Warning: depression and self-harm; please don't read if this will be triggering
Iceland frowned, watching the other Nordics in front of him. They were talking about their younger days; back when they did amazing things. They were so strong. Free. Happy.
He wondered if he would ever get the chance to do such things. To be powerful and proud. But he knew that could never happen. The Nordics were all so strong in their own different ways. Denmark had been named the king of Northern Europe and an amazing leader. Sweden was tough as a towering mountain and could intimidate anyone that dare look in his direction. Norway was a swift swordsman and a skilled sorcerer, friend of creatures from another realm. Finland was a deadly accurate sniper with determination that could never be matched.
And Iceland? Well….he was the baby of the family. The one that needed protected. Looked after.
He couldn't do anything.
"Ice."
He was weak.
"Ice."
Pathetic.
"Iceland."
He snapped out of his thoughts, blinking them away. And he focused on the scene before him. The four others were looking toward him with something of a worried look in their eyes. 'No. Pity,' Iceland corrected himself. Even Mr. Puffin was standing on the table, looking up at him with a furrowed brow of confusion. "What?" He asked cockily.
"Bror, you were zoning out," Norway stated calmly.
"Ya, Ice! Your face was almost like Norge's!" Denmark teased, earning glares from both brothers.
Norway turned back to his sibling. "Something up?" he asked gently, letting the littlest bit of concern show.
"You can tell us!" Finland chimed in, almost as if he were talking to a child.
Iceland sighed. 'No. I can't,' he thought. 'You would just baby me.' He frowned in a bratty way. "You guys were just boring me, so I zoned out a bit," he lied. "Stop making such a big deal."
"We are only worried about you, lillebror."
"You were just boring me! Besides, I can take care of myself!" Ice yelled, glaring his brother down.
Norway's eyebrows twitched slightly, and a small frown formed on his lips. "Do not raise your voice at me."
"Then stop treating me like a child!" Iceland yelled again, slamming his hands off the table as he abruptly pushed himself to his feet. "It's annoying!" he complained. 'It hurts.'
"I will treat you like an adult the moment you start acting like one," Norway scolded, standing his ground.
A flash of hurt shot through Iceland, but he didn't show it. Instead, he replaced his bratty look with an outwardly pissed one. "Go to hell," he growled, not wanting to back down as he usually would.
Finland gasped as Denmark ooh'd in response. Norway's eyes widened very briefly before narrowing dangerously. He took a breath, ready to scold his brother further, but Sweden intervened before he could speak.
"You sh'uld both settle down." The two others turned to him, but the brothers refused to look away from their stare down. "Yer actin' like children," he continued. "Respect each other."
'I have nothing to be respected for,' Iceland thought, letting his glare dissipate for a quick moment. He caught himself and brought the glare back to his eyes, before his weakness could be seen. "Whatever," he grumbled and tossed one last look of disgust toward his brother before retreating from the room, ignoring his bird's squawks as it flew after him.
"Geez. What got into him?" Denmark laughed and continued on with some story he'd been telling.
Norway frowned, still staring at the doorway his brother had disappeared through. He knew something had to be going on. Ice seemed more on edge than usual. More hateful. But he didn't think it was directed toward him. And that's what worried him.
"Hey, Nor! Will ya stop starin' off and listen to my story?"
The Norwegian sighed and decided to let it slide for now. His brother probably just needed some time to cool off.
Iceland suppressed his anger and tears. He couldn't let anyone see him like this. Not even the puffin resting on his shoulder.
"Hey, tough guy! Ya look pissed!" Mr. Puffin squawked, noting how heavily the boy was breathing. The bird pouted when he didn't receive an answer. "Fine, fine. Be that way," he grumbled and flew from his shoulder as they approached Iceland's house. He landed on a platform floating in the middle of a small pond in the yard. "Maybe you'll be less grumpy in the mornin'!" he shouted and waddled inside his dog-house-like home that was nested on the platform.
