I do not own Hetalia.
This is rated M for graphic description and for subject matter.
A light tapping sounded at the door, followed shortly by a groan. A pause. Then, the door slowly slid open. A woman walked into the room, her long gown speckled with spilled water, holding a tray in her arms. She peered in, squinting to peer through the darkness. Another groan slipped through the darkness of the room.
The woman frowned. "Now, it's time for your medication, Alfred."
No reply for a long time. The woman, Fern Howard, knew her instructions well. The doctor had explicitly told her to wait for a reply before she entered the room, despite what she wanted to do. And, at the moment, she wanted to run away. She didn't want to hear the horrible groaning, the painful pants, gasps for breath. She wanted to set the tray down and book it.
But, no, she was a professional nurse. She followed her orders. She had seen many mutilated humans in her life. She could handle whatever this patient threw at her. Even if the doctor hesitated in describing the man's condition. Shifty-eyed, he had given her the barest bones. If anything, her curiosity drove her to stand rigid at the door.
"Are you in serious pain? We can give you stronger medication. Now, be warned, that, too will wear off soon enough." She advised softly.
Another low, gurgling groan.
She tried not to flinch.
"I am not leaving, Mr. Jones."
The darkness in the room shifted. What meager light that spilled in through the cracked window rippled as the bedsheets moved. She still couldn't make out what the man looked like. She doubted he could move. Aside from the bed, medical equipment, and small table, there was nothing else in the room. There wasn't even a carpet.
The grunts came out deliberately, riddled with agony.
"Come… in…"
She nodded and walked in, leaving the door open just a fragment. She approached the bed and set the tray on the table, the three pills on it and the glass of water clinking. "Sit up." She said. She squinted. From what she saw, he was an ordinary man in form. As her eyes adjusted to the minimal lighting, she made out the figure of a handsome face and tangled, golden hair. The man's eyes didn't look at her.
He spoke through asthmatic wheezes.
"Where is the… the old one…?" he huffed.
"The other nurse, Mrs. Harlett, had to leave for another hospital. I am Miss Howard, or Fern if you prefer, and I am your nurse now."
She began to hold her arm out, but thought better of it.
"Can you lift your arm?" she asked.
The man's body trembled. His arm rose to his chest level, and then to his shoulders, his palm facing upwards and his fingers, crooked and bent inwards, remained as they were.
"Do you want to take them or would you prefer I place them in your hand?"
"Put… in my…"
Not wanting to wait five centuries for a complete sentence, she set the pills in his hand. He transported them to his mouth. They clicked as they met his teeth. She waited until he nodded before she poured water down his mouth. Now she could see that he was truly very normal in appearance, save for a grayish tinge to his skin. His hands were now folded on his lap. He bent forwards, his spine poking through his skin, resembling the spikes down a fish's spine. She felt uneasy.
So there was more to it.
"Do you need anything else?" Fern asked.
"No… ma'am…"
"Very sweet of you, young man. Please, lay down. I'll tuck you in. You should have a visitor in a quarter of an hour, here, now." She said, watching as he lay down on his side, presumably so he didn't hurt his sharp spine.
As he lay down, his body shaking, she pulled the covers up. Her eyes went down down the covers, down his body, to his legs—just to see—just to be curious. Her heart dropped to her stomach. Then she, very, very calmly, tucked him in and walked out, leaving the tray in the room.
Once outside, she gently shut the door and walked quickly to the doctor's office. She swung the door open, her heart thundering in her chest to the beat of a maniac playing the drums, and stepped in. The doctor perked up, his green eyes grave.
She shut the door behind her and slid to the floor, trembling just as badly as Alfred had. Her smile was cracked, slanted to one side, and her eyes crazy. She hugged her knees to her chest. She thought for certain that she would scream the second she got the chance. But, instead, only a pitiful whimper escaped her lips like a strangled yell.
The doctor stood and walked towards her. "Did you see his spine?"
She nodded mutely.
"Did you see anything else?"
She wiped her cheeks. "Yes."
"His legs, I assume?"
"If you can call them legs."
"For the sake of the matter we'll call them legs." The doctor said, clasping his hands behind his back. "How much of them did you see? Did you see under his hospital robes?"
She flushed.
"I saw that they, they were…"
"I know what they are, Miss Fern, I had seen them." He gave her a sharp glare.
She quieted. "I apologize, Dr. Kirkland."
"No need, you've been frightened. You'll get used to it very soon. You did act maturely, though. Past nurses screamed in the room rather than waiting to return here before they made, well, whatever sound you just emitted."
She giggled. Arthur had a way of removing the tension when it came to situation regarding his profession. It was a talent, truly. He offered her a hand, which she gladly accepted. Once on her feet, she calmed down, taking several shallow breaths, and then one long one.
"What happened to him?" She asked, trying not to imagine the horrors she had witnessed.
She didn't want to see the sharp, jutting, silver appendages Arthur had called legs. She didn't want to see the embedded, gnarled veins that ran along side them. She didn't want to hear the crooked, ragged breath. And she certainly, most profusely, did not want to know what Arthur meant when he said under his hospital robes.
