February 2022
The air bit at his cheeks, but Denmark didn't truly mind it in the least. It reminded him of older times, when he, Norway, Sweden, and, to an extent, Finland sailed the oceans in search of new lands and new conquests. It reminded him of when he was younger, when politics weren't such a bitch to deal with, and of the times when he knew he could always count on his fellow Nordics to have his back. He knew who his enemies were back then as they made no qualms about hiding their intentions towards him and his family. Of course, they themselves had been as equally bloody, if not bloodier when they'd sailed the seas and the ocean.
'And they still do have my back,' he mused. 'At least back then, you knew who wanted to kill you and why they wanted to kill you.' He paused for a second in front of a store and inhaled a deep lungful of cold, salty air. 'The good old days . . . I'd take Sweden wanting to kill me for being a ruthless bastard any day of the week over the bickering and backstabbing of the other countries. This is getting to be ridiculous anymore, all the bickering and gossiping of what's taking place. I just wish the air was a bit colder than what it currently is . . . like how it used to be when I was much younger. It would make today . . . better, at least.'
He exhaled a heavy breath and continued on his way back to his house. Tucked under his arm was the day's newspaper with the latest headlines. An American envoy had recently left the countries of Germany and Italy, but some of the details of what actually happened were scant. Unlike most of Europe, Germany didn't need a bailout of any kind from any country. He'd managed to manage his money better than most, including England and France, and most of Europe had turned to him when several of the economic recessions hit.
'But he's offered no explanations to anyone about what America and his ambassadors were doing.' Denmark frowned, nausea roiling around in the pit of his gut. 'And Italy and Romano are keeping their mouths shut about what happened in their country as well.' He paused once more at a crosswalk and cast his gaze to the sky. 'America, he's really going to try and go through with this, isn't he? Must get that from Sweden.'
He closed his eyes, his memories taking him back . . .
"America? Are you in there?" Finland asked. He knocked tentatively on the door, the rest of the Nordics behind him or to either side of him. For his part, Denmark tried his best to restrain himself. The urge to break the door down with his old battle axe was strong . . . along with using it on certain countries. They'd just gotten back from their lunch break in time to hear many of the countries tell America they'd be better off without him and at one of the worst times possible for the young nation.
Stupid wanker – that had come from England and the one America looked up to the most.
Zhis isn't zhe America show – that had come from France, the second one America looked up to the most and one of the ones he seemed to have more in common with than England.
Self-centered bastard. You've always been in everyone else's business. How could you not know what was going on? – that had come from Romano, of all countries.
We'd be better off if you didn't exist – the nail in the coffin, it seemed as that was also England who had spoken.
'Rotten assholes,' Denmark thought, glaring at the end of the hallway. 'Every single one of them, including Lithuania and Canada. Not a single one of them spoke up for them.'
A dark cloud settled over Denmark, and he flexed his fingers. A tap to his shoulder brought him out of his musings, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Sweden's stern gaze. Not a single one of them knew what had happened to cause such a verbal lashing, but one thing was clear, if the look on his brother's face was any indication – any anger right now would do more harm than good. Denmark nodded once then inhaled a breath to settle his bloodlust.
"America, please," Finland continued, "we just want to be sure you're okay. The other countries, they . . ." He blew out a breath. "I want to say they didn't mean what they said, but I'm sure we both know it's a lie. They probably did, and, for that . . . I'm sorry. They shouldn't have said such horrible things to you. You've done a lot of good over the years. You keep trying. I don't know what happened to cause such a thing to happen but please . . . come out? If you're in there, we . . ."
"I'm fine," came the dull response from the other side. Denmark couldn't be sure, but it sounded like it'd been punctuated with a half-sob, half-sigh. "You don't need to worry about an unlovable asshole like me at all. You don't have to come and see me and make sure that I'm okay. God only knows I'll just end up destroying you like I have everyone else."
More rage filled Denmark, but it was Finland's words that got him to pause and keep his temper under control, as what he really wanted to do was go into the conference room with his axe in hand and give everyone there the verbal lashing of their lives.
"I lived with Denmark during the Kalmar Union," the Finn stated gently. "And he was just as big of an asshole to Sweden and his people as what England or France or even you have ever been. There isn't a nation alive that doesn't have a bloody and brutal past, America. We all do. It's a sad and painful fact of history. We'd all be fools if we tried to pretend the bad things haven't happened." His voice softened as he continued, "And I know you always try to pretend that you're okay . . . that you don't need anyone, but I also know that it isn't true. What the others said . . . was cruel, like I said. They shouldn't have said it because not a single one of us is free from the guilt and horrors of the past. Britain, France, they're . . ."
"I don't want to talk about them . . . not anymore . . . please."
