Title: Under the Water
Rating: T for War and swears
Summery: Denmark's quiet—and not so quiet—resistance to Germany during World War Two. Prize for Ali-kun
Ships: There aren't any.
More info: For Ali-kun, the 100th reviewer for my fic 'Empire' who wanted a fic on Denmark in WW2. I hope you like it!
The water was cool and heavy, pressing down on his chest like a great palm. Though his lungs began to ache, he did not raise from the water. The waves pushed on the water's surface by the winds that distorted the grey sky above. Thin streams of dappled light filtered though the water onto his face. He could not actually feel their warmth, so he replayed the memory of the sensation on a loop.
Something blocked out the light, several somethings. A set of gloved hands reached though the water and grabbed his shoulders before jerking him upwards into a sitting position. He gasped, swallowing a large amount of water.
"See, he's not dead." Norway commented to Iceland, dropping his hands. Iceland let out a sigh.
Denmark hacked, beating himself in the chest. "What the Hell? I could have drowned!"
Norway raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't that your intention, Taa?"
"Norway!" Iceland stiffen.
The Dane set the Norwegian a sharp look then took a breath. "Can't a guy lay down in his own waters for a without being judged?"
"Not fully clothed." Norway nodded to Denmark's soaked button up and pants, which now clung firmly to his body revealing every curve, crevice, and bulge.
Denmark blinked a few times and looked down. He raised his gaze to the other's.
"Haven't you heard of pre-washing?" The nation stood and rung out his shirt, returning some of the water from his clothing to the place it came from.
Norway crossed his arms. "Ice."
"Yes." The Icelander swallowed.
"Go check the food, would you?" Norway kept his eyes trained on the Dane while he spoke.
Iceland opened his mouth to protest only to close it when he met his brother's eyes. They were flat and serous, not something Iceland wanted to counter. Swallowing down his complaint, Iceland nodded. He turned and with one last glance, headed off.
Once he was out of ear shot, Norway reached out and grabbed Denmark's arm and hauled him out of the water. "Stupid Dane, come on."
"Norge, I'm not a little kid!" The Dane whined in a very 'adult' voice.
"Then what were you doing in the water like that?" Norway bowed his head. "Ice was sure you were dead. You should have seen the look on his face: he was terrified, Taa."
Denmark frowned and looked away. "I see. I wasn't trying to do anything like that though. I was thinking."
"About?"
Denmark didn't respond, instead he pried Norway's hand off his arm and turned back towards the water.
"I swear if you get back in that water, Den, I will toss every bottle of booze you own out the window," Norway threaten, whipping his head around and narrowing his eyes into Denmark's back.
"You wouldn't do that. It'd be a real waste."
"Okay then, I'll drink it all." He turned, his arms crossed over his chest. "Or maybe I'll ship each and every bottle to England's house."
The Dane froze. "You wouldn't."
"I would."
Letting out a long sigh, Denmark marched over. He looped his arm around Norway's. "Okay, okay, whatever, let's go."
Norway allowed himself to be towed along. He glanced at Denmark, who was currently muttering about the waste there would be if England did get the liquor. Only a Dane could truly appreciate it the way it really deserves!
As they neared the house, Norway dug his feet into the ground, forcing them to a stop.
"Taa, the war's over, so stop being a baby." Norway's eyes flashed. "Your people are trying to move on, why can't you?"
Denmark spun around. "I am trying."
Norway reached up and grabbed Denmark by his shirt collar, pulling his face close. "Are you?"
~1940~
Denmark twiddled his thumbs, glancing over at the paper on his the minister of foreign affairs', Peter Munch, desk. The nation declared neutrally, like the other Nordics, and yet here he was, just giving himself over to Germany.
Germany, though, looked a tad uncomfortable as his people started putting down the new rules and curfews for the Danish population. Denmark couldn't help but wonder how much of this Germany really approved of. Den knew if his boss was a crazyass nut-burger who made more than extreme demands of him, he'd probably be uncomfortable too.
Or maybe Germany was worried about Italy as a Fascist threat…or maybe he was worried both their nutburger bosses would form an alliance. Now that would be something for everyone to worry about!
"That is our conditions." The German officer said. "Keep cooperating with the Third Reich, Mr. Munch, and we promise no harm will come to you." The officer glanced at Denmark. The man's cold eyes made the Dane stiffen.
"Or your country," he added. The officer turned and snapped something in German to his own country.
"Ja," Germany replied. He quickly nodded to Denmark, who gave a hesitant, small one back in return.
At the door, the officer spun around. His heels clicked together. He threw up his arm and shouted, "Hail Hitler!"
