Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Thanks for the reminder, though. :P

You're pathetic.

Denmark felt the carpet scratch his knees as he crumpled weakly to the floor.

"I know." His voice sounded hoarse, painful.

What makes you think I would ever love you?

"I- I can't-"

You have a black soul, Danmark. Ugly and twisted. It makes me sick.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered. Of course it was. And who could ever love something like that?

Everyone hates you.

Denmark felt a lump rising in his throat and choked it back. He forced himself to look up at the apparition.

Norway gazed coolly back down at him. His dark blue eyes, normally so lacking in emotion, now held an unmistakable amount of loathing. Arms crossed, he stood there. Cruelly beautiful. Denmark ached to touch him.

I hate you.

The words cut into him and he inhaled sharply as the pain gripped his chest. Norway gave him one last disgusted look and began to walk away.

"Norge..." Denmark murmured, reaching out for him. But Norway didn't look back, and quickly dissolved into the surrounding darkness.

A rhythmic dripping permeated his ears. Denmark looked down at his hands and gagged. They were shining a dark sticky red, drenched in blood. As he stared, transfixed, more and more liquid began to fall from far above him. It soon covered every inch of his body, and he realized with horror that it was every drop of blood he had ever spilt.

The blood no longer just covered him, it enveloped him. The taste of rust coated his tongue as it got in his nostrils, his mouth. He was drowning in it, he was-

. . .

"Stop it!"

Denmark flailed wildly against his constraints. Gradually, he became aware that he was fighting against a pair of hands. Very strong hands apparently. He opened his eyes to see Norway, the real Norway, glaring irritably down at him.

"The hell is wrong with you? You bruised me black and blue, thrashing around like that," he said, finally letting go of Denmark. "I'm going back to sleep, and if you wake me up again, you're on the floor." Norway grabbed the covers and threw them over himself crossly.

. . .

It was just another dream, Denmark told himself as he attempted to get back to sleep. But every time he closed his eyes, it was there, suffocating him. Revulsion, guilt, absolute despair. And blood.

Unable to sleep, he turned over on his other side to watch Norway sleep. The other always had such an open, childlike expression when he slept, so different from the guarded look he wore while awake. Transfixed by Norway's every little feature, Denmark scrutinized his twitching lips, his thin blond hair, his long, deep breaths.

Norway shifted slightly and slung one arm over Denmark's bare shoulder. Denmark tensed, afraid he had disturbed the other's slumber, but no, Norway was sound asleep.

He's so goddamn perfect. Why does he put up with me? After everything… everything.

"Stupid… Stupid idiot…" Norway slurred faintly, his mouth curving into a small smile, still asleep.

Denmark watched him a while longer, pondering the matter. But when morning broke, the only thing he was really sure of was, when Norway put his arm around him like that, he almost felt completely whole.

I am unable to write completely depressing endings, however hard I try. *head-desk* I'm trying to work on it.

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