Hetalia Hospital, Chapter 1
Warnings: Shounen ai (boy x boy pairings), possible extreme medical inaccuracy, drama, foul language, lack of realism
Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. The story below is a work of fiction and is not written for profit of any means. Any events relating to real life people are unintentional and purely coincidental.
Beta'd by: absolute power - Thank you so much for your wonderful help!
Hetalia Hospital - Episode 1: Welcome to Hetalia Hospital!
Welcome to Hetalia Hospital, a unique facility unlike anything of its kind! Our extremely talented (as well as young and good-looking) staff will make you feel safe, secure, and right at home!
Alfred Jones snorted as he read through the pamphlet, grinning and becoming increasingly amused at the seven words marked in parentheses. 'Sounds fun!' He chuckled. 'So even in a professional medical vicinity, sex sells.'
Carefully, he tucked the small sheet in the pocket of his brand new white lab coat. Everything sounded easy enough. The blond smirked, running a hand through his thick, golden locks and flashing a mouthful of perfect, pearly white teeth out in the air. If they wanted youth, talent and sex appeal - he sure had it all! No one could resist his dazzling, heroic charms. And with something that sounded so cheesy and shallow, getting himself a nice, suitable position would be a piece of cake. All he needed to do was to pull a few strings, make some good connections, kiss a few butts and soon enough, he'd be right on top of this whole medical food chain. Things didn't get any simpler than that.
And in a couple minutes, it would be half past the hour, marking the beginning of his first day of work.
' Arthur Kirkland, was it?' he thought, peering curiously at the directory of all the surgeons on the nearby wall. It didn't take him long to find; Kirkland was only the tenth or so, going by surname. An incredibly small number of staff for a hospital, he noted to himself. Though that factor was a tad odd, he could bet the facility was still quite new. Still, it wasn't as if he'd never worked in a medical department before, and with his previous experience, Alfred knew (and quite thankfully too) that he could easily cover up his embarrassing lack of familiarity with the job. After all, everyone here wouldn't be much different.
He stared blankly at the nearby wall. The plain white paint flashed back with the same stoic expression, making it glaringly bright for his eyes. It was almost as if the sight of it was sucking away the ignorant confidence he held only seconds earlier. Rubbing his hands together, Alfred wasn't sure what to think anymore. Either way, work wasn't going to wait and he had to be fully prepared
"Hey you!" A slightly high-pitched male voice hollered, breaking him out of his thoughts. He looked up. The man was a bit shorter than him, with a nice, slender frame, but he was probably older with the oddest coloration of hair and eyes; pale silver, and bright red tinted irises. Alfred might even go as far as to say the guy suffered from a mild case of albinism. "Name's Gilbert Beilschmidt. You new as well?" came the brief introduction.
"Alfred Jones, pleased to meet you." He nodded and pondered for a second if that should be accompanied by a handshake, wondering how far to take the formalities. But to his pleasant surprise, the guy immediately held his hand high in the air for a welcoming high five. Alfred grinned, quickly returning the friendly gesture. His companion almost had a warm, welcoming aura around him. Feeling quite comfortable in Gilbert's presence, there was no doubt was he going to get along well with him.
Conversing with Gilbert was just as pleasant. They chatted away about their career and lives mirthfully, and even better, Alfred had found the other man to be quite fascinating. Interestingly enough, as he soon learned through their chat, they both had many things in common. Though coming from nothing close to an Ivy League school, Gilbert, like him had finished a decent undergraduate course at top of his class and was hoping for a great career in the medical field. Now, they both were plodding through massive amounts of work from Medical School, all the while taking on a new job to help pay off the expensive tuition.
"So," Alfred asked a moment later, out of sheer curiosity. "You're interning here too?"
Gilbert glanced down, holding a similar white slip of paper. "Yup. North wing, under some guy called Dr. Arthur Kirkland, it looks like."
