Author's Note:

Okay, there will be a lot of A/Ns here (just so you all know!) My mother wasn't as angry but she is keeping an eye on me...so, yeah...I am forced to only write during weekends (which sucks!) The past 5 or 6 stories I posted were posted from my Ipad and I usually work now in my Ipad which makes it frustrating to edit here, directly on FF! UGH! Why do I put up with this?

Unrequited update: I have too much going on here that I keep on forgetting to do it...I'll try continuing it tonight.

'Randomness' spoiler: I made another RusCan a few weeks ago and I just finished the main story now. I just need to add a crack pairing, this is more crack than Swedstralia! so...yeah.

:I will be making some Pre-union Nordic family fluff. And I have plans to finally make NorBela star on their own chapter... Heck, maybe i'll start writing some NorxNo!Bela later and rate it M. LOL, I still like it whatever gender ^^

GCJakey's Note:

'Historical suggestions for DenAme. They have been friends legally (treaty) since 1801.' from Guest! Who are you?!Please tell us. We love thou! XD

To 'guest':

Anyway, I have read the whole back story between Danish-American interaction like half a year ago. Yes, they are in very good terms with each other. But what I noticed from Wiki was the lack of spark...like they were drab and uneventful. (not meaning to be hurtful) Our stories and takes aren't historically inaccurate per se, but they are more on the fact that countries are people that can make their own decisions and can suffer from numerous stuff that doesn't necessarily have to do anything with how their boss and people are doing to the country. plus, we wanted to add that forming relations doesn't necessarily mean that they already met in person.

We were planning to hold this for Unrequited but your question was so good but we couldn't wait anymore. No, this is not a chapter for Unrequited. We tailored it. Since, we never actually included the '1801' thing in mind.

So, I hope that when you do read this guest that you would totally comment and critic and make more suggestions.

Warning: Soft! Sweden, Cold! Norway, Oblivious! Young America. F*CKED UP! Denmark

To guest: "1801"

"Hey, Sve!" America's voice rang painfully on Sweden's ears. He tensed and felt the hair on his back stand up. He felt the hand on his broad shoulder. The strong hand turned (spun) him (violently) around to face the smiling American.

"Can you be any louder?" Sweden frowned, pretending to not like talking to him.

"That wasn't very nice, you know?" America pouted and then his eyes flashed for a second, he was cooking up something ridiculous again. Berwald rolled his eyes with a soft smile.

When he refocused his eyes on Alfred, he saw the younger nation with his fingers pressing both temples, eyes squinting, cheeks puff, silently groaning, and holding his breath to the point of his face becoming oxygen-deprived red.

"Okay, now what are you doing?" He asked, honestly confused.

"...trying to wipe the memory that made you so mean to me..." The American answered curtly.

Being friends with Alfred was like a little brother thing. They fought with each other. They make up in a very awkward fashion. But there was also another side of him...the side that was really hot and feral.

Long before Jett, a depressed, overwhelmingly strong, drunk, insistent and horny Alfred decided to swing by for some Swedish 'buns'...he didn't want to but there was something that made his knees weak when America was off duty from being stupid. He was confident...intelligent in more ways than one...mature...sensual...dominant...and fuck, he knew all the tricks in the bed book, throwing in some of his own stuff. He knew exactly how to get into anyone's pants when he wanted to.

That fucking night changed the Swede forever...and he wasn't the only one. He saw both male and female nations flustered when they were greeted suspiciously by him. He has also seen a lot of women come out of his hotel rooms in numerous occasions, though not anymore.

The older nation snapped out of his momentary daze, returning to see his shorter friend blue without air.

"'Wasn't being mean to you~" Sweden chimed quietly as he walked away.

"H-hey wait a minute!" America jogged after his friend.

"I need help with stuff..." He whispered softly to the taller man's ear.

"What? Want me to kick your government's ass?" Sweden continued to wave the young man off with his retort, which he was extremely proud of. He wasn't good with quips.

"Hell no, I just wanted some help with a level I'm stuck in..." Alfred clarified happily, causing the Swede to get irritated but happy nonetheless to be with the fun-loving nation. Alfred was fun to be around, though he did get curious why he didn't ask big brother first.

"Why don't you ask big br-I mean Denmark?" He blushed, completely flustered with almost slipping.

"Well...he hasn't picked up his phone yet, I mean I left him a text...*56 texts*...and I purposely missed *117* calls...and I did leave a message *about 43*...he must be busy with something." America looked up the ceiling, his hands behind his head. He looked calm but all he could feel was his heart throbbing in worry and breaking over and over again.

America's calls went a little something like 'Please, I'm sorry for doing something that you don't like! With a hidden PLEASE LOVE ME I'M DESPERATE FOR YOUR LOVE, BUT I DON'T THINK YOU'LL REALLY WANT TO LOVE ME BECAUSE OF THE SHIT THAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME' sorta things.

"I see...so...what about the gam-"

*ring**ring**ring*

"Sorry, I have t'go somewhere! I'll text you later...oh yeah, I really liked your post! And yeah, tell J that I said hi!" He said loudly, before sprinting.

"I'll get ya next time, ass!" Sweden threatened, Alfred knew that he should keep his relationship with Australia a secret.

"Why would he ask you to say hi to this 'J'?" A soft blank voice came from behind, instantly making the tall Swede stiffen once more. The tall European turned around reluctantly, meeting his shorter, older brother...Norway.

