![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
tredecaphobia.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
hetalia2010-08-10 11:44 pm
fic: Hidden Epidemic; Japan, Germany, US, Canada 1/?
(Hey,
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
kobalto , here's your gakuen!)Title: Hidden Epidemic
Author: me
Warnings: drug use, accidental drug overdose
Characters: Japan, Germany, US, Canada, England, mentions of Italy
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Every area in the student body has problems, their own picks of poison. For Alfred, it's a hidden epidemic.
It was already 23:00 when he received the call from the switchboard that he should immediately respond the North American dorms, and Honda Kiku knew the night had only begun. The World Academy was an expansive place, and the infirmary was hospital like in it’s proportions an efficiency, which was especially necessary when considering some of the more warlike temperaments of the students. And so the Emergency Response Team had been formed, in order to maximize efficiency; proposed by Ludwig, it’s members were primarily Ludwig, who was the First Response, and dealt with most of the domestic disturbance calls and immediate medical emergencies. Kiku formed the Secondary Response Team, and brought aide and backup to situations when necessary. And Home Base was the call center and switchboard manned by Feliciano, who had proved too weak at heart to deal with fresh blood, too weak of a stomach to handle vomiting and illness, but had done relatively well responding to and receiving calls as long as Ludwig forced him to wear the earpiece Ludwig himself had made specifically for the job, as Feliciano could not be persuaded, under any circumstance, to answer the phones when his “stories” were on.
But Kiku’s mind was entirely elsewhere as he rushed down the muted, earth-toned and cedar-beamed hallways of the northern dorms; in fact, he hadn’t been thinking much at all, and was thus completely unprepared when he had drawn abreast of the open door of the shared dorm of the North American twins. The shared dorm was rather impressive, one of the largest facilities, and one of the only student housing complexes that featured its own kitchenette, bathroom, though in payment for such lavish accommodations, the bedroom had turned out quite small (almost violating the school’s public heath rules, Kiku had reminded the twins, on more than one occasion), the twin beds pushed nearly flush to one another.
Ludwig was already there, crouched between the beds moss-green bedding immaculately made, and Kiku felt his heart stop. Alfred Jones, popular, star athlete, and de facto leader of the Student Body, was lying on his back on the still-made bed, and the only thing he wore (or half-wore, really, for they had mostly migrated down to the tops of his hips, leaving a clear swath of his lower abdomen and upper groin exposed, his vaunted “fuck-me lines” exposed, and Kiku couldn’t remember ever having seen such a heartbreaking thing) were his boxers (in the semblance of the American flag, Kiku noted detachedly).
But Kiku finally took a breath and stepped in (steeling himself, and knowing, still, it wasn’t going to be enough), noticing, finally where he had missed before, Alfred’s brother Matthew sitting on his own bed, face buried in his hands and sobbing with quiet desperation, still in his school clothes. He was normally an attractive boy, with creamy skin and silk-like hair and softly curving limbs, but his face was flushed, and he shook with intermittent tremors.
“Doitsu-san, please appraise me of the situation.” Kiku commanded softly, stepping in and wheeling in his aid cart, taking small solace in the sanctity of the clatter and sqeaking wheels it brought to the unfolding chaos. Ludwig didn’t even glance up as he responded (and Kiku knew the situation was grim), timing Alfred’s pulse against his watch, and checking his respiration.
“Not breathing, pulse 70/100 and dropping, v-fib imminent if this goes on. Starting artificial respiration and heart-massage now.” He reached forward, seizing Alfred’s chin and directing his head to lay squarely, fingers deftly wiping away the white foam that had built up on the youth’s mouth, and leaned forward, pinching Alfred’s nose to administer the proceedure.
Kiku glanced over to Matthew, who was now watching with the sort of lost expression only a twin could wear, cluctching his arms, eyes so wide Alfred could see the whites past his wire-frame glasses. Many students often attested to not being able to tell the two apart, but Kiku had never mistaken the two; to him, the brothers were as different as night and day.
“Canada-san?” Kiku prompted softly, attracting the fair-haired boy’s attention (he was, what, still only in his senior year of World Academy High? No, probably in his freshman year of University. Alfred was in his second, Kiku knew, and knew Matthew should probably be too; it was so easy to forget about poor Matthew); Canada looked over, jumping slightly as if being startled from viewing something intensely private, and Kiku noticed, for the first time, the boy’s eyes were glistening with tears, and his face was wet with them.
