So. I was sitting down, doing a project on Andy Warhol for art class and I thought… "hey, let's make America a drug addict during the 60s!" Anywho! I'm, like, 75% sure someone has thought of this before. Or, at least something similar. 'Cause how couldn't you? Denmark!
Denmark: ID does not own Hetalia, nor does she own The Factory. They belong to Hidekaz Himaruya and Andy Warhol respectively.
Thanks! Guess what? You're an important part of the story!
Denmark: Hell no! I remember what happened last time I was an important part of one of your stories!
Don't be so dramatic. This is… nothing… like the last one. You and Norway actually remain together in this one! Though it's only mentioned in passing… ONTO THE STORY!
NO ONE ELSE COULD MAKE ME SADDER BUT NO ONE ELSE COULD LIFT ME HIGHER
Contrary to popular opinion, Denmark did notice things about people. Most importantly, things about two of his best friends; Prussia and America. As he wasn't allowed to see Prussia, it was only natural that he should notice America right now. And what he noticed was… distressing. America's eyes were bright. And while, yes, his eyes were always bright this was a different type. His eyes didn't look natural, the brightness seemed dangerous and… artificial. He scratched, too, at his arms and legs and neck with unnaturally long fingernails. His hair was brittle and his veins stuck out from his skin.
Now, most chalked his odd behaviour up to paranoia from his war with Russia. Though those that were close to him, like Denmark, knew something was wrong. It was made even more apparent by how he acted. His smiles were dreamy and distant, his attitude flighty and almost… drunken. He didn't seem to walk, anymore. Usually his steps radiated pure power, like those of royalty. His steps were dignified, as he had learnt to walk in the English, French and Spanish courts. But now it seemed like he floated. His steps were graceful, yes. But they were uncoordinated and not like America at all.
It was turning into quite a problem for Denmark. As he was often caught staring at America during meetings, or reading his news during normal life. The other Nordics didn't seem to be too pleased with this. As one day, they sat him down and asked him about it. Now, most of the Nordics were not very close to America. Most of them had only spoken to him because of business.
"What's up with you," Finland asked, "You've been so distracted lately."
"I'm sorry, guys, I've been thinking about America," Denmark said, ducking his head apologetically.
"That's another thing. It seems like your every waking moment is spent thinking about America in some way or another, is something going on between you two," Iceland asked. Denmark was stricken.
"No! No, most definitely not! America's my friend! Besides, the only person in my heart is my dear Norge!" Norway smacked him upside the head. Denmark rubbed his head and pouted.
"Th'n w't 's 't," Sweden asked. Denmark sighed.
"Something's up with him. I don't know what, but I think he may be sick or something." the other Nordics gave him a curious look, and asked what made him think that. And so, Denmark explained everything he had seen or heard. When he finished, there was a gasp of recognition from Iceland.
"What? What is it, what's wrong," Norway asked, concerned for his little brother.
"America's on… but why would he?! He looks so, so, clean cut grade A preppy boy!" everyone stared at Iceland for his exclamation.
"Have you been reading his books," Norway asked, his face indignant. Iceland blushed.
"His romance novels are surprisingly good for someone who's never been in a propour relationship!" this earned him another look.
"How do you know that," Denmark asked, slightly offended that Iceland knew that but he didn't.
"We played truth or dare once," Iceland answered. Denmark had so many questions-mostly about the truths that had been asked of America (what? He was allowed to be curious about his best friend)-but refrained from speaking as Finland opened his mouth.
"You were saying something before, about why America would do something," Finland said.
"Well, yeah. He doesn't seem the kind of person. I mean, why would he do drugs?" this earned him even more stares.
"What… how… why do you know this," Norway asked, giving Iceland a What The Actual Fuck look.
"Not important." Iceland flippantly waved his hand, "What is important is that America is doing drugs. And we need to help him!"
"Why? America isn't our problem. Tell England or something," Norway said. Denmark snorted.
"England doesn't care. At the moment, we might be the only ones that do," Denmark said, smirking.
"Then it's settled!" Finland stood up, a determined look on his face, "We're off to America within the week!" Finland dashed off to his room and set about packing. No one tried to stop him. Denmark stood and went to call America as Iceland and Norway argued over First Class tickets on a public plane, or whether to use one of their private jets.
"Hello?" America's voice came over the phone.
"Hej! It's Denmark! I'm coming over, with the other Nordics!" Denmark didn't really give America a chance to protest. However, America just sighed breathily, though it sounded suspiciously like a moan.
"Mmkay, if you like," America hummed. Denmark suddenly became aware of a low thumping and screeching in the background.
"America, where are you," Denmark asked.
"Hm… The Factory, with- nngh ah- A-andy," America answered. Denmark's eyebrows raised.
