Years had passed since Norway left with Sweden leaving Iceland with the Dane to be raised. There wasn't much to the raising that the country gave to the Icelandic boy. Denmark was shut up in his room most of the day and when he did come out not a word left his mouth. Iceland found himself growing up much faster than a child should ever have to especially after losing his older brother who had raised him up until then.
It was a trying time with several mistakes. Learning to cook was probably the hardest thing he had to learn or end up starving since Denmark wouldn't come out of his room long enough to fix either of them food. For their survival Iceland earned several burns and stomach aches while learning.
After the first year passed Denmark's depression turned to anger and violence. On good days things would only be thrown around and broken which the small white haired teen would clean up once the Dane had settled down. The bad days Iceland would find himself in the line of fire. It could range from only being pushed down to a full blown hit. There was always bruises appearing and disappearing on his pale skin but not once was there a broken bone.
After dealing with the violence from the Dane for a few months Iceland was able to figure out when the rage was aimed towards him where he would be able to avoid the him at all cost or be ready where he isn't caught off guard.
Eight months passed and in the last week Iceland noticed a change in the Dane. There was less violence weather it be throwing things or abusing the younger man. The change was nice but it scared Iceland; he wondered what was to come.
In the kitchen, the teen boy cooked away making their meal for the night. Denmark had been in and out several times but Iceland didn't think much on it let alone ask him what he was doing. The less he annoyed the other country the less likely he would be hit. It wasn't until the Dane's fifth trip into the kitchen that the younger nation caught on. Each time he had been taking alcohol back to his room.
"Danmörk…? D-do you really think you should have another before supper? You… you won't…" Iceland didn't finish; he was too busy dodging a flying milk jug. It shattered against the wall sending milk and shards of glass flying.
"Mine ya own." With that the Dane left with another drink in hand.
He didn't understand why he tired. He knew he should have left it alone and let the Dane do as he pleased. Stopping supper all together, the Icelandic boy tossed it out due to milk and glass getting into the meal. With a sigh he began to clean up the mess.