Okay, so here's the deal. I wrote a bunch of short chapters over on my 100-Day Challenge that went together. I like them, so I decided to put them as their own separate story (and thus why it's a bit choppy). If YOU like them, then you should check out the 100-Day Challenge.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

OoOoOo

Chapter One: Breathe Again

He watches as Norway yet again ditches him. Norway pretends he hates Denmark, but Iceland knows that, at the very least, the two are brothers. But what about him? Norway is biologically his brother, so why isn't there bonding between them? Is he really that weak? That unwanted? Denmark is always teasing him. Iceland knows it's just teasing. Right? He doesn't rely on Norway. He doesn't get jealous. He isn't anti-social.

Right?

He's just … quiet. He doesn't like getting involved in other people's affairs. And if Norway doesn't express an interest in talking with him, then he'll let things be. And him, jealous? As if. He's perfectly fine on his own. He hasn't changed much in several years. He doesn't want to conform to other people's needs.

And yet he finds that he has. He's even quieter than he'd been before discovering he and Norway are brothers. He goes along with other countries' incessant teasing. After all, it's just a few jokes here and there, they're not trying to hurt him.

Norway doesn't know of the teasing. In fact, he does some teasing, too, by trying to get Iceland to call him 'onii-chan'. Iceland thinks this is ridiculous. Neither of them speaks Japanese, but Norway insists on being called that. A few times, Iceland gives in, and each time, he feels part of himself break. Being obedient isn't who he is. Being treated as a child when he is centuries old is frustrating.

But he just sits back and lets it happen.

Even though he has to hold back tears of embarrassment until he returns home, it's worth it. The other countries are getting a laugh, right? Norway doesn't notice – or doesn't care – so it must not matter, right? He's a big boy, he can handle it. And when he can't – when he's either so numb he doesn't know what to feel, or he's so upset and angry he needs an outlet – he turns to his only friend.

No, not Mr. Puffin, who teases him just as everyone else does. The blade of an old razor. The way it slices through his skin is marvelous, so precise and smooth. The way the blood exits through the cuts is magical, for they form little pictures on his arms as the red drips down from his wrists to his arms. The pain reminds him that he's still there, that he hasn't broken. The tightness in his chest lifts, and he is able to breathe again. Afterwards, he prepares for the next onslaught of teasing. And Norway either pestering him or ignoring him.

As soon as he sees Norway and Denmark leave, he heads to his bedroom. He doesn't bother to close his door – he's the only one home now, and no one cares enough about him to show up. He reaches under his bed for a pencil case. Inside it are razors other sharp objects, as well as gauze and other supplies to prevent infection. He removes his gloves and grabs his favorite razor – the one he usually carries around with him. He sits on his bed, cross-legged, and marks his wrist.

He gasps at the pain. With the pain comes clarity and peace, two things that he desperately needs. He needs more, though, and so cuts again. And again. And again. He wants all of the numbness away, wants the pain of being ignored and teased gone. Physical pain is much easier to control than emotional pain. Physical pain controls his emotional pain temporarily. Physical pain is easier to focus on.

And then it's gone. He's brought back into focus when a hand covers the one holding the blade. It's not his hand. That's all he knows. The other thing he knows is that's he's been caught. He's going to be forced to stop, and he doesn't want to stop. He needs the pain.

The not-his-hand gently pries the blade away from his grasp and places it out of his sight. He refuses to look up, afraid to see who has caught him. Whoever it is doesn't speak, but the air is tense, and Iceland knows that the other person is close to tears. Or maybe is crying silently. The other person finds the pencil case, removes the supplies to clean his cuts, and places the case far away. Neither of them speaks as the other person cleans and wraps his wrist.

Afterwards, the other person sits in front of him. The other is patient, and waits for him to speak. A few minutes – or hours – pass before Iceland can't stand it anymore. He lifts his head slowly to meet the eyes of the other.

Seeing Finland makes a torrent of emotion run through him. He holds back his emotions. Finland doesn't want to see them. But seeing Finland staring at him with sad, horror-filled eyes, waiting for him to speak, but not crying, Iceland bursts into tears. He latches onto Finland and cries. Finland holds him close, murmuring words of comfort in his ear. It is then that Iceland is reminded how the small man is, indeed, older than he is, and this makes him cry harder for reasons unknown.

"We'll fix this, Iceland, we'll help you," Finland says quietly, rocking the two of them gently. "You aren't alone. I'm here. I'm here."

Iceland is thankful that Finland doesn't ask the dreaded 'why'. He knows that Finland doesn't understand and will never understand. He doesn't want to stop, but he doesn't tell the other this. He just allows himself to be comforted, at least for the time being.