WARNING: This is the definition of YIKES. This is where the edgefest begins.

TW: Implied rape, domestic violence/abuse, general edginess.

I honestly feel bad for doing this to Norway ,)

Lukas ran. He ran as fast and as far as he could. He could not believe this was happening. He did not believe this was happening. He would not believe this was happening. It was all too crazy, too terrifying, too real. He wasn't sure why he felt this way. He usually stood up to whatever he had to and faced his problems. He didn't run away. He wasn't a coward. Yet, something in him told him he had to run. He had to get out. He had to escape. It was the only way.

The only way for what, he was not sure. All he knew is that he could not stay here any longer. At some point, he simply collapsed. As he hit the floor, the lights went out. He felt arms around his waist. A large, muscular pair of arms. He could almost put a name to it, how familiar this felt. He knew who had him. Yet, he couldn't think of who it was. He tried to struggle out of the person's grasp, only to realize he couldn't move a muscle. He couldn't do anything but lay limp as he was carried away.

When he woke up, Lukas found himself on the ground. He groaned, trying to get up. He still couldn't move. He was vaguely aware of some noise. After a few minutes passed, he slowly opened his eyes. His vision was blurred and his thoughts muddled. A few more minutes passed. Norway could string together a few coherent thoughts. Based on his very limited senses, he could see someone pacing back and forth. But something was between them.

Lukas eventually gained full consciousness as he found the feeling slowly returning to his fingers. He was able to move them a bit now. Looking back to the pacing man, he noticed that what had come between them was... many, many table legs. He woke his body up as best he could until he could turn and get a better look at where he was. Norway realized that he was in a cage of sorts, made out of two IKEA tables and who knows how many extra legs for bars. There were two other cages, too. They both seemed to have people in them as well. They looked almost like Denmark and Finland, but not quite.

He growled and tried to break the bars down, but he couldn't seem to summon any of his strength and all he did was make a ruckus before finally collapsing. The pacing suddenly stopped. The man started walking toward him.

"Ah, so y're 'wake," said a deep, familiar voice.

"Sweden," Norway growled. "What's the meaning of this?"

The Swede gave no response as he walked away. The man who looked like Denmark turned to Lukas. Now he noticed that he had red eyes and a short beard. It reminded him of Mathias after No Shave November. In fact, it looked nearly identical, minus the eye color and resting bitch face. He ignored that fact. It really didn't help the heartbreak to think about how hot Mathias was with a beard, after all.

The Dane's lookalike looked just as weak and tired as Norway felt, if not more so. He looked the Norwegian up and down, before speaking in a deep voice that seriously threw Lukas off- he'd be lying if he said he hadn't expected to hear Denmark's voice. But it was a pleasant surprise.

"You're not Loki."

Norway shook his head, raising an eyebrow. "No...? Why would I be one of my old gods?"

"Your old... whatever." The man sighed. "For a second I thought you were my ex... glad I could get away from that fuckin' psycho, but not like this is much better. Or worse. Who're you?"

"Funny... you look like my ex, too. My name's Lukas Bondevik."

"Bondevik... that was his last name." The Dane looked away. "Well, I'm Magnus Køhler. And before you ask what the hell is going on, I don't know."

Lukas raised an eyebrow. "Køhler? That... that's odd."

"What? That was his last name, too? Yeah, crazy coincidences..." Magnus paused. "Wait... Lukas Bondevik... heard that Swedish guy talkin' about ya. How ya broke his heart or whatever... lord of the IKEA... fuckin' crazy, I tell ya."

Lukas paused as memories of nights with Berwald he'd nearly forgotten rushed back to him. In the 1800s, when they were married... some of those memories were the sweetest. But then again, plenty of them were also the most bitter. Their marriage never was perfectly stable, one day full of love and the Swede's constant affection, the next a shouting match accompanied by the bloodshed that should have been left in their Viking days. But now that he thought about it, he probably had broken Sweden's heart when he left. He remembered one particular night that nearly convinced him of that.

May 18th, 1829.

Lukas sat at the edge of the bed he shared with Sweden, hugging his knees to his bare chest as he stared down at the wooden floorboards, still stained with his blood from the night before. Tears welled up in his eyes as he remembered what Berwald had done. How he had cowered, unable to fight back as he was kicked and slapped around like a pathetic little punching bag. How he had cried out for someone, anyone to help, only to be silenced with the other's hand. The Swede's tight grip as he growled in his ear the whole time, how Norway belonged to him, how Norway could never belong to anyone else or leave. How betrayed and violated he felt that night. How, after stripping Norway of every last shred of his dignity, Berwald got a dagger and spelled out in cuts on the Norwegian's back:

"Egenskapen av Sverige" [Property of Sweden]

Even in the present day, with that night nearly eighty-nine years ago, Lukas could feel the blade running through his flesh, scarring the message onto his body. It almost brought tears to his eyes, but he managed to hold it back. However, back then...