Munch sighed and raised his arm, "Hail Hitler."
The officer turned his gaze to Denmark. The Dane met the man's eyes with a dark, resisting look. The officer lowered his arm as he turned. Denmark turned his gaze to Germany in an attempt to quickly judge his reaction.
It seemed that Germany was expecting nothing less than the act of defiance from the Dane.
It would, by no means, though, be the last.
Denmark slumped down into a chair and ran his hands threw his hair. He groaned. So many wars, so close together. Sure, he had been in many wars, most of which against Sweden, but he heard people whispering that this could escalate to be the Second World War.
As if one World War hadn't ravage half of Europe the first time!
His stomach twisted. He felt a little guilty. The main reason Germany wanted his land was because through him was the quickest way from Germany to Norge and Swev's homes. But maybe Iceland was too far out and small to be too much of a threat to actually send troops there, right?
He could already tell the rest of the Nordics were going to be pissed at him for this, letting himself be conquered so easily—
No, no, he was not 'conquered' by him. Like Munch said, because Denmark did not fight the Germany forces, Denmark was not conquered!
"Yeah, that's what's going on, here, right. I didn't fight back, so I wasn't taken over." Denmark nodded to himself, forcing himself to believe the Munch logic. "Besides, this won't be another World War!" The Dane straightened up and clenched his fists. "I'm sure this 'Nazi' thing will run out of steam soon and this war will be short."
~1943~
Denmark smirked inwardly. Nope, he never fought Germany, but that didn't mean he'd help him. He glanced at the paper in his hands given to him by a less-than-pleased German. The Nazis attempted to extract as much of Denmark's natural resorts as fast as was humanly possible.
Maybe if they sent more German workers to help, it would have acutely gotten done the way they hoped.
Denmark leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed. He heard that in other countries, the Nazis suppressed national pride and art, yet in his, both Danish pride and art grew. The nation wondered if it was his resistance to Germany that grew the pride in his people, or if it was the people who grew the resistance in him with their pride.
"Too bad Norge isn't here, or Finny. They might have the answer to that." Denmark sighed. He hadn't seen much of any of the Nordics lately.
He heard things were bad in Norway, lots of people attacking him from all sides. Finland, too, things were bad. He was invaded by Russia and the Soviet Union not too long before Denmark gave himself up and was in that Winter War, wasn't he?
And what about Swev? He may have hated the guy, but Denmark hoped he was at least doing sort of well.
He knew Iceland was okay. They saw each often enough, seeing as Iceland was still a part of Denmark, unlike Norge. Though, last time they met, Denmark was sure Iceland was hiding something from him. Before he could question the younger nation, though, he was interrupted and force to go talk with his boss. Iceland left before they could speak again.
"M-Mr. Denmark! Mr. Denmark!"
Denmark turned to see a Danish solider running towards him, waving his arms. An icy hand twisted the nation's stomach.
"What is it?"
The soldier couldn't have been old enough too join the military. His hair looked wild, like he was rushed out to give Denmark the message before he was fully dressed and ready. The boy doubled-over, his hands on his knees.
"There…in…factories…and…"
Denmark put a hand on the boy's back. "Deep breath, calm down. Think out your sentences."
After a few moments, the boy straightened up. He took a breath then shouted, "There has been a wage—"
Denmark covered the boy's mouth. "You're much too sober to be shouting that loud, lad." The nation dropped his hand. "Try again."
"Sorry!" The boy lowered his voice, blushing. "There has been a wage strike. The factory workers have stopped working."
Denmark blinked. "Oh."
The nation's shoulders began to shake. The boy stiffened, half expecting Denmark to yell or hit him like his Pa did when he received some bad news. He winced, waiting for the strike.
Denmark threw his arms around the boy, spinning around. The nation's laughter filled the street. He set the boy down suddenly. "Don't tell 'em I did that, 'kay?"
"Um, alright." The boy nodded, confused.
In the fall of that same year, more strikes, more resistance against German forces, occurred. Denmark knew this war couldn't last much longer.
~September, 1943~
The rain poured down on the Swedish coast. The wind tossed the sea spray into the air. The clouds churned a green-blue color. Waves crashed against the shore. Far out on the horizon lighting flashed.
Norway frowned.
"The weather matches the mood, doesn't it?" the Norwegian muttered.
"Mmm," Sweden response. "I wanna see th' sun soon."
Norway rested his elbow on the window sill and placed his chin in his hand. "I doubt the sun's coming out any time soon."
"Think th' bosses 're done yet?" Sweden asked, stirring a drink as he sat in the chair across from Norway. Each knew nothing would come from their bosses talking to each other, but it was still an excuse for the two nations to visit.
