Days passed, seemingly without end.
No change.
The doctors said that it was normal, especially after something traumatic like that. Finland said that they'd just have to wait; if Norway wanted to wake up, he would.
Denmark didn't like to consider the other option.
And even if (when!) Norway woke up, would he be the same?
There was no way of knowing.
Denmark tipped his head back, running his hands through his hair. Why did this have to happen?
The soft pings of the monitoring machine filled the room, quiet but pervasive.
That never changed.
Other things changed: the worry lines on Finland's face had grown gradually deeper, most of the casts had been removed, much of the panic in what was left of the U.S. had been quelled, the world itself was constantly changing.
A small sound interrupted his thoughts. It was, unlike the pings, organic in nature, so utterly different it caught his attention immediately.
Tiredly, he raised his head and looked over at the bed. Was it his imagination, or had Norway's hand moved just a little?
The sound came again, and Denmark realized that Norway was crying in his sleep (it wasn't possible to cry in a coma, was it? Denmark thought not.).
A good and bad sign; Norway was waking up, at least.
Denmark sat down at the edge of the bed. "Shoooosh…" Gently, he brushed the hair out of Norway's eyes.
Denmark hated to see Norway cry.
So, he lay down next to the crying man and held him close, hoping that he would wake soon.