"N-nothing, i-it's code for a pro-gamer we met online." Sweden frowned and pretended to cough, he never liked smiling at his brothers anymore.

"Oh, okay then..." Lukas looked down the hall. "...still remember the first time we met him...well, I met him, you were just there doing stuff..." The older Scandinavian waved his annoyed brother off.

"J-Ja..." Berwald stood his ground, not wanting to punch his brother.

1801

Norway sat impatiently, shifting in the comfortable seat in the well-made living room of the young nation, America. He had no idea what to expect. Britain called him a nuisance, France called him cute, Finland called him cute, Netherlands called him strong and the most disturbing of all, Sweden told him that he reminded him of big brother.

He knitted his brows, wanting to forget...his body was still badly beaten due to the numerous disputes he has been a part of representing both Norway and Denmark, at the moment.

"Oh, Mr. Norway...do not be so uptight, you might scare the poor lad." The old man sitting beside him was the temporary Danish representative, he had all the laws and diplomatic shit on hand. All Norway had to do was charm the boy and seal the deal.

The door opened softly and came in a rather fit boy with warm blonde locks and crystal blue eyes. He wore some jeans and a normal white shirt that looked a little messy. His eyes gleamed in recognition of the older nation and the young nation practically ran to take a seat.

"You must be mr. Denmark!" He greeted him warmly and before he could even correct him, America started babbling.

"I mean you have to be. You can't be old like that guy!" He pointed at the temporary Danish representative, who was sleeping. "You've been like...awesome from time to time in the history books and I was kinda excited to meet you today...France said that you looked very cool...well he said hot and hunky...but you look less muscular than I expected...anyway..." Norway had enough and grabbed the young boy's wrist. The gloves slid down a bit and he saw a very peculiar looking bracelet...it didn't just looked like a Viking trinket...it looked way more familiar, as if he has seen that particular piece eons ago.

"...oh yeah, you were a Viking right?" The boy's voice broke his pondering. His dull eyes were glued on the shining blue flames of the other's eyes. "I-I'm kinda fond of them..." There was a nostalgic smile that crept on the American' face, hinting that he has been living longer than previously thought.

"Do you want some coffee, Mr. Denmark?" He asked with a warm smile.

"Norway...I'm Norway..." Lukas smiled softly and after an awkward moment of silence, hand still around the boy's wrist, America looked at the sleeping old man in a bit of disappointment.

"Did Mr. Denmark get cursed to look old or something?" He asked Norway, who almost laughed.

"He'll be Denmark for awhile, you see he is a bit busy at the moment." Lukas lied with a smile which was convincing enough for the young nation.

"Oh, okay then...I'll be back with some coffee...or do you want some sweets?" America asked while he walked towards the door.

"Sure." He answered, watching the boy o out the door and leave him with the sleeping old Dane. He wanted this to end right now...he has given up on him, the man that's supposed to be meeting the young nation with him.

"Back then, I thought that big brother would never meet America or do anything country related ever again...guess I was wrong." Norway shrugged his shoulders.

Unbearable silence met him, so he decided to leave Sweden alone. He was already near the door, when the Swede shouted.

"Why can't we go back to the good old days then?" The soft voice was unbelievably audible. "He is back to normal, isn't he?"

"Nej. That's all in the past, big brother's gone...he's nothing but a dense, arrogant idiot who has no recollection of how important he really was to us, of how much he did for us." Lukas frowned angrily. Berwald took a step back, but he wasn't going to give up.

"But if we try we cou-"

"Enough...just...just quit it already, Berwald...I beg of you." Lukas couldn't look at his brother, eyes quivering as he closed the door and left Sweden alone in his thoughts.

~*four hours later, in a mansion somewhere*~

Norway was climbing up the flight of stairs, each step was torture as pressure made his broken feet feel more broken than before.

"Hej..." A cold voice made him stop for a while, looking up the stairs, he saw the Swede waiting at the top. The light shining from the huge window behind made him look more menacing than he actually is.

"Ja, whatever..." He tried his best to continue but he couldn't take another step.

Sweden went down to meet his older brother. "Lemme help ya out." He said softly as he swung the smaller man's arm around his shoulder.

"What are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be somewhere else? How the fuck did you even get in here?" Lukas asked coldly. Sweden didn't see eye-to-eye with his older brother anymore...ever since the 1400s, things weren't as civil between the Nordic family...the only thing that held them together was...gone in a sense.

"I'm good at lock-picking. 'Came to see big brother..." The big Sve blushed and decided to look straight ahead instead of looking at his weakened brother.

"You knew I brought him along?" Lukas asked. However, Sweden didn't answer. "Of course you did." The older man smiled coldly. They were finished with the first flight of stairs, he pointed to the second set of stairs on the left. They continued trekking, Norway was practically carried off the ground.

"I told you...he's long gone. It's been three hundred years now and I've given up on him two centuries ago." Again, the Norwegian was cold.

"That's the problem with you. He was always there to pick you back up on your feet when you gave up...now that he needs you, you're just gonna leave him there?" The usually quiet voice became a bit louder, already starting to get infuriated. They were now in the hall, leading to only one room.

Its doors were white and chains and padlocks were around the knobs and were reinforced with thick sheets of iron.

"Then when were you when he needed you? Why are you blaming everything on me? I was the only one who's stayed behind...remember?" Lukas defended himself, falling against the door in front of them. He unlocked the padlocks and took down the chains.