Ice frowned and let out a shaky breath, unlocking his door and slamming it behind him. He stood for a moment, taking in the cold silence of his home. A sob racked through him, and his chest knotted up. He did his best to hold it in, going as far as to hold his breath. But the tears had already begun pouring from his eyes, and another sob was choking him at the back of his throat. He let out a high-pitched whine, still trying to keep it down, but it proved useless as a few more sobs racked his body. He let it go, bawling as he stumbled further into the house. He made his way to the bathroom and flicked on the light, closing the door behind him and sliding down to the floor. He pulled his knees to his chest and bit his lip, feeling the suppressed sobs shoot painfully through his chest. His eyes burned with tears.
He felt everything coming back to him. All of those words….those phrases and insults. The way the others had treated him. The way his own brother had treated him.
'I'm just a child. A weak, pathetic child, crying about my own stupid problems.' He whimpered, shaking vigorously with yet more sobs. 'I'm supposed to be a nation. I'm supposed to be strong.'
He sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his hand, standing up wobbly to look in the mirror. His eyes and nose were puffy and red, his cheeks a bright pink, wet tear streaks sticking to them. He couldn't help but relate his appearance to the image of a crying toddler. He continued sniffling and tried to calm his breathing. His whole body shook, and it felt as if his legs could give in at any moment. He bent down and rummaged through the drawer under the sink, pulling out a fresh razor blade. He set it on to the side and leaned over the sink, looking down at the faucet as he tried to calm his nerves.
He was so weak. He reverted to doing that whenever he got like this. He couldn't help it.
Iceland gulped, letting out a shaky breath; one that sounded almost like a little lost cry. He coughed and let his jacket drop to the floor. Carefully, he unbuttoned and pulled his right sleeve up, folding it at his elbow. He held the blade in his hand and stared at the underside of his arm, littered with scars.
'They have their own scars,' he thought, recalling the many stories of battle wounds the other Nordics had endured. 'These are mine.'
He felt himself beginning to shake again, but he swallowed his nerves, determined to feel strong. He steadied the blade, touching it against his blemished skin. He was about to slide it across his wrist, to parallel the others. So accurate he wanted them to be. So perfect and deliberate. He wanted to be strong.
A loud knock pounded through his house, startling him out of his state. He dropped the blade almost immediately, freezing up. Silence passed, and he felt his anxiety slowly deteriorate. But again, the knocking sounded, this time more frantic. He felt his heart racing. He heard footsteps walking through his home.
Quickly, Iceland struggled to turn on the faucet, his hands shaking terribly.
The footsteps stopped outside the bathroom door. "Lillebror?"
He swallowed and forced himself to stay calm, though his anxiety had skyrocketed, and he couldn't stop shaking. "Why are you here?" he said after pausing to keep the shaking from reaching his voice.
"Bror…we need to talk."
Iceland froze. Had he somehow found out….? Did he…..Did he know what he was about to do? "I was about to get a shower. Can't you wait 'til the next meeting? I don't want to talk to you." He kept that bratty tone in his voice. He was too good at acting like an irritable teenager. Far too good…
"Lillebror, this can't wait. I'm worried about you."
He stopped, reaching forward to turn off the faucet. He had wanted to pretend as if he were doing something, but now it was just annoying. He paused in that bit of silence. "I'm not a child," he stated, starting to breathe too quickly as he suppressed the tears that were threatening to fall. "Stop worrying over nothing."
Norway sighed, and it sounded as if he'd leaned against the door. "Iceland, you are not nothing. I know something is going on with you." He was beginning to grow impatient, but only because he was truly concerned with how his brother was pushing him away. "Just, please. Talk to me."
