Norway ached.
All of his limbs, his stomach, his head; it all ached. The deep soreness stretched its way through his bones, his musculature, up to the hair on his head. When he adjusted himself in his bed, the wound on his chest-over his heart-shot harsh jolts of pain across his torso, threatening to reopen and bleed.
It had been less than a month since the attack. The terrorist bombing at the capital and then the following shooting at the teen camp had rocked the nation to the core, and Norway was still in pain, sleeping most of the days away, waking only to get food. It was something that had never been expected.
I wasn't prepared, Norway thought, his hands fisting in the bedsheets. All those children, the future, died because I was too ignorant to prepare. To make sure that the future is safe, isn't that a priority?
The man suddenly felt very sick. His whole body convulsed, rejecting the horrific images that accompanied the thought of the attack. Trembling, Norway coughed dry mouthfuls of blood, struggling to kick off the sheets. When he finally did, he rolled off of the bed, landing on the floor on his hands and knees. Giving one last shudder, his body admited to gravity, and he landed with a heavy 'thud' on the wooden floor. Norway stared, unfocusing, at the wall across from his. The burden was so heavy to bear...
Exhausted from his fight with memory, Norway felt himself drifting into sleep.
.
He is falling. Falling down a dark, deep chasm. He reaches out to grab ahold of something, anything, to break his fall. There is nothing but consuming limbo. He opens his mouth to scream, but there is only silence.
A girl, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, ripped and bloodied, falls before him on the non-existant ground. She is speaking quickly, with fear in her eyes. A shot, the only sound in the darkness, rings out, and a hole forms on her forehead. The wound starts gushing blood and she falls forward, eyes blank with death.
Two boys, running away from him, collapse when three bloody stains bloom on the back of their shirts.
More and more shots are fired, getting louder and louder. That's when he hears the first screams.
Each one, different in dialect and pitch, clamors over the next, creating a cacaphonous roar of pleads, agonized cries of pain, and gunfire.
He covers his ears, but the sound doesn't go away. It's his fault... why didn't he help?... help... help...
.
He gasped awake, being aroused by a hand on his shoulder, and a loud, though gentle, voice, urging him to return to consciousness.
"Norway, wake up. You're having a nightmare. Come on, that's it. Everything's okay."
Norway found himself staring up into a pale-skinned face. Iceland's silver hair flopped across his forehead, and shifted as the boy tried to move Norway into a seated position.
"You were having a nightmare," Iceland repeated. "Let's get you to the bathroom."
Sweating, panting, and adrenaline fading, Norway complied, allowing his brother to lead him to the bathroom. When they arrived at their destination, the blond sunk to the floor in a sudden bout of dizziness. Resting his head against the cool ceramic of the toilet, he whispered:
"How did I let this happen?"
Silvery hair shifted into his face as Iceland looked at Norway in surprise. The other's walls were completely down; a sight that only Iceland and Finland had seen only once, after WWII. The stoic, icy exterior of his brother, unbreakable, was shattered and torn.
Iceland let the question be for a moment as Norway reached for the toilet lid; Iceland held his hair back from his face as his brother retched. "It wasn't your fault. The attacks were spaced too consectutively: it would've been impossible to stop both."
"The children, the future of my people, were mercilessly slaughtered. And for what? I wasn't able to protect them." The Nordic's eyes closed, though a second too late: a single tear had escaped to slid down his cheek. He brushed it away with an uncaring hand, wincing as he moved his arm. The connecting muscle tissue to his pectoral muscles had pulled at the large, sensitive wound.
The silver-haired nation stood up, taking a washcloth down from a shelf and soaking it with cool water. He returned to his position, crouched beside his brother, gently wiping the sweat off of his forehead. "This too shall pass, Noregur. Your people will heal, and along with them, you will, too."
Norway's shoulders slumped. "I'm just so tired..."
Iceland was silent. It was unnerving to hear the other talk so much. "You know, Denmark has been at your beside for almost a month straight. Finland sent him home because he was starting to get in the way."
"Typical." Norway's face had morphed back into an icy mask, just as quickly as it had left.
Iceland raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'typical'?"
Norway gave him an expressionless stare. "Danmark is always worrying and getting in the way." He gave his brother a look that said 'don't ask stupid questions you already know the answer to'.
A small smile twitched at the corner of Iceland's mouth, threatening to break free. "Come on, let's get you back into bed."