"You know that there was a war...I-I couldn't stay even if I wanted to." He looked sadly at his older brother.

"My boss wanted me out too, remember? We're people too...we just have the misfortune to feel the pain of war and economical downfall, I can hate on you even if our bosses and people love each other." The older nation looked distraught as well. "Now, do you want to see him?" His hand trembled, clutching on the door knob.

Berwald felt something build up in his throat...he tried to push the lump down but he found out that he couldn't.

"Sve...and Norge...are ya comin' in?" There was a dark cold voice muffled by the door. Then there was a cold snicker, then a chuckle, then full-blown hysterical laughter.

The two looked at each other, they had their 'oh shit' faces on. Each had a hand around one of the knobs of the double door.

They swung the doors open hastily.

"Bro-"

*FLING* *SHRING* *PLUCK*

"Ho-horunge!" Sweden covered his mouth with his eyes wide in horror, staring at the rusty bloody pair of scissors that was thrown and now stuck on the door.

"...oh good, he isn't in a killing mood today. If he was, he would've thrown those at your throat." Norway sounded indifferent. "He is pretty good in his aim."

"...why the fuck would you give him scissors!" Berwald smacked Lukas in the head.

"I thought that making paper dolls would calm him down..." Lukas was being true to his very defensive nature.

"And what did he do?" Sweden asked, curious.

"Here." Norway gave him a bloody piece of paper dolls. You know, if you took out the blood...it was actually very, very beautiful. He grabbed it and twirled around...it was so fucking awesome.

"He said that it was the five of us." Norway informed with a warm blush. Even Sweden was blushing. "...and the blood came from his mouth and he said that we'll be together forever once he kills us all."

The comment made Sweden irk. He looked down and noticed an untouched bowl of soup, it was still warm.

The figure from the shadows sagged his knees and finally stepped into the light. It was there big brother, huge and ripped under the straight jacket and black slacks. His right toe looked like it was strangled, probably from the scissors. His face was deranged and delusional, laughing at nothing and eyes focused on space as he twitched and spasmed to no end, shaking like a leaf.

"He did that with his foot?" Sweden asked curtly.

"Ja." Norway answered looking at his older, snickering brother. "He has gotten very good at it."

The eldest of the three continued to move towards the bowl of soup, then he fell on his face, laughing.

The two couldn't help but almost laugh and squeal.

The Dane sat up and used his foot to get the spoon and expertly feed himself the hot soup. He actually looked refined and gentlemanly. He smiled softly as he cleaned his mouth with a tissue using the same foot.

'Awesome...' They both thought to themselves as the awesome Dane continued to smile at nothing.

Everything went to shit after.

"B-bror..." Sweden came closer, kneeling in front of his ill brother who didn't seem to give a shit.

Denmark just continued to laugh at nothing until a hand redirected his insane eyes to cold blues.

"Bror, it's me..." Sweden wanted to cry, but he wanted to keep himself strong.

"Sve don't!"

The said nation looked back but in a flash, muscular legs were wrapped around his neck, squeezing the life out of him. Denmark twisted his body to sit on his brother's shoulder, continuing his death grip with a huge smile.

The dying country was starting to lose power, things were fading into black and he felt his neck starting to crack.

"STOPPE!" Guards came in and shot the Dane multiple times until he fell from his position to his back, wheezing and laughing.

Sweden fell forward, his hands catching himself. He was gulping air like a fish out of water.

"Are you alright?" Norway helped his brother who was coughing and breathing heavily.

"J-Ja..." He answered shakily as he walked with his older brother out of the room, but not before looking at his Danish brother.

Matthias continued laughing with his teeth gritting in pain. Bullet wounds littered his chest and stomach. The guards even took an extra precaution and stabbed his thighs with long daggers, making the huge nation writhe and groan in pain. However the cold laugh never left.

"Make them stop...L-Lukas...t-they're hurting him." Berwald silently screamed with his pleading hoarse voice. He waited for the immediate reply...however, nothing came from Norway's mouth. He shook him violently.

"Bror...bror...BROR!" Norway looked away as he was shook around.

"This...this is what usually happens..." Lukas pulled down his collar, showing the strangulation marks all around his pale neck. Berwald took a step closer, his hands softly going over the bruises.

"Look, Berwald, I did not want to give up on him...but what choice is there left?" The dull eyes started to tear up, a sole tear running down his chin.

Sweden was left speechless as he hugged his brother tightly, eyes also tearing.

Author's Note:

Did you all like it? I hope it wasn't that big of shocker how we made this story. Anyway, we also wrote a second one that continues from where we left off. Me likey this one.

GCJaeky's Note:

I think the reason why I love DenAme is the fact that they're represented as goofy happy characters in the comics. Then I read history and shit happened so I was only shocked to find a fairly darker side to them that we wanted to bring out of them. Darker doesn't mean evil, it means pain. So...(ADDING THE MAGIC GLITTERS OF NON-HISTORICAL N' PURELY FICTIONAL AND IMPOSSIBLE EVENTS) TADA!

Warnings: Sad! Denmark, Sad! America, Angry! Italy, Therapist! Turkey

Between ill and cured

~*In Denmark's huge Pent House apartment in London*~

Denmark unlocked the doors to his apartment, slouching as he walked to his bed room. He wore a red short-sleeve shirt and cargo shorts. He was already wet in sweat. His rippling body fairly visible by the hugging, stretchable cotton.

He had a shitty day.