"And what is this… Andy, doing to you," Denmark asked.
"Nngh- not exactly sure. Something with his tongue. Don't know what it is exactly, but it feels really good," America said. Denmark's blush was reaching unnatural heights and the other Nordics in the room had begun to notice.
"How… do you just carry your phone around with you," Denmark asked.
"Wh-when I plan on being somewhere a while- nngh! Ah, A-andy!" Denmark pulled the phone away from his ear.
"Imma… Imma just go. See you soon." Denmark hung up as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
"W't's w'r'n'g," Sweden asked.
"N-nothing. Ignore that. Shouldn't we be packing," Denmark asked.
"M' w'f'e 's t'k'n'g c'r'e 'f 't," Sweden said.
"Of course he is. We taking a private jet or public plane, first class," Denmark asked.
"Private jet. We're using yours," Norway said.
"You didn't even ask," Denmark protested.
"No, but we heard your conversation with America and we can see your… reaction to it," Iceland said, raking his eyes up and down Denmark's form. Denmark blushed.
"If you had heard it as loud as I did, you would have one, too," Denmark protested, wiping away the last remnants of a nose bleed.
When the Nordics arrived at America's house, they met by a surprising-but not entirely unwelcome- sight. America stood at his door, a happy grin on his face. He looked… sober. He was probably trying not to seem like a drug addict in front of the Nordics. He looked slightly guilty though.
"I wasn't sure what you guys wanted, so I just kinda got a bunch of groceries and asked a neighbour about traditional Nordic dishes. Luckily, she's first generation Finnish-American. Cool right? I think I made them right, but I'm not sure. So I'm, like, totally sorry if I messed up your guys' recipes and you hate me forever now," America smiled. No, wait, he was high. His glasses dimmed the brightness of his eyes, but it showed in his smile.
"You're high," Iceland said it so loudly and so plainly, that it was very lucky they were currently inside. Else one of America's neighbours would hear. A panicked look flashed across America's face, but he wiped it away with a smile.
"Well, I guess compared to you I am pretty tall, yeah. But you might wanna phrase that better," America said. Denmark had to hide a smirk.
"You're not that much taller than me. And I didn't mean your height, America," Iceland said calmly. America blanched, his face turning a red colour very quickly.
"Please don't tell anyone," America said. Denmark was actually surprised at the strange willingness of the young country.
"You're… not even going to deny it," Finland asked.
"What's the point? You'll probably just use it to blackmail me, get me to do something for you. And if I don't, you'll tell everyone. Of course, you might just tell anyone anyway. So there's not much of a point, is there?" America looked resigned as he flopped down on the couch. Finland tackled him in a hug.
"We're not going to blackmail you or anything! We wanna help! Honest," Finland said, hugging America tightly around his middle. America seems to melt into the hug, holding Finland. None of the Nordics have ever seen America look this relaxed, not even when Denmark managed to get America drunk once by spiking his coke.
"Thanks, I guess, but you don't hafta," America said, rubbing slow circles on Finland's back.
"Yes, we do. You need help. We're going to provide it." it's been awhile since Sweden has been able to speak so clearly, and it really seems to make a difference in how America acts.
Sweden said they would help, and they started almost immediately. Iceland went through every room in the house, cleaning out any and all drugs that could be addicting or provide a high of any kind. He even got rid of the pain killers America has. The whole time, America helped Finland to unpack the Nordic's bags. Denmark and Norway quickly disposed of the food America had cooked, (what? They were hungry) while Sweden kept a close eye on America and Finland.
"So… how do we do this," America asked as they all sat on the couch the next morning. Sweden dropped coffee on himself, Denmark and Norway froze, Iceland looked away from Mister Puffin and Finland looked like he was gonna cry again.
"Um… I d'n't' n'w, c't'l'y," Sweden said, blushing as America raised an eyebrow.
"So, you guys just figured that you'd come in here, move in and somehow get me sober? Without any clue how," America asked.
"I think we're doing pretty good so far," Denmark said.
"You idiot, it's been less than a few hours since my last high ended. Of course I'm fine," America said, banging Denmark on the head with the spine of the book he was reading.
They ended up looking at pamphlets at the hospital, but didn't like anything they said. America laughed as Denmark threw his pamphlets on the floor (it was actually at the nurse that tried to help them, but still). Denmark made the decision that instead of "weaning" him off of the drugs, they decided to just make him go "cold turkey" (America later sent Turkey a jacket, not understanding the phrase).
The Nordics and America got along surprisingly well, despite how similar he was to Denmark and how much they disliked Denmark. Or acted to, at any rate. When withdrawal symptoms hit, it was hard for everyone. America could barely eat anything without throwing it back up. His legs and arms cramped constantly and he had to be helped throughout the house just to move. He still insisted on going to meetings though. A fact which constantly annoyed the Nordics. They were, in fact, at one at the current moment.
