Disclaimer: If Axis Powers Hetalia were mine, I wouldn't need to write fanfics. If any of these songs were mine, I wouldn't be writing fanfics.
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Minimal fluff 09!
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Ties
They had been three once. Once upon a time. If Norway turned back enough in the photo album, he could find old, starchy black-and-white photos of him, Denmark, and Sweden, still small. Even when they were babies, Denmark doted on him, helping him walk and going places with him. Sweden had been more of the stoic big brother, who stood back and watched quietly as they played.
Then they were two. Sweden decided he didn't want to play with Denmark if Denmark insisted on being the boss all the time. He left the house, with another Nordic nation, Finland. Norway remembered watching the door as Sweden stormed out of the house, not looking back once and seeing Finland creep out behind him, running to catch up in his attempt to stick it to Denmark.
Denmark was upset, but he never cried. He didn't cry even when Norway did, when Denmark said Sweden was never coming back. Because older brothers never cried, even if they weren't related by blood.
And life went on.
Norway grew to understand what Sweden meant when he left, grumbling something about independence or freedom. Denmark liked to call the shots and left Norway wondering if he wanted to do anything on his own. But Denmark still stayed, still persisted. "You're my favorite, Nor. That's why we're going to be together forever. Cause you're my favorite." Even when the tight hugs became more than just reassuring gestures, when Denmark would crush his lips on Norway's and attempt to steal the smaller nation's breath away, he would continue his mantra. "You're my favorite, Norway, my favorite."
He didn't know if he liked being Denmark's favorite sometimes.
It was nice being cared for to such an extent (Denmark would always be gentle, like their first time when Norway was still jittery about such things), but other times it was just irritating to have to deal with Denmark's pouts and sulking and tantrums. For such a tiny peninsula, he insisted on being the big man until Norway said he'd had enough. He wasn't going to eat just because Denmark told him to. He wasn't going to put on a coat just when Denmark said it was cold. He could control himself. He had had a fierce argument with Denmark where more than a few scathing words had been exchanged.
They slept in separate bedrooms that night. Norway planned his declaration that he'd like to play alone once in a while and gingerly tiptoed to Denmark's room to tell him so when he lingered out in the shadow of the doorway, hearing heated voices inside.
"I'm not doing anything without Norway," Denmark was saying testily. Sweden, who had decided to resurface (Norway wondered if the reason Denmark made such a ruckus to let everyone know he was downstairs was to prevent Norway from seeing Sweden), stared icily back and stood, sweeping what looked like an agreement onto the floor and strolled toward the door. Norway scampered away before he could be seen by either male.
That night, when the moon decided to hide behind the clouds, Norway snuck back into the room that he and Denmark had shared, slipping under the covers and curling up next to the slumbering nation. He woke the next morning to Denmark's cheerful face and burnt eggs, as if nothing happened between them.
While wandering outside their home, Norway stumbled upon a child in the bushes, alone with a puffin-like bird. When Norway brought him to meet Denmark, Denmark remarked it would appropriate to keep the kid around, so he was their child or something. Norway had stormed off after that comment, but they kept the boy around. He never said anything; his demeanor was that of ice – he was called Iceland.
Another time, another battle. Iceland watched quietly from the doorway as Norway cried himself to sleep with Denmark stuck in the hospital after another violent struggle. Europe sucked every neighboring nation into its conflicts, even if some wished to stay out of them.
Then a small man appeared on the doorstep, grinning and speaking in rapid French. No one knew where exactly he came from, but he had been visiting many nations as of late and invading their vital regions. Denmark kept his space with this man, who made himself at home at their home, waiting for a chance to seize the three of them. Norway took Iceland and hid in the attic as Denmark fought with the man, who mentioned a few times the name 'Napoleon'.
Denmark lost. Norway wondered if he had if he had came down to help, would things have turned out differently? But when things seemed safe again and Norway led Iceland with him through the ruckus, he found Denmark, badly battered but still alive. Willing himself to keep his cool in front of Iceland, he made his way toward the fallen nation when suddenly the house was alive with movement again. England, Austria, Prussia, and Russia burst out of the debris, grabbing the little man and dragging him off to his fate. At the same time, Sweden appeared and grabbed Norway. "Y're com'n with me," he grunted.
