[A/N]: I don't own Hetalia or any of the characters within this story. Watch out for historical inaccuracies! ;)

~Somehow, Somewhere~

Reality felt unreal to him; reality felt like a hazy dream, in which he could not control any of the happenings. It was strange, and truthfully, he was anything but fond of it. He could not control the way his hands trembled as he held onto the pen, either. The pen, which hovered just above those accursed papers. That thin pile of papers, which would take away his siblings for good. Just like that, they would rob him of what took up the most space in his old, scorched heart. And the worst thing about it? He didn't even get a say in the matter. They told him he had his chance, then patted his back and smiled sympathetically at him.

He hated it. None of them understood the war raging within him, they could not. They couldn't feel the claws tearing at his heart.

"Erm, dude- Denmark?"

Denmark blinked several times, a deep crease forming in his brow as he looked up at the American in front of him. America scratched his neck awkwardly and nodded towards the papers.

"You have to sign, man."

"I know," Denmark replied lowly, his voice uncharacteristically thick with emotion. "Just . . . just let me take my time, okay?"

America glanced uncertainly at England, who, with crossed arms and pursed lips, just nodded. The American sighed with a vague smile on his lips. "Sure, dude. We just gotta get done before three, though."

The Dane sighed wearily and rested his head in his hand, quietly re-reading the papers for the sixth time within five minutes. He could feel everyone in the room staring expectantly at him, patiently waiting for him to write down his name, but he- no, he had to do this. There was no way around it, he couldn't avoid it this time. He had to let go, and everyone present would be watching on as he did so. Even the four of them were there. Denmark could almost feel their gazes burning into his skull, somehow warmer than the others'. They were the ones who wanted this in the first place, they wanted their independence, finally - but even though he had always been eager to please his younger brothers, the selfish part of the Dane couldn't help but imagine a scene, where he, instead of signing anything, ripped the papers in half and laughed smugly in all of their faces.

"Just get it over with." a somewhat monotone voice spoke up, and Denmark cringed at the harsh edge it had. He glanced towards Norway, his heart aching at the stern expression the younger nation wore. Odd how the times changed.

In spite of the way his stomach twisted anxiously, Denmark gripped the pen tighter and brought it to the surface of the paper. "Ja, okay. Fint . . ." he mumbled underneath his breath, and ever so slowly, he brought the tip of the pen down on the paper, slowly and shakily writing the letters down. When he came to the last letter, he felt tears prick at his eyes, but simply blinked them back to avoid embarrassing himself any further.

Then, he dropped the pen and looked sadly down at his signature.

'Kingdom of Denmark.'

The slender letters looked foreign to his own eyes, and all out of sudden, he hated them. They looked out-of-place, which, Denmark thought, they definitely were. They weren't supposed to grace the white paper - they should have never even been written! But, now they were. Now they were written, black on white, and he could do nothing to change it. Denmark bit down on his lip and fell back in the chair, his gaze coming to rest upon his classy, black shoes.

The Kalmar Union was officially no more.

~XXX~

The last centuries had somewhat prepared him for the end; one would have to be more than just an idiot to not know it would come to this. Sweden and Finland had already left way back in 1523, and Norway, unsurprisingly, had followed down the same road in 1814. Denmark was only surprised that Iceland didn't gain his independence before 1944. He had known it for a long time, alas, but he had never wanted to say it aloud, only because he was afraid it would hurt too much. But that day, in that dull conference-room in London, he had been forced to come to terms with it, whether he wanted to or not.

The meeting was over, and his siblings -if he was even allowed to call them that now- had all taken their leave, each of them going home to their respective countries, without nothing more than a few pitiful glances his way. The Allies, who were the only other nations that attended the meeting, had been much the same, although some of them came over to pat his back and tell him they were sorry for his loss. They all acted as though somebody had died.

Denmark sighed at the thought, maybe somebody did die.

He felt like he was about to, at least.

His vacant eyes stared out through the window, looking at, but not really seeing, the busy city of London. It faintly reminded him of Copenhagen, just a lot larger and a lot more busy, and Denmark fleetingly wondered what it was like to live there, in the big capital of England, where so many people seemed to swarm the streets and bump into each other repetitively. With the city being as big as it was, would one ever have the chance to be lonely? Or was it actually a lot easier to be so? Denmark mulled the thought over in his head, when he heard the light footsteps approach him.

He turned his head slightly, eyebrow arching in surprise. ". . . England?"

The Englishman nodded curtly at the Dane. "Hello, Denmark."

"Um, hello, I guess," Denmark replied hesitantly. "What are you doing here?"

"I, erm, wanted to make sure you were . . . all right." England admitted in a low voice. He, too, was standing by the window now, a slight frown present on his features. Denmark tilted his head curiously and stared at the other nation.

"Why?"

England clasped his hands behind his back and hummed quietly as he pondered his answer. "I suppose, that it's because I know what it feels like. Having to let go, I mean."

Blinking at the Englishman's words, Denmark managed to nod slowly, ". . . Oh." He had never thought England would just come over to him and start speaking as casually as that, and especially not when it came to a subject as touchy as this; Denmark didn't have to think twice to know, that England was referring to the American Revolutionary War.

"So, are you?"

"Huh?" Denmark arched an eyebrow. England sighed.

"Are you alright?" the Englishman asked again, and Denmark immediately felt his position slump a little. He cleared his throat and fiddled nervously with the hem of his shirt.

"Um, I don't even know, to be honest." He said, suddenly sounding unusually young and lost, with his eyes downcast.

"I suppose it does take its toll, doesn't it?"

Denmark nodded wordlessly, and England glanced sideways at the Dane.

"It becomes bearable, though. You just wait, Denmark," the Englishman told the taller nation. "Besides, if you don't want to, you don't have to cut off all contact with them. America and I, we still . . . talk."

"I guess," Denmark muttered, but then, anxiously, bit down on his bottom-lip. "But, what if they don't want to keep in contact?"

"You'll cross that bridge if you come to it. However, I sincerely doubt that you will." England said, and Denmark, once again, felt surprised by the Englishman's words.

"And what makes you think that?" the Dane asked lowly, although the curious undertone seeped through. He watched as England's lips took on a small, nostalgic smile.

"The five of you are a family, Denmark. All families fight or argue or upset one another," the English nation said. "But whether you like it or not, the fact remains; you're still a family."

Still a family . . .

Denmark was barely aware of the vague smile that tugged at his lips. "You really think so?"

Maybe they were still a family . . .

England laughed dryly at the question. "I know so."

. . . and somehow, somewhere, maybe Denmark did too.

[A/N]: Hi! Er, I'm sorry if the characters seem a little OOC. I mulled it over quite a bit, and I somehow ended up thinking, that due to the both of them having dealt with somewhat similar situations, England would be able to throw some comforting words Denmark's way. This oneshot is my first try at publishing anything on here, so . . . yeah, thank you for taking the time to read it.

Translations:

Danish: "Ja, okay. Fint." = "Yes, okay. Fine."