A/N: I'm sorry if this chapter seems rushed in any way, but I had to get it posted today because a) *cough*SPOILERS*cough* here, Prussia describes more about what happens to him after his car ride to the hospital that we left off on yesterday and b) OVER FIVE FOLLOWERS? THAT'S SO AWESOME I CAN'T EVEN—

In response to reviewer fishstick1999 . . . Can you read my mind? ^J^ Right now, it's a bit of the opposite, but yes, I do plan to include both in this fic eventually because I happen to have a soft spot for them, though it'll probably be a while further down the road. (My estimates would probably place the former to pop up sometime around late March or April, and the latter around late February or March, but then again, I didn't think that I'd be updating this fic so quickly . . . so it's probably give or take. ^J^)

All cards on the table, this fic will cycle through a lot of ships, so I can't confirm or deny that they'll be endgame, though. (I haven't really thought so much about how this will end, so no guarantees for anything! But I'm pretty sure that this fic is going to wind up being pretty lengthy, so I hope you enjoy the ride. ^J^)

Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers, How I Met Your Mother, IKEA, nor Great Wolf Lodge.

Mein Freaky Doctor

2016 February 17 (Wednesday)

Have I ever told you about my doctor? Ja? Nein? Well, if I haven't, then it was probably to prevent you from having nightmares, so you can thank me for that later. But not right now, since I'm about to tell you a little bit about him and possibly give you nightmares. After I give you some background. Point is, you better listen up!

So yesterday, after Liz bent my fingers into shapes that fingers aren't meant to be bent into, Al—*cough*that TRAITOR*cough*—was the one who hailed a taxi to drive us to the hospital. Why did he hail the taxi if my arm was totally fine? Well, apparently taxi drivers don't like seeing someone waving a hand at them when the fingers vaguely resemble things you might find on a "Types of Pasta" diagram. Believe me, it doesn't feel anywhere close to how awesome it sounds. But I'm getting totally off-topic.

Anyway, before I tell you about my doctor, I have to tell you about the waiting room. Why? For one, the whole check-in process went much smoother than I thought so there's not much to talk about there, and for another, something big happens in there. You still listening? Good. You should be.

As I said, checking in, though kind of time-consuming, went pretty smoothly, and so Alfred and I went into the waiting room because apparently, having your fingers beat up by a vengeful woman armed with a frying pan isn't considered severe enough to be admitted right away. Which is what I was about to complain to the stranger on my left about—because, y'know, strangers are supposed to be supportive, right? (Unlike Alfred, who just patted me on the shoulder and said something like "Yeah, yeah buddy. You think that's bad? I have to wait—" and then referenced some obscure commercial for, like, some random lodge or something; seriously, I worry about him sometimes)—only to find out that, well, you know that guy on my left I just mentioned? He wasn't a stranger at all.

He was the guy who punched me in the face two days ago and gave me a black eye.

And apparently Alfred recognized him, too, since he almost immediately sprang out of his seat and laughed, "Well, dude, I'm going to go look for a . . . um . . . vending . . . mechanical . . . thing. I'll get you a soda or something."

And then he just up and leaves. Seriously! Like, what kind of totally lame guy abandons his best friend in his time of need with a guy he barely kno—

. . . Stupid universe. And, because it just likes to pick on me, Black Eye Guy just happens to turn around at that moment and notices me, too.

"Oh look, it's you again. How fun," he sighed. "Did you invade someone else's personal space too?"

"No," I scoffed. ". . . I stole my friend's frying pan."

"So he biked over your hand?"

"Nein," I scoffed again, because I'm awesome like that. ". . . She beat me up with it."

If Black Eye Guy noticed this change of pronouns, his face didn't give anything away. "Really? How fun. You'll have to introduce me to this friend of yours."

"Don't get your hopes up about it," I snorted. "She has a boyfriend, you know."

"A FIANCÉ!" Al called from somewhere down the hall. Black Eye Guy frowned disapprovingly at the loud sound. Al, Al, Al. I know you like pranks, but this is just sad.

"Don't worry, he's just kidding," I assured him, waving it off dismissively.

"I'M NOT KIDDING, GILBERT!"

"See?" I grinned, elbowing him pointedly (and awesomely). He moved his arm away (Ahem. LAME. His loss. Totally his.) and I continued, "What a joker, am I right?"

Ignoring my question (Again. LAME.), he gingerly brushed off his elbow and asked, "How fun. So, your name is 'Gilbert'?"