He's usually a very happy person, even if he had problems, economically or personally, he usually bore through it. Today was those days filled with tons of deep, dark, well-hidden personal problems that always resurfaced during therapy. He was hypnotized (again) to relive everything...then 'encouraged' (forced) to try to make peace with it. There was a terrible combination with how much trauma he experienced and his long life that made it hard for any therapist to work with

He just came from his therapy session and like every single session since 1815, it has gotten him nowhere. Sure, there were days where there was a little bit of improvement and those little bits of improvements conglomerated into a mass. That's why only forty-percent of his original set of scars, burns and whatnot remained. However, two centuries is kinda slow...he has been switching from therapist to therapist through out the years...he didn't care what nationality or religion, so long as they spoke in one of twenty-six (still adding more) languages he knew. To top it off, the remaining forty percent was like the last pound of fat that was shit to burn off.

The only thing that made him feel well enough to go home was the chapel down the street. It was as if someone was listening to him...hey, even a semi-immortal being believes in something.

He threw himself to his bed, continuously sighing and moping. He'll have a good laugh after tonight, but at the moment going emo felt right.

He rolled to his back and looked at the ceiling in complete darkness.

He didn't believe that he had a good life. He went through hell ever since he knew how to speak. It was hard but he was happy although he was always busy and tired. He had four beloved brothers whom he took good care of. Actually, nothing else mattered in his life, every second was devoted to his brothers. They were like his main reason for living. Although, there wasn't a huge age difference, he was the one who had to act mature for their sake. Let's just say, he was already hunting, cleaning, cooking, sewing, and changing diapers for them at a tender age when 'r's were 'w's and wetting the bed happened every night (oh yeah, he also did his own laundry).

He rolled to his side.

But then, the people around started to use them for their own sick games. He became more exhausted than he already was and still he continued to support his family, There were things that he wished he didn't remember. He wished that he never went to war...

Ultimately, anger was strong and though he fought valiantly despite falling, he was not given even an ounce of pity, he was abandoned by his own boss...yes, the representative was purposely left for the merriment of the enemy.

He shut his eyes and shook his head.

He still remembers how each scar came to be, each morning made the scars feel new and painful. He spaced out at times and when he comes through, he noticed hat tears were already falling. He'd fall to the floor and try to gain enough strength for the long day. When he does, he'd smile and joke about everything but it never really helped. It was a dampener though.

The man, the man most people saw was not him. The man that was impulsive, dense and happy-go-lucky (though he is a happy person) was a persona that he slipped into each time he walked out the door. No matter what he does, he can never be him. His mind made protective barriers that didn't allow him to be vulnerable emotionally (in public anyway), hindering him from asking forgiveness.

Of course, no one saw how broken he really was. No one saw the man that just wanted to say...

'Undsklyd...' He whispered to himself, already starting to cry.

Whenever he tried, he heard voices in the back of his head pushing him to do something else...'drink more beer. Talk louder. Be dense. Be bossy. Be annoying'... He can't control it, he can't force it down. It made him feel that asking for their forgiveness was wrong and impossible, as if it wasn't worth it.

He remembered how much he hurt his brothers. It was his fault that he became psychopathic. He couldn't control himself with his mind scrambled. He started seeing things in a twisted light and somehow it made sense to him to act accordingly. He made sense to him that his brothers needed hardcore training which was basically physical torture to the utmost extent.

"This training includes..." He sat up and placed a finger across his top lip, pretending that it was a mustache."barbed whips, boiling water, hot rocks, axes, chains, mallets, maces, nails...fuck, anything that can cause pain is all here!" He said miserably before falling face-first back to bed. Why the fuck he did that, even he doesn't know.

His younger brothers retaliated of course. He felt like a pig being butchered over and over again. They allowed others to hurt him...people who enjoyed seeing blood escape from his huge wounds and gashes. It was dying over and over again.

So that's where he is right now. His brothers hated him, he 'hated' his brothers and he didn't have any friends who knew about his problems.

He started feeling woozy with all the recollection going on, feelings were too strong for him. His hands started shaking and he started breathing through his mouth very hard. His chest was becoming heavy and his muscles were stiffening in place. His throat was squeezing shut and all he could muster were strained gasps. He was having one of his attacks again. He balled his shirt with his fist, trying to draw the pain out.

The veins started popping out and it felt like the world was getting the dark as he rolled into the floor, unconscious.

The room was dark once again, much like his mind. Denmark was sitting in a corner, still in his straight jacket, but this time chains and locks were added as well as a dirty piece of cloth twisted and tied across his open mouth, muffling the cries and laughter he made, knowing that a normal person would die with the shots he got.

All he felt was pain but he also felt amusement...his gagged mouth was still periodically giving out muffle chuckles through the pained wails of remorse and anguish. Knives were still pushed deep into his thighs as well as few additions to his back.

All he wanted was to spend time with his brothers...he really wanted to...he knew what he did was wrong, he was sorry. He was sorry for being a bad toy to them. He didn't want to get played with by the other kids, who enjoyed shooting him at point-blank and sticking pokers in him. Of course, Norway didn't know that it was a daily thing especially when he wasn't around.

He was scared of his brothers...they probably liked hurting him. He didn't want to do this anymore, he just wanted his heart to stop beating. He probably liked the others hurting him...maybe one would get lucky and finally kill him.

He rocked back and forth, trying to get the knives deeper in him.

"Mr...mr...Viking?"