Ice could feel his jaw quivering, and his lip along with it. He held a sob at the back of his throat. 'Not now.' He couldn't let himself be seen like this. 'Please, not now.' He couldn't prove his weakness in front of the very person that made him want to be strong. He couldn't answer like this. A quiet sob escaped his lips, and he quickly covered his mouth, biting into his hand to shut himself up. 'Stop. Just stop.' He begged his emotions to stop being so damn sensitive. 'Go away. Just go away. Don't hear me, please. Don't see me like this.'
"Ice…?" A thick silence passed, and Norway had only become more worried. He stopped leaning on the door and stared at it. "Are you crying…..?" he asked quietly.
"G-go home…." Iceland whined. "Leave me alone," he sobbed.
Norway stopped and stared at the door, eyes laced with worry. He had never heard his brother so broken before. He frowned and placed his hand on the doorknob, pushing it open slowly. He saw his brother hovering over the sink.
The boy's red crying eyes shot wide, and in a flash, he had moved to pull his sleeve down. It did not go unnoticed. "I-I said get out." Iceland stepped back, away from his brother.
The elder only stood there, eyes for once showing that he was there in their world. And he was concerned beyond belief. He looked his brother over, observing his reddened face and wet tears, the way his body shook, and the way he moved to hide his arm. A tinge of fear coursed through his veins. He could feel his heart stop as he caught his brother's fearful, pained eyes. He frowned and stepped forward, reaching out for Iceland's hand. Ice was quick to pull it away, but Norway only stopped and stared into his brother's heart-broken violet eyes. Slowly, he reached down and took hold of his brother's hand, gently pulling it toward himself.
Iceland looked away as his brother carefully slid his sleeve up. He was filled with an overwhelmingly sick feeling at the pure silence he received afterward. He closed his eyes and turned back, looking down at his wrist. The marks were in plain sight. His scars were completely visible to last person he'd ever have wanted to see them. He felt his brother's grip loosen, his hand gently holding Iceland's arm face-up. He swallowed the lump in his throat and peeked up through his bangs, keeping his head lowered. He froze.
Norway was crying.
Why was he crying? Why? 'Am I that pathetic?' Iceland thought as he failed to bite back the single sob that escaped his lips. He felt himself shaking again, and it felt like his legs could give out at any moment. But then, he felt the weight of his brother's hug holding him up.
The elder held him tightly, a hand grasping the back of his head protectively. He sobbed silently as his lillebror broke down before him. He had never wanted to see Iceland like this. He had never wanted his worries to prove a purpose, yet his brother's pain was far worse than he'd imagined. He couldn't pressure him to talk about it now. He knew it would be too hard for the young nation. So he just wanted to be there. He would let Iceland tell him in his own time.
"I'm sorry."
Norway paused, opening his watery eyes. He frowned and pulled back from the hug, placing his hands on his brother's shoulders.
"I'm not as s-strong as you guys," Iceland cried, reaching up to wipe the tears from his eyes. "I'm sorry you have to be related to me," he whispered, looking down at the floor.
"Iceland," Norway whispered desperately and touched foreheads with his brother. "You've been fighting battles of your own all by yourself." He pulled back and smiled down at those lost violet eyes. "You have grown up so much since we first found you," he said softly and brushed the other's pale hair out of his face. "But please. Don't think it's childish to ask for help." He smiled again, feeling his own eyes fill with tears. "Den, Sve, and I grew up fighting together. And you know we won't hesitate to fight alongside you. We love you, lillebror."
Iceland felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and his chest no longer felt constricted. His lip quivered, but he didn't care for the tears now falling. He clung to his brother, leaning into the other's neck as he cried his eyes out. He felt a comforting hand on his back, and he knew he wasn't being treated as a child but as an equal.
His battle wouldn't end there. That much, he knew. But now….now he wouldn't have to fight it alone. He would be on the front line, with his fellow Nordics backing him up. And there would come a day when his battle scars would become nothing more than a story to be told.
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this at least a bit. I usually don't do one-shots because I'm not very good at them. This story was actually inspired by a sad drawing I saw on tumblr with Iceland and Norway.
Anyways, I would appreciate any reviews!