The blond's grin immediately grew wider upon hearing the news. "Sweet! Same as well."
Gilbert smirked back. Alfred knew straight off the bat that his new friend operated in his exact wavelength. Exceptionally elated, he was sure that he was going to enjoy it here. Especially with awesome people all around - that would make the job a bit more exciting for sure.
"By the way, got any idea what that Kirkland guy might be like?" he questioned.
"Hell. Beat's me. I've never met him myself," Gilbert replied. "But I think my bruder's mentioned him before. Probably went to school or worked together at one point or another. Says the guy's an interesting character and kind of funny-looking as well. He seemed to like him too, so I'll bet Kirkland's just as uptight and grumpy."
"Bruder?" Alfred was a bit confused at the foreign word. "Ah, maybe the guy's not half as bad. Kirkland is a pretty funny name, I gotta say. Almost sounds like a meat packaging company to me," he joked.
"Oops, my bad. Meant to say brother. I still get my German and English mixed up at times," Gilbert admitted.
Scratching his head, Alfred nodded. Though Gilbert spoke English quite proficiently, with a name like Beilschmidt, it was blatantly obvious the man was of Germanic descent.
"But who knows, really?" the shorter man continued, waving his arm in the air. "Heard he had the most ridiculously hairy eyebrows, though. Like caterpillar hairy."
Alfred gave a loud chuckle. "Seriously? Now that's something I got to see."
The two men quickly pushed through the heavy doorway and stepped inside towards the front office, eagerly awaiting their new job. With a gentle swish, the faintly familiar smell and sounds of a hospital quickly flooded their senses, sending a sour jolt to their stomachs. Much to Alfred's displeasure, he would soon learn that Gilbert was absolutely right. Arthur Kirkland wasn't just uptight and grumpy. He was a total ass.
"You're late."
A stern looking man tapped his foot impatiently the moment they walked in, and Alfred knew immediately by the authoritative voice that this had to be his boss.
With an unmistakable frown, the said man glared at them. Rather thin, pale and blond, the scowl upon his lips seemed to contradict his otherwise soft, delicate features. But as soft as he might have looked, the guy was obviously irritable - though Alfred thought that was more amusing than horrifying. He'd certainly like to see where he could go with that.
"Jones and Beilschmidt," muttered the man under his breath, examining each of them extremely closely, as if his eyes were little probes, boring straight through their souls. Alfred craned his neck, trying to catch the next few words. And when he did, they sounded suspiciously on the lines of "Bloody morons. This is exactly what I need to start my morning."
Bitterly, the man furrowed his frown even deeper, causing his very prominent hairy eyebrows to scrunch up so tightly they covered the very bottom of his forehead like a hefty band of fur. No mistake. It had to be Kirkland. Alfred almost couldn't tear his eyes away from those eyebrows - those humongous, black furry eyebrows - as his mouth hung slightly agape.
The man cleared his throat, speaking with a heavy English accent, "Mr. Jones. Do you have any idea what time work begins every day?"
"Uhh, 8:30," Alfred swiftly muttered, biting his tongue a bit. The scene was all too comical. He was even tempted to give those eyebrows a good tug, as the irascible Briton leaned forward. That had taken quite a lot of will power to resist. Alfred rapidly swallowed a few large gulps of air to keep from buckling down and rolling on the floor with laughter. Gilbert's quiet snickers from behind sure weren't helping the situation much either. Fortunately, Britton didn't seem to notice the hidden amusement.
"And what time is it right now?"
Alfred peaked at his watch, expecting to be a good ten minutes late. His face automatically fell. To his great disdain, 8:32 read the bold, black letters. What complete bullshit. Kirkland was already downright picking on him.
"Mr. Jones, when I ask a question, I expect a quick, straight forward answer."
"8:32," He spoke clearly, trying to land himself out of the hot seat. Alfred felt he needed not to press any further. He already could sense how much water he could tread - and it certainly wasn't very deep.