Arthur went back to his desk, gesturing for her to take the leather sofa before him. She approached it, sitting down daintily. She had calmed down. A maid entered the room, bringing in a warm cup of tea. She stared at it in shock. Arthur smiled.
This must have been a usual practice, she concluded, taking a sip. The maid walked away. Fern wondered if she had seen a look of pity on the young girl's face. Arthur waited for another few minutes, until Fern had finished and looked ready to take on whatever news he challenged her with.
"Firstly, I am terribly sorry about what I did to you." He explained. "I sent you in with little to no information to test how good of a nurse you can be. I obviously cannot tend to him at all times and I needed someone to watch for him. Your salary, as you will notice, is nearly double what most nurses here expect. Take that as a favor, if you will.
"Secondly, you did remarkably well. You are hired. Do me well, won't you?" he flashed a calm smile. "Now, as to your question. I am not so sure myself what happened to him. Even his brother, the man I told you to tell him was coming, hardly as any idea what became of the young man after his trip to a nearby city. It baffles me, quite honestly. I daresay that it is a medical enigma of the times. After all, he wasn't born like this. He used to be the healthiest man dear Matthew had known. Now, hardly anyone can look at him, aside from his face. And that is risky if one is particularly prone to nausea at the sight of discolored skin.
"And, lastly, I believe he got into some sort of an accident, don't you think? I was hoping, as you are now my nurse, that you can help me extrapolate from this inadequate data and help me locate the cause. If I can find that, perhaps I can stem it and discover a cure. Not only will we both be held venerable and in the highest regards within the edgy medical realm, we would also have saved a pathetic life."
Fern nodded. She wasn't quite sure what Arthur meant. Did he want her to find a cure? She only came to help the needy, not earn science awards. Medicine was all that interested her. That, and doing good for mankind. Her soft lips dented into dimples with her smile as Arthur appeared to take pride in her. She tucked a loose strand of brown hair back behind her ear, so to look presentable.
Then again, if she won an award her husband would be quite pleased. It would be a form of apology. She would place pride in her family name. Imagine that, honor riddling her status! All for helping a strange, mutilated man.
"Do you accept?"Arthur asked.
"I…"
"You don't have to, dear. And I will give you time to think, Matthew is here." He stood. Fern began to notice his uncanny ability to sense other people. Or predict the future. Or be accurate in nearly every possible way. What a strange man.
Sure enough, not a moment later, there was a knocking on the door. It was timid, like a mouse poking out of his hole hoping for a tasty bite to snatch and nibble.
Arthur opened the door.
The man had similar features as Alfred, the same jawline, the same shape of nose, and even the same form of lips. But that was where the similarities ended. He was softer of appearance, and lanky. His tall stature gave him the look of a man who was once muscular, but had been destroyed by tragedy. His hair, the same color as a mouse's, was collected back in a black tie.
"Am I interrupting something?" He asked, his voice as timid as his knock.
"No, no, dear boy." Arthur said, unable to hide all of his annoyance. "Go visit your brother, go on. I'll come with you."
With that, Arthur ushered Matthew out the door, pulling the door shut behind him. The wood cut him off from Fern. He made it obvious that he wanted her to stay in there and marinate in her own thoughts.
She frowned, but decided to follow along.
Outside in the hallway, Arthur walked alongside Matthew.
"Has his condition improved at all?" Matthew asked.
"Well, he is able to speak in coherent sentences now." Arthur said, with a faint shrug. "He won't be cured for a long time, not until I know what caused it. And I have several hypotheses spinning in my head at the moment."
Matthew nodded, curling his soft lower lip in and gently gnawing on it. Everything about the boy seemed gentle or soft. It annoyed Arthur, but only a little. Egoists annoyed him more, seeing as he fit in that category so well a subcategory had to be made. It would be "Arthur-centric".
For the second time in the span of an hour, there was a soft knocking, followed by the door being pushed open. A low groan came from inside.
"Stop your theatricals, Alfred," Arthur said. "Your brother is here to see you. You won't win any sympathy from the nurses if you mumble and grumble the entire time."
"Not… trying to…" Alfred hissed in reply, coughing.
"Sick as a dog." Arthur shook his head, leaving Matthew to his privacy.
Matthew entered the room and walked towards the bed. He approached it and gently laid a hand on Alfred's frigid cheek. He choked back tears.
"Do you think…?" Matthew began to ask. But he didn't know where the question was going so he shut his mouth and waited. Alfred always had the answers before.
Alfred's pale blue eyes shifted to meet his. He tried to sit back up. Matthew helped him, trying not to touch any of the dangerous, oozing spikes lining Alfred's back. Alfred thanked him in an incoherent whisper, shifting his deformed legs so they would hurt a little less. His hospital gowns were a size too big. But Matthew knew what was under it.
He had seen the shapes.
The blinking eyes.
No, none of that. Matthew reminded himself. He was a grown man. He should be able to maintain his visage long enough to give his brother hope. How strange a reversal of roles came about only at this event, Matthew thought.
"Is everything all right? Is the new nurse, yes I saw her don't look surprised, is she all right, too?"
