Denmark and Norway were fighting. Then again, even after 14 years of marriage, they literally couldn't even go one day without bickering over something. Sometimes the argument lasted a mere 10 seconds; other times, 10 minutes (if not longer). They were, however, improving: every now and then, when Denmark flashed the grin that he always did at the end of a fight (it was the first step in gaining his husband's forgiveness), Norway would actually feebly return that smile. Yes. Norway would smile of his own accord.
Other times, though, their arguments didn't end so well. Regrettable things would be said, and it would end up being so hurtful that one of them just had to leave the other's presence. This was one of those occasions.
Faroe, wearing her favorite maid-style dress, desired a root beer as she often did. However, she wasn't positive as to where the beverage was. She skipped up to her parents' room, only to be nearly trampled by Norway. "What's going on, Pixie?" a suddenly dazed Faroe asked the creature that had been fluttering around her dad's head. The pixie paused, shrugged her tiny shoulders with a tired expression on her face, and shot after Norway. Faroe raised an eyebrow and pushed open the door to the room her father had just stormed out of.
"Far? Where's Pappa going?" she questioned sweetly.
"Ah, just downstairs," Denmark assured her in a distant tone, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed with a demeanor as if all the breath had been sucked out of him.
"Is everything okay?" Faroe didn't actually care all that much- she was used to things like this happening- but sweet talk proved to be the best way to achieve extra dessert after dinner.
There was a pause, during which Faroe sat next to Denmark. "….Ja, everything's fine." Okay, now Faroe cared. Anyone could tell that something was very wrong; Denmark wasn't even attempting to smile, and he sounded almost scared.
"What did you and Pappa fight about?" Faroe urged, absently wrapping a strand of her silvery-blonde hair around her index finger.
"Just… the usual… Where are my car keys, honey?"
Faroe pouted slightly. "I wanna know what you fought about."
"I need to know where my car keys are."
"I'll tell you if you tell me what upset Pappa," Faroe reasoned with a smirk. You could just feel the tension as Denmark thought this offer over.
"…Alright… I uh… I let slip that you… scared me," he confessed.
The mischievous grin Faroe's face faltered considerably. "Did you… call me freaky again?"
"Maybe…" Denmark's hand found its way onto his daughter's shoulder. "You know I love freaky, though. Your pappa is the king of freaks, and I love him to pieces." Faroe loosened up slightly; she knew her father wasn't lying about that. But still….
"How can you love me… if you're scared of me?" she murmured. Tears jumped into her blue eyes as she acknowledged that her dad might not actually love her.
"Oh, c'mon, I love you a lot! You know I do. You just… concern me sometimes…"
Now Faroe was tense again. "How much do I concern you…?"
Denmark gulped. "Enough that I uh… I suggested to your pappa that…" He closed his eyes tightly as if it pained him to speak. "I suggested that you and I spend a few days apart. J-just to confirm that I'll miss you…!" But Faroe didn't hear that last sentence. An invisible force had constricted around her heart, its touch sending ice coursing throughout her chest. It took but a moment to feel as if it shattered.
"You're so afraid of me that you want to get away from me….?" She whispered.
"B-but I love you!" If Denmark looked frightened when Faroe first walked in, he was absolutely terrified now.
Faroe pushed herself to her feet, spinning around to face her father with a mixture of hurt and anger burning in her eyes. "That doesn't mean anything. I'll let you call me a freak over and over and over, 'cause I know you like freaks, but y-you can't love me if you don't want to be around me!"
Denmark stood up as well, his eyes wide and frantic as he shakily reached out to touch his daughter's shoulder. "Sweetie, I didn't mean-"
"You're scared of me? I'll give you something to be scared of!" Faroe shrieked, closing her eyes tightly and holding out her hands. There was a brief gasp of opposition from Denmark, and a flash of bright light…..
Either she wasn't trying hard enough or she tried too hard, plus overwhelming negativity was dashing around her mind, so instead of performing a vanishing spell as she did on a daily basis, Faroe used a sort of magic she didn't even know she was capable of. The room was filled with an eerie silence except for a succinct thump and Faroe's slight panting. It took a few moments, but she eventually steadied her breathing and gradually opened her eyes. What she saw terrified her.
As already stated, Faroe didn't make Denmark disappear as she intended. On the contrary, he was lying on the floor in front of her, perfectly still. Faroe found temporary comfort in the thought that she didn't know her own strength, and had simply pushed him over and he hit his head too hard. She quickly saw, however, that this wasn't the case. If he was unconscious, his eyes would be closed; his eyes were open, staring unseeing and unblinking up at the ceiling.
"….Far?" Faroe whispered. She slowly plopped herself onto her knees and reached out a precarious hand to shake Denmark's arm. "Hej, Far? Are you…. Are you okay?" No response. "Pappa…" Faroe uttered. "PAPPA!" she repeated at least thirty times louder. She didn't realize it, but thin tears were beginning to cascade down her face.
Norway's light footsteps sounded up the stairs and down the hall, and Norway was running into the bedroom in no time. "He's dead! Pappa, he's dead! Far DIED!" Faroe sobbed before Norway could ask what was wrong. His eyes widened and heart skipped a beat, but otherwise, his demeanor remained perfectly calm. He kneeled down beside his husband, expertly pressing two fingers against his neck and wrist.
"He isn't dead… He has a pulse," he informed her quietly. Curious as to what Faroe was yelling about, Oslo and Copenhagen poked their heads in the doorway; their casual expressions were immediately replaced with that of pure horror, and they practically knocked each other over trying to enter the room.
"But he's… he's not breathing!" Faroe whimpered. Norway pressed his ear against his husband's chest to confirm this, and the slightest bit of worry flickered across his eyes.
"Faroe, sweetheart… I need you to tell me one thing." He sat up slowly.
Faroe rubbed her forearm across her eyes, sniffling heavily. "J-ja?"
"What the hell did you do."