Don't own hetalia

I don't mean to offend anyone. Really, I don't! D:

Iceland never really saw Norway much.
But that was okay! There was no harm in that. Even if Norway always forgot to give him anything to eat, even if he kicked him sometimes, Iceland still was supposed to love him, since wasn't that what little brothers did? Even if he wasn't sure he was Norway's little brother...

When he was home, and if Iceland stayed out of the way, Norway was okay. He didn't bother to look for him, which was also okay since it meant that they didn't have to be anywhere near each other. If he was hungry, Iceland always just snuck into the kitchen when it was very late and took some food for himself.

Sometimes, though, when Norway was up very late, he didn't get to eat at all.

Most people saw Norway as some cool, calm, and in control person. Which he was, some of time. Other times, he was so mad-he ranted about what bad things had happened in his day while berating Iceland for being "so stupid and so disgusting, you're lucky I let you in this house..."

He didn't like those times. Norway always kicked him. Sometimes, he hit him, too, sometimes with sticks but mostly with his hands.

Iceland didn't really know what to feel about Norway. He did love him...but he wasn't sure Norway loved him back. In all of his stories, everyone loved each-other except for the villain, but he always got punished in the end, and sometimes came to love everyone, too.

One day, he had been sitting in his small bedroom with the door and window wide open. It was a very windy day, but Iceland liked that-the sound of the wind and the birds chirping felt more real than anything else. But the door...the door made him feel like someone was watching him, like eyes were boring into the back of his head. So, he had closed it.

After about half an hour, Norway had entered, and immediately began to yell that quasi-yell of his which wasn't really a yell but may as well have been with the venom it contained.

"What are you hiding? Why did you lock the door? Tell me!"

Iceland's mouth moved, but words wouldn't come out. He tried, he tried and tried, but he was so scared that he couldn't make a sound. It wasn't locked, it wasn't locked, it wasn't locked...

His efforts were quickly interrupted with a kick to his stomach.

"I'm sick of your lies. You psychotic little idiot." He was shaking now, and tear pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he didn't want to cry, didn't want to cry..."Don't you dare start crying!"
He quickly wiped away the tears that had begun to run down his cheeks and sniffed hard to get rid of the snot before it began to run. He turned his face away from Norway, so the bigger nation wouldn't be able to see. His efforts were rewarded with a kick to his which knocked the wind out of him.

"Look at you, so pathetic. Can't even handle a bit of punishment. I can't have you becoming a spoiled brat, but it looks like you already are one." Norway then noticed the book that Iceland had been reading, picked it up, and leafed through it for a few minutes. He then kicked him one final time, and left.
Later on, Iceland found bits of charred paper in the ashes of the fire place.

He wanted to tell someone. Not just one person, actually, but the entire world. He wanted to yell, "My big brother kicked me and burnt my book! He did, he did, he did, he did..." The bruises, they would always heal, but he only had so many books.

A few things stopped him from actually saying that whenever anyone came to visit. Norway would be so mad, maybe mad enough to kill him (no, no, brothers didn't do that, wouldn't do that)...but more than that, he didn't want anything to change.

He didn't want anything to be different. He wanted to stay in this house, and he wanted to read his books in the quiet of his room, with the window open to hear the sounds of the wind and the birds chirping outside.
Iceland didn't want any of that to go away. He wanted it to stay forever and ever and ever and ever.

He still felt the staring, but there wasn't much he could do about it, so he just looked out the window and tried to resist the temptation to jump through it and run until his legs gave out from exhaustion. Instead of doing that, he instead looked for a new book to read.

He lost count of how many times he had reread all of them.

A few days passed without incident-or, at least, nothing major-when something changed. He had been reading one of his books with the door wide open.

It was then that Norway entered the room. Iceland tensed immediately, eyes staring at the words on the page but not understanding any of them.

Please please please please make him leave...

Norway, for a while, just stared at him, but Iceland didn't dare look up. He could feel the older nation's gaze burning through the bindings, the pages, right through to him.

He wanted to run, but then Norway began to speak.

"We're moving in with Denmark. If you aren't ready to go by tomorrow morning, I'm leaving you behind. The birds can peck out your eyes, for all I care." His voice was cold, so, so cold. It made Iceland want to curl up in a ball under his warm, warm blanket, and go to sleep for a long while to forget the cold.
He, of course, would never do that in front of Norway. Both his legs and entire torso still ached from the kicks he received the other day.

And then he thought about the words themselves.

It would be nice to live here all alone, with no one to keep him company but himself. He could run around all day and keep all the windows wide open and the doors tightly shut all the time with no one to punish him for it.

Iceland knew it wouldn't be that simple. He'd get dragged to Denmark's house without any of his possessions, if it came to that. And then, when Denmark wasn't home, Norway would punish him, and Iceland would run and hide and Norway would find him and...

He didn't have a bag to put his things in, so Iceland just put his clothes, a pillow, and all of his books in the center of his blanket, and tied the corners together to make a pack of sorts.
Then he remembered that he couldn't sleep with all of his possessions wrapped up in a blanket, so he just stared at the sky and waited for morning.

