[Fanfic][US & Canada][NOT slash]
Feb. 25th, 2010 11:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blood_wingedGenre: General.
Characters: America and Canada
Rating: U
Warnings: None
Summary: Alfred's bad eating habits finally land him with mild food poisoning while staying with his brother, and with no one else around to take care of the sick American, the responsibility falls to Matthew.
When Alfred arrived pale and quiet to watch the men’s gold medal hockey game only Matthew knew what was wrong with him. No doubt that Arthur would find out later but for now, it was just something between the two of them. Looks were exchanged between the nations present as the American sat down, minus the considerable amount of food that he would normally have to keep him going until dinner, and Matthew, who would have normally avoided being associated with his brother as much as possible sat beside him and even managed to raise his voice enough to stop Russia from sitting on him when he arrived.
Matthew had been awake all night. He was exhausted, and he could only imagine how Alfred would be feeling. None of it would have happened if it hadn’t been for Alfred’s eating habits, and if Matthew hadn’t been there he wasn’t sure what his brother would have done.
Alfred had invited him out for a drink. This was a novelty in itself since Alfred still had some trouble remembering his name, when he wasn’t pestering him about Cuba. Matthew imagined that it must have been something to do with the Winter Olympics that had lodged his name firmly in the American’s mind for the time being, and although his first instinct had been to refuse the offer, he was in good cheer over the amount of gold medals he had managed to achieve and accompanied Alfred to one of his favourite bars in the centre of Vancouver. There, he had proceeded to drink the rather astonished American under the table, and the both of them staggered back to Matthew’s house, the Canadian happily singing his national anthem in a slurred mixture of English and French.
“I’m hungry,” had been Alfred’s immediate words when they had stepped into the door. Matthew had pulled a drawer open and thrown a menu for a Chinese take-out at him before wobbling up the stairs and going straight to bed.
The room spinning made it difficult to sleep, and he did little more than doze, waking when the doorbell rang for the delivery, when Alfred came upstairs to go to bed, and when the door to Alfred’s room was opened so quickly that it slammed into the wall.
“Nngh...” Matthew sat up, rubbing one hand over his face and groping for his glasses. “Sacrés, what is he doing..?” Swinging his legs over the side of the bed he felt the first sharp pains of an impending hangover and groaned, standing and walking gingerly over to the door, leaning out into the hallway. The bathroom door was open and the light was on, and was that..?
“Alfred?” Blinking against the dim light, he moved over to the bathroom and poked his head into the room. “C'est quoi ça..?” Of all things, he didn’t expect to find his brother sat on the floor, breathing uneasily, both arms wrapped around his stomach and looking like death. Matthew frowned, unable to feel sympathy with his head pounding and the light shining off the tiles and white ceramic hurting his eyes.
“What’s the matter with you, eh?” he asked waspishly, folding his arms over his chest as Alfred looked up.
“Oh, Matt... I think I’m dying...” he moaned pathetically. The Canadian made a disbelieving ‘hmph’ sound.
“Unlikely. Arrête de chialer et va te coucher.” He turned on his heel, hearing Alfred mumble behind him.
“That’s not fair, Matt... You know I don’t spe- ugh...” Matthew stopped as he heard the unmistakeable sound of Alfred retching, concern finally kicking in as he waited for the noise to stop and slowly turned back, for a moment just looking at his brother as he sat there with his forehead resting on the toilet seat. He blinked, then sighed.
“This is what you get for eating Chinese food at two in the morning.” When Alfred only groaned in response he crossed the room and crouched beside him, rubbing his back lightly. “What can I do?”
“Kill meeee...”
“Oh, pull yourself together.” He tapped the back of his brother’s head lightly. “You’re not dying. You-”
A pause, as Alfred chose that moment to empty his stomach of the rest of its contents, and Matthew grimaced, holding back the urge to ask just how much he had eaten (not wanting to provoke further vomiting by making Alfred think about food). After that, it took some gentle coaxing to get the man to stand up and leave the bathroom, and Matthew settled him down in bed before quickly running downstairs, his headache forgotten as he rummaged in the kitchen for some herbal tea. When he returned, Alfred was curled up in a tight ball making small, feeble sounds in the back of his throat. Quietly, he placed the cup down, and rubbed his brother’s shoulder.
“Curling up like that doesn’t make it better, you know,” he said. Alfred whined shakily, and Matthew sighed, hesitating a moment before brushing his fingers gently over his brother’s soft blonde hair. “Al... I’ve got some tea for you, it’ll help.”
He couldn’t hide his surprise when Alfred, after a few seconds, uncurled and sat up, leaning against him and shuddering every so often. The American drank the tea without complaint and lay back down, catching hold of Matthew’s sleeve as he stood.