“He overdosed!” Matthew exclaimed softly, as if he couldn’t believe it, as if it were his own fault, tremors running through his body like a small, hypothermic animal. “He’s been under a lot of pressure lately, with the problems going on in the Middle-East section, and he’s been taking a lot of pills, but he needs them, and I think he overdosed, oh God, I think he overdosed, dear God, what am I going to tell Arthur?” At the mention of the brothers’ older sibling Arthur, Kiku felt a slight stab as he stepped forward, placing a soothing hand on the distraught boy’s shoulder. England would take this possibly worse than Matthew; he could already see it, and hoped he would have to respond to another call, right in the Infirmiry.
Trying to dispel the thought from his mind, he looked back to Germany’s progress, who was now muttering a soft beat to himself as he pumped Alfred’s chest; Kiku could already tell the situation was moving from bad to worse as a few other details filtered into his consciousness and registered, jack hammering into his brain (and realized, simultaneously, he would never quite forgive himself that he had completely missed the signs; looking at the boy’s well-formed face, beautiful it was almost divine inspiration, and who blazed with the brilliancy of his own self-conviction).
Past Ludwig asking if Alfred could hear him, and if he could please wake up, Kiku saw the menagerie of pills lined up on the middle bedstead; lifting one, slightly distantly (past that smiling face and never-say-die attitude, Kiku had never dreamed of any problems that would transpire with the youth), he noted it was for deep, clinical depression. Beside it sat another for anxiety disorder, and another for insomnia; others, unlabelled, he could not identify, and Kiku suddenly could not bear to know.
“Doitsu-san.” He called over the methodical cries of Ludwig, rattling the pills in their garish orange prescription bottle; there were few left, and if there was any indication in the prescription date and the fill date, America had taken roughly three-quarters of the contents in one sitting. It wasn’t suicide (he prayed it wasn’t suicide, and Japan never prayed these days)- knowing Alfred as the strong-minded, positive youth that he was, he had probably taken them in a fit of desperation. He hadn’t been playing as well as he normally did, his grades were in a slump, and his social life had taken a deep blow, and he had probably thought If this can make it all better, and had swallowed the pills before he could convince himself not to.
The same line of thinking appeared to occur to Ludwig as well, for he nodded once, slightly grimly, and started enlisting the shell-shocked Canada into preparing a folding stretcher in order to transport the unresponsive Alfred to the infirmary.
Arthur Kirkland hadn’t said anything once they had gotten there; his face had been strained as he met them halfway down the hallway, his medical coat flapping, and bent forward to monitor his little brother. Whatever he had discerned must not have been too dire, however, as he directed them to a private, unmanned room, and had administered an Epinephrine pen directly to Alfred’s sternum.
Kiku had winced upon seeing this, and Ludwig had gone rather pale, but by far the worst to respond had been Matthew, who had cried out as if it were his own chest the needle had been driven into. Arthur, however, had not minded, except to look up once, as if noticing for the first time Matthew was there, and wiping away the froth that had built up since Germany’s ministrations, he had leaned forward to check Alfred’s respiration, and then move quickly around the bed.
“Ready a stomach pump and the ipecac, if you please.” Was all he had said around setting up an I.V. unit and starting to administer it to Alfred’s arm.
It took half an hour to fully rid Alfred’s stomach of the pills he had ingested; he had sat up quite abruptly halfway through the process, eyes bulging, gagging and trying to pull the tubing from his mouth. It had been so sudden he’d nearly done it before Arthur had started forward, seizing Alfred’s hands and forcing them back down, speaking in what had been, at the time, strangely gentle words.
“You’re gonna be alright, sweetheart, okay? We’re pumping your stomach, and you’re going to feel better afterwards, so you just sit tight, can you do that for me?” And Alfred, past retching for the moment, had nodded, his eyes dull and couched in deep bags.
When he was laying in bed, looking for all the world a fallen martyr, Canada had held Alfred’s head to his chest, and wept as if his heart had been breaking. America had reached up, more in weakness from the extensive flushing done to his system than awkwardness of the posture, and had patted his brother’s arm in what he’d obviously meant to be a comforting gesture (but even Kiku could see a hint of the weakness of the brokenhearted in it) and spoke in a choked and raw voice.
“Don’t cry, Mattie.” He had said, eyes unfocused and still dull (thought tears were gathering in the corners, misting that rare chicory, and streaked down his face completely unbidden) and had smoothed his fingers down the curve of Mathew’s arm, and Kiku felt his chest tighten in an emotion he could not describe. “Don’t cry. Nobody cries for the heroes.”
Notes:
By far, one of the most common drugs teenagers and young people are abusing are prescription drugs. It’s become quite the hidden epidemic, hence the title.
Stomach pumping and ipecac are not common methods of saving someone from an accidental drug overdose. Activated charcoal is much more preferred these days. Just saying. Arthur is probably just a med student with supplies 30 years out of date.
no subject
Alfred's last line made me want to cry. "Nobody cries for the heroes." D:
no subject
no subject
no subject
Thank you~!
no subject
no subject