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.

Denmark listened as the radio in the other room went through various frequencies; since the assault on the primary news center of France, there had been no transmissions such a radio could pick up. He didn't see any reason to tell Norway that there was nothing to hear anymore. The smaller nation surely knew already. Perhaps the details weren't Norway's to know but days of scanning frequencies had to have brought that point home to roost.

The Dane rose from his chair and walked to the door; he had put Norway's room just off his primary office's chambers. He all but lived in that part of his house now. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen his own bed. The couch was plenty comfortable at least and he had wanted to be on hand if the other nation had made any needs known.

The only thing he had asked for, however, was that radio. Denmark stood in the doorway, watching him turn through the frequencies. It hadn't been a mystery why Norway had made that request; he must have recalled Denmark's comment that some of his people had still had functioning radios that had picked up the messages sent as the ships approached. Some of them had even possessed the kind that could send, not merely receive.

The Dane shook his head but kept his silence. There would be no messages coming from the far north of Europe; every Norwegian who had possessed such things had already been evacuated. And they had never had power enough to cross the waters; weak signals were easily lost amid all the radiation. He couldn't bring himself to say it to the smaller nation, however.

Norway was still so very weak; his people were recovering but they numbered so few. Denmark had no doubt they would maintain their identity as Norwegians; that absolute abhorrence they had for change would see to that. But he doubted they would ever be numerous enough to count as a country again. A city, perhaps…

Yes, he could probably convince his boss to let him establish something like that in the interior; they still had cities to repair and populations had shifted. He could set Norway up in one of the refitted cities and let him claim it as his people's new home. Two birds with one stone then; it gave them a place where they could keep their ways and that, in turn, would keep Norway alive.

And very safely out of the way of any more of this damned insanity. Every world war had pushed them all, but this time it had come much too close to simply killing Norway outright. He just wouldn't change how he handled anything. Or so Denmark had always thought. Watching him now, turning that dial endlessly and listening, a sickening realization descended on him.

Norway had changed in this; once he would have been demanding- if not outright taking -the Danish fleet to return to his land and hunt for survivors himself. He wouldn't trust Denmark to do it, he wouldn't be sitting here turning a useless knob and listening in hope of hearing some report. The motion wasn't even as hopeful as it had been once.

The smaller blond simply leaned against the table, head cradled on one arm as the other hand worked the dial listlessly; he wasn't even looking at the radio. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the window and the view that grew a little darker day by day. The ocean winds kept the worst of the ash cloud away but as it grew thicker over the globe, it was eventually going to take hold here as well.

The Dane sighed and pushed away from the frame, though Norway gave no reaction to his deliberately heavy stride. Either he had known Denmark was there all along, or he simply didn't care. The taller nation came to stand behind Norway and reached down to pull his hand away from the dial as his other hand slipped down to brush over his forehead.

The skin was still too hot, too dry; the Dane shouldn't have hoped otherwise. A few weeks was not nearly long enough to recover from something like this. It could be decades or longer…if he ever made a full recovery at all.

"You shouldn't be out of bed, Norge…" He let his hands slip down to gather the smaller nation up; this time there was no fighting or arguing, just a silent form of resignation. Dulled violet eyes remained fixed in that uncaring stare as Denmark carried him back to his bed; some days were better than others. Sometimes Norway almost seemed like himself again.

But most days were like this, now. The other silent, unresisting in the way only a doll should be. He had barely heard so much as three whole sentences out of Norway since bringing him back to his house.

Denmark settled him on the bed again and tucked the blankets up about him, though he lingered to brush his lips against the other's forehead in an attempt to reassure or at least raise a protest or insult, something. Silence was his only reward as he waited, then he sighed softly against blond hair.

"It will be all right, Norge; I'll make everything right again, I promise." That brought a flicker of expression at least, though he must have been mistaken. Apprehension had touched that unresponsive mask briefly…why? "Just rest; everything is being taken care of."

No further reaction rose from the smaller nation in reply; Denmark shook his head and stood straighter. He waited until the other's eyes closed and walked out of the room again, clicking the radio off as he went.

The Dane wasn't used to wondering if he was doing the proper thing; his decisions had always been swift and well thought out when it truly mattered. This time wasn't any different. So why did Norway continue to draw away from him? Was he doing something wrong and didn't realize it?

He cared for the other nation's needs: shelter, food, drink, clothing, medicine- for both the incarnation that bore the country's name and for his people. Because of that, the Norwegians and Norway would survive, if in a lessened form. How could he be going wrong in doing all of that?

Frustration followed him back to his desk as he settled down to try to attend to the necessary paperwork; he needed to draw up the plans for adjusting one of those cities for Norway's use. It wouldn't get his mind off the other's apprehension but it would at least help prove he was doing all of this for him, wouldn't it?

The pen had barely touched the paper when a soft sound rose from the other room: the radio was on again. Denmark closed his eyes and set the pen down, uttering a soft and helpless feeling curse to the room around him.

"How can I help you, Norge, when you're doing everything you can to make sure I can't..?"