A few evenings later, Norway read the casualty report.
He didn't need to; he had felt every single one of those deaths as they happened. But the paper in his hand was like an anchor. It was real, but what was on it? That was not. Those deaths were only on paper. Everything he's felt was only a dream- a horrible, terrible dream, but a dream nonetheless.
He read it again: almost seven hundred dead, nearly twice that injured in some way. A third of the injured were not expected to last until morning.
He was glad Iceland had offered to watch Normandy tonight. He didn't want her to see him cry; no child should have to watch their parent cry.
He crumpled the report and threw it in the trashcan. He was just so tired. But he could not sleep. That, too was America's fault: the Siege of Oslo kept him up at night.
It wasn't going well.
He threw a wad of used tissues into the trashcan. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.
Maybe it was time to call on his allies in Asia. He didn't really want this to escalate into a world war, but…
He caught a glimpse of a half-covered folder on his desk. He turned away. He didn't want to think about that, what it would mean if anyone had to read it.
A knock on the tent pole distracted him. "Yes?"
Denmark waltzed into the tent. "Hey, Norge."
"Hello. What brings you here?" Norway adopted a very neutral tone; he trusted Denmark (mostly), but not enough to let him see him be this weak.
Denmark shrugged. "Haven't seen you much recently."
"Oh. Okay."
"So, Norge, how are you?"
"I've been better, frankly." Understatement of the millennium.
"Been worse?"
"…Yes." Norway refrained from mentioning anything about four-hundred-year nights.
"Then it's alright."
It most certainly not "alright." "Idiot."
"Perhaps, but I'm your idiot."
"No, you're not. This union you coerced me into does not make it so that we are in a close personal union."
Denmark shrugged. "Same difference. Anyway-"
"It is not remotely the same thing at all."
Denmark studied Norway for a second; Norway could feel his gaze on the back of his head.
"D'ya know what you need, Lukas?"
Norway turned so he could see Denmark better. "No, what?"
Smirking, Denmark put a hand on the back of Norway's head and pulled him into a slow, gentle kiss. It was such a surprise that Norway let himself be kissed. It was so surprising that he kissed back. Denmark was so alive, so warm compared to Norway…
When Norway realized what was happening, he pulled away and slapped Denmark.
"Don't you ever-!" Norway began, breath ragged and cheeks burning.
"I could've sworn that you were enjoying it," Denmark muttered, rubbing his cheek. "I don't understand why you're acting like this."
"I don't want this."
"Want what?"
"I don't want- I don't need! - a relationship right now! I-I can't do this anymore."
"Maybe you need someone to take care of you. Someone you know well and someone who knows you well. What you like, what you dislike. Someone to look after you while you look after everything else."
"Are you suggesting yourself? Because you remember how that turned out." Norway reached for one of the pill bottles scattered across his desk. He almost couldn't get the bottle open.
"Pain pills?"
"Heart medication."
"Need help?"
"No." The cap came off. He dried-swallowed two pills. They went to work immediately; his heart slowed to the point where he could actually hear the individual beats. "I took you up on that offer once and look how it turned out."
"That's not my fault! Sve-!"
"Stop. It's no one's fault but your own. You and your pride!"
"Yes, I have a big pride- a huge pride! I'm an egomaniac, ok? But at least I have emotions. I'm not some cold-hearted bastard."
"It's difficult to have emotions when everything you have is stolen from you, when you are little more than property. But you wouldn't understand that, would you, Canary?" Norway stood up. "You have not had to fight for everything you have, okay? You can't judge me!"
"I never said I was!"
"You don't know what I've been through, Magnus. The fires of Hell and back, it seems sometimes. There is only so much a person can take, and I am through."
He strode past Denmark, but Denmark grabbed his arm.
"Don't you care for me? After all we went through together?"
Norway didn't say anything; he just glared up at the Dane.
"What about Sweden? Did you love him?"
A pause, in which Norway tried escaping Denmark's grasp. "No. He thinks I did, but I didn't. I never did."
"Who did your heart belong to then?" Denmark asked in a low voice. "Did you ever love me?"
"No." Norway clenched his hands into fists, but he didn't think Denmark noticed. After a moment (in which Denmark's face went through several interesting transformations), he succeeded in pulling away. He left the tent, hissing, "Don't follow me."
Denmark watched as Norway strode away, out of camp.
Had Norway been lying? Denmark couldn't say for sure. He'd known Norway for over a thousand years, but he couldn't tell if he was lying. What irony.
Norway had reached the edge of camp when words returned to Denmark. "Coward! Always such a coward, Norway! Every time something comes along that you can't handle, you run away like that coward you are! It's just like 1814 all over again!"
Frustrated and angry, Denmark stalked off in the other direction.
Norway didn't need him? Fine, he didn't need Norway either.
A/N: Denmark has really bad timing. All I have to say about that. Oh, and I plan on writing about the event that Denmark and Norway keep referencing in the above chapter. Probably smut, just a warning.