Intimidating? Not really. Awkward? Maybe just slightly, after getting scolded literally on the very first few seconds of his job. But one thing was certain - he was Alfred F. Jones, a great, awesome hero, and that guy was crazy if he thought he could have him cowering in fear.
To his relief, Arthur seemed satisfied with the answer. "Good. Now get your heads focused on the task! Mr. Hassan has been patiently waiting for the past twenty minutes! There's no time to waste! Get the surgical suture ready!"
' Hassan?' Alfred wondered, unsure what to make of the name. At first, he thought that might be the name of the top manager around here, but quickly changed his mind at the mention of the words 'surgical suture'. Then it hit him that it must be his first patient. Quickly, he followed Dr. Kirkland and Gilbert down the hall.
Gupta Muhammad Hassan turned out to be a quiet, middle-aged man with a slightly shy demeanor. The brooding Egyptian was sitting diligently on the small examiner's bed when they arrived. He was dressed rather oddly, in full, hefty desert attire, and the first thing to cross Alfred's mind was that the guy probably had plenty of virtue. He was almost reminded of his cousin, Matthew - someone good-hearted and probably easy to get along with.
He was sure the task would be easy enough - that was, until Gupta pulled up his ankle, revealing his blood-drenched foot. A gigantic, deep cut stretched from one end of his heel to the other, pouring a stream of bright crimson, tainting the clean floor.
Alfred gulped, feeling a wave of nausea hit his gut. So he was already expected to stitch someone up- another pleasant way to begin his career.
He turned to his side, giving Gilbert a quick glance. His friend's face was tight and scrunched up either in the look of utter fear or morbid disgust. And at this point, Alfred couldn't tell which from which.
"What happened to your foot, Gupta?" Dr. Kirkland asked in a calm, unwavering voice.
The dark-skinned man shuddered slightly before continuing. His voice was just above a whisper, barely audible so that Alfred had to strain his ears to hear. "Mmm…was helping my mother with some yard work and ended up dropping a heavy board on it."
"A board you say?" Arthur frowned, taking a closer look at the wound. "What was that board made of?"
"Wood, I believe, as plain as it could be. No paint, no nothing on it. Just pure wood."
The doctor nodded. His voice seemed to take a complete positive turnaround. "Well, that makes it all the better then. We'll just clean it, stitch you up, and everything's good to go!"
Alfred grinned, knowing this was the perfect opportunity to get some recognition on the job. Hastily, he grabbed a needle and some surgical thread and began cheerfully walking towards his patient. "Heh, just let the great Alfred Jones take care of this! You'll be back on your feet in no time, Gupta!" he boasted with a loud, exuberant cheer. Almost immediately, he grabbed a cotton swab and some disinfectant, tilting the large bottle over and dabbing the swab across the wound.
Just as suddenly, Dr. Kirkland harshly slapped his hand away. "What the hell are you doing you git! Have you forgotten the very first procedure for all medical needle work?"
Alfred was confused. The sudden jolt of pain from the slap had caught him by surprise, causing him to drop the hydrogen peroxide on the floor, making a nasty mess on the floor. Bubbly, white liquid mixed with blood, creating a pinkish fizzy mixture. The color and texture almost reminded him of strawberry soda. And if it weren't for the angry British man screaming at him, Alfred would have thought it was a nostalgic sight.
"Gloves, you thick headed wanker! Gloves!" Arthur shrieked angrily, waving a box of generic blue latex gloves in front of his face. "Hasn't anyone told you that's the first step before touching any open wound? Do you have any idea how much bacteria and infectious diseases those bare hands of yours might spread?" Arthur looked more displeased than ever, grimacing at the huge puddles on the floor. "You miserable, sad excuse for an intern! Can't you freaking do anything right for once?" the older man said through gritted teeth, tugging angrily at his own hair.