"Nein, nein, you must be mis—"

And, of course, because the universe is as sadistic as Al and Liz and my doctor and B.E. Guy (Yeah, that's his name now) and my doctor and Liz and—Well, ja, a lot of people (especially Liz and my doctor)—my doctor chooses that moment to be "ready to see me".

"Gilbert B-Beilschmidt?" a shaky-looking little guy with a clipboard called.

"Ja?"

"D-Doctor Braginski is r-ready to see you," he stammered out, ducking out of the way when I stood and sighed.

I looked at Black Eye Guy, who was looking at me knowingly. I mean, of course his face still didn't give much away (Seriously, someone should give him a prize for that or something. Engrave his name in it and everything.), but I could pretty much see him laughing at me unawesomely on the inside. "Oh, don't look so smug."

With that, I went for my appointment with Doctor Braginski. His first name's Ivan, and I tried calling him that on my first appointment with him but that made him give me this totally freaky look (You heard me Berwald! This guy's totally competition!) and then he started saying this string of mutter-y Russian words (which I'm pretty sure were curses). The next day, I found myself back at the hospital because after a freaky series of close-calls that included Roderich's piano mysteriously collapsing while I was playing it and Alfred's game system short-circuiting while I was playing that, I still wasn't able to escape from Elizabeta when she caught me playing with her frying pan. So understandably, I didn't try calling him that a second time and everything has been okay ever since. Well, with Roderich's piano and Alfred's game system. Obviously, the Elizabeta thing's still kind of a problem.

This appointment, though, considering that my fingers were all squiggly-looking, he was super calm. Even by Doctor Braginski standards (which would already be surprisingly calm, considering how I swear I can see a dark aura starting to expand behind him every time he smiles. Which is a lot). All he did was take one look at my hand, open up a cabinet full of casts of all different colors and sizes (I'm not even kidding *cough*Alfred*cough*, it was like a fiberglass rainbow in a closet), study it for a bit, pick one, and then pop it right onto my hand, no questions asked, smiling that freaky smile of his all the way through.

Usually, I leave right after he says I'm free to go because he likes to keep the room temperature at, like, below zero, but I couldn't help my curiosity (you know, maybe it even froze some of my brain cells in there, because obviously I wasn't using them if I ever thought it would be a good idea to question Doctor Braginski in any way) and blurted out, "Hey, why're you so calm about this? And what's with the cast collection?"

And, because he's creepy like that, Doctor Braginski just shrugs, "I've seen a lot of my sister's ex-boyfriends."

Remind me to never ask him any more questions.

At least when I walked back out into the lobby, Black Eye Guy was gone. Oh, and apparently, Alfred did get me a soda. Like, a whole gallon of it, which I spent today totally-not-sulkily sipping on because Roderich won't let me go down to the bar because of my new cast.

Stupid cast. But I guess their couch is pretty comfy.

[Comments (2)] [Show comments]

Berwald Oxenstierna: IKEA

Perhaps the couch came from IKEA.

Berwald Oxenstierna 2016-02-17

Elizabeta Hedervary: What was that about drinking soda on my couch?

If I catch any stains on it, I'll be at your throat faster than you can say "fcak".

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-17

Notes on this Chapter:

Gilbert's dry spell just got longer.

If you're wondering about Prussia's dramatic lack of typos in this post compared to his previous one, it's thanks to the cast—although it might be more difficult to type in a cast, it's still very much possible (I have a friend who can type fairly well in one, actually). Also, I guess Prussia heals pretty fast . . . because he's awesome like that.

"B.E. Guy": Since, y'know, I couldn't exactly call him "B.E.G." because it looks like "beg" . . . but Prussia only uses "B.E. Guy" to describe him once because "be" is also a word. ^J^ Gilbert still doesn't know his actual name, though.

"'You think that's bad? I have to wait—' and then referenced some obscure commercial for, like, some random lodge or something": Yeah, that's a reference to an actual commercial for this place called "Great Wolf Lodge". I used to see it playing on the TV virtually all the time, but I think it might be kind of outdated now . . . Oh, Alfred.

"'I've seen a lot of my sister's ex-boyfriends.'": Reference to the canon Hetalia webcomic. Has to do with Lithuania.

Also, THERE'S Berwald! Aha! ^J^ I realized that I although I clarified that that Carlos is, indeed, Cuba, I haven't formally added him to our character list yet. Cuba: Carlos Machado. And we can now add another character to our list, too! Russia: Ivan Braginski. ^J^ You'll be seeing more of both!