Nothing ever really mattered, that's what he always told himself anyway. He pulled the curtains closed, rubbing his shoulder. The past was long gone and there wasn't anything he could change or do about it. But he had still made plenty of mistakes and failed a number of times for his people and family. Even now he could still feel the guilt for these numerous times.

Norway gently ran the tips of his fingers over the mildly bumpy scars on his arms; they always felt more numerous every time. Of course why wouldn't they be? A bitter laugh escaped his lips at the thought.

It's not like he was the only one to do something like this to his body. He knew for a fact that a multitude of nations had lost their minds in the moment and practically destroyed their bodies, one with a piece of glass of all things. Some had put a bullet in their temple or a gun in their mouth, others got a bit more creative, drowning, running into the street, burning to death; the list was endless. Every country had at least tried to commit suicide once or at the least a form of self-mutilation. He just happened to be the one that tended to do it more often and had done it for far longer.

It wasn't like he did it every day, though, last he checked it had been some time since he had last… cut himself. It sounded so vulgar when he put it like that, 'cutting', slicing the skin open and letting it bleed until sometimes he couldn't even feel the limb anymore. Sometimes bleeding out in the night and drifting away into oblivion until three days time. To rest, to not be a part of the world for a total of thirty-six hours. It was blissful, but when you came back every time Norway found the world was still the same and he had to live in it. Until the end of his country and people.

Other times it was to simply endure a different type of pain, just to forget. Nations had a nasty habit of not staying dead unless they're government, people and land were in horrible shape or divided. But sometimes there were exceptions, he had heard of a couple of them, rumors mostly, that once another personification killed another personified nation they tended to stay dead longer. Only rumors, though, nothing for sure.

Norway raised his arm up, looking over the faded scars on his left arm; little, barely skin penetrating marks littering the inside of his arm. He had discovered that even in his sleep now he tended to injure himself somehow. His skin practically itched and he couldn't help but scratch at it in annoyance, the skin turning red and raw from its abuse.

The nation pulled back balling his hand into a fist in annoyance, it's not like he wanted to be like this; just… he couldn't stop it sometimes. Weak, little Norway, always so unsocial, always quiet, the man that was mean to the happiest country on Earth and a total ass to those around him no matter what. He couldn't stop his own brother from being taken away from him; he couldn't stop any of the wars that came his way after his glorious Viking days. He was nothing even after his beautiful country evolved and grew. But no-one really cared anyhow.

He knew Denmark didn't really care, he could see past his large grin and pet names for Norway. Denmark was still the man he was when he took over the others, a savage; he took what he wanted and never gave it back. He would never give up his favorite possession his sweet, terrible Norwegian personification. But was Norway so different?

Back then when he raided England over and over without mercy until there was nothing left to salvage from his lands. He knew the nation never really forgave him for that, he never would, who would forgive him anyway?

Sweden only cared for his new family now, his beloved Finland and adopted son Peter. The Swedish man probably never thought about Norway that much anyway, because really where did he fit into that equation? Babysitter probably, and even then he knew Peter feared him, he knew why too.

Finland pitied him because of his outcast like personality. Seeing him as something that needed it more than anything else and even then the Finnish sniper had other things to worry about. No, he really didn't matter to anyone, even his own flesh, and blood, Iceland.

He knew why Iceland was like how he is, it was his fault to begin with, he should never have left the younger alone with Denmark for that long. He could only imagine what he went through. Iceland more than likely blamed him for what had happened to him in that time.

And what did he ever do for his people? Nothing, absolutely nothing, they didn't need him anymore and they never did…

Norway didn't even notice when his hand had uncurled itself, he didn't even realized when his dull nails began scratching and breaking open the skin. Lukas squeezed his eyes shut feeling the dull sting of tears, he didn't want to cry, he was above that. The Norwegian released his grip on his arm, placing his red-coated palm on the wall, head down in thought. The cross pin tugging on his hair and threatening to fall to the floor.

He knew that the blood would leave a stain on the light colored wall and he'd have to remove it somehow but right now he didn't want to think about that. Taking a sharp breath Norway pushed off the wall and ran his hands through his hair. The cross pin falling to the ground with a loud ping that echoed around the barely lit house. Unloved, unneeded, hated and a possession, that's all he was… that's all he'd ever be.

Lukas sucked in a breath and rubbed his eyes in annoyance with his clean hand. It was like his drug only deadly if needed be. He knew where he kept the blades for he could never forget; he never locked the drawer, not once in his long life. He lived alone, he didn't need to lock it, no one would ever know, no one would ever care.