“Don’t go.”
“But... Alfred... Eh... Let go. I’m tired...” Matthew protested, attempting to pull his sleeve free and finding himself beaten by Alfred’s ridiculous strength. His shoulders dropped and he rolled his eyes. “Fine... I’ll just... stay here, shall I?” He stood there for a moment, somewhat at a loss, then sat down, settling back. It was odd, almost unnerving, to have his brother so delicate and unwell and suddenly relying on him for comfort. The Canadian imagined that Arthur would have handled this far better than he was doing, but Alfred didn’t appear to notice the difference, and he began to tentatively rub one hand up and down the American’s back. Alfred seemed to settle, mumbling something that sounded like ‘thanks, Mattie’ before he dozed off, sleeping fitfully. Matthew let out a low sigh, resting his cheek against the top of Alfred’s head.
He didn’t sleep. Matthew stayed awake, rubbing soothing circles up and down his brother’s spine, hushing him when he woke up, helping him take small sips of water then reassuring him until he went back to sleep. Eventually, Alfred’s breathing deepened and he relaxed, waking up when Matthew stirred some hours later. He made a quiet sound that surprised even himself with its weakness, and shifted, moving away and sitting up cautiously.
“How are you feeling?” Matthew asked, standing as quickly as he could manage with how stiff his back and shoulders had become and stretching, hearing several bones in his spine crack.
“Not great, Mattie... not great...” Alfred replied, glancing around and taking his glasses from his brother when they were held out to him.
“Look, you stay here today, alright? I’ll-”
“And miss the celebrations? No way, bro.” The American scooted to the edge of the bed and got up, letting out a small groan and shutting his eyes. “Ugh... that doesn’t feel good.”
“Do you want some breakfast or something?” Alfred winced, and looked at him, and after a pause, he slowly shook his head.
“I... I’m not hungry.”
Matthew’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh... alright... Well, how about some coffee?”
“I’ll just have a glass of water, okay?”
“Right...”
The two of them were silent for several seconds, then Matthew cleared his throat and Alfred cracked a smile, clapping one hand down on his brother’s shoulder.
“Come on then, Mattie. Time waits for no man!”
Characters: America and Canada
Rating: U
Warnings: None
Summary: Alfred's bad eating habits finally land him with mild food poisoning while staying with his brother, and with no one else around to take care of the sick American, the responsibility falls to Matthew.
***
When Alfred arrived pale and quiet to watch the men’s gold medal hockey game only Matthew knew what was wrong with him. No doubt that Arthur would find out later but for now, it was just something between the two of them. Looks were exchanged between the nations present as the American sat down, minus the considerable amount of food that he would normally have to keep him going until dinner, and Matthew, who would have normally avoided being associated with his brother as much as possible sat beside him and even managed to raise his voice enough to stop Russia from sitting on him when he arrived.
Matthew had been awake all night. He was exhausted, and he could only imagine how Alfred would be feeling. None of it would have happened if it hadn’t been for Alfred’s eating habits, and if Matthew hadn’t been there he wasn’t sure what his brother would have done.
Alfred had invited him out for a drink. This was a novelty in itself since Alfred still had some trouble remembering his name, when he wasn’t pestering him about Cuba. Matthew imagined that it must have been something to do with the Winter Olympics that had lodged his name firmly in the American’s mind for the time being, and although his first instinct had been to refuse the offer, he was in good cheer over the amount of gold medals he had managed to achieve and accompanied Alfred to one of his favourite bars in the centre of Vancouver. There, he had proceeded to drink the rather astonished American under the table, and the both of them staggered back to Matthew’s house, the Canadian happily singing his national anthem in a slurred mixture of English and French.
“I’m hungry,” had been Alfred’s immediate words when they had stepped into the door. Matthew had pulled a drawer open and thrown a menu for a Chinese take-out at him before wobbling up the stairs and going straight to bed.
The room spinning made it difficult to sleep, and he did little more than doze, waking when the doorbell rang for the delivery, when Alfred came upstairs to go to bed, and when the door to Alfred’s room was opened so quickly that it slammed into the wall.
“Nngh...” Matthew sat up, rubbing one hand over his face and groping for his glasses. “Sacrés, what is he doing..?” Swinging his legs over the side of the bed he felt the first sharp pains of an impending hangover and groaned, standing and walking gingerly over to the door, leaning out into the hallway. The bathroom door was open and the light was on, and was that..?
“Alfred?” Blinking against the dim light, he moved over to the bathroom and poked his head into the room. “C'est quoi ça..?” Of all things, he didn’t expect to find his brother sat on the floor, breathing uneasily, both arms wrapped around his stomach and looking like death. Matthew frowned, unable to feel sympathy with his head pounding and the light shining off the tiles and white ceramic hurting his eyes.
