hetalia_kink

Has anyone else read the classic Superman story "For The Man Who Has Everything"? It's an excellent tale about Superman being captured by the Black Mercy, a plant that slowly kills its captive by trapping them in a dream of their deepest heart's desire that they will never want to wake up from. For Superman, his heart's desire turns out to be living an ordinary life on Krypton with a wife and children. And it turns out that the only way to break free of the Black Mercy is to reject it or subconsciously warp the dream into a nightmare.

What I'd like to see is a nation, any nation, being unwittingly ensnared by that Black Mercy plant. What would their heart's desire be? Would they dream about being an ordinary human, free of the responsibilities of being a nation? About being with that special someone?

Just think about it. England, dreaming about his beloved America never having left him. Or China, dreaming about his family never having left him. Or even Russia, dreaming about being truly happy and surrounded by his people and nations who genuinely love him. Or any other nation you can think up secret heart's desires for. And keep in mind that they have to reject these dreams or distort them to be able to escape the Black Mercy.

So yes, I'd like something about this Black Mercy concept with any number of nations. Multiple fills are definitely encouraged!

(DISCLAIMER: I have never read "For The Man Who Has Everything". This prompt just kinda grabbed me and stuck. I read up on the comic, so I've got a pretty good idea of how stuff went down, but there will be some changes in the fic to make it fit a bit better with the Hetalia universe. Updates should come fairly quickly.)

There is a resounding bang that shakes the foundations of his house when it smashes into his yard. It is enough to startle him out of bed and send him stumbling downstairs in his pajamas, still half asleep, to grab his axe from it’s mount on the wall before bursting out of his back door.

A blast of hot air rushes against his bare chest as soon as his door is open. He blinks and scrubs at his eyes; it’s three in the morning, it shouldn’t be anywhere near this bright outside.


“The meeting will now come to order,” Germany sets his briefcase down on the long table. “Is everyone here? Has anyone taken roll yet?”

America raises his hand. “We took roll. Everyone’s here except for Denmark.”

Germany turns to the empty seat beside an irritated looking Norway. “Any ideas?” He asks the smaller nation, quirking a curious eyebrow.

Norway frowns. “He probably overslept. Or forgot about the meeting.”

Germany sighs and folds his arms. “Would you please call him and see where he’s at? We’re already running behind.”

Norway shakes his head and pushes his chair back, muttering about the tardy Dane as he steps outside the meeting room to dial the missing Nation.

Once his eyes adjust to the sudden light, it’s hard to ignore that a chunk of his yard is missing, replaced by a charred, steaming crater. He wrinkles his nose. The air smells like sulphur.

He takes a few cautious steps toward the source of the smell. Ambient orange light pulses out of the hole in the ground and casts long shadows behind him as he approaches, axe still in hand. It doesn’t look like any form of modern warfare that he’s aware of and his international relations are too good to warrant an attack to begin with. He slowly scans the rest of the yard to see if he can spot anyone else. Maybe some bored kids playing with fireworks.

“Hello?” He calls loudly into the dark, scowling. It’s way too late to be playing these games. He has a meeting in the morning.

It takes three phone calls with no answers before Norway finally gives up and snaps his phone shut. He walks briskly down the hall and rounds the corner to the front lobby, checking with the receptionist and poking his head outside to see if maybe the obnoxious blond had simply gotten lost trying to find the meeting room. He sighs, aggravated. They don’t have the time to be playing hide and seek. He half expects to find him wandering the halls as he stalks angrily back to where the others are waiting, but no such luck.

“He’s not answering his phone,” Norway informs them as he sits back down. “He’s not in the lobby either.”

Germany sighs again. “This is a very important meeting…”

Norway rolls his eyes. “You talk like I’m his keeper or something. I don’t know where he is.” He sits forward, snapping his agenda folder open. “Let’s just start the meeting. I’m sure he’ll come barging in any minute now.”

Germany shrugs, but nods. “Alright, everyone, please turn to the first page of your agendas…”


Nobody answers his call, much to his distaste. He turns back to the crater in his yard, which has stopped glowing as brightly. He doesn’t get nervous very easily, but this is just weird enough to at least make him feel uneasy. He isn’t sure what it is, but something just seems…off.