Iceland woke up to an aching back and neck, just in time to hear the door open.

"W-wait!" he cried, rushing to put on his shoes and socks, grab his makeshift pack, and run out the door. Norway was already walking away, and only once turned to give him a cool glance.

Iceland's face was burning. He...he knew his hair was messy, and his clothes were too wrinkled and mussed since he slept in them, and-
His train of thought was lost as Norway hit him on the back of his head. It was hard enough that a bruise might form, but though his hair is light it will cover it up nicely, he thinks.

"Wake up earlier, next time."

On the way there, Norway paid him no attention, never asked if he were bored or sad about leaving the home he had lived in for longer than he can remember. That was okay, Iceland saw no harm in silence. It was the words that broke it that surprised him.

"Call me storebror, from now on."

He didn't know what to think, honestly. Iceland never thought about calling Norway anything other than Norway-the characters in his books always called their big brothers that, but...it didn't fit his own one.

Storebror, Norway, storebror, Norway...

It didn't fit at all.
But he just nodded silently, and decided to look at his shoes instead of meet Norway's eyes.

Iceland didn't like Norway's eyes. He had only ever seen them as angry, cold, or mocking and he didn't like any of those things.

Denmark was there to greet them when they arrived, going on and on about some sort of union that Iceland had never heard of before today. Denmark, after having greeted Norway, gave him a hug and said how great it would be for them to live under one roof again, just like they used to.

Iceland managed a small smile, but nothing else. He flinched at Denmark's touch, and winced as his hand brushed an old bruise that hadn't properly healed yet. Denmark gave him an odd look, before ushering them inside.

Iceland's new life wasn't very different from his old one. He still hid in his new bedroom a lot. He still spent most of his time rereading his books and staring outside. Denmark was really busy all of the time-he tried to play with him, but never really got the chance to do so. He spent more time with Norway, anyway, just doing...whatever it was that they did.

A few things were nicer here, though.

For one thing, he was expected to eat his meals with Denmark and Norway, and since Denmark cooked most of the time (he didn't think Norway wanted to do anything as domestic as cooking for anyone other than himself) so he always got enough to eat.
It wasn't so nice, though, to have to sit across from Norway. It made him feel like he was eating too much, or too messily, or that he didn't deserve to eat at all.

That always made him feel bad.

He was sitting on his bed, one of his books open on his lap. Denmark had a lot of books, many of them fairy tales, but Iceland never touched them-if he asked, or just took one, Norway might have gotten mad about him inconveniencing Denmark.

So, even though he was curious, he still read his own stories over and over and over again. But that was alright-he liked them, even if it got dull. After all, he knew all of them and could possibly recite them word for word by heart if asked to.

Iceland had thought of asking Denmark when Norway wasn't home, of course. But he and Denmark were never alone together-if Denmark was there, so was Norway. Unfortunately, this didn't work the other way around-sometimes Norway was home with him when Denmark was out.

Right now was one of those times.

His door was wide open, as was appropriate, though even if Norway wasn't home he still wouldn't have closed it, no matter how much the feeling of being watched unnerved him.

And then he felt a hand rest on his shoulder.

Iceland did two things-first, he flinched, and then instinctively swatted the hand away. Its grip only tightened, and a wave of dread spread throughout the small nation.

"Hmm? What's this, now?" Most other people would have heard the tone of voice as absolute monotone, but Iceland knew, he knew-he could hear impossibly small traces of both amusement and anger in his voice.

He didn't dare turn around, didn't dare to look at Norway. Iceland managed to stuff the book under his clothes before the first hit came.

He didn't pay attention to whatever Norway was saying-something about "-you should be glad I even bother with you, brat..." By the time the older nation had stopped, his back was hurting and he was sure that bruises would form. He had managed to go for a full day without any, too...
And then he felt something.
Iceland never really was angry at Norway for what he did. Mostly, he was more upset and sad than mad. But right now...right now he was mad, so mad. Not enough to hit Norway back, but enough to mutter something under his breath.

"If you hate me, just say so."

"Of course I do." Norway didn't say anything after that, just left.

Iceland never cried harder in his entire life.

Denmark had looked worried, had attempted to make him feel better by giving him sweets, had tried to find the reason for Iceland's tears, but didn't succeed.

He was nice, really, he was, but all Iceland wanted to do right now was be left alone.
Denmark eventually managed to ask a question that elicited a response from the white haired boy;

"Was it Norway?"

Iceland stiffened, but other than that, said nothing. Denmark caught this, and immediately continued.

"You know, if Norway did something, you can tell me-he isn't the most sensitive guy, but if he said something mean, I'm sure he didn't mean it..." To his chagrin, his tears resumed. Denmark handed him some tissues, and helped the smaller nation wipe his face.

Iceland knew in his heart that no, Norway had meant everything he said.

Norway was going away, he had been told.