His icy-blues squinted as a strong golden light appeared out of nowhere. It felt warm...like the sun that he was not allowed to see anymore. He fell back to the corner, accidentally pushing the fire irons on his back deeper. He roared in pain, tears building up once more.

"A-are you okay?"

He didn't bother looking. He didn't want to, he tried his best to concentrate on the pain instead.

"Please..."

That was the breaking point, he snapped his eyes to the source of the young voice. It was hazy through the light...all he could make out was the warm blonde hair and the bright blue eyes of the obviously imagined child.

The hands of the figure made its way to the old wet cheeks of the Dane, stopping the tears for a moment before resuming but this time...it felt lighter. He pressed his forehead with his friend's. he looked at the small wrist and saw the bracelet he gave to him before he left...breaking the promise to return. It was red and black with a wooden totems that he carved out himself, it was his favorite one, that's why it meant a lot to him that he had it.

"Remember...everything's gonna be alright." The very small hands tried wiping as much of the tears away as he could.

"Jmmh... K-kihmmmm..." He answered shakily, forcing himself to smile.

'I miss you, kid.' He thought to himself as the small thumbs continued to graze his warming cheeks. He started feeling tired, probably from exhaustion of happiness, it's possible. Not a minute passed and he was off like a light, a soft sane smile forced through the gag.

Denmark came back, feeling a little refreshed. At least it wasn't that long of a black out.

He stood up and turned on the lights of his room, before leaping back to bed with a bounce. He did feel a lot better.

He grinned to himself toothily as he got his glasses from his nightstand.

"Everything's gonna be alright." He said softly, not meaning to sound like Bob Marley. He fished out one of his two necklaces.

It was a small brownish loop. He has had it for an eon now. It had old thread netted into an intricate web and feathers that hung from it. It was rusty red from the numerous times it was bathed in his own blood. Blood that was shed from the numerous wounds he had endured. He bounced to his feet, looking like the creepy, weird 'my precious' guy from a movie about a ring.

It was a dream catcher. Kid told him that bad dreams were trapped in the middle of it, while it kept the good dreams flowing. Of course it didn't work all the time, but it still had enough of an impact to make him feel secure.

It was the only connection he had with his resting friend, it was the only thing that made him feel like someone knew what he was going through.

Although he had a *dead* friend who knew exactly what we went through and was going through, he also had a friend that knew at least some of the problems and the times that that friend saw him vulnerable were completely by chance.

Suddenly, he remembered to check his phone that was turned off the whole time he was having therapy. He turned on his iPhone and instantly, his eyes bulged out of their sockets.

'America=LOVE SO FUCKING AWESOME' had left a lot of messages, like a lot. Without even thinking, he immediately tried calling back and for an excruciating moment, the answering machine turned on.

"Yo, it's America...so please leave a message and I swear I'll call you back...I mean I don't that much to do I think...lemme think for a second...hey, Mattie...*beep*"

So fucking cute.

"H-hej...America...I just wanted to k-know...um, *shakes head* I mean what's up dude, why'd ya call me? Miss me that much? Okay, just call me back when your done..n-nailing a hot chick somewhere. Okay then..." He ended the call and smiled for a second before realizing how fucked up his message was. He dialed it again and again the answering machine was the one that answered.

"Hej! I didn't mean the chick thing! I mean, it's okay to fuck when you really need to...I mean I had an orgy with Victoria's Secret Angels last week *I didn't want to but you weren't noticing me and it felt like you were angry at me and I did something wrong and I remember that you'll never love me and that you won't love how crazy and broken I really am, so I got depressed but you're the only one I love and please marry me*...so, Ja...but I think you shouldn't but...anyway...call me."

FUCK THAT WAS EVEN MORE HORRIBLE!

"L-listen, I didn't wanna sound like a total d-bag...I mean you told me that you get to have fun with playboy bunnies all the time...hehehe...right?"

"Fuck! No, I wasn't trying to make you sound like you objectify women...that's wrong I mean I think you empower women 'cause you're supporting campaigns against rape, you always do...no matter where in the world...hehehe...I mean, I support it too...I-I believe and gender equality...I know how they feel...it...it really sucks..."

"About the call earlier, I wasn't I-implying anything, believe me! I-I'm not a rape victim...I-I'm n-not, *sniff* r-really..."

"DAMN IT, AMERICA CALL ME BACK NOW!"

"I'm sorry for losing my temper there."

"I'm talking to the man in the mirror~"

~*after an hour and 67 messages*~

Denmark was gonna find America and apologize to him for being the worst best friend in the world. He had his trusty white apron on and was chopping a whole bag of apple as effortlessly and neatly for his apple-cinnamon pie. He checked on his macerating strawberries and his boiling simple sugar for his strawberry lemonade. He took a spoonful of his cream cheese pudding filling for the cronuts and ate it in one go. He spiced his pulled pork and toasted some buttered bread for sandwiches. He made sure that his pie tins were buttered and the crust was just right. He went down to check on the mouth-watering roll of roast beef, turning brown and juicy as the oven continued cooking it.

He swatted the sweat off his brows and readjusted his glasses. Just then, he realized something...

What the fuck was his excuse for cooking up a picnic?

"FOR HVELDE!" He cursed with his hands tugging on his wild hair.

'He's gonna like it, don't worry...' A child's voice giggled accompanied by a sudden breez,e greeting the tall Dane though there were no windows open. He's used to it by now, it was just some friendly advice from his necklace.