He sighs and transfers his axe into his other hand, once again approaching the hole, the damp grass tickling his bare feet as he moves. The foul smell only gets worse as he gets closer and he’s surprised to find that the glowing is only coming from the burnt ring of grass surrounding the hole, not from inside of it. He regrets not taking the time to grab a flashlight on his way out as he stoops down to peer into the deep crater. It’s too dark to see all the way to the bottom, but it seems to be empty, the only sound coming from the late night breeze rustling the trees surrounding his back yard.

He sighs.

“Must’ve just been a prank.” He yawns and shakes his head, satisfied that whatever it was is gone now. He’ll clean it up in the morning. He starts to stand back up.

There is a sudden deep, low-pitched buzzing that fills the space of the yard and something slams into him, knocking him flat on his back hard enough to wind him. He jerks his head forward and attempts to scrabble back up, but a burning pain races through his chest as something penetrates the skin around his rib cage, sending him right back onto the cold grass, arching and gasping. He’s keenly aware of a weight settling into his chest and he tries fiercely to claw it off.

“What the fu-” The curses die on his tongue and his eyes go wide. He makes a strangled choking noise and his arms fall to his sides, the same permeating tendrils of pain forcing their way up through his belly and into the center of his chest. He can’t breath. Rings of darkness begin to pull into his vision as he struggles weakly to regain some semblance of control. There is something squeezing at him. Inside of him.


There is something squeezing at his heart.


(More coming soon!)

(Okay, time for some sleepy time Denmark. Just for a quick reference, everyone’s names are as follows:

Denmark – Mathias
Norway- Niels
Iceland – Eirik
Sweden – Berwald
Finland – Tino
Sealand – Peter

Lol, those last three were probably unnecessary, but JUST IN CASEEE.)



He awakes to the sound of soft crying.

He wakes slowly and blinks, dazed, still foggy from his nap. Above him, the vibrant, clear blue sky gently blows huge fluffy clouds in a slow race across the water, bringing a soft breeze through the trees that carries the barest scent of salt water. He sits up slowly. The weather in Copenhagen hasn’t been this nice in quite some time. He drags his hand up through the cool grass to scrub at his eyes, yawning, before he gets to his feet, brushing stray blades of grass from his pant legs and crossing the yard to the side of his house to investigate the quiet weeping.

He rounds the corner to find Niels sitting on the stone walkway examining a sniffling Eirik’s hand.

“What happened?”

The silver haired five year old pulls his arm out of Niel’s hand and rushes down to the gate and throws his arms around Mathias’s knees, bawling started anew. Mathias stoops down to carefully gather the boy in his arms.

“Hey, hey…” he says softly, pulling him close and balancing him on his knee. “What’s the matter?”

Niels gets to his feet and joins them by the fence. “He was playing in your flower boxes again and wound up battling a bumble bee,” the Norwegian man pats Eirik’s head. “Suffice to say, the bee won.”

“A bee?” Mathias frowns dramatically and glares at the flowerbox by the windowsill. “A bee was bullying my boy?”

Eirik clings to the Dane’s shirt and nods jerkily.

“Let me see,” he holds his hand out and Eirik reluctantly un-tucks his arm. Mathias holds the boy’s small wrist tenderly and examines the small, red bump carefully, turning it at several angles before nodding, seemingly satisfied. “Looks like the stinger fell out already. But we should probably put a band-aid on it.” He glances at Niels who nods and quickly retreats back inside. As they wait, Mathias continues to calm Eirik, wiping his tears away with a light thumb and reducing the fit back down to sniffles by the time Niels returns with a box of band-aids. He hands one to Mathias. “Alright, let’s see that arm again.”

Eirik holds his hand out again and Mathias unwraps the band-aid. “Heeey, these look like Lego blocks! When did we get these?”

Niels smiles softly. “Alfred brought them when he and Mathew came to visit.”

Mathias waggles his eyebrows at Eirik. “You’re in luck, kiddo. You’re going to have the coolest band-aid in your class.” He leans down and places a gentle kiss over the bee sting before carefully laying the bandage over it. He leans back and turns the small boy to look at him. “Okay, all fixed! Feel better?”

