Then

Sweden didn't wear glasses when we were little. In fact, he only started wearing them because Finland made him. He got frustrated when Denmark hid them from him; and he became really pissed when Denmark blamed it on me. When I asked the Swedish why he needed glasses, he told me that he couldn't see anything without them.

I told him that he should be proud of his glasses. Nobody else in the family had them. "Not really," Sweden told me, "they're quite a nuisance." That was the end of the conversation.

Sweden and I didn't really talk a lot. In fact, Sweden didn't talk a lot to anybody – except for Finland, maybe – about anything. He was my silent older brother whom I enjoyed reading with before we went to bed. He was the one who hammered together pieces of wood to make a mini ark for me to float in the streams. He was the one who cooked extra desserts for me, the one who attended to my injuries, and the one who taught me how to identify edible fruit. When summer came and the forest ground was crawling with red ants, Sweden would lift me onto his shoulders and walk through them as if it were no problem. I never did see the ant bites, for later on he always wore long pants or kept himself in his room.

On the afternoon of the glasses incident, Norway was out with Finland, and Denmark was in the city. So naturally, I went to look for my remaining brother. I found Sweden sitting in the field behind our house reading – but his spectacles were missing.

"Hey, Suu," I said, approaching my older brother, "what're you doing out here?"

Without taking his eyes off the book, Sweden pointed up at the azure sky and shining sun. I could almost hear his voice in the wind, saying: the weather's good today.

"Oh, could I join you?" I continued brightly. He nodded.

Stretching on the lush green meadow beside my brother, I stared up at the clouds in the sky. "Where're your glasses, Suu?" I asked casually. Next to me, I felt Sweden stiffen slightly.

"Took 'em off."

"But why?"

Silence.

"They don't look stupid, you know. I think you look great in glasses!" I turned and looked at my silent brother. Sweden had turned away from his book and was staring intently at me, his head turned to one side as if he were asking "do you really think so?"

"Yeah!" I smiled enthusiastically. "Don't mind Den. He probably just wants to get them too. See, I bet they're so great that Finland made you put them on!"

"Finland made me put them on because I wasn't seeing well," Sweden murmured.

"So?" Crawling into Sweden's lap, I snuggled up to my older brother who seemed to freeze. "We're still your brothers, right? We love you no matter what! At least… I love you…" I frowned, wondering where that last line had come out from.

To my surprise, Sweden relaxed and nervously, gently patted my head. When he put his arms around me, I felt warm inside.

"… I love you too, Ice."

Now

Finland was out cold at the Sweden's feet as the latter was forcing back Denmark's sword. I inhaled sharply and held my breath.

"Isn't it pitiful that you can't even protect your own comrades?" the Dane leered. I could see that although Denmark was shorter than Sweden, their power was evenly matched. Sweden had to use every inch of muscle in his arm to prevent that blade from slicing him.

"I told you this before, didn't I?" Denmark said. "You're not strong enough, Sweden. GO HOME."

Something about his words hit home. I witnessed a fire burst to life within Sweden's eyes as he gave a sweeping gesture with his arm, knocking Denmark's sword off his hand. Giving his brother a sharp blow in the stomach using the hilt of his sword, Sweden swung his weapon high above his head, striking Denmark in the back. As he stood over the sprawled, trembling figure of the Dane, Sweden's expression indicated that he wasn't angry; neither was he lusting for revenge. My brother's quiet, facial emotion dictated despair.

"It's…not fair," Sweden finally managed, breaking a long silence. It was as if could finally breathe.

"When we were young, we were always under your protection, Den."

Den. This was Denmark's nickname – an endearment that I have never heard Sweden use.

"To be forever in your shadow… it's the same as being called weak." As he said this, the Swedish bit back his tears.

"You were the only one ever getting hurt. It wasn't fair. It's not fair."

I could see that Denmark had just let go of his last spider thread of consciousness as his eyelids slowly slid shut.

"I'm sorry, Den, but it's my turn now."

When I revealed myself, Finland and Denmark had been propped against a large rock. Sweden stared at me intently for ten seconds, and then said in a quiet voice, "how long have you been here?"

I swallowed before guiltily replying, "as long as you have."

My brother sighed and sat down by Finland. The unconscious Finnish had the fabric of his black cloak tightened around the site of injury. It probably wouldn't heal properly with all the scar tissue if there wasn't medicine, I pointed out. Sweden only ignored me and let his gaze linger on Finland. It was then when I sensed the thin, nearly invisible length of string that bonded them together. It felt very much like the bond I held with Norway, only more discreet. With this in mind, I had an abrupt realization that all this while, I had somebody special to rely on, and so did Sweden. All this while, when we confessed our problems and secrets to somebody special who would willingly listen, Denmark had nobody.