Alfred bit his lip. He could tell the Englishman was using all his will power to not blurt out the more profane f-word. However, it was poor Gupta who looked more horrified and shaken than anyone in the room. Alfred groaned subsequently pulling the tight glove over his hand.
But Gilbert seemed to have a plan all of his own. On the far table, a large surgical saw seemed to have caught his interest. Curious about the tool, he began fiddling with it, holding it up in the air, grinning as he moved it back and forth.
His thumb accidentally slipped and hit the on button.
The saw let out a shrill, screeching sound as the blades rapidly began spinning, catching everyone's attention. Gilbert whimpered, holding the saw, his whole body twisting violently in the same motion as the machine, barely able to hold onto the handle.
"Damn it! You insolent little brat!" Arthur screamed on top of the sharp, deafening noise. "Turn that off right now!"
"H-how?" Gilbert asked, voice shortened and stilted by the jerking movement of the machine.
Arthur smacked his head. Today was going to be a long day.
And almost as if on cue, Gilbert dropped the saw. The surgical device hit the floor with a loud clunk as it started twirling erratically on the ground.
"The little orange button! Press the little orange button!"
Alfred and Gilbert exchanged nervous glances, as Dr. Kirkland shrieked and shouted livid instructions at them, both becoming more distraught and discombobulated by each passing second.
The saw spun more violently than ever, scratching and mangling the tiles on the floor. Gilbert had barely managed to dodge in time, as the blades came dangerously close to his feet.
They weren't getting anywhere. Arthur had seen that, and just as he was about to walk over and turn off the saw himself, his right foot stepped straight into the messy pool of blood and hydrogen peroxide. He tripped, falling flat on his back. The Englishman groaned, having the wind knocked out of him and rubbing his aching head. However, that was the least of his worries.
Where Gilbert had become lucky, Arthur was not so fortunate. The saw had gotten the bottom hold of his jacket and was eating viciously at it. Desperately, he attempted to yank himself free, but no avail - the saw ground closer, almost reaching up to his stomach. The blades were only a couple inches away from his bare flesh, pulling at his coat by the mouthful. He tried taking off the said article of clothing, but that wasn't too successful. It was almost as if it had glued itself to him.
Arthur was dead meat, unless someone turned off the deadly, sharp machine immediately.
That was when Alfred spotted another opportunity. Watching the struggling Britton on the floor, a hero such as himself couldn't sit and wait while the guy next to him got shredded into pieces - no matter how much he disliked the guy. He quickly scanned the room for the largest, heavy object. Looking through the jumble of tools, his eyes fell on a heavy metal box on the opposite side of the room. As fast as his legs would carry him, Alfred sprung up and back, snatching the box right off its holder.
Alfred knew he had to work fast. With all his strength, he raised the metal square high above his head, and slammed it straight down onto saw.
The saw let out a terrible whining moan, but continued grinding, coming even closer to the fallen Englishman. Arthur's breath hitched in his throat, tucking in his stomach as tightly as he could, fearing the harsh metal was only centimeters away from puncturing his abdomen and giving him a painful, premature death.
Alfred tried again, this time bending down on his knees and smacking the saw as rapidly as possible.
After about three more hard thwacks, the saw made another sound - this time much like a dying whale, before coming to a halting stop.
Everyone in the room was deathly silent, not budging a muscle, the tension ever so high.
They must have stood there for a good five minutes, before Arthur promptly got up, dusting himself off like nothing had happened. On the same tangent, he walked straight up to a shaking Gupta, giving his deepest apologies, before taking a needle and completing the stitching job to near perfection.
A good-natured person indeed; Gupta was surprisingly polite and understanding of the whole situation.
Alfred didn't dare to protest, as both he and Gilbert remained quiet and well behaved for the remaining ordeal.
The saw lay on the ground, completely broken and battered, with all its buttons jammed in.
Dr. Kirkland would not speak another word to them for the rest of the day. Alfred wasn't the greatest when it came to reading the atmosphere, but boy could he tell that Kirkland was pissed.
