The large Swedish man gave a soft sigh as the snow fell, trudging through it with the limp body of one of his fellow nordics in his hands. He looked down at the face of the Norwegian, and he felt his heart twist and knot. His blonde bangs lay so they were covering one eye, and where it rested was caked with blood, and fresh blood starting to coat them. His neck bled from the small punctures caused by the barbed wire that Sweden had cut to get him free. His clothes were stained with blood, and it was obvious his left arm was broken. Even while unconscious, the smaller male was not at ease, but the swede still tried to vainly keep the other warm in the blanket he'd wrapped him in.
Sweden picked up his pace, hoping to get to the hiding place for the Norwegian nation before any of the axis powers noticed. It had been six months since Norway lost his battle with Germany. He had fought hard, but in vain. Sweden wondered briefly if some of these wounds were just untreated ones from the fight. Sweden picked up speed as he noticed the first rays of the morning sun starting to peak through. He had to get there before anyone saw him, and his people, too, were dragged into this "world" war.
-0-0-0-
The British man stood from his table and immediately went to the door as it was knocked upon. As he opened it, he saw the tall Scandinavian nation standing there with the smaller in his arms. If England hadn't been expecting them he'd been stunned. With a polite nod England took the Norwegian into his arms, holding him close as to not drop him, and care as to not hurt him further. The swede looked at the sleeping face of his younger brother one more time before departing.
England shut the door with his foot, and with ease carried the slightly older nation upstairs. It was obvious by how light the other male was, that he hadn't been well. England immediately took him upstairs and set upon the task of treating and bandaging him up. He afterwards placed some night clothes on the Norwegians body rather than back into his old clothes. The Brit covered Norway with a blanket, and, after placing a cool, dampened cloth on the others forehead, he took the ruined clothes down stairs with him, leaving the bedroom door cracked open.
-0-0-0-
It had been almost a week now, and the Norwegian hadn't woken. The Brit was worried a bit, as he finished changing the bandages, about the other. The others high fever didn't fall at all, though he was glad it hadn't risen either. The other was now paler than before, but didn't stir. As the Brit finished putting away the medical stuff, he silently swore that he and the allies must win this war. They just had to.
-0-0-0-
Three more days had past, and Norway's eyes opened, signaling consciousness, though the fever was apparent. England finished up with washing his dishes as he reflected back onto there conversation. And England could deduct that the other was now managing to worry himself sick.
It had been earlier that day, England had just replaced the bandages and was fixing to dampen the now dry cloth again when the weaker one placed one pale, trembling hand grabbed his, and with fevered, partially opened, eyes had asked him in the most earnest tone England thought he'd ever heard, though there were a few coughs.
"Are...are they okay?" Afterwards saying this, though his voice had been low and sounding weak, he had a minor coughing fit. The Brit waited for it to subside before replying.
"Whom do you mean?"
"The other Nordics," and another few coughs.
"Finland and Sweden are still neutral, Iceland is fine, as I am currently occupying him for safety measures," England stated, not sure how to tell the other he had no idea about Denmark.
"What," his voice was hoarse now from the coughing, "about Danmark? Any knowledge on him?" England sadly shook his head no. Norway's hand slowly released his, England's hand feeling cold in that area without the others heat there. The Norwegian's right hand slowly returned to his side, and with a small "thank you," slipped slowly from consciousness.
England dried his hands as he returned to his living room, hoping to look through more of the papers scattered on the coffee table, as his office currently could not hold any more papers, and readied for the allies meeting tomorrow.
-0-0-0-
The next few days, Norway seemed to be striving to get better. England was glad, but Norway's body had other ideas. Instead of Norway getting up and around like said nation wanted, he was forced to stay put. England didn't mind though. The other was a nice house guest, and a pleasure to speak to. It was a nice thing to speak to the Norwegian at night, when his fever was low.
-0-0-0-
The war was over. The axis had been beaten and all was going back to normal. At least, somewhat normal, England reflected as he walked with the other to the ship that would take him to the docks of Norway. There he'd ride a train back home. Norway paused a moment, and looking at England his voice was soft, as though not to ruin the serene quiet of the port.
"Thank you, Arthur, for allowing me to stay with you."
"Any time, Lukas. Have a safe trip homewards."
The Norwegian nodded, and with a small smile at the Brit he boarded the ship as they were letting passengers on. England smiled as he watched the boat leave the harbor, a happy sad feeling in his chest, but happy most of all.
War was a hard thing, and you would never know how much more bearable it could be than with one you cares for being there for you.
A/N: do not ask, do not question. Just enjoy.