Finland nodded, and said, "Okay then. What do you want to talk about?"
Denmark's phone ringing interrupted his thoughts, and he exhaled in weariness as he fished the device out of his coat pocket. He squinted at the caller I.D., which said it was England calling him. He resisted the urge to chuck his phone into the streets. The Briton was one of the last people Denmark truly wanted to talk to, but diplomatic relations were diplomatic relations. How he felt wasn't necessarily how his government officials felt. His boss would be miffed if he didn't take the call, and that was putting it rather mildly.
He pressed the 'talk' button and brought the phone up to his ear. "Yes, England?"
"A good day to you as well, Denmark." The Brit's tone was clipped. "I take it you've heard the latest news from America, yes?"
"Which?" he replied casually, nonchalantly. "There's been so much talk about America lately it's so hard to keep up."
"Cheeky bastard," came the muttered response. It was followed by an exhale. "Though I suppose I daresay I deserved that. I recently spoke with Austria . . ."
"And America was there," Denmark finished. "Everyone knows he was there, but no one's seen him. He's just been leaving this dark, ominous presence. Yeah, I know. I spoke with Prussia about it. He's not happy, you know."
"I honestly don't give a flying rat's ass if he's pissed off," England snapped. "I'd like to know what I can do about America and this nonsense he's been . . ."
"It isn't nonsense," Denmark interrupted, his tone going dangerously dark. "Every nation he's visited has been shaken up by his visits. Whatever he's going through, whatever he's thinking, it isn't healthy for him. The sooner you get that through your head, the better."
"Someone's knickers are in a twist today," the other man growled. "Say whatever you like, but it doesn't change the fact that America's actions are childish and most unbecoming for a nation his age."
"He's barely 250 years old as a nation," Denmark retorted, "and he's caught up a lot faster on a lot of things, things that have taken us nearly a thousand years, if not more, to get to. I daresay he was doing fine until you started in on him with your dumbass, unawesome remarks."
"I didn't call you to be insulted."
"I didn't ask you to call me, either, but you're the one who screwed up the last time you saw America, England. Not me. I didn't attack him for standing up for someone. I didn't dump all of my problems onto his shoulders the way you and nearly everyone else did that day. Canada was right. You owe him an apology. And Germany was right, too. Everything he ever learned was from you. You had the biggest influence on him, and the sad thing is you still do, but you're too stupid to see it. If you really want my help, England, you'll take a long look at how cruel you were to him that day and . . ." Denmark paused then inhaled a deep breath. "You know what? Never mind. I don't know why you called me -"
"To talk about how to deal with America -"
"And I don't care," he finished. His phone buzzed in his ear. "I have to go. Sounds like Sweden's buzzing me."
"But . . ."
"Goodbye." He pushed the button to hang up. At the same time, a text message popped up, but it wasn't from Sweden.
Where are you?
It was from Finland.
He sent a quick "on my way home, why?" reply to his fellow Nordic.
We're next on America's list.
Denmark paused, a thick lump forming in his throat. He stared at the Finn's last text then he exhaled. It was news he was dreading but also has been expecting, both for some time now. He texted back "calling" then dialed Finland's personal number.
"Moshi."
"Moshi," Denmark greeted. "Have you heard from him? Or is he already there?"
"Yes and no. He visited Iceland first, and now he's visiting Norway." The Finn exhaled.
"Where's Emil now?" Denmark asked. In terms of age, Iceland and America were roughly close. The only things separating them were the dates they declared independence, but in terms of colonization from him, Sweden, and Norway, they were relatively close.
"With me and Sve, but he'll be heading to Ǿslo within the next few hours to be with Lukas."
"And how is he?" Denmark put a little speed in his step. Something told him he needed to get home and quickly so at that. Another nation was somewhere in his country, in Copenhagen even, and this wasn't a conversation anyone else needed to know about. "Emil, that is."
"Not good, but he's also doing a lot better than we expected after something like this."
"Are the embassies and consulates shut down there now?" His home came into view.
"Yes and with all of Iceland's people returned . . . Hold on, Emil is saying he wants to talk to you . . ."
"Hold on, I'm almost home . . . I don't dare speak too much outside." He fumbled with his keys as he listened to Tino and Emil exchange some quick words. In the background, Sealand asked what was going on, and Berwald murmured a response. He closed his front door hard. "And I'm in. Emil, are you there and what's . . ."
"I'm fine, Matthias," came the dull response, "but America is not."
"So he's definitely going through with it? How . . ."
"We don't know." A soft exhale. "But he's asking that we get behind the push behind the world meeting effort."
"I thought we weren't supposed to let on that we . . ."
