Norway was angry and humiliated, and so many other emotions he couldn't find names for them. He had felt this way before, 241 years ago, to be exact. He'd thought that it was over, that he wouldn't have to feel this way again.

He couldn't tell if Denmark had been serious; it was hard to tell sometimes. Last time, he hadn't thought he was being serious. But he had been.

The kiss had felt serious- caring, even. But last time…

He'd sworn off romantic relations after 1814. He'd been hurt too much.

He could admit it to himself, if only to himself: he was afraid of being hurt again.

A sudden noise snapped him out of his thoughts. A plane landing?

It shouldn't be landing here; the airfield was on the other side of camp.

He went to investigate.

Yes, a plane was definitely landing in a small clearing about a mile away from the camp.

Using skills gained from years of having to hunt for his dinner, he silently crept to the edge of the clearing. After all, he didn't know whose plane it was.

He watched as America jumped out of the plane. What was America doing here? Had he gotten lost? That would make sense, but…

America began striding towards Norway's hiding place. Norway realized that if he did not do something, America would find him. Norway preferred to find rather than be found.

Before America could come closer, Norway stepped out of the bushes. It was a rash decision, sure, but Norway had not always been known for his level-headedness.

"Hello, America."

"Norway, why are you all alone in the woods?"

"I could ask the same of you, but I'd rather cut your heart out, so you know what you've put me through." Sure, Norway was a little blood-thirsty, but given the circumstances, and you really blame him?

"Oh, why don't go all Viking on me? I'm so afraid," America mocked.

Norway grabbed the front of America's shirt. "You should be afraid, boy."

America spluttered indignantly. "I-I am not a boy!"

"No, I bet you'd scream like a little girl," Norway returned absently. This seemed far too easy; capturing America should have been harder.

Something writhed within Norway- a dark, malevolent thing he thought he'd banished. Blood magic. More specifically, the other side of his personality, the one that had taken the name "Sigmund" upon itself, the one that used blood magic. This terrified Norway more than he wanted to admit. The desire to use the blood magic, though, that was irresistible. It had been such a long, long time…
A small part of his brain, asked where the blood was coming from. The larger part, the part that Sigmund had taken over, asked why he care; blood was blood, and using it to fuel his magic would feel so good…The last bit, a part far more well-mannered than Sigmund, pointed out the blood dripping from America's mouth- he'd probably just bit his lip or something.

As best as he could, he quelled the want- the need! -to use the blood magic. Very few things in this world were truly evil, and this was one of them. It was difficult, so difficult, especially while looking at America (so young and full of life!), but he…managed.

Disgusted by himself (Sigmund's presence made him feel unclean), he pushed America away. America fell, but was up in an instant.

"You think you're so special," Norway hissed. "Never had to pay for your own mistakes. Never called out for interfering in business not your own. But I called you out. I made you pay. That's what this is about, isn't it?"

America punched Norway in the mouth. Norway felt his lip scrape against teeth; blood welled up in his mouth. He spat it out.

"Nothing to say? Well, I have no regrets. You were getting too prideful, and pride goeth before the fall, as they say."

It was a dangerous game Norway played, but he didn't care anymore. He used magic (the regular kind, not blood magic) to hold America in place- at least, he tried. Something was blocking him…

He frowned and tried again.

America smirked. "Your 'magic' isn't working?"

Norway tried again. Nothing.

America's grim grew wider as he pulled something out of his shirt: a plain, gold ring on a silver chain. "It was a gift from England when I was little. It-"

"Deflects magic." Faen!"

America threw another punch. Norway tried to stop him by grabbing his wrist, but to no avail. America could, when he felt like it, drag a car by its front fender when he felt like it. Norway wasn't really a match for him physically. The punch still landed, this time breaking Norway's nose with a very interesting sound.

The only words that Norway could find to describe the sensation were "really painful." (That was the clean version.) His mind was rather preoccupied.

Norway tried to throw a punch, but his wrist was captured. Within seconds, his arm was twisted painfully behind him, and America's arm was across his throat.

"Do you surrender?" America asked is a low whisper.

"Never." He hoped the blood from his broken nose stained America's beloved bomber jacket.

"I won't kill you." America's tone was deceptively childish.

"Is that what you said to Hawaii?"

"I think you'll agree that's it's lonely at the top, Norway."

"I knew that you would come into this world. One of the few times I could peer into the future, I saw you, a light among the darkness. Or perhaps it was Germany. You two are much the same, though, he chose repentance. What will you choose, America?" Norway coughed and spat blood. Blood really did have a vile taste.

"Don't compare me to him!"

Norway chuckled. Perhaps, it wasn't really Norway; it seemed his other side was taking over. "Shall I compare thee to Russia, then? Thou art more powerful and cruel."

"Don't mock me, Norway. I thought we were friends!"

"You thought wring, America. We could've been friends, though." He tried, with no success, to kick America in the shin.

He could feel America shake his head. "I can't let you see where I'm taking you. You understand, right? It's just politics."

It wasn't called a sleeper hold for nothing.

Norway watched the world grow dark around him.

A/N: Headcannon: The 2p!'s are just a state of mind. Norway's is named Sigmund and is an evil little bastard, whose fairy companion has...chosen an alternate lifestyle. Sigmund enjoys heavy metal and death metal, is a psychopath, and really likes blood magic. Oh, and he'll appear in later chapters.