he probably would have. "Don't be ridiculous," was all he'd said on the issue.
---
Austria, Hungary, and Prussia were all leaning over and staring at the sight in front of them in absolute shock.
The young Germany and Italy were sneezing, coughing, suffering runny noses and crying, though the last was more Italy than Germany.
Austria was embarrassed more than anything else. He should have known not to bring Italy to France's house. Something like this was to be expected from that delinquent Prussia but he was supposed to know better!
After all, when Paris sneezed, all of Europe was doomed to catch cold.
France sneezed. Somehow, that only managed to make the terrible, evil, wretched, dry soreness in the back of his throat even worse. Clear fluid leaked out the front, too. The travesty was completed by the fact that it went onto his pillow, yet did nothing to ease the pressure pounding at the front of his head. Mon dieu...first the Revolution, then Napoleon, and now this! He didn't even have the strength to reach over to the box of tissues that seemed so, so far away. Every time he reached for them as a drowning man reaches for a rope they seemed to move further and further away like Tantalus' fruit in Hades.
"England," America's voice cut through the haze. "Stop moving the tissues so France can't reach them."
"...But it's fun."
America sighed and inspected the downed France. "It's fun to laugh when people fall down. That doesn't mean it's nice!"
England took a closer look at France as well. Poking him with a pencil to see if his nemesis was still alive, the Briton came to the conclusion that, yes, France was still breathing. "That's a laugh! You, lecturing me."
America and England still weren't on super-good terms with each other.
France swung his tired eyes around to see England and blinked away the crispy flakes trying to glue them shut. "To kick me when I'm down is such cowardice."
"If it's a tactic I employ, I learned it from you," England growled. He growled in a surprisingly manly way for someone so slight.
The other nation said a few more things in one of his rapid-fire British rants but France lost interest, only catching bits and pieces such as: "...smarmy bastard..." "...always in heat..." "...craven..." "...dog snogger..."
Eventually England finished his speech. Seeming proud of himself, he moved the tissues back to France.
France reached for them desperately and wiped them against his tender skin. A few token drops fell out onto the tissue. However, the dam clogging his sinuses refused to give.
Oh, oh the humanity! He couldn't sleep! He couldn't breathe! The mighty France was surely dying a slow, painful death! Where would the world be without his wine or fashions? America and England would be lost without him.
"I figure we'll be pretty well off," England replied to his thought. Had France said that out loud?
The blonde nation turned away from his British counterpart. Such abuse, but he would be the bigger man.
He could be the bigger man damn it! He already was in one area for sure.
---
After some time had passed Austria and Hungary came over to see how France was doing. Austria's boss had told them the other nation had taken ill so they decided to come wish him well...also possibly apologize for the time Hungary hit him over the head with a frying pan. It appeared as such, to Hungary, that illness could make people feel bad about past wrongs done to someone even if they'd never even considered guilt before. Still, she'd decided it would be polite to apologize.
She stood by the fact that France deserved it. Maybe if more people whacked the Frenchman upside the head he'd stop trying to hit on them or their husbands.
Protectively, she entwined her smaller arms with Austria's. His only response was a subtle darkening of his cheeks and a bashful attempt not to look at her. Like always, he failed.
She was so busy watching Austria not looking at her that she almost tripped over her pint-sized charge.
Italy had the tendency to cling to her when they went to places the child deemed scary. Shopping, going to the theater, and every other public place usually had him hugging her leg. Walking into France's house to see the other, much larger men in the room must have terrified and sent him barreling into her.
Hungary only managed to avoid tripping over him by shifting her weight at the last second. She whispered many thanks to the fact that she was not one of those girls that was prone to tripping over nothing. At the same time, the tactic forced her to let go of Austria and his warmth.
Scowling at the now-sobbing Italy, she picked him up and let him try to bury his face in the folds of her blouse and hair.
France was lying in bed looking like he was about to die. His skin was paler than it should have been, a bright red patch of skin encircled his nose (which was also leaking something foul), and he was groaning about the injustice of the world.
A tall blond stood next to France and beamed words of encouragement at him. She'd never met America before, but he seemed like a pleasant enough young man. There was absolutely no relationship to the stories England told.
Speaking of, the Briton was moving the box of tissues whenever France reached for them. America looked like he had long since given up reprimanding him for it.
Prussia also appeared to have arrived at some point, with his little brother clutched in his arms. The blond bundle observed the scene with calm blue eyes. Upon seeing Hungary, Prussia grinned. "Well, if it isn't my brother's ball and chain." Therein lay his fatal flaw; he was perfectly pleasant to be around as long as he didn't open his mouth.
As they stood there glaring at each other, Italy and Germany reached out to each other and shook little hands.
Hungary stared at them. How cute!!! She loved cute things! Before Prussia could protest, she grabbed the blonde child from his arms and let him settle into hers. In the beginning the child protested, but settled down after Italy offered his white hat as an olive branch. Germany stared at it before taking it and placing it on his head with the utmost seriousness.
How sad would it be if these two adorable children got sick from being around France? More importantly, how adorable would they both look in matching outfits?!
Prussia's accusations of kidnapping fell on deaf ears as she fled France's house.
---
Austria decided not to get involved in the altercation behind him and instead approached France. He brought a hand to his chin while thinking, and he donned a puzzled expression as his brows knotted together in concentration. It was adorable...or so Hungary said. In recent years he'd found her opinion of him to be slightly biased.
How to make France better? He was obviously very ill. Was there anything that could cure him?
"He appears to have a cold." The young aristocrat concluded.
"No," England muttered. "He's just speaking bloody French."
That did it.
Since Austria's arrival, he'd seen France be nothing but totally docile towards England's snide remarks. Apparently, insulting France's cherished language had been a bad move. But in all fairness, whether he knew it or not, England had been begging for a fight.
"At least I don't need a load of phlegm to speak! How dare you insult the most beautiful language on the planet!" France raged in French to emphasize his point. He got England onto the bed through use of a death grip on the other man's tweed lapels. With no weapons readily available, France attempted to smother England with a pillow.
The smaller country struggled under France for a moment while America and Austria looked on.
England managed to temporarily pull the pillow off of his reddening face and gasped, "...Toss...er." France replaced the pillow seconds later and England's words were turned to muffled noises.
"This is what you get for insulting the language of love! I, the God of Love, shall smite thee!"
Austria watched the scene unfolding before him, completely horrified (and yet at the same time writing a piece of music that would suit this moment perfectly). "Shouldn't we stop them?" He turned to America only to see the younger nation grinning and pumping his fist into the air.
"Yay! I'm so glad that France is feeling better!" America cheered.
England had somehow gained the upper hand and was banging France's tortured head against the headboard, chanting 'tosser' with each deadpan blow.
"I wonder if this means England will get sick too," America said thoughtfully to Austria, recognition suddenly coming to life in his blue eyes.
In retrospect, Austria supposed he should have seen it coming. If he'd listened to the words of his boss he probably would have. "Don't be ridiculous," was all he'd said on the issue.
---
Austria, Hungary, and Prussia were all leaning over and staring at the sight in front of them in absolute shock.
The young Germany and Italy were sneezing, coughing, suffering runny noses and crying, though the last was more Italy than Germany.
Austria was embarrassed more than anything else. He should have known not to bring Italy to France's house. Something like this was to be expected from that delinquent Prussia but he was supposed to know better!
After all, when Paris sneezed, all of Europe was doomed to catch cold.