"I'm not going to check."
"Mmm, 'eah."
The two sat in silence for a long while, watching the storm. Norway's troll floated above the two nations, bored. This war drained all the fun out of Norway. The troll wanted it to end soon so Norway would go back to his whimsical self.
A knocking resonated through out the quiet house. Sweden furrowed his brow, standing. Who in their right mind would come to his house in the middle of a storm?
Norway heard the door open.
"'el—Oh, it's ya."
The troll with its interest perked floated over to investigate. It's eyes widen. The troll spun around the bolted back towards Norway. Waving its arm about and pointing in the diction of the door, the troll spoke quickly in Old Norse.
Norway slowly stood and walked over.
He encountered a pitiful sight.
Denmark's clothing stuck to him. His normal up hair fell over his face, plastered like a blonde arrow down the center of his face and down his nose. Puddles formed at his feet. The Dane doubled over, his hands on his knees, as he panted.
"Looks like a drowned rat found its way into your house, Swev." Norway snorted.
Denmark's blue gaze rose from the floor to the Norwegian leaning against the corner. Something troubled churned like the sea outside behind the normal smiling Danish eyes.
"Norge…" He opened and shut his mouth a few times before taking a deep breath. He straightened up and his gaze left Norway to go to Sweden. "Sweden, I need your help."
"Hmm? Wh't?" Sweden raised an eyebrow.
"I…" Denmark swallowed hard, trying to find the right words with which to pleaded his case. "Word came to me they are planning to come and take all the Danish Jews away."
"Oh, but aren't you just Germany's little conquered nation?" Norway snapped.
Denmark narrowed his eyes. "I never fought; I was never 'conquered,' Norge. This doesn't concern you, anyway."
Norway opened his mouth to make a retort, but Sweden cut him off.
"Wh't ya wa't me ta do?"
Denmark looked the taller nation in the eyes. "I want to send the Jews from my home over to yours. You're neutral, and I know you're hiding more refugees from other nations, too." The Dane stole a look at Norway. The other nation held his gaze until Denmark looked back to Sweden.
The two nations stared at each other for a few painfully long moments. Denmark prayed that Sweden would forget their more-than-rocky history of wars and conquering each other in an attempt to control Northern Europe and help him.
The Swede crossed his arms. "If t'ey come, I ain't gonna 'top em or send 'em back."
Denmark let out a breath he hadn't realized he held. "Thanks, Swev."
"It's wrong ta persecute someon' base on t'eir sexual or religious preferences." The Swede commented.
A wide smile spread across the Dane's face. For a moment, Sweden worried Denmark would hug him.
"Right!" Denmark shouted. "It's completely against everything good in the world!"
Norway held his fist to his lips in an endeavor to muffle a laugh. The two other nations blinked and looked at him. Norway moved his hand, revealing a small smile.
"Shouldn't attack people for their religions, my ass." Norway shook his head. "Says two of the guys last guys to be converted from paganism."
Sweden shrugged while Denmark laughed. The Dane's voice hurt the other two nation's ears a bit. They had almost forget how loud he was, but it wasn't so bad to hear such a happy sound.
"That doesn't count, Norge. Your people attacked those missionaries too." Denmark ran a hand through his hair, making it return to its normal style. "Now, I gotta go." He spun around and grabbed the door knob. "Let people publish their own papers and stay out late and the Germans send even more troops to watch me!"
Denmark darted out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
Sweden rubbed his temples. "Stupid."
Norway nodded. "Yeah, but he's our stupid, remember?"
~June, 1944~
Denmark chuckled at the newspaper comic. It clearly was poking fun at the Italians' armies. Little did the artist know just how accurate his doodle was. A laugh was just what the Dane needed then, after his boss declared a state of emergency for Copenhagen.
Since then, his capital had been a buzz. The outrage and worry of his people, the Germans running about trying to 'keep peace,' all of it made Denmark's chest and head ache. That morning, though, it seemed worse. His heart pounded seeming erratically, first slow and then the pace would increase then slow down again. Slow, fast, faster, fast, slow, fast, faster…
He had a bad feeling something wasn't right. He was just waiting for the news to come to him…
Someone knocked on the door.
Denmark grabbed the handle of a desk drawer, pulled it, and tossed the paper in. The Nazis really don't like those underground newspapers that tell about how horrible their party and regime are all that much.
A Danish soldier marched in. "I-I have news, Mr. Denmark."
Denmark forced a smile at the grave-looking man. "Please tell me Germany got a headache and had to go home."
"I'm afraid not. I have come to inform you that," the man took a breath, "Copenhagen, all of Copenhagen, has gone on strike."