Eirik nods enthusiastically and throws his arms around the Dane’s neck. “Mm-hmm! Thank you, papa!”

Mathias laughs and ruffles Eirik’s silver hair before swatting his shoulders as the child wriggles out of his lap and runs back into the yard. Mathias stands up and watches him go. He grins.

“What was he doing playing in the flowerbox?” He asks, turning to the other man.

Niels sighs and slips an arm around the Dane’s waist. “He said he was picking flowers for a bouquet. He has a crush on one of the girls in his class.”

Mathias’ grin widens and he slings an arm over the Norwegian’s shoulder. “Oh reaaally?” The two of them watch as Eirik busies himself with throwing a tennis ball across the yard for their energetic lundehund, Izzy, to blitz after. “Did he say who it was?”

Niels shakes his head. “No, but we’ll get to meet her soon. Parent teacher conferences start on Monday.”

“Oh shit, you’re right,” he smacks himself in the face. “I totally forgot.”

Niels frowns, pulling away from the Dane and crossing his arms while fixing an icy glare at him. “You have to be there.”

Mathias shoots him a sheepish grin. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ve got all weekend to find someone to cover my shift at work.”

“You better.” He points at the Dane. “We have a busy weekend, so don’t forget.”

Mathias smirks and leans forward to kiss his accusing index finger. “I won’t.”

Niels starts to say something, but Eirik appears suddenly at the gate, bouncing excitedly.

“I taught Izzy a new trick, come see!” He turns around and races back to the yard, his parents exchanging curious glances as they follow. They stop at the porch where the easily excitable dog sits obediently at Eirik’s side. “Okay, watch!” The boy turns to Izzy and holds out his arm. “Shake, Izzy!”

Izzy wags her tail and wiggles eagerly.

“C’mon, Izzy, shake!”

Izzy lurches forward and bumps her forehead into Eirik’s hand.

Eirik sighs impatiently and plants his fists on his hips. “No, not like that!” He turns back to Mathias and Niels. “She did it a second a go, I swear!”

Mathias laughs and nods. “She only ever does tricks when nobody’s looking,” he jogs across the yard and sweeps up Eirik who shrieks gleefully when the Dane hauls him over one shoulder. “You’re gonna have to get her to do it later though, kiddo, it’s about time for dinner.”

Eirik wriggles and kicks his feet, still laughing. “No, I want to stay outside! Can we eat outside?”

“Weellll…”

“Not tonight, Eirik,” Niels calls from the porch. “It’s going to be dark soon,”

“Awwww!” Both Eirik and Mathias pout.

Niels shakes his head. “Not tonight.”

Mathias rolls his eyes and starts for the house. He sways and bounces as he walks, much to the child’s delight. “Well, I suppose there’s no helping it then. Tell you what; we can eat outside tomorrow when your uncle and I get back, ja? We’ll drag out the grill.”

Eirik pumps his fists gleefully, still suspended upside down over Mathias’ shoulders. “Yesss!” He pushes himself up slightly. “Is Peter coming too?”

Mathias hops up the steps and follows Niels into the house. He shuts the screen door with his foot and toes off his shoes before continuing in. “Yep. Him and Tino’ll hang out while we’re gone. I think they’re planning on bringing Hanatamago too, so Izzy will have someone to play with.”

Inside, he deposits Eirik onto the couch in the living room and shoos him off to the direction of the bathroom to wash his hands. Once he hears the tap running, he makes his way to the kitchen where Niels is leaning over the stove and several bubbling pots. He saunters up behind the smaller blond and slides his arms around Niels’ waist and rests his head on his shoulder.

“That smells awesome. What is it?”

“Lapskaus,” he prods at Mathias with a wooden spoon. “You’re crowding me. Go set the table.”

Mathias pouts, but leans forward and plants a noisy kiss on the back of Niels head as he moves to the other side of the counter and begins pulling plates from the cabinet. As he begins setting their places at the table, he scratches aimlessly at his chest. “Hey, do you know what time they’re going to be here tomorrow?”

Niels shakes his head and pulls the pot from the stovetop. “Early. They didn’t say what time, though.” He places the pot in the center of the table. “Could you get the potatoes out of the oven?”