America was surrounded by the Nordics on either side, most likely so that he wouldn't disappear in the middle of the meeting to satisfy his cravings. To his left was Finland. Something he was actually quite thankful for, as he was really cold and Finland was surprisingly warm. America leant down and set his head against Finland's shoulder. Finland looked surprised.
"What're you doing," Finland whispered. America hummed.
"I'm cold. You're warm," America whispered back. Finland sighed and put his hand on America's head, mindlessly tangling and untangling his fingers from America's hair. Everyone was staring. Usually, Sweden would have killed anyone that had dared touch his wife like that. Especially someone like America, who is rumoured to have, ahem, gotten around both in his younger years and now. Sweden just regarded the two with an air of amusement, though only those that could read him well could tell.
"Just make sure you don't fall asleep. You need to pay attention to the meeting," Finland whispered. America nodded, and then proceeded to fall asleep. Finland laughed, but let the younger Nation sleep.
America was out to get groceries. Usually one of the Nordics would have accompanied him, but he had insisted that he go alone. And that he wouldn't do any drugs. To some it might seem foolish, but the Nordics could see the truth in his eyes and trusted him. Sweden in particular thought it was a wonderful idea that America go alone, as it would prove to both America himself and the other Nordics that America could be trusted not to do drugs the minute he was left alone. Everything was calm, peaceful. Denmark was taking a nap across Norway's lap as the other Nordic flipped absently through one of America's many sketchbooks. Finland was knitting, Iceland was messing around with Mr. Puffin and Sweden himself was reading.
A scream shattered the silence. They all recognized the voice as America's as the boy screamed their names. Denmark sat upright immediately and everyone else was standing. Sweden briefly wondered what was wrong, what had scared the child so much? When they got downstairs and outside of the apartment building, he found out what. America was lying on the ground, his clothes torn off of his body and a human was lying atop him. America was trying to get the human off of him, but the withdrawal symptoms had sapped all of his strength. Denmark, face filled with anger, pulled the man off of America and threw him a little ways down the sidewalk.
"R'e y'u o'k'y," Sweden asked, gathering America into his arms as the other Nordics whaled on the human. America clutched Sweden's jacket closer around himself and cuddled into the taller Nations embrace, shaking his head.
"d'd y'u k'n'w t'h't g'y," Sweden asked again. America shrugged.
"I recognize him, from one of Andy's parties, but other than that, no. I never knew him personally," America answered, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. Sweden nodded.
"'E m's't h'v'e r'c'g'n'z'd y'u. E's p'r'b'l'y h'i'h," Sweden said, rubbing America's arms, "'F y'u d'n't m'n'd m' a's'k'n'g… h'w f'r d'd 'e g't?" America looked away, tears in his eyes and a blush on his face. That was answer enough for Sweden, whom looked away with an angry glare at the man his fellow Nordics were beating up. Finally, Finland's rage ran out and he joined the other Nordics in standing next to America and Sweden and brought him inside. America ended up asking Sweden to share a bed with him, just to make him feel better. It wasn't the last time, but Sweden became Berwald and America became Alfred.
Decades later, when America is officially the most powerful superpower in modern history, he still calls Sweden when he has a nightmare. It doesn't even have to be about that night, as it wasn't the first time that's happened. Sweden has had to excuse himself from much more than a few meetings because of America. He doesn't blame the child. He loves having someone rely on him so much. But, if a basket of Sweden's favourite chocolates made and sold solely in America are at his seat at the World Summit Meeting after a nightmare? No one mentions it.
Norway has always gotten on well with America. They're not best friends, but America has always come to his aid when he called. But, there are somethings that even Norway doesn't know about the young Nation. Like why, exactly, he needs makeup. Iceland told him about it, back when they first arrived what seems like years ago but was actually just two months. One day, when the other Nordics are out and it's just Norway and America, Norway decides to ask about it.
"America. Why do you wear makeup," Norway asked, America looked startled.
"Why do you ask," America responded. It was no secret that America wore makeup, but no one really knew why. Save for whomever taught him how to apply it.
"I don't know, exactly. I just want to. Would you tell me," Norway asked. America sighed and walked out of the room. Norway sat there for a few minutes, wondering if he had said something wrong. America came back into the room, a very obvious scar going down the left side of his face and over to the right. It went through his left eyebrow and across his eye lid and nostril, before slipping across to the right side over his lips.
"America…" Norway trailed off and America looked away, retaking his seat next to Norway on the couch, "America, who did this?"