"Ja. H-he will like it..." He reluctantly went back to his packed work station, going back and forth like it was nothing with a crooked smile and a heart beating like a rabbit's.

There was an evil tone in the children's laugh. They were everywhere, his body was beaten by the stones that were thrown at him and crude rope made it impossible to move his tiny hands and feet.

"...so, we finally caught the white devil our father's were talking about..." The young America's eyes were already broken, water pouring out of the windows.

"...M-Mattie...don't do this...please..." He pleaded, but his brother wouldn't listen...his eyes were red as rubies and his pudgy cheeks were torn by rows of needle-teeth. Everything was illuminated by a roaring orange glow behind the America. Flicks of the flame sparked, but America kept stepping back until he was inches from the flame.

"Please...b-big brother." He pleaded for one last time. His brother just laughed darkly, not being him at the moment.

"It'll only hurt a bit." His twin's hands held him by the wrist and he was pushed into an open flame.

America didn't know what to do, his right wing's feathers were burned...his back too...his palm...there was a bit on his neck too...and all he had to try and calm the burns were his own tears. He shook his head though, he had to be strong...he had to take care of his brother.

He stood up, and limped (since his left leg was strained by the confrontation earlier) upstairs, where he locked his brother for the mean time.

He shouldn't cry, this was nothing...he had to brave through it...he had to make sure everything was fine when Francis and Arthur got home.

"Stay strong, kid..." A warm young voice echoed his tiny ears, making him smile. He looked behind him, seeing a tall figure made if light. The figure was that of an older boy, pre-teens, with light blonde hair and cool light blue eyes. tears pooled under his eyes, staring at the small trinket he gave,his older friend before leaving. America shook his head and wiped his tears.

"I know, mr. Viking..."

He felt his whole body sore and he could feel all his organs actually flipping and churning in pain, every movement was unbearable. He could take pretty hard hits...hits that would kill even the strongest human. He got hit with mallets and crowbars...guns were shot and the only reason he didn't fight back was...

"Stay down, don't even think of fighting back...if you do, I'll target your brother...your family...how about I blow up a state?" A cold voice made him open his eyes in anger.

"Don't you even da-" he hissed as a crowbar made its way to his side.

Fine. Treat him like a punching bag...that's how it has always been anyway.

The man continued to beat him up for an hour until they retired, tossing their bloody equipment next to him...they wanted to make sure that he learned his lesson.

"...ya gotta rest now..." A soft hand stroked his blood-stained hair, another was running down his bruised back. He immediately jumped for the source of warmth, not caring that his body was in unadulterated pain. His chest heaved unrhythmically as torrents of salty tears poured out of his eyes. All his limbs were wrapped around the smaller figure, as if he was a leg a child holds on to when scared.

"...don't worry...I'm here...I'm here..." Everything faded into nothing.

He has felt verbal abuse and physical abuse to varying degrees. The problem was that he was a fighter. Though he was broken, he could still take a lot of shit from everybody and then some. He had an unbreakable spirit but not an unbreakable heart. Heart break (not in a romantic way) led him to do dark things.

He knew he couldn't die, but at least, he could make himself feel like he was, even for just one night. He wanted feel his his body cold, he wanted to stop his heart, he wanted to see the world black, he wanted his mouth dry and ears muffled. He wanted his body to stiffen and curl until it was time to revive himself and see the world in a new light.

It was the mornings after that made him feel that life was really worth living, making him forget just for a second before the darkness comes back in full. He was never gonna get out of this cycle, he was hooked on it.

"...alright, Alfred, once I reach the number one...you will wake up..."

The strong nation nodded sleepily, lying on a soft sofa, being in a state of deep hypnosis for two hours or so. He wore his black tank top, peeling off his collared shirt and jacket before he went to his therapist. His face was soft, softer than usual, his gems were covered by his eye lids, sweat covered his body making it look like gold due to the sunset. However, he was breathing too heavily...gulping once in a while, head continuously shifting.

"One...two...three..."

America sat up immediately, almost robotic, before cradling his head with his callused hands. This was getting him nowhere.

"...when were you going to tell me that you were covering up your burns?"

America's eyes shifted to the old Turk in front of him. His green eyes were finally visible since he wasn't wearing his mask. He wore a dull grey dress shirt and dress pants that made his burly body very evident.

"...what're you talking about, Sadiq?" America asked briskly, scratching his sweaty head and looking down on his feet. He could feel the scars left from the stones the village kids used to throw at him.

"...you've been using some concealer to cover them, haven't you?" Sadiq uncrossed his legs and set down his notepad.

America looked like a deer in headlights. He looked at his arm, seeing that the concealer was wearing off.

It wasn't just the side of his hand that was burned, it reached to his forearm, maybe even a bit more. He could feel the same powder clump on his back, signaling that even the burn on his back was no longer concealed.

Turkey looked at him, looking curious and focused at his client.

"Tell me...why is it still covering the same area as..."

"When I was a kid?" America looked up with a raised brow, forcing himself to chuckle as he ran his fingers through his sweaty head. Sadiq just nodded in reply.

"It grows with me...probably because I can't let go of what happened...every single scar I have is from something I can't forget...it's irrational. Even if all is forgiven, I'm still scared...I feel like I'm trapped, helpless...like I know that it'll never end. No matter how much you try to hypnotize me, it'll never be enough. I know that nothing good ever comes to me." America answered in a tone that was blunt and indifferent.