"We're not," Emil stated. Another soft and shaky exhale, and Matthias caught hints of the younger nation's tears in his voice. "But he also knows that it'd be unusual if we remained silent on the matter . . . Plus he's certain we'd be on board with the attempts anyway. We've never once taken any potshots at him, and he's been like family to us even before that whole fiasco. He knows us rather well."
"So he's definitely been paying more attention than what he's being given credit for." He kicked off his shoes. "His request is understandable. The last several years have been hard on him, harder than what we first suspected."
"Yeah," Emil agreed. "They have been. I don't know who's going to be the last one, Berwald or Tino, but . . ."
"It isn't going to be me. That's understandable, since they've been more like parents to him lately than what I have," Matthias finished. He opened his mouth to say more, but a loud, almost frantic knocking stopped him. "Hold on a second." He peered from behind his curtains to see who was there. "I've gotta go, Emil. Tell Tino that I'll get back with him as soon as possible."
"Who's there? I heard the knock . . ."
"Prussia. Tell him I'll be on the lookout for any potential messages from him. You'll probably hear from him before I do at this point."
"Will do. Bye."
"Bye." He strode back to his door and swung it open. "Hej, Prussia. What can I do for you today?"
"Guten tag, Danmark," Prussia greeted. "I don't have time for pleasantries. Rumor has it America has a delegation in Norway. We've got to hurry."
"Hurry? Why? What's . . ."
"Because!" Prussia nearly shouted. He paused and took a moment to collect himself. In a softer voice, he continued, "because there's something terribly wrong with him, and I believe it goes a lot farther back than that stupid meeting when mein bruder added to all of the unawesome things said to America."
"Oh really?" Denmark raised an eyebrow at him. He couldn't help but feel sorry for his German cousin. Gilbert hadn't been present to any of the meetings, and America had been in too much of a mental mess to include anyone beyond the Nordics. A part of him wanted to share America's full plans with his fellow awesome buddy, but his promise to the younger nation kept him from doing so. It was America's place to decide if anyone else should know what was truly going on with him. He asked, "like what?"
"I'm not entirely sure," Gilbert confessed. He visibly deflated. "I just recently remembered a night during his revolution against England. He showed up at my tent one night, but he didn't say anything. Just stood out there for a few minutes then left. He might have been crying, too. I don't know, Matthias. He didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything, either. I wish I had. That fight with England was nasty."
"Yeah, it was," Matthias agreed. His phone started to buzz and ring with the Norwegian national anthem. Gilbert's face paled more than usual, giving him a sickly pallor. Matthias held up a hand and said, "Give me a moment."
"Ja, of course. How . . ."
"I don't know . . ." Matthias began as he read the text.
He and his delegation will be there tomorrow. – Lukas
Gilbert is here. Going to need a distraction. – me
Understood. Call me.
"What is it?" Gilbert demanded. "What's happening there? How fast can he get to America's embassy before he leaves?"
"What do you mean?" Matthias blinked as innocently as he could. As discreetly as possible, he dialed Lukas's number, muting the sound on his phone. It was an old trick he and Sweden worked on when they wanted to let the other know of something of great importance immediately as it was happening.
"It's something America is doing," Prussia growled in frustration. "He stays behind at his embassies, claiming illness or food poisoning or some other inane thing, while his delegates offer whatever it is the nation in question needs. While his delegation is distracting the nations and their leaders, he and the staff are packing. Last I knew, Norway didn't need much of anything from America to warrant such a visit. Germany didn't, either, yet America showed up there all the same, offering up businesses and educational tools. And I can't get to his country to see him, either. I didn't go before his borders shut down, and now I can't go to find out what's wrong." He pulled at his hair, and tears welled up in his eyes. A ragged sigh escaped him. "I know we can't change the past, Matthias, and wishing otherwise is futile. But we can try to do better going forward. I know this. that's why I plan on staying here. In front of his embassy until he shows up, Matthias. He isn't answering calls or responding to texts or emails. We don't know if he's seeing our requests to be at the world meeting. We don't believe he can actually kill himself, not as long as his lands and people exist . . ."
"How do you propose we stop him and why?" Denmark interjected. "If things don't change amongst ourselves first, talking him out of whatever he's going to do won't do any good if everyone's waiting to just tear him down again. Or even each other, Gilbert. It isn't fair. To anyone." Denmark subtly held his breath as he watched and waited for Prussia to respond. In truth, he couldn't help himself. If that last meeting America attended was any indication, anyone who tried to be that powerful was almost guaranteed to receive the same vitriol and mocking. And all America had done was defend his twin and ask why the Canadian hadn't said anything sooner.
'We can't fix what we don't know about,' Denmark mused. 'That's what Tino told him when everything came out, and I'm sure no truer words have ever been spoken.'