“What’s the matter with you, eh?” he asked waspishly, folding his arms over his chest as Alfred looked up.
“Oh, Matt... I think I’m dying...” he moaned pathetically. The Canadian made a disbelieving ‘hmph’ sound.
“Unlikely. Arrête de chialer et va te coucher.” He turned on his heel, hearing Alfred mumble behind him.
“That’s not fair, Matt... You know I don’t spe- ugh...” Matthew stopped as he heard the unmistakeable sound of Alfred retching, concern finally kicking in as he waited for the noise to stop and slowly turned back, for a moment just looking at his brother as he sat there with his forehead resting on the toilet seat. He blinked, then sighed.
“This is what you get for eating Chinese food at two in the morning.” When Alfred only groaned in response he crossed the room and crouched beside him, rubbing his back lightly. “What can I do?”
“Kill meeee...”
“Oh, pull yourself together.” He tapped the back of his brother’s head lightly. “You’re not dying. You-”
A pause, as Alfred chose that moment to empty his stomach of the rest of its contents, and Matthew grimaced, holding back the urge to ask just how much he had eaten (not wanting to provoke further vomiting by making Alfred think about food). After that, it took some gentle coaxing to get the man to stand up and leave the bathroom, and Matthew settled him down in bed before quickly running downstairs, his headache forgotten as he rummaged in the kitchen for some herbal tea. When he returned, Alfred was curled up in a tight ball making small, feeble sounds in the back of his throat. Quietly, he placed the cup down, and rubbed his brother’s shoulder.
“Curling up like that doesn’t make it better, you know,” he said. Alfred whined shakily, and Matthew sighed, hesitating a moment before brushing his fingers gently over his brother’s soft blonde hair. “Al... I’ve got some tea for you, it’ll help.”
He couldn’t hide his surprise when Alfred, after a few seconds, uncurled and sat up, leaning against him and shuddering every so often. The American drank the tea without complaint and lay back down, catching hold of Matthew’s sleeve as he stood.
“Don’t go.”
“But... Alfred... Eh... Let go. I’m tired...” Matthew protested, attempting to pull his sleeve free and finding himself beaten by Alfred’s ridiculous strength. His shoulders dropped and he rolled his eyes. “Fine... I’ll just... stay here, shall I?” He stood there for a moment, somewhat at a loss, then sat down, settling back. It was odd, almost unnerving, to have his brother so delicate and unwell and suddenly relying on him for comfort. The Canadian imagined that Arthur would have handled this far better than he was doing, but Alfred didn’t appear to notice the difference, and he began to tentatively rub one hand up and down the American’s back. Alfred seemed to settle, mumbling something that sounded like ‘thanks, Mattie’ before he dozed off, sleeping fitfully. Matthew let out a low sigh, resting his cheek against the top of Alfred’s head.
He didn’t sleep. Matthew stayed awake, rubbing soothing circles up and down his brother’s spine, hushing him when he woke up, helping him take small sips of water then reassuring him until he went back to sleep. Eventually, Alfred’s breathing deepened and he relaxed, waking up when Matthew stirred some hours later. He made a quiet sound that surprised even himself with its weakness, and shifted, moving away and sitting up cautiously.
“How are you feeling?” Matthew asked, standing as quickly as he could manage with how stiff his back and shoulders had become and stretching, hearing several bones in his spine crack.
“Not great, Mattie... not great...” Alfred replied, glancing around and taking his glasses from his brother when they were held out to him.
“Look, you stay here today, alright? I’ll-”
“And miss the celebrations? No way, bro.” The American scooted to the edge of the bed and got up, letting out a small groan and shutting his eyes. “Ugh... that doesn’t feel good.”
“Do you want some breakfast or something?” Alfred winced, and looked at him, and after a pause, he slowly shook his head.
“I... I’m not hungry.”
Matthew’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh... alright... Well, how about some coffee?”
“I’ll just have a glass of water, okay?”
“Right...”
The two of them were silent for several seconds, then Matthew cleared his throat and Alfred cracked a smile, clapping one hand down on his brother’s shoulder.
“Come on then, Mattie. Time waits for no man!”
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FIRST COMMENT
Date: 2010-02-26 12:15 am (UTC)Anyway.. so cute, seriously. Pffft, ("Kill meeee..") over dramatic Alfred is too funny~ And Mattie acting the caring but sort of annoyed at first, anyway. Whatevs. little bro is just the best! - 3 -
Re: FIRST COMMENT
Date: 2010-02-26 12:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-26 04:39 am (UTC)Ah, brotherly love ~
(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-26 12:12 pm (UTC)