Norway must have traced us by footprints, for he showed up in a brown, woolen hooded cloak, carrying a bag of herbs and linen cloth. He and Sweden regarded each other with equal, startlingly similar, silent respect as the Norwegian proceeded to remove the cloak and apply ointment on Finland's wounds.

When that was done, Sweden stood up. His bespectacled eyes never once left the shape of Finland's smaller, curled up body. Norway and I stood up too, the Norwegian looking his older brother in the eye.

"We won't stop you from leaving," my brother said in a crisp voice, "do as you wish." There seemed to be a mask hanging in front of Norway's face. He used to tell me "you must never betray your emotions". I wasn't good at this and failed miserably as of now. Norway shot me a stern look and returned his icy gaze to the Swedish.

A cloud of guilt shadowed Sweden's face for a moment, then his resolve seemed to strengthen. "Thank you," he said softly. I felt like my heart had been ripped in two – one half followed Sweden, the other half remained with the rest of my family. Apologies and thanks never came easy to my older brothers – with the exception of Finland – especially Sweden, being the oldest. His stony front was his best tool.

Sweden seemed torn for a moment, and then he stooped down to my height and placed a large hand on my mop of silvery hair.

"See you, Ice," he said very gently. I reached up and took his hand. "Will you…come back?" I asked gingerly, afraid to meet my brother's piercing gaze.

"Yeah."

"How long will it be?"

I felt Sweden hesitate, calculating his response. While keeping his face carefully blank, he replied, "I don't know." I felt as if his words were as sharp as the blade of his sword, cutting into my heart and leaving a deep scar that would never heal. Norway's words echoed through my mind.

Never betray your emotions.

This time, I succeeded.

Denmark and Finland were larger than Norway and me, so we couldn't lug them back. Instead, we curled up next to each other. I never realized that Norway had been holding onto my hand the entire time, even while we were watching Sweden's fading shadow. The snow remembered him from his prints.

"Are you cold?" Norway cupped my hands with his and gently exhaled into them. Blushing, I pulled away from him. "I'm not a child, Norge, you don't have to do this…" I mumbled.

"Says you."

To my left, I felt Denmark stir. Norway leaned forward to get a better view of our brother and raised an eyebrow.

"Welcome back, dougebag. Now that you're awake we can get going. Carry Finland." With that, the Norwegian stood up, ready to take charge.

Denmark looked confused as he sat up.

"…why am I still alive?"

"It hurts, doesn't it," Norway snapped, cutting Denmark's dreamy trance. "Not physically, I suppose. But I suppose it hurts right here." He jabbed a finger at Denmark's chest, the spot above the Dane's heart.

Denmark clutched the fabric as I saw guilt-riddled tears spill down his cheeks. "Yeah, it does."

"It hurts for everybody," Norway stated harshly, "and it's your fault… bloody dougebag."

The Norwegian turned away from Denmark, obviously attempting to hold up his icy mask long past its limit. "Come on. If you continue sitting on the floor I'll step on you. Carry Finland and let's go home."

…

I watched a slow, shy smile spread across Denmark's face – one I hadn't seen in almost years.

"I'm sorry Norge."

…

I felt Norway soften, and he stuttered when he spoke. "Y-you should be! Now move, dammit."

As we slowly trudged back home, Norway leading, I fell back into pace with Denmark to keep him company.

"…hey…Ice," Denmark murmured. It had been years that Denmark had used my shortened name. For the longest time, my older brother had barely regarded my existence and addressed me by a formal 'Iceland'.

"…?"

"All those years ago, when I brought you to the lake to make a wish, what did you wish for?"

I wished that I couldn't remember what my younger self had wished for so earnestly. But I did. Now my older brother, who hadn't requested anything from me for so long, had asked me a simple question. Why couldn't I bring myself to answer him honestly? Making sure that Norway was out of ear-shot, I held my breath – as if I would shatter into a million tiny pieces if I exhaled – and whispered my wish to Denmark, feeling my emotional self crack and dissipate with the biting, icy wind.

"I wished that my brothers would always, always be by my side."

Denmark couldn't meet my stare, and adverted his guilty gaze to the snow as he adjusted Finland on his back.

"I…guess it won't come true since I told you," I managed a stiff smile as the Dane murmured a barely audible I'm sorry, Ice to himself.

Running ahead to take Norway's hand like a child, I realized that I had lost my ability to cry.