Mathias nods. “We should probably be up pretty early too, then,” he muses as he slips on checkered oven mitts.

“Speak for yourself. I’m not getting up at dawn to spend all day in a boat.” Niels begins rummaging in the refrigerator.

“Oh please, you like fishing just as much as he and I do,” he nudges the oven door shut with his hip and transfers the hot dish to the table. He points at Niels through the oven mitt. “You know, Tino said he’d watch the kids. You’re welcome to come with us.”

Niels pulls a carton of milk and two beers from the fridge. “No, that’s alright. I’d rather sleep in.”

Mathias shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he removes the mitts and hangs them back over the stove. He continues to lightly massage at his chest. “Eirik!” He calls. “Dinner’s ready, are you almost done?”

As if on cue, Eirik trots into the kitchen and pulls himself up into his chair at the table. “I put Izzy in the back yard,” he says proudly. Mathias musses Eirik’s hair as he passes him to sit down as well.

Waugh! Sorry I wasn’t able to update over the past two days! I wound up being a lot busier than I thought I would be. OTL I’m back home now though, so I’ll be back to regular postings!


After another several hours of sitting in the same plastic chair, Japan insists that Norway retires for the night, or at least until the laser trial in the morning. Norway reluctantly agrees on the condition that Japan does the same, a stipulation the exhausted Asian man quickly agrees to. Japan bids him goodnight and once again leaves him alone with Denmark.

Norway yawns and approaches the case. Denmark’s tears had only lasted for several minutes, but the light, dried tracks still remain on his cheeks as Norway stares at him. He knocks his fist against the glass. “I’m going to bed,” he states flatly. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” He eyes the gloves hanging from the side panel. He resists the urge to touch the Dane’s hair again and settles for just flattening his palm against the cool surface of the case. “See you in the morning.”

He’s unsurprised by the lack of a response.

Outside the hospital, it has begun pouring rain, predictable weather for Copenhagen this time of year. Norway borrows an umbrella from the front desk and makes his way to the street, quickly flagging down a taxi and heading for the hotel Iceland and the others are staying at. As the cab pulls onto the road, he casts one last look at the hospital and shakes his head.

What a mess.

He leans back in his seat and rests his head against the window. As they drive, he stares out into the city as it rushes by. He’s never really liked Copenhagen all that much; he much prefers smaller cities in more rural areas, but it is rather attractive at night. Low hanging lamps illuminate happy groups of laughing people sitting on benches outside of pubs and he can just barely see the twinkling lights of fishing boats in the distant harbor. In a lot of ways, he can relate his thoughts on Copenhagen to Denmark himself; all in all, it’s too much activity for his tastes, but he can appreciate it for what it is.

As he watches the city, Norway fights to keep his eyes open. It’s been a long time since he’s dedicated this much thought to the obnoxious Dane, at least past the usual “you’re annoying, go away” vibes he generally gives off at meetings. The more he dwells on it, the more he realizes that he has no idea what Denmark has been up to lately except for what he brings forth, politically, at the various summits and gatherings that they all attend. Wind farms, alternate sources of energy, gloating about the World Cup. The same things they’ve all been doing. But, on a personal level, he hasn’t bothered to catch up with the Dane in months. He almost feels bad about it.

Almost.

He sighs irritably.

“What could possibly make him so happy that he would be moved to tears?”

Japan’s question has been plaguing him for hours. He has wracked his brain endlessly but has still come up empty. The mere fact that Denmark had been crying in the first place had been enough of a jolt to send his thoughts reeling, but his own inability to figure out the reasons why were an even bigger shock.

The cab comes to a smooth stop outside of the hotel and Norway quickly pays the driver and steps back out into the rain. At the desk inside, he finds a room has already been set aside for him and the agent greets him warmly with a packet of pre-assigned keys and a bag of new clothes, courtesy of Iceland, getting him from the cab into his room in only a few minutes.

He doesn’t even bother turning on any of the lights when he gets to his room, simply shutting the door and making a beeline for the bed. He falls face first into the soft blankets. He grips the edge of the covers.

”What could possibly make him so happy…?”

Was he really that out of touch with Denmark?

--

He is jostled from an uneasy sleep several hours later by his bedside phone ringing.