"I need them to remind me that...I've been through so much and I'm gonna go through more. I need to stay strong. I need to stop...stop what they say or do to me sink in to who I really am, okay? I can't let anybody see how much it really hurts. I need t-"

"To stay strong?" Sadiq looked at him softly, hands clasped together between his spread legs. America nodded.

"Right...we've been 'married' longer than I have been with Feli, so I don't want to be your therapist for the last hour..." The American stiffened and left his heart sink painfully. The older man sat beside the blonde and swung his arm around the muscular shoulder.

"I want to be your friend...Al, you cannot keep this up. The more you pretend like you're some sort of child will only make things worse. I know who you really are and you have a surprising number of friends that know who is Alfred Jones, though not completely." Sadiq reasoned out in a soft voice. Alfred blushed.

"I can't...I'm sorry, Sadiq. I know that we're close and all but..."

"Would you make an effort if Mr. Viking was still around?" Turkey interjected with a serious scowl.

"I-I would..." The younger blonde answered truthfully. "But, he isn't ar-"

"Would you make an effort if Matthias was the one sitting next to you for the last fifteen years instead of me?" The Turk continued unrelentingly.

America looked away, a very deep shade of embarrassed red tinting his face. It took him awhile to gain enough composure to answer.

"You know that I appreciate you being my th-"

"Answer the question. I am here as your friend. I've been doing this for free for fifteen years. I am not gonna get bothered, I just want you to be happy." His friend smile reassuringly.

"If he wanted me too...I'd do anything..." Alfred answered shakily, his nose was starting to get runny.

"Alright then..." The therapist sat up, walking towards the huge wrecking ball on the corner of the room that was newly installed while the American was deep in trance.

Before the client could even react, Turkey brought his hand out, halting him from saying another word. "Punch it. Punch it hard."

"Ya don't have t'tell me twice, partner." His accent was clear and crisp, he cracked his hands and neck. He drawled his right hand all the way back and swung it hard before stopping in place less than an inch in colliding.

"Is this real?" He asked.

"Yes, yes it is." The Turk answered coolly.

"Is this bolted down to the floor?"

"Yup, but it wouldn't matter, you'll still break the wall." His therapist sighed deeply. America snickered as he drew his arm back again.

"Yer right..." He swung his arm and just as expected, the gigantic ball smashed through the concrete wall, causing the orange sun to gleam at the two nations. It felt like something alleviating his pain. The shadow of the ball becoming bigger as it swung back.

America punched harder, the sound of metal being clobbered stung his therapist's ears. The interior of the room was shaking. The light sucked out America's despair.

A smug grin painted America's face as he readied his fist...his fighter's blood was in an all time high. However, something made him stop. He dropped his readied fist. He felt the pain come back...he felt the darkness.

It came back one last time and this time, the young powerhouse stopped it with one hand, not even budging.

Turkey inspected the damage done to the ball. The two punches were very, very, very deep and there was already signs of cracking.

"Had enough?" The older nation asked indifferently.

"Nope. 'Still need to draw some blood out of me." America said coldly as he stepped away from the ball. "Do you want me to come tomorrow and fix the wall? Maybe some cold beer? Esquire?" He teased.

"Sure, but no Esquire. I'm very happy with my relationship and I know that you don't read magazines like that anymore." The old nation answered as he picked up what was left of the bricks that once made up the wall.

"Yup, hell, I haven't been to Hefner's for ten months now." America was back to his cheery persona.

"That was about the same time you and Denmark started sleeping over?" The Turk couldn't help himself from teasing the poor boy who was as red as a rose.

"S-shut up!" America got angry and ran down the hall and down the stairs where he bumped into his therapist's Italian lover.

"So how was today's session, ve~!" He asked, comfortable being topless and pantsless with a tray of tea and cookies. His body looked tauter than before, he was really working his ass off to keep trim.

"I see that you've been trying to pack some more muscles, eh?" america looked teasingly at his friend, who was wearing his heart bracelet. america was wearing his diamond one.

"What?" Italy thought for a second, before realizing what he meant after scanning his packed (but very small compared to America) body. "Oh no, you just miss seeing me shirtless!" He joked.

"Maybe, I am... Just kidding, really takes me back to when the four of us used the same bathroom." the two reminisced the good old days.

"Anyway, it was bearable, Feli. Oh yeah, you might want to check on what Sadiq made me do to your walls." Alfred ran down the stairs before things start to explode.

"Okay then..." Italy looked confused as he hollered his good bye. He started walking normally and entered Sadie's therapy room which was also their living area and favorite sex area.

"Hey, Amore what did you ma-" Feliciano dropped the tray and crumbs and hot water spilled on the carpet. Turkey was looking back, crouching and picking up the red bricks before he realized what his lover was shocked about.

"I-it is not what you think, A-askim." He brought his hands out defensively.

"YOU. MADE. MY FRIEND. PUNCH THROUGH OUR WALL WITH A WRECKING BALL!?" He shouted so loudly that the chandelier above them started to shake.

"Do you know how long we've been saving to buy this house in LONDON?!" He grabbed Turkey by the ear and made him sit on the floor.

"I-I know but..."

"I was gonna make you fuck me here with tea and cookies...and now we can't do that anymore since people could be staring from the street!" Feli crossed his arms as he pushed his lover's upper body flat on the floor.