Lukas felt sick to his stomach as he remembered that night, quickly looking away from the bloodied floor. Sweden would likely make him clean that later, anyway. He instead stared down at the sheets, freezing up as he noticed a few spots of blood on the sheets. He wondered briefly how those had gotten there, other than the cuts, before the (literal) pain in his ass reminded him again of just how overly rough Sweden had been. Especially without properly preparing him first. He figured Berwald would give him hell for getting his sheets bloody, never mind that Sweden himself was the reason why.

He tensed again as he felt the Swede's burly arms around his waist. Berwald pressed a soft kiss to his neck before pulling him down until his face was resting against the taller man's chest. "M'rnin', pr'ncess," he muttered.

Lukas quickly wiped away his tears, resting one hand on Berwald's bare chest, the other on his side. He knew Sweden wouldn't get as mad at him for the bloody mess if he returned his affection. On his worst days, Sweden might have even hurt him if he was denied cuddles. Norway hated being forced to show affection like this, almost as much as he hated being claimed as someone else's property and stripped of his own identity. But he knew he would be beaten if he rejected the Swede. So, he had no choice but to love on him while holding back his tears. "Good morning, my king," he forced himself to say in the sweetest voice he could manage.

Berwald hummed softly in acknowledgement, pulling Norway closer to him. The pair laid like that, their nude bodies intertwined in silence, for what seemed to Norway an eternity before Sweden pulled himself away. He slowly reached over to the nightstand, putting on his glasses and staring at Lukas, his piercing gaze running up and down his body as if scanning for any imperfection or sign of treachery. It always made Lukas uncomfortable when Sweden looked at him that way. He felt guilty of something, and Sweden usually wanted something from him. "T'rn 'round," the Swede ordered.

Norway nodded as he obeyed. He felt that same gaze boring into the cuts from last night, Berwald letting out a small chuckle of something like pride or superiority as he ran his thumb across the letters. Lukas hung his head in shame, his voice coming out small and meek. "I'm sorry for celebrating my constitution day. I wasn't thinking right. I deserved the punishment. I shouldn't have resisted your control over me. All I ask is that you don't hurt me again."

Looking back on that moment, Norway felt both outraged and ashamed. He should have just acted on his bottled up anger and resisted. He should have done something. Anything would be less humiliating than submitting so pathetically. Especially after Sweden's response.

Berwald sighed, tightly hugging Norway and kissing his cheek. "No. 'M s'rry. Y've got th' right t' express y'rself. Should've r'spected that. Shouldn't h've done... th's."

Lukas blushed lightly, glancing back to him. "Sve? What do you mean...?"

Sweden shook his head, looking around and grabbing Norway's clothes from off the floor. Torn and bloodied. Lukas couldn't go around in that. He got up, walking over to the closet to look for some of his own clothes to put on Lukas. He handed an outfit a few sizes too large to the Norwegian. "H're. Y' know how... p'ssessive we g't. Viking blood."

Norway nodded, trembling slightly as he put on the clothes. They were a bit too big for him, but he was very comfortable in them. Sweden almost gave a hint of a smile at how cute Lukas looked in his clothes. Norway limped back over to him, falling into his arms. He wasn't going to do much walking today... and Sweden's arms were very warm and comfortable, no matter how much Norway disliked him at the moment. He hummed softly. "You are very possessive of me, my king," he rested his head against the Swede's chest, "but why aren't you so possessive of Finland? Do you not love him truly? Otherwise the Finnish War would have lasted longer."

Berwald hummed quietly in thought, holding Lukas close to him. After about a minute, his finally spoke. "L'ved y' since th' Viking d'ys."

Norway raised an eyebrow. "But... back then was when I fell in love with Denmark, no?"

Sweden's expression darkened a bit as he heard the name, and Norway tensed up, bracing himself for some kind of hit. Yet nothing came. Just a sigh. "Thought y' were m'ne. Brought y' s'me fl'wers... even wrote y' a poem. Went t' court y'. Found y' w'th th't Dane." He smirked. "Y' looked th' v'ry def'nition 'f ergi

[A/N: Ergi literally translates from Old Norse to cowardly, unmanly, et cetera, but it also had connotations of... ahem, taking it up the ass. I just couldn't think of a better English word to use there.]

Lukas's face turned completely red. Had Sweden really seen him in such a position? Considering what had happened last night, it wasn't so bad, but given the time period... well, the shame he'd felt when the rush of the moment was over had resurfaced all over again. "I'm... sorry you had to see me that way with someone else, my king," he mumbled, "and... you still love me...?"

Berwald gave a tiny smile as he nodded, pecking Lukas on the lips. "Alw'ys h've. Alw'ys w'll."

Sudden snap back to present day. Lukas slowly nodded. "I... guess I did kind of break his heart..."

Magnus sighed, looking away. "That doesn't explain why Toni and I are here, though."

Lukas shrugged, thinking for a moment before coming to a possible conclusion. "Well... you do look like his archrival. And that Toni guy looks like his... er, wife."

"Explains why he keeps calling him dear or sweetie or whatever."

Norway paused, his heart sinking as he stared down at the ground. "So... what does he do with you guys? Why are you here?"

Magnus managed a small, almost condescending smile. "I'll let ya keep your innocence for now."