Never a morning person, he nearly knocks the lamp off of the nightstand as he gropes for the phone, finally finding it and pulling it under the covers to meet his ear.

“H’llo?” He mumbles blearily.

“Good morning!” Finland’s perpetually cheerful voice greets him. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

Norway sits up and glances at the clock. Eight in the morning. He rubs his palm into his eyes. “No.”

“Mmm, I think you might be lying, but I’ll forgive you for now. Anyways, the hospital just called. Russia’s doctors are going to start the laser trial at ten. We figured we should probably head out now so that we have time to get some breakfast.”

Norway swings his legs over the side of his bed. “Alright, that’s fine. I’ll meet you down in the lobby in half an hour. Is Iceland with you?”

“Not right now. He took Sealand to the park up the street.” Finland sighs. “He’s having a hard time with all of this. He doesn’t like not knowing what’s going on. He’s been very restless, so Iceland was kind enough to take him out to get some fresh air.”

“Are they going to come with us to the hospital?”

Finland hums thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. I’d rather Sealand stayed here, just in case something…happens.” He clears his throat. “But I don’t want to leave him by himself and it doesn’t seem quite right for all of us not to be there today.”

“America is at the hospital now. Maybe he’d be willing to keep an eye on him for a while.”

“That’s a good idea. I mentioned the possibility of England watching him for a while, but as you can imagine, that didn’t go over well.” Finland laughs lightly. “Anyhow, Sweden and I are already ready, so we’ll go track down the boys and meet up with you in a bit.”

Norway nods. “Alright. See you.”

He hangs up the phone and gets out of bed. Outside, it is still raining, though less than it had during the night. He takes another glance at the clock and hurries to the bathroom, shivering when his bare feet hit the cool tiles. He quickly strips and gets into the shower. As he settles under the warm water and the sleep begins to clear from his mind, Finland’s words creep under his skin.

“Just in case something…happens.”

Norway scowls and scrubs at his hair.

Wauuugh, sorry it took me so long to get this up. My computer crashed half-ways through writing it and I apparently hadn’t saved. OTL

Mathias doesn’t sleep a wink.

He spends half the night panicking, pressing at his chest until the sun begins to rise. He knew it should be impossible. Is impossible. But there was simply nothing moving in his chest. No beating, no noise, no nothing. Even as his breath border lined on hyperventilation, there was still no activity. Finally, though, just after five in the morning, his chest tightens painfully again, but as it eases, he becomes aware of a familiar fluttering beneath his skin and a wave of relief washes over him. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and leans back against Niels, who is still sleeping soundly. He’s going to schedule an appointment with his doctor as soon as it’s a reasonable hour. He feels like he’s losing his mind.

A tiny tug on his elbow brings him back to the present and he looks down, startled to see Eirik peering up at him, a frown building in his violet eyes. Mathias rests a hand on the boy’s head. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” He whispers.

Eirik shakes his head, just barely visible in the dawns gray light. “Papa, are you okay? How come you didn’t go to sleep?”

Mathias smiles and ruffles Eirik’s hair. “I’m fine. I’m just having a hard time falling asleep is all.”

Eirik sits up slightly and plants his hands on Mathias’s chest. “You were making weird noises…” he reaches out a hand and touches Mathias’ cheek. “Are you still sick?”

Mathias shakes his head and grins at him. “No, no, I’m okay.” He takes Eirik’s hand into his own, marveled at the difference in size. “You and Niels made me all better.”

Eirik looks down. “Nu-uh. Niels made you better. I didn’t do anything but cry because I was scared. Niels made you better because he’s brave and he loves you.” He balls his hands into small fists. “I didn’t do anything.”

Mathias tilts his head. “You don’t love me too?” He says lightly.

Eirik snaps his head up. “Of course I do!” He claps a hand over his mouth when Niels mumbles something and stirs. After it becomes apparent that the Norwegian man isn’t going to wake up, Eirik unclasps his hands. “I-I mean, of course I do.” He leans forward and hugs Mathias’ neck. “I love you lots. Even more than Izzy! And I was really scared when me and Peter found you but I didn’t know what to do. I had to run away and get Uncle Berwald because I was too scared to go in the kitchen.” The boy’s lip quivers. “Uncle Berwald made you breath again and Niels called the doctors. They were brave but I didn’t…” he trails off.