"Um… when I was younger, England would have me pretend to be human and… seduce his enemies. It'd get me inside their homes and countries and places of work, so I could steal their battle plans and such for England. It's, uh, why I'm so good at quick draw. 'Cause I'd have to do an exact replica in a short amount of time," America took a breath, "Anyway, one time I was doing a, I guess you could call it, job for England involving the Italy brothers. Veneziano got a bit attached and, since I hadn't actually gotten a chance to see the plans yet with Romano around, I had to marry him.
Romano found me sneaking back into Veneziano's… our bed chambers, my copies of the plans in hand. That day I had told Veneziano that I would be going on an ocean voyage to visit my sick father. England and I were to fake my death during the voyage. I was going back to get my clothes and a few other things. Luckily, Romano didn't see the plans and thought I had been seeing a lover. As was customary, he cut me in the face and told me to leave and never come back. I never did get my things," America explained. Norway was shocked, and stared at America open-mouthed.
"How did… did Veneziano know you were a guy," Norway asked. America laughed.
"Um, well, I actually, uh, told him that it was a tradition within my people that the couple doesn't… consummate the marriage until three years after the actual wedding. He believed me and, well, I never did stick around long enough for those three years to be up," America said, laughing slightly.
"Seriously? That is… wow. I mean, I knew he was a bit naive. But. Wow," Norway said, too shocked to speak in full sentences. America broke down laughing and Norway smiled.
Years later, the two still get together. America tells Norway of the many scandals and escapades he was involved with while under England's rule. And Norway tells America stories about himself and the other European countries back from before he was discovered. They usually do this gossiping over coffee.
Iceland knows what addiction feels like. Oh, sure, he's never been majorly addicted to drugs. But he's done them. And he likes them. What he likes more, is sweets. Something America seems extremely proficient in making. Especially cookies and apple pies. Which, really, he shouldn't be surprised. Apple pies are, like, an American tradition. If America had never named a national dish, Iceland would've been convinced it was apple pie. Speaking of, Iceland licked his lips and reached for the pie dish. A smack on the hand was all he received.
"It's not cool yet, it just came out of the oven. Besides, it's for after dinner. And you have to share it," America scolded. Iceland rubbed his hand sheepishly.
"Do we have to share it," Iceland asked, voice a whine. America laughed and nodded.
"If you really want one to yourself, I can teach you how to make it," America said. Iceland nodded, looking sheepishly at the younger blond before him. America laughed and lead Iceland over to the counter, showing him how to make the crust first.
"I suck at this," Iceland said, pouting. America laughed and wrapped his arms around Iceland's body, placing his hands on the shorter man's. Iceland's face resembled a tomato. America showed Iceland how to make make the crust properly, Iceland's hands mimicked America's down to how the muscles rippled under the skin. Iceland accidentally tore the crust again.
"Dammit!" America laughed, the vibrations of his chest sending tickles down Iceland's back, "This isn't funny. I'm never gonna be able to make apple pie like you." America laughed again and dabbed a bit of flour on Iceland's nose. Iceland stood stock still before he turned and left a streak on flour on America's cheek. America was shocked, but then threw some flour from the bag at Iceland. The Nordic responded in kind. Around fifteen minutes later, the other Nordics walked into the dining room/kitchen expecting dinner. What they got was a ruined supper on the table, a cooling pie on a windowsill and two countries covered in flour. Iceland regrets nothing.
Years later, Iceland has figured out how to make apple pie. Though he pretends not to, just for the sake of being able to call America over. Otherwise, what other reason would he have? America probably knows that Iceland can actually bake a pie, but he enjoys hanging out with the Nordic.
It takes the rest of the sixties and a good portion of the seventies before America is completely sober. The fact that he kept having breakdowns and taking drugs really didn't help the matter. But, when the time comes, it's a tearful goodbye. Denmark knows he'll see America again, so he doesn't cry as hard. But for Finland, who has almost no international relations with America that are strong enough to see him in person, it's a hard thing to do. But they cry and hug and say goodbye and everyone seems sad, but they all leave with the reassurance that should they ever need anything there will be someone there.
So. This. Took. Me. For. Ev. Er. I'm serious, though. It took me like three days and I nearly cried several times just because I hadn't finished it. Seriously. I'd open my drive and then go through my million and one folders to get to the Hetalia folder and the first thing that's pop up was "Haze" in all caps. Anyway! I really like this. I went a little unconventional with some of the stuff. Oh! The part where America told Norway about that scar and the thing with the Italy bros? That's based off of a headcanon of mine where England often sent America on "missions" and "jobs" where America would go undercover and retrieve information from England's enemies. If you all like, I can create a thing about America's escapades with whatever Nations you all so choose!
This is Italy's Driving saying; That's All Folks!