He hadn't even realized where he was for a moment before he felt a sudden and small pain. It always came like that, quick and painless at first, and then it began to hurt more on his body and less in his mind. Norway just stared at the trickles of blood running down his arm dripping into the sink and around it. In some ways, blood reminded him of his flag, both the same reddish color when blood left the body that is.

Norway lightly let the blade sit on the skin of his left arm again the cold metal feeling more inviting than anyone would ever be.


The Norwegian roughly pulled the towel down from the bar making a satisfying noise as it came off. Rubbing the towel all over his platinum blonde hair as an attempt to dry it off enough so he wouldn't trek water all over the house. Norway, once satisfied with his work, draped the towel over his shoulders and stepped out. He decided to ignore the red spots appearing on the tile floor beneath him, he'd clean them up later.

Opening a cabinet he shuffled through some of the medical supplies he had, easily finding some large bandages and gauze. They weren't life threatening but since most tended to be drawn to using one hand over the other the opposite arm tended to bleed more than the other. He preferred not to have blood stains on any of his shirts or anything else; they rarely ever came out easily.

Norway wrapped them up in about two to three minutes, giving him some reassurance that no one would know. Looking at himself in the mirror he simply stared back into his own oddly purple eyes. Who was he really?

Lukas watched a small shift of the light the reflected onto the mirror as he noticed for only a brief second, eyes that did not belong to him. He sighed and turned away, he should probably get some clothes on.


Present Time and Place:

Denmark gnawed on his nonexistent fingernails a metallic taste in his mouth from making them bleed a bit. He wasn't focused on that, though. Once every so often he would glance over at Norway from the road he was supposed to have his full attention on, but he couldn't help it.

The Dane gripped the wheel a bit tighter as he passed through another intersection without looking; he was going to get himself killed one of these days. Lukas was still asleep, thank Odin, if he was awake he may ask to be let out of the car and walk the rest of the way if he saw the way Mathias was looking at him.

He had debated about calling Tino but decided against it since he was already distracted as it was. Denmark bit into the skin on the tip of his finger, giving a high-pitched squeak, groggily Norway woke up. "What is it, Dane?"

He swallowed, "Nothing."

A half lidded glare directed itself at Denmark as the Norwegian leaned against the window again and closed his eyes. Internally Mathias reprimanded himself, 'Den you really are an idiot you know that?'

Giving Norway another sideways glance Denmark made sure to stop gnawing on his hand. They'd be at the building in about five minutes or so until then he had to prepare for all hell to break loose. He knew Norge better than anyone, and Norway also knew him better than anyone, which meant when he decided to be coherent he'd realize something is up. Especially with his now bitten to the quick fingertips and nails, old habits die hard. He was fairly certain the tips of his fingerprints were gone at this point.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Denmark thought over what could really happen once they got there. If he managed to get Norway into their official meeting place, he'd probably have to lock the door or something. Lukas after denying everything may pick flight over a fight and flee. He knew for a fact that his friend was excellent at hiding, besides Sealand that is. He could pull a disappearing act in only a few seconds.

Glaring at nothing particularly the Dane tried to ease his shaking body. He didn't know what to think or to do. How bad had Norge gotten? He knew that his friend was a bit closed and like his privacy but had that been something to cover up what he was doing? He had always been a bit of an introvert but really was that all he was?

Norge had been through quite a bit in his long life, he guessed eventually it had to build up into something… they all had their ways of coping. Perhaps this was Norway's way of coping, whether it be very healthy or not.

Denmark put on the brakes and slowed the car to a stop before swinging around into the alleyway behind a couple of buildings. Once he reached the third building he swung into the small parking area behind it. Another car sat beside his, Berwald's Mercedes-Benz SL 65 AMG Black Series that had nothing to do with a mid-life crisis. Not one bit, he just liked the way it looked, keep telling yourself that Berry.

Denmark was about to poke at Norway before he noticed that the nation was already taking his seat belt off. "Good morning sunshine." He smiled, a mocking tone in his voice.

"Shut it, Dane." With a gruff response, the Norwegian got out of the car and went up to the door opening it and going inside without another word. Denmark blinked, so getting him inside didn't seem to be the issue. Hopefully, he'd let them help him.

…TO BE CONTINUED…

I may have to add Denmark as a character instead of Sealand... he's appearing more than the wonderful Micronation.