And so was he.
The stupid Briton acted like he was higher up and better than everyone else in the room. At that very moment, Alfred had decided that being a physician was totally overrated.
But as just Gupta left the Hospital room, he couldn't help but wonder- if this was what the very first patient brought, what other oddities was he going to experience on the job?
Whatever they were, he found himself greatly anticipating them.
Arthur Kirkland was fuming. Angrily he squeezed the life out of the Styrofoam cup in his hand, making brown liquid ooze dangerously through the holes of the plastic cap. "Matthew, my boy," he hissed acidly, but at a leveled tone. "You are an intelligent young man, you know. But I'll say, you have possibly made the most stupid mistake in your life this morning."
The young secretary glanced nervously at the murderous gaze, all the hate and rage pinpointed on his face as the seething medic came closer, with each impending step. In one violent squelch, said man crushed the last remnants of the dying cup in a shatter of dark fluid and ice, carelessly tossing the pieces on the floor. Matthew cringed. He could almost envision the broken polystyrene to be his neck. "Y-Yes. And I am terribly sorry, D-Dr. Kirkland - whatever it is you're unhappy with...I-I promise I'll do my very best to fix it,"
"Fix it?" Arthur pressed on, face merely inches away from the frightened blond's. "I'll tell you what the problem is! It's your stupid git-faced cousin and his albino sidekick - that's the problem! I don't know what the hell you were thinking, but I certainly did not waste eight years of my life in med school just to babysit a pack of hyenas."
"A-Ah, about that. My sincerest apologies, Dr. Kirkland, f-for whatever Alfred might have done. B-But please, I beg of you. H-He really does need the job. If anything's broken, you can take the damage costs right out of my next paycheck. A-And if he caused any psychological damages, I promise to find you a good therapist and cover all the bills. Or if he made any…"
"Enough, Matthew!" the elder interrupted. Matthew immediately froze in place, not even expanding his lungs for a breath of air. "I will not put up with this nonsense any longer! I gave them a fair chance and they blew it!"
"B-But can't you give it a bit more time? I-I'm sure things will get better."
"You're clueless as ever, lad. Have you seen what those beasts can do? Ha, get better…yeah right. Why don't you try telling that to my lab coat!" he shrieked, taking it off and waving the badly torn piece of clothing wildly in the air.
"W-Well, then I-I.."
"Oi, Arthur, mon ami!" interrupted a distinctive, flamboyant voice.
The older man's scowl grew even deeper, upon hearing the irritating new sound. "Frog," he muttered, quickly turning around to face a tall, long-haired Frenchman.
"Mon Dieu! I know you're upset over this, but would you stop picking on Mathieu over here? Look at the poor boy! He's absolutely terrified!" he gestured at the shaking blond with a florid wave of his arm.
"Stay out of this, Frenchie," came the angry response. "I don't need your ugly face infuriating me any further."
Francis didn't seem at all fazed by the threat. "Ah, but I was going to add here, Arthur. You might have gotten off on a bad start with young Alfred and Gilbert, but if you just drop and forget everything and maybe try working things out diplomatically for a change, you three may be able to come up with some mutual agreement. Have you ever considered that?"
"Drop everything and work things out?" Arthur mocked, shaking his fists furiously in the air. "I just spent three hours with those imbeciles and the only thing that dropped was my IQ! I'm telling you, whoever gave those brain dead idiots their college degrees ought to be thrown in jail!"
The Briton paused briefly for a moment to catch his breath before fixing his index finger straight at the Canadian. "Listen here boy. You have exactly one day to get Dumb and Dumber out of my premises, or I can guarantee the next people getting fired won't just be them. I will personally take it to the chief of staff and get your arse removed along with theirs!"
"Francis," Matthew whispered, prodding the bearded man next to him. "I don't think this is going to work."