"You are definitely going to bottom tonight...in lingerie...in heels...in a corset..." He whispered darkly to his older lover"s ear. It sounded both scary and erotic...and Sadiq didn't know why he felt like doing it.

"W-where...m-master..." He asked submissively gaining a smirk from Italy he kissed him hard on the lips, anger already vanishing. Then they parted only to return in a chaste peck, making Feli giggle. Turkey laughed a bit as Italy tried to lift him. He could but it was a bit slow with the struggle.

"The closet." Italy answered briskly as they exited. This was going to be a fun night.

~*Well passed an hour in America's urban manor somewhere in London*~

Alfred looked down, watching the water wash away the blood that was poured into the sink. He took a look at his old stone knife, encrusted with the rusty plasma and decided to leave it like that for the mean time. He looked down on his forearms, covered in blood but without even a scratch. The American snorted.

When he was the one hurting himself, wounds healed faster than you could make them.

He then placed his hand under the small waterfall, enjoying the sight of his fair arms getting cleaned.

"Ya should stop to hurt yourself, ya know?" A young voice chirped his ears. America didn't pay attention to the voice as he troweled his hands dry, tossed the damp towel over his shoulder, and approached the light switch of the small bathroom.

"I know...Mr. Vi." He said softly, his head angled just a bit to the side as he turned off the lights and exited the room, closing the door behind.

America whistled as he went down the hall of his swanky house in London. He could probably watch a movie on Netflix or maybe let weather forecasters kill him with boredom. Arthur was on a date with Francis and Mattie didn't tag along this time. So what can an American do in rainy London?

*DING DONG*

America was exactly by the door, facing to the west, when the doorbell rang. He looked curiously and walked towards the door.

He unlocked it and opened the door. His eyes immediately bulging and cheeks heating.

"H-hej, Am...America...just m-made some food...t'...t'...ya know...pass the time." The Dane was wearing a fit designer t under a warm looking dark blue jacket, unbuttoned, with fit jeans and tan shoes. His hand bringing a huge basket of food to eye-level.

"Den-dude!" Without meaning to, America pulled in his friend in a suspiciously tight hug, leaving Denmark flustered and faltered. They both felt warm...as if they could melt into each other's warm arms. They felt heir hearts on their bodies, in synch...roaring...

"Undsklyd." Denmark broke the unbearably comfortable silence.

"For what?" America pulled away, though his friend's buff upper arms still under the grip of his strong hands.

"I saw your missed calls dude..." Matthias answered with a 'dude-you-should-know-what-I'm-talkin'-'bout' face.

"...I called back and you weren't answering...so...I made you these." He reintroduced the basket of food, neatly placed in containers.

"I'm sorry for being the worst best friend in the world." The word 'best friend' still sinking in to the blushing man as he bowed apologetically.

"What? I'm really sorry if I didn't call you back...'didn't really have any time to check my phone 'til now." Alfred scratched the bank of his head, biceps and triceps were relaxing and contacting in rhythm.

"Come in. I'll make some potato salad to go with that." America gestured the taller European to come in. He hid his titillated smile as he walked fast to the living-kitchen-dining area.

Once there, America started boiling water while Denmark took a seat across the cooking American.

"So, how was yer day, my Danish compadre?" America asked cheekily as he sanitized his hands and knife.

"Crappy, you?" The sitting man ask, fairly transfixed i his friend's fluid movements.

"You can say the same for me, I guess." He smiled softly, directly making eye contact to the lovely pair of ice-blue eyes.

"So, what do ya wanna do after dinner?" Denmark asked ashes set the two plates he brought along and the numerous dishes he made, already plated superbly.

"Did you make roast beef?" Alfred's eyes lit up as the heavenly smell of the meat made its way to his sensitive nose.

"Ja." Matthias smiled in reply.

"Just give the whole roll, I'll leave you a slice when I'm done shoving it in my mouth." The young American licked his lips with loud smacks, subconsciously walking towards the table. His feet were up the chair and elbows on the table.

"Dude, we have...what we call 'manners'..." The Dane shot a condescending look, immediately deterring the American with a dejected, sad puppy face. Denmark couldn't help but laugh as America muttered 'dad' and 'big bro' in between forced whimpers.

"Just kidding, for me, manners is making sure the table's clean and the people not making a mess. Ya can have the whole thing...just take it easy..." He smiled toothily with his hand on America's bare shoulder.

"D-do you want half of it?" America asked cutely, like a small child.

"What're ya doing? GOD!" The taller nation laughed at the younger one's antics.

"Making you smile." The other one answered, also smiling. "So,wanna watch some Danish Disney?" He asked.

"What? Wouldn't ya watch some sort of action flick instead?" Matthias asked curiously, arms crossed.

"I would, but I don't feel like watching those tonight. Plus, it would a shame not to watch some of the movies you brought along with you." The smug Alfred pointed at the CDs that were purely Disney movies.

"Hey, you're being mean." Denmark defended himself, running to his DVDs and putting it back into the basket.

"I wasn't...I always wanted to watch them in Danish, you know?" America smiled as he placed his hands over the Dane's pulling the DVDs back tot the counter.

"So, ya really wanna watch them?" Denmark asked again, reluctant.

"Ja, min ven. If it's you..." Alfred smiled, not showing how much his palm was sweating and not realizing how much his words were affecting the Dane.

"Tak..." Matthias smiled, looking back to the table and heading towards it with the American following immediately.

'No...thank you...' America whispered it to himself mentally.

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