Denmark stared at the man. "All of it?"
"Um, yes."
Denmark threw leaned back in his chair. He placed a hand on his chest. His heart hadn't slowed back down, instead it was beating wildly, like a flock of frighten songbirds were let lose to flap about his chest.
But yet, a smile still played on Denmark's lips. "Heh. Germany's gonna be pissed."
People raised their voices, calling out against the Germans. It had been ten days since the city went on strike, and eight since Germany set up a blockade and turn off the water and power to the Danish capital.
Denmark glanced over his shoulder as he snuck out of his capital building. He'd been confined there for the past four days by German troops since it was discovered he'd been out helping in the protests.
Of course, with his heart beating faster than mouse's when under the pursuit of cat, it took all of three minutes for Denmark to become a little stir-crazy. He was surprised he hadn't just broken out a window to escape yet.
Once pair of Germany soldiers on patrol passed, Denmark made a dash towards escape.
~July, 1944~
"Are you doing all right, Matthias dear?" an elderly woman, Edith, asked. She placed the bowl down on the table, wiped her hands, and placed them on his forehead.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Denmark told her.
"You look really red, though," Edith's son, Gunne, commented, pouring soup into bowls.
Since his escape from the capital building, Denmark took to using his human, Matthias, for the first time in while. If he was going to hide and help, the fewer people who knew and could inform the Germans were he was the better. He did feel a little bad about lying to his own people though.
"I really think we should have a doctor come and look you over, dear," Edith patted his head. "But if you say you're alright, I guess it can't be helped."
"I don't want the doctors to come check on me when there are people worse out there." Denmark sighed.
"Damn Nazis, hurting everyone! There is no reason!" Gunne grumbled, picking up a bowl and walking it outside to some of the waiting men. Denmark followed suit.
"That's not true." Denmark commented. "A lot of wars were fought for ideological reasons. The Crusades were pretty done for ideological reasons."
Gunne handed out the bowls. "Yeah, but that was the past, not now. We know better now."
"Do we?" Matthias turned and gave Gunne a long look. "Do you really think we do?"
"Well," the younger man squirmed under the nation's gaze. "We're trying at least."
Denmark put a hand Gunne's shoulder and leaned down, their faces inches from each other. "Are we?"
Just then, a gun shot rang out. The men outside Edith's house jumped to their feet, their suppers forgotten. More men and women ran over to the group with Denmark and Gunne. It didn't take more than three minutes for a mob to form and start to march towards the sound of the shot.
A woman screamed echoed off the walls and buildings. Denmark felt bile raise up in his throat. A man, probably no older than 25 or so, was dead in the street in a puddle of blood. The woman who screamed broke from the crowd. She kneeled next to the man, weeping.
"22. That's the twenty-second person they've killed," Gunne whispered. "I knew him. He owned a shop a few blocks away. Ma will be upset."
Denmark sighed, running a hand through his hair. Members of the crowd slowly walked away while others went to help move the man from the streets.
"A few generations or so tend to remember how awful something was, but soon the memory fades as the people pass. It might not be the same place or for the same reasons or as bad, but it will happen again." There was a far away look in Denmark's eyes.
"Matthias?" Gunne raised an eyebrow.
Denmark blinked and turned to the man. "Hmm? Sorry, I was just thinking aloud. We should get back to your mother now."
They had to cross one of the bridges to return to Edith's house which was along waterside. The sun was close to setting, sending orange and red and yellow beams through the purple sky. Had the mood not been so sober, maybe the men could have enjoyed it.
Gunne grabbed Denmark's wrist and gasped. He pointed to his door. His mother was surrounded by a group of Danes. A line of four German soldiers stood in front of them.
"I don't know what your talking about!" Edith shouted as her son and Denmark neared the edge of the crowd.
"What's happening," Denmark asked.
"These guys say Edith is keeping a political prisoner at her house." A woman answered.
Gunne ground his teeth. He clenched his fists as he walked around the crowd, standing with his arms held out in front of the Germans. "Haven't you caused enough trouble. There aren't an Jews or runaways here, so leave!"
The highest ranking officer looked Gunne up and down then snorted. He stepped closer. He placed the barrel of his rifle on the Dane's hip and pushed him aside. "We haven't time for you."
Gunne stumbled aside, his back to the water. "You bastards! Whoever you are looking for clearly isn't here! Leave! Better yet, pack all your things and leave Denmark! This is our country; go back to yours!"
The German's eyebrow twitched. He pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Gunne. "You're annoying."
Everything went in slow motion for a moment as Gunne's body fell backwards, into the water. The echoing noise of a gasp covered by the blast of the gun filled the street. Blood and water splashed up onto the shore.