"I know," Gilber replied. "I know." He exhaled. "I didn't want to admit it, either." A bitter laugh followed. "Look at me, running from the mistakes of the past instead of facing and learning from them. Even Ludwig is running from what he's said and done, despite the progress he's made since the last war. I just don't know what else to do, Matthias. I'm not a nation anymore. I have no sway over anyone. If anything, I'm a remembrance for all of the shitty things that happened during World War II, and that's just for the things everyone knows about. There are things I did as well that should have shattered his ability to trust anyone completely." His red eyes locked with Denmark's. "And you of all nations should know that best. I'm surprised the two of you even bothered to hang out with me once the war was finally over."
A cold chill swept over Matthias . . .
Saying the room stank was dumb. It was stupid. It was the biggest understatement of a lifetime. It didn't just stink. Oh no. Stink was something you could cover up with something pleasant, like flowers or perfume or incense or even woodsmoke. Stink was something you could bury in the ground, leave it for a brief period of time, and it would eventually disappear. No. Stink wasn't the appropriate word for the blood and gore splattered on the wall or the amount of fecal matter, vomit, and urine all over the place mingling with the smoke of cigars and the stench of burnt flesh. Prussia gave him a sideways glance and grinned. Matthias didn't dare use the albino's human name. There currently wasn't anything human about him.
"Something the matter, Danmark?" He spat on the ground. "Not liking what you're seeing?"
Matthias could only scowl. Between them was a chair, and in that chair was none other than America. The crazy youth had intentionally gotten himself caught by Germany, Prussia, and their army. Why, well, that was the biggest question on the minds of the Germans and the rest of the Axis allies, and it had become clear when France had escaped their custody once more as well as Norway.
'And he's paying that price right now,' Denmark mused, his heart heavy and aching. America's head lolled forward, as if he were unconscious, and he probably was. After he'd managed to get Lukas out to safety, the beatings Gilbert and Ludwig gave him intensified. And yet America remained steadfast. He even promised to help Matthias get out of it, but the Dane refused. Not if it meant keeping Lukas and Berald safe. Matthias gave Gilbert a dead-eyed stare . . .
"I think it's probably better that you didn't learn whatever it was that troubled him that night," Denmark remarked softly, exhaling and holding his phone tight to his chest. "You're right. It's a wonder he and I trusted you after the war . . . but then you went through some shitty things, too, under the Soviet yoke. Just shows how forgiving Alfred himself can be, you know? Even if his people aren't always that way, he is."
"Ja," Gilbert agreed. "He is. And I wish I could make amends for the shitty, unawesome things I did to him, and to you, during the war. Help me, Matthias. Please help me to reach him. If I have to camp outside his embassy here to talk to him, I will. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure he knows." He then let out a soft laugh. "You know, Feliciano tried to get America to the meeting with his bosses by using pasta. Said he wouldn't be there unless America was there."
"How'd that work out?" Matthias asked, already knowing the answer. He just had to pretend he didn't know the answer.
"It didn't." Prussia exhaled. "Like I said, America is claiming illness. It's possible, since the pandemic is barely over, but still. I have a hard time believing anything can keep that kid down like that." He met Denmark's gaze again, his expression earnest. "Will you help us, Matthias? Help us reach him? Help us stop him from completely shutting down like this? I know China says he's going to declare war – Ludwig and I have read that book, too – but there's just something not right here. There's something more that Canada and Mexico haven't said about their last meetings with him. I'm almost certain of that."
"Aside from adding my voice to the call for a world meeting and possibly letting you camp outside of his embassy, what would you have me do?"
'Please, Lukas, have a distraction for him. Or Tino. Anyone. Please,' Denmark pleaded. 'I could certainly use the help to keep him away from America until America is ready to see him . . . if he'll ever be ready to see the world ever again.'
Hey guys. Sorry this is a really late update, and it isn't even the complete chapter. I do have Finland's PoV as the next part for the Nordic 5. I might even toss in Norway, but I can't promise when I'll be able to update again. I'm currently processing the deaths of my dog last month - she was 15, not breathing well, and so I had to send her across the Rainbow Bridge - and my dad this past Saturday. But I did want to get Denmark's PoV out so I could post this bit about the passings I'm dealing with. The process for my dad is even harder because he went to the Philippines before the shutdowns, and I haven't seen him in person since before he left. I'm also the eldest child so I get to deal with the paperwork aspect to all of this. I love my dad, he enjoyed watching Hetalia with me the one time I had my DVDs with me, and I'm working on getting this done.
It's been a personal hell, but I'm doing my best. In the meantime, please bear with me on getting the updates out and enjoy Denmark's side of the story. (Yeah, it took a turn even I wasn't expecting!)