There was a small struggle but Sweden was stronger and Norway lost his grip on Iceland's hand. The little nation wandered over to Denmark as Norway watched, unable to do anything under Sweden's control. He was promptly extracted from the house and taken into Sweden's care, where Finland opened him warmly and showed him his puppy, Hana-tamago.
Things were sunny, even if Sweden was overbearing. Estonia came to visit once in a while but Norway didn't know him very well. Iceland was never present. Denmark lived in the back of his mind, where he stayed. Norway expressed his discontent to Finland, who shrugged it off. Finland had never really minded being in Sweden's house, but there was more than sunshine and labor.
Norway wanted to live by himself.
Then one day, he just left. Sweden stood and warned him not to go but Norway ignored him and walked down the path, out the gates. He had his declaration of independence at hand. He found himself a vacant house and made himself at home. He sought out Iceland, who had grown in his absence and stared vacantly at him at their reunion.
One day Norway had been finishing his daily chores when the door burst in and Denmark stormed through the foyer, disregarding his dirty boots trampling on the clean floors Norway had worked so hard on. Spotting the boy, Denmark flung himself on the newly independent nation. "Norway! You're free!"
"I am," Norway said shortly, rag still in hand.
"You had no idea how much I missed you! You're always my favorite, you know." If that was so, why didn't he come for him at Sweden's house? Funny; somehow he had seemingly lost his feelings for Denmark in his time away – or were they now lying forever dormant? "This house is big, isn't it?" he asked as he let go of Norway. "It's much too big for one person. Why don't you come home with me again? We'll live together like the old days."
Norway shook his head, slowly at first before with more conviction. "No, Denmark. What we had…it's over. I'm independent now."
"What? Come on, Norway. We grew up together. Don't you like me anymore?"
"I never said I didn't like you anymore, I just said we're not going to be living together as one." Norway wiped his hands before throwing the towel into the bucket of soapy water. "Now get out of my house if you're going to come in tracking dirt all over the place."
Denmark left, but not before Norway saw him again at the World Conference. Norway had always been a sailor at heart; he loved being on the North Sea – before, it had been the one thing separating his and Denmark's territories, but now it was a barrier for Denmark to go through to get to him. He arrived at the hall in a blue, sailor-esque outfit.
Denmark shook his head when he saw him. "Is that what you're wearing, Norway?"
"So what if it is?" Norway stared up at him with blank blue eyes. Iceland lingered nearby, by himself and his bird.
"I dunno," Denmark said, feigning pity. "It's just…you know…a sailor outfit is always cuter with a skirt."
He hadn't done anything about it then, but it didn't stop Norway from showing up at the next meeting in a white sailor skirt. Denmark looked like he nearly had a heart attack from the very sight.
Of course that didn't stop Denmark from following him when he excused himself to speak to his boss, didn't stop Denmark from pushing him against the wall and kissing him passionately, the taller nation's hand sliding up Norway's thigh up the skirt. "It's just like old times," Denmark breathed, feeling Norway's smooth skin beneath his hands. "Like the old days."
"But not," Norway said back softly, his hands gripping Denmark's collar. "It's not the old days, and that makes all the difference."
"Maybe," Denmark sighed, his hand slipping out from the skirt and Norway let out an almost inaudible sigh of disappointment he didn't know he had been holding. "But you can't blame me for missing them. I'm sure you liked it as much as I did."
"It doesn't matter anymore," Norway said, closing his eyes so he didn't have to see Denmark's eager face.
"I guess not."
They might have shared territory in the past, but they no longer. They are now separate, independent territories, nations. There is a hint of pride in this fact; they are themselves. But even as Norway untangles himself from Denmark, the scars will not fade. It is a tie that binds, as history is not forgotten.
It is never forgotten.
Owari
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Note: Forgive me for historical inaccuracies. I'm not the best historian, but I hope to have captured these two's background a bit. Tsudere Norway! Himamuya is slaying me with all these tsudere characters. First there was England, then there was Romano…but Denmark/Norway really doesn't get a lot of love! That's why I wrote this. New moe, guys. Whenever I think of these two, I think of breakup songs. That's why I'm making a small compilation of music for these two (review if you want the link to the download after I make it). Guess what, it's the end of the line! Exams are hitting hard! No more updates until the middle of next week (unless I slack, but I can't afford to do that)! Review, please!