Author: Cyhirae
Edited: Lumineux

Disclaimer: Hetalia, the characters and the songs referenced are not mine or Lumineux's; they belong to their respective creators. We just borrowed them for this dark little story.

The path across the waters back to his home had not been an easy one to traverse for Denmark. It had not been due to any storms or attacks; it had all been due to Norway's continued poor health and panic attacks when he did awaken. They never lasted for long at least, as the nation barely had the strength to even sit up.

The thing that worried Denmark most was how rarely Norway did awaken. The trip was slow by necessity; many of those they carried on the returning ships were of frail health. The most dire cases that could be moved had been given priority in being sent across; the Dane had since decided he would not allow even one to be neglected.

They were all Norway's life; he could barely afford to lose even one, let alone as many as now suffered on the ships as they went. Once this load was deposited; the ships would refuel, rotate crews and head back immediately. Denmark would not be going with them this time, however. He had his own work to do here in that frail, frighteningly quiet figure he carried ashore once the ships docked.

The Dane watched from his window as the ships left for the ruined land again, then turned his attention to the city below the window of Norway's room. They had not evaded all damage in the war that was now winding down across the globe to mere skirmishes as budgets ran thin, populations thinned and productivity dropped. Here and there, burns showed across buildings, others bore marks of bullets or shrapnel that had scarred them….

But there was none of the all encompassing radiation, none of the disease, that had so devastated Norway. Small though they were, the land he called his own had protection simply by where it stood. Perhaps Germany was no longer the terror it had been in the previous war, but it was nothing to rile lightly either; it was also the more tempting target if one was going to fire a missile in this direction.

And unlike Norway, the Danes had not forgotten how they had dealt with the last war. They had not tried to stand against powers they could not defeat; and like before, those powers had been collapsed in on themselves. No one ruled Denmark for long but Denmark; it was all in knowing when to bow and pay lip service while hedging your bets.

Those across the water had been too proud to play that game; and they had paid for it. Ships had been sent to Sweden and Finland as well, but Denmark had his doubts of hearing anything hopeful. Norway had been struck less harshly than the other two.

He only had to glance to the bed to know how much damage 'less harshly' still rated as.

Denmark sighed and then moved to pull the drapes open as wide as he could; Norway had reacted poorly whenever he had turned off the light of the cabin; so now he made sure the room was well lit by natural, warm light. Their skies were not free of the ash that drifted from the lands across the sea but it was more a haze than a thick, cruel cloud.

Nuclear winter, they were claiming, was beginning to settle onto the world. In Denmark, at least, one could still see blue sky. In much of Europe, that was already impossible…their skies were as dark as Norway's, allowing only a pitiful amount of light. Perhaps it would spread here in time as cities continued to smolder into ruin, too tainted for anyone to dare approach and douse properly.

But it was, at least, not their buildings adding fuel to the forth coming winter.

Denmark turned from the window and approached the bed; Norway was looking better, if only for having had the ash washed away and rags replaced with a simple warm shift. His expression was still haunted by something, soft denials rising from him even in his sleep…but he stirred less restlessly as Denmark watched. The taller nation chose to take that as a positive sign and pulled the blankets up a bit higher before turning to leave for the time being.

It would be many weeks before Norway was healthy enough to do anything more than rest. For now, all Denmark could do was continue to save the smaller nation's people and pray it was enough.

~oOo~

The weeks passed slowly, but eventually Norway began to stay awake for longer periods of time; an hour or two at first, then longer intervals until something like a proper sleep cycle had begun again. The coughing did not vanish altogether but it gradually loosened its hold on his lungs and throat so he could breath more naturally and begin to speak once more.

The bed had begun to feel more like a prison, but he lay in it all the same at Denmark's insistence; one backed by the threat to flat out bind him to said bed if he tried to disregard it. He had little interest in seeing if it was simply the Dane's sense of humor or a legitimate threat. Instead, he was simply listening to a radio as he stared out the window. The sky had grown darker since he had first woken to see it, but slowly so. The ocean winds favored Denmark in the same way they had the shores of Norway, pushing the worst of it all back inland.

And Denmark had no high ridge of mountains and glaciers to prevent it from doing just that. Once again, the destruction of a World War was failing to find any permanent foothold among the Danes. They had taken their hits and losses as all did when the world went insane, but they would pick themselves up, dust off and start rebuilding where they had to.

From everything the radio was saying, most of Europe could not say the same. He listened to the weather reports talking of the incoming ash storms over the heart of Europe, of the steadily growing cold that gripped Russia far too early in the seasons.

He heard about dying crops, tainted water and people dying as illnesses humans had tampered with were set loose. And most of all, he heard the reports of battles that were still being fought, among all the devastation.

They were dying; everyone had already lost this war. And they were still fighting. Norway clenched his eyes shut, uttering a short, soft curse to the ceiling above.

"Damn fools, all of them..."

Every last one of those who still fought were fools. He didn't even know which countries were still doing it; the radio announcer seemed uncertain themselves for who the still combating forces belonged to. All they were doing was announcing where the fighting was, to warn anyone away. There were no reports about other parts of the world. No one knew what was happening in Asia, Africa, Australia or the Americas.

Just as well, Norway decided. I'm hearing enough idiocy as it is from Europe alone.

Suddenly the radio went silent; Norway opened his eyes again to weakly bat at the antenna to try to get the station to come back in. As he listened though, he realized the station had not gone out, he could hear people talking, the news caster's voice among them. The tones were near hysterical and panicked…he strained to make out what they were saying.

An explosion, a scream…and the radio fell into the dead silence of an empty signal. Norway's hand shook on the dial as he recalled similar cries, then he dropped back down to the bed. He rolled over onto his side, eyes closing.

Once again, just as well. Norway curled up beneath the blanket and laid there, willing sleep to come. There wasn't anything worth hearing anyway.

Yet he made no move to turn the radio off; he let the white noise fill the room and listened to catch any sudden shifts in sound in that static. Perhaps the station had simply caught the edge of a shell and their transmitter knocked out. Then they'd be back on the air in short order, no doubt; people wanted those reports.

As the blond nation finally felt sleep claim him, however, the radio remained silent.