Alfred collected his breath, his icy lips parting as if they refused to move.
"Everything is… fine… it is… all right…" he puffed, "The new nurse… is brave… but also… such a… a…" he froze, his body racking with forceful coughing. Matthew waited. Once they finished, Alfred smacked his lips. Blood dribbled down the cracked surface. Matthew, sighing, took a towel and dabbed it away.
"Yes, what is she?"
Alfred paused, gathering breath again like a whirring machine. He shut his eyes, murmuring something.
"Speak up, brother."
Alfred wet his lips.
"… a… a coward."
"Why so?"
Alfred gave him a fiery look of stop asking me questions I have a hard enough time breathing here. Matthew returned it with an apologetic look. But he needed to know, so he could help. Arthur was a professional and even he needed more information to help. Blind giving was a dying fad, Matthew said. He felt proud of his creativity.
"She… she was scared… but she comes back… for 'help'… not for help."
"You are becoming a little too dependent on oxymorons."
"Sick… excuse…"
Matthew ran his hand down Alfred's non-spiked portion of his neck. Alfred bowed his head like a good dog, his fingers curling and uncurling, stopping far short of what human fingers were supposed to be able to do.
"I won't ask any more questions. I'll sit here for a little bit then I have to go. Is that OK with you?"
Alfred nodded his head once.
"But… must ask… am I scary?"
"Yes." Fern said in the other room. "I accept. I will help you for the good of science."
Arthur scowled at her.
"I appreciate your help. But you may leave the latter half out. You have a terrible habit of making yourself better than you are. I should know that more than anyone." He briefly grinned. "I appreciate your help."
"Am I… a monster…?" Alfred asked.
"What do you mean? I do this to be a good person. The best I can be." Fern asserted.
"Am I… an accident…?"
Arthur shook his head. "What was the first thought that came to you when I told you about it?" Fern pressed her lips together. "Go on, girl."
"I know why… I am like this…"
Fern lowered her gaze. "I thought about not being an insult to my husband." Her hand went to where her barren womb would be.
"And after that?" Arthur asked.
She pressed her lips together even tighter.
"I went to that city… and I was… attacked…"
"I thought of the honor I could earn." She responded.
Arthur gazed at her somberly. "I excepted you would be awaiting pecuniary awards. You excelled my expectations, so far. What did you think about when I left you alone?"
"Never tell this… to… anyone… not the doctor most… most of… of all…" Alfred's eyes were haggard. They bore cold holes into Matthew, who bowed his head with a promise.
"I thought of the money, to be honest." Fern admitted. "I thought of how I could buy my way out."
"Not how you could donate it?"
"No." She admitted. "Does that make me a bad person?"
Arthur smiled. "Not at all. All I asked is that you quit using that term, 'for the good of the people'. It drives me mad. Use something more creative. You cannot cure all of mankind. You can cure only one man at a time. I say do you best at it. You help. Perhaps you are not a hero. Perhaps you haven't conquered worlds, but you have helped."
Alfred breathed deeply. "A stranger… he attacked me…" he coughed. "He placed his hand on my stomach… Where that… that… that…" he coughed again. "That thing is." He shuddered, touching the uneven lump below his hospital robes. "Then it was… a clear patch… of skin…"
"I understand." Fern said.
"I don't think you do. No matter how quick of a learner you are."
"But I do understand."
"No one understand anything after the first moment. In an hour, or maybe in a year, you will fully, absolutely understand what I meant. Hell, sometimes I barely understand what I mean."
"I'll give it thought, then." The nurse said. She paused, a question creeping into her mind. "What is on the inside of his robes, doctor?"
Arthur's face changed dramatically, as if a mountain had thrown its shadow over a bright patch of land. "I may as well tell you now rather than later."
Alfred raised the robe, showing of the mutilated lump, as if a head had been burned into the side of his head. Unseeing, lidless eyes gazed at Matthew. Matthew tried not to react. He felt dizzy. Those eyes moved. Alfred let go of his robe. "He… he said something…"
"Is it a monster?" Fern asked.
"That is an arbitrary term. But, I suppose you can."
"It's a living thing?!" She exclaimed.
"In a way."
The eyes were still peering through the fabric. Matthew could see their shadows, shifting, ever so relentlessly. His skin crawled. He wanted to hide in a hole. This wasn't his brother. This was a beast. This thing was something completely different. "What did he say?" Matthew managed to choke out.
"Does it think?" She questioned, moving past her shock with difficulty.
Arthur shrugged. "I don't know. It doesn't have a mouth to tell me what it thinks."
"'This,' he said, 'this is a piece of me.' … 'It is a piece of all of us. It is the greater vessel.'" Alfred managed to say with a level of lingering confusion. "I didn't understand… I thought… I asked why he chose… me…" Alfred frowned, shutting his eyes in pain. "he said… it didn't… it chose me… why…? Then it spoke… it spoke to me…" tears trickled down his cheeks. "It said.."
"But suppose it can think." She leaned back in her chair. "What would it say?"
Arthur's eyes flickered, bright, dangerous: poison. "It would say something like…"
"I am God."