"Ah, not to worry mon cher! I believe I have something else up my sleeve," the other spoke, just softly enough just to evade Arthur's pricking ears. Matthew looked dumbfounded for a moment before giving a quick nod of approval. Whatever the outcome was, they didn't have much to lose.
"Say Arthur," Francis sang, with the least bit of suggestion. The bushy-browed man narrowed his gaze slightly, before turning his attention on him again. "Aren't you the most talented and prestigious surgeon in your whole department?"
Arthur scoffed, with a mild, stoic glare. "So? What's your point here, frog?"
"Oh, I was just thinking how riveting it is for such a great doctor like you to be completely, uncharacteristically worked up over two mere newcomers. Well, you do have all this power over them, you know," the Frenchman continued, giving a sly smirk. "No matter what they attempt or how blatantly annoying they become, your authoritative powers are still much higher compared to theirs. And how simple would it be to manipulate that just a little bit in your favor? If you see where I'm getting at."
The blond physician paused for a minute, frowning and carefully absorbing the new information. "You're right," he began to murmur, quietly at first but more vigorously with each proceeding word. "You know what? You're actually right for once, frog! It's absolutely preposterous for me to be this riled up over two moronic twits!" he boasted, continuing with his tirade. "There's no way I'm losing to these fools! I'll take those brats, tear them into pieces, and teach them a bloody lesson they'll never forget! Oh yes, my dear friends, this is war! And by the time I'm done, they'll both be on their knees, weeping and kissing my feet!"
Arthur let out a loud cackle. Francis could have sworn he saw a flash of lightning behind the Englishman's back. "Well," he chuckled towards his Canadian companion. "I wasn't expecting him to take it this far, but at least it worked!"
…
"Oi! Don't touch that you sodding wanker! Bloody hell! Quit staring at my butt-ugly face you dimwitted buggers!"
Gilbert gleefully pounded his fists against the wooden table, rolling with laughter. "Woah, man!" he choked out, in between heavy fits of giggles. "That was great. You could be a total pro at this!"
"You really think so?" Alfred asked, after an honest, hearty chuckle. "Well, I try. Serves that jackass right, anyway," The blond grinned jubilantly, pulling out two pieces of black licorice candy and pressing them tight against the bottom of his forehead, as if they were thick, black eyebrows. "Hey, hey! How 'bout one more? What do you think of this?" he demanded, clearing his throat and putting on his best British accent. "Bollocks! Get up you dodgy gits and quit maundering around! Ahoy ya scurvy dogs! Ye better be scrubbin' those decks!"
"Nah," Gilbert shook his head with a discerning smile. "That sounded more like a pirate. But I do have to give it to ya- Doc Eyebrows sure swears like one."
"You can say that again!" the American snorted. "Seriously though. What crawled up his ass and died? The guy's pissier than a roomful of angry, menstruating women. I mean, I just pretty much saved that jerk's life and what do I receive as repayment? - Getting completely shunned, and not a single word of thanks. What an ungrateful prick! "
"Tell me about it! If you ask me, I'd say you shoulda just let that saw turn him into ground meat. Probably would have done everyone here a great favor, anyway." His friend agreed, quickly nodding his head.
Alfred snorted at the comment. "Kirkland burgers. Imagine that."
"Ha. I'd bet it would end up giving you horrible food poisoning afterwards."
The two men paused, staring blankly at each other for a few moments, before bursting into another fit of laughter.
"Dude," Alfred gasped, still catching his breath. His eyes twinkled as his lips stretched far across his face in the largest possible grin he could manage. At the same time, he grabbed his companion's hands, letting out an elated squeal. He could almost see the sparks flying around them, just like a movie. "Where were you all my life?"
Grinning back just as expressively, Gilbert had certainly gotten the message. His new best friend knew exactly what he was thinking.
And as the rest of the day played out, the two of them were as joyous as ever, with only one thing on their minds.
Arthur Kirkland's life was about to become a living hell.
( prologue)