.
It was no surprise to Norway when he found Denmark staring intently at him when he woke up the next day. "I thought Finland got rid of you." Noticing that the other nation had one of his hands, the icy Nordic yanked it away.
"He tried." Denmark gave him a lopsided grin, trying to grab his hand again. Norway shifted out of reach.
"Wonderful," he deadpanned, giving a significant flinch as the new skin over his rib cage pulled.
"You know, the mountain avens are in bloom." Norway looked up, startled by the sudden change in topic and the news.
"They should have been done last month."
Denmark chuckled. "I know. It must be your fairy magic or something."
The smaller man frowned at him. "I do not h-" They both jumped from the sound of the opening door.
Finland stood, jacket half falling off one shoulder, two full bags in hand. He glared at the tall, blond nation. "You. I kicked you out. Stop bothering the injured."
Denmark gave him startled, but well practiced, puppy eyes. "But, Finland, I'm not-"
"Out." The man ducked out of the room. An irritated Finland was a scary Finland. When he was gone, said scary country sighed and put his burden on a nearby chair. "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier. Iceland just told me that he snuck back in."
"It's alright."
"He wasn't too obnoxious?"
"No."
"Well, that's good. I brought ingredients for lapskaus. I thought it might be a nice change from sandwiches."
Norway gave miniscule smile at the kind gesture. "That would be nice."
.
As it turned out, Finland couldn't keep Denmark away for long. Eventually, the small, domestic nation gave up on shooing the taller man away, and moved to, instead, sending him on errands, letting him help with meals, and making him help clean. Denmark took it in stride, using any excuse possible to visit his bedridden friend before Finland ordered him back to the kitchen. Both Iceland and Norway found it extremely amusing to see the self-proclaimed 'King of Scandanavia' ordered around by his former colony.
A couple evenings after Norway's first conscious encounter with Denmark, the tall nation was sitting next to his bedside, once again trying to capture his hand, to no avail. The spiked blond hair moved slightly as Denmark huffed, giving up. He brightened after a thought, standing.
"Hey, Norge, remember when I told you about the mountain avens?"
Norway rolled his eyes. "Yes."
"D'you want to see them?"
He gave the an exasperated glance. "If you didn't notice, I'm crippled." Beat. Realization dawned on the slight man's face, but the words didn't come until too late:
"Don't you d- Denmark! Put me down!"
The large blond laughed as he scooped the other up in both arms, bridal style, not moving him too much from his previous position.
They clattered down the stairs, demands and laughs echoing through the house until they reached the yard, where Denmark set Norway down on a previously laid out blanket, reclining back on his elbows next to him.
"See, I told you they were still blooming." The large man gave a childish grin to his companion.
"I don't-" Denmark excitedly pointed to the left of them both, where a large bed of mountain avens flourished in the fading sunlight. Norway cut himself off to stare curiously at them. "They never bloom this late," he said softly, unknowingly letting a small, content smile drift onto his face. He sighed, then slowly laid back on the blanket, careful not to aggravate his injuries. A spark of remembrance lit his face before he gave a semi-hearted punch to Denmark's jaw.
"Hey, what was that for?" The man rubbed his cheek, still grinning like an idiot.
"That was for dragging me out here."
Denmark gave another chuckle, before following his companion's lead to stare at the dark blue of twilight.
"Danmark?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
The Dane rolled onto his stomach, face hovering over the slighter man's. He placed a soft, gentle kiss on his nose, before whispering, "It'll be alright, Norge. It's really gonna be alright."
"Um, Denmark?"
"Yeah?"
"Finland's on the porch."
"Oh, shit."
.
Author's Note:
Tradefic for my friend. Thank you, lovely, for accepting my word barf! This is completely un-beta'd, so I apologize for any spelling/grammatical/historical/cultural errors.
I'd just like to clear something up. Many of my reviewers have expressed concern that I trivialized the tragedy in Norway. I'm very sorry if I offended you, but that was not my intention. I just saw that, in the *anime*, the *character* Denmark would be concerned over the *character* Norway. The Nordics are a family, after all.
Constructive criticism is always appreciated.
Lapskaus - a Norwegian stew.
Mountain Avens - the national flower of Iceland. If you didn't catch the hints, Norway was recuperating at Iceland's home.
7/22 should never have happened. Nothing gives you the right to kill people. Nothing.