Edith cried out, trying to push past the crowd to her son, but the men grabbed her arms. She struggled against them for a moment before her legs gave out and she crumbled to the ground.
"Now, if you don't come out, Denmark, I'll kill all these people here!" The German bellowed.
Whispers of "'Denmark'?" "Our nation is here?" "What?" filled the crowd. Denmark swallowed the sob that clogged his throat as he wove through his people. He stood silently in front of the Germans.
"Ah, and here you are. Now, you are going to come back with us to the capital building where you can monitor you." The German solider stated, looking down his nose at the nation. "Beings like you can't be trusted."
"Matthias?" Edith murmured. "Matthias is…"
A growl came from somewhere deep in Denmark's throat. In one quick movement, he threw his fist back and smashed it into the German officer's face. The man stumbled back, holding his nose, as the other three soldiers pointed their guns at the nation.
"You're the ones who can't be trusted!" He snapped.
The officer narrowed his eyes. "I do hope you got all of that out of your system, sir, because you are coming with us, now." The soldiers mad a semicircle around Denmark.
Denmark glared then sighed. "I think…" As lightening fast as the punch, he stole the guns from two of the officers and tossed them into the water. "…not." He grabbed the two officers shirt collars and slammed their heads together, knocking each cold.
"Why you…!" The German officer gritted his teeth.
"Yeah, me, Denmark." The nation smirked. "now, unless you want to haul each of your men back by yourself, I suggest you leave—without me."
With hate burning in his eyes, the German officer snapped harshly at the soldier. He grabbed one of his fallen comrades, then the other and began dragging them away with little help from the officer.
"Grendel was more of a threat than him." Denmark muttered, walking to the water's edge. Gunne floated just under the surface. His eyes dull and mouth agape. Denmark couldn't help but wonder what the young man saw in his last moments: the horror on his friends and family's faces or maybe the blue sky through the red stained water?
"Mat—Denmark?" Edith whispered as Denmark took a breath and dove into the water. After a few moments he climbed over the edge again, Gunne, now wrapped in his jacket, thrown over his shoulder.
Denmark gentle set the body on the earth. He looked at Edith with round, sorrowful eyes. "I'm so sorry."
~May, 1945~
"What?" Denmark swallowed. "If you're pulling my leg, I swear…"
The soldier, a goody grin on his face, shook his head. "No, sir! It's all true! Germany has surrendered to the Allies."
"Are you?" Norway opened his fist and released the Dane's collar.
Denmark took a breath. "Yeah."
Norway looked him up and down then shrugged. "You'd better be, stupid Dane." The Norwegian had only taken three steps before he was tackled. Tears streamed down Denmark's face and snot out his nose as he wrapped Norway in a hug, which Norway promptly began to protest and struggle against the embrace.
A voice chuckled at the admittedly-amusing sense. The two nations looked towards the owner of the laugh.
"It is very nice of you to comfort Taa, Norway." Finland's eyes sparkled with delight.
"Hmm, real nice of ya." Sweden nodded.
Iceland shuffled awkwardly behind the two. He was trying to surprise Norge and Den by getting everyone together, but they were taking so long that Finland and Sweden finally just got up to go find them.
Denmark blinked a few times then, one arm still around Norway's shoulders, he darted over to the other Nordics, forcing each and everyone into a hug.
"I love you guys so much—even Sweden!" Denmark wailed.
"You're wet! Let go!" Iceland squirmed, jammed between Finland and Norway.
"It's pointless, Ice," Norway sighed. "He's stupid."
Sweden rolled his eyes, putting his hand on Denmark's forehead and pushing him back. The Dane tumbled back and fell onto the flat of his back then promptly began accusing the Swede of being 'a big meany.'
Finland laughed again, putting a hand on Norway's shoulder. "He's our stupid, remember?"
~End~
Argh! I actually had to do research for this! (All of my info on Denmark in WW2 is from here: www (SPACE) .aforcemorepowerful. (SPACE) org/films/afmp/stories/ (SPACE) denmark . Php (Remove (SPACES)—I hope the link works -,-') But it was fun to write something almost serious. And even with that research, this story is still not that accurate, sorry. X(
Either way, I hope you liked your prize, Ali-kun! x3
Okay, to show how freaking amazing I am. I just randomly looked up common Danish names and choose two. Edith comes from a name meaning 'Blessed or rich war' (or something like that) Gunne mean 'war' or warrior (or something like that!). I'm good. XP Also, if you haven't guess, Gunne and Edith aren't really people. I don't know the name of the 23 people that were killed during that strike.