Iceland didn't know what to make of that. If Norway was going, that meant he was too. He didn't want to leave-he wanted to stay with Denmark.

Now, if Norway left and he stayed...

That was a somewhat more agreeable arrangement. But of course, that wasn't very likely, however he may wish it to be so. Iceland thought about hiding-maybe, if he hid, Norway would go without him, and he could beg Denmark to let him stay?

Iceland stared out the window for a while, contemplating his situation, when someone entered the room. He stiffened, but did nothing, hoping it was just Denmark and not Norway coming to tell him to pack or something like that. He could feel that hand on his shoulder, and dared to take a peek at who it was...

Oh. Just Denmark.
He relaxed, the older nation noticing immediately. He smiled, and began to speak.

"Hey, Ice? You know how Norway's going away for a while..? You'll be staying here, with me." He waited for a reaction, and getting none, continued. "I'll miss him, personally...but! I'm sure it'll be fun with just you and me." He ruffled the small boy's hair affectionately, and Iceland thought for a moment that that was what a real big brother would do. Denmark explained some of the details of the Norway's loss-he had supported the losing side in a war, Sweden supported the winning side, and now he had to give away Norway. Iceland hadn't really paid attention, but could hear the sadness in his voice.

That made him think. Would he miss Norway?

No, he thought, not at all.

Later on, Iceland learned about what had happened to him, after he got out more and actually met people instead of being holed up inside all the time, was generally called "abuse", and was highly frowned upon.

Denmark hadn't been the best caretaker, far from it. But at least he wasn't as bad as Norway.

Iceland really, very much so wanted to hate his supposed "elder brother." Still, though, sometimes he wished he could think of Norway of a normal person and not someone to be feared. He was disgusted with himself, really. He didn't want to stiffen every time he entered the room, didn't want to feel fear when Norway looked at him with those cold eyes.

One thing he did want was to be able to hate him, but as hard as he tried, he...couldn't. There was still that feeling inside of him that wanted Norway to apologize for everything he had done so he could forgive him and maybe act like normal people.

Somewhere, somewhere in the back of his mind, Iceland thought that maybe he could hate Norway if he knew for sure whether or not they were actually brothers. If he found that they weren't, then maybe, just maybe, any traces of familial loyalty that kept him from despising the older nation would fade.

This was the real motive for the expedition, for the DNA test. Iceland hadn't really thought about what he would do if it turned out that yes, he was Norway's biological little brother, but...he surely had indigenous people, right?

It made no sense that he, a large-ish island, went uninhabited for such a long time before the arrival of the Norsemen. Even Greenland had people before-these original made up a pretty large portion of its population-and Greenland was a giant block of ice. So he, the greener-than-Greenland nation he was, must have had people too.

These were his thoughts before the results of the expedition arrived.

His face had fallen immediately, and he quickly shoved the papers into his pockets, before deciding that no, instead of burning them, he should show them to Denmark.

So he did.

But, of course, the idiot had to go and tell the world about it. Well, maybe not the world, but the other Nordics were just as bad.

Worst of all, he dared to tell Norway, of all nations.

Well, no, maybe Denmark hadn't told Norway directly, but regardless, he had heard.

The way he had been looking at him after hearing unnerved Iceland.

And then those words, the same words he had heard so long ago, were repeated, though this time it felt far worse.

"I'm the older brother, then. Call me storebror."

Storebror! Everyone had agreed, saying it would be "nostalgic" and "nice to have someone call them that again." They then suggested that he call all of them storebror, which just left a bad taste in his mouth. With the way they were speaking, Iceland just wanted to shout at them that they used to kill and rape people all the fucking time and if they wanted nostalgia, they should just go out for bit, maybe rough England and Scotland up a bit, just like they used to.

He didn't, though, instead saying something completely different.

"We're all mature adults here, right? We can act responsibly." The look Norway was giving him, the one that made him want to run and hide under his blankets, practically said that yes, they all were...except for Iceland himself.

Why was he so scared? Why did he care what Norway thought? Why couldn't he just man up for once, and remember that no, Norway couldn't wait for them both to get to their previously shared home and punish him like he used to? He was safe, had been relatively safe for a long time now. He wanted to forget. No, scratch that, he didn't want to forget, because that meant he couldn't hate Norway...

It was confusing.

The grip Norway had on his shoulders was uncomfortable and dismaying, and so many people, urging him to do it...

No! He had more pride than that! He would just walk away, walk away...

A pair of ice blue eyes bored into his back as he left, and Iceland made a decision he would regret.

"...storebror."

He fled.

Later that day, Norway had approached him with a proposition that, quite honestly, shocked him.

He had suggested that Iceland become one with him, because, "You obviously can't take care of yourself."

Iceland just stared at him in shock. Norway appeared to take that as a no, and left, but not before saying that "really, it's the best thing for you to do."

Best thing? he thought to himself that night.

Storebror means big brother in Norwegian. I thought it fit a bit better than onii-chan, since they would have no way of knowing Japanese.

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