Mathias catches Eirik’s chin and gently pulls his head up so they’re looking eye to eye. “Hey,” he says softly. “Don’t think like that. There are lots of different kinds of bravery. You knew to go and get help instead of running away.”

“But-”

“And Tino said that you held Peter’s hand all the way to the hospital to get him to stop crying. Is that true?”

“Yeah, but-”

Mathias holds up a hand. “And you slept with Niels and I tonight to make sure none of those mushrooms got to me.” He clasps both of Eirik’s hands in his own. “Sounds to me like you were plenty brave today.”

Eirik shifts and looks at their hands. “Really?”

Mathias nods, grinning. “Really. There are different ways of being brave, Eirik. As it was, Niels and Berwald were the only ones who could have helped me like they did.” He leans forward and kisses Eirik’s nose. “You did exactly what you should have done.”

Eirik ponders this for a moment and chews on his finger. Finally, he looks up and smiles widely. “Okay, I believe you!” He declares. “But someday, when I’m bigger, I’ll protect you like Mama and uncle Berwald!” He holds out his pinky. “I promise!”

Mathias has a strange sense of déjà vu at the boy’s words. A bare bones recollection of a conversation long since ended, but no idea where it could have come from.

“Someday, I will protect you like you protect the rest of us, Danmörk. Once I’m stronger. I swear it to you.”

Mathias smiles and hooks his pinky with Eirik’s. The silver haired boy nods resolutely.

“So, don’t get hurt again until I get bigger, okay?”

He laughs quietly. “What makes you think I’ll get hurt again?”

Eirik huffs and crosses his arms. “You’re always getting hurt. You’re too clumsy.”

“You’ve been hanging out with Niels too much,” he shakes his head. “But, you’re right.” He holds up his pinky and stares at it thoughtfully. “And I supposed I did promise. Okay, kiddo, you’ve got a deal. I’ll be more careful and I won’t get hurt again until you’re older.”

“Good!” Eirik leans forward and hugs his neck again.

Mathias wraps his arms around the boy and squeezes him tightly, coaxing a few not so quiet giggles from him. He glances at Niels. “Hey,” he whispers. “How about we go make breakfast for everyone to reward them for being so brave?”

Eirik nods excitedly. “We can bring it to them in bed!”

Mathias carefully pushes himself up, mindful not to disturb the sleeping Norwegian, and carries Eirik downstairs to the kitchen after grabbing a sweater from his dresser. He sets Eirik down on the counter by the sink and begins rummaging through cupboards. “What should we make?” He hums.

Eirik swings his legs and thinks for a moment. “We should make their favorites!”

Mathias taps the cabinet door thoughtfully. “Hm…so then, eggs and fish for Niels, toast and bananas for Berwald, a yogurt parfait for Tino, and cereal for Peter?”

Eirik nods, but frowns. “That’s boring though. We should make something special.”

“You’re right. You’re all heroes, after all.”

Eirik laughs. “Yeah!” He thinks for a moment. “Ooh! Can we make wienerbrød?”

Mathias opens the fridge and pulls a few things out. “Looks like we have everything we’d need. That’s a great idea.” He pulls a carton of eggs out and sets them down. “Okay! So, your job is to be my helper. That means you have to watch my back and make sure I’m not being too clumsy.”

Eirik salutes him dramatically. “Yes, sir!”

He begins setting ingredients out on the table before opening the dishwasher to retrieve a clean mixing bowl. “What kind should we make?”

“Almond and custard!”

Mathias’ hand pauses mid-air, reaching for a wooden spoon. He straightens and turns back to Eirik. “Almond?”

Eirik nods. He’s swinging his legs excitedly. Mathias steps to stand beside the counter, spoon forgotten. “Are you sure?”

Eirik blinks up at him. “Yeah!”

“Eirik, you’ve been allergic to almonds for as long as I’ve known you…” His eyebrows knit together at his own choice of words. An uneasy feeling settles into the pit of his stomach as Eirik continues to smile up at him.

“What do you mean, Papa?”

Oh good lord, I just realized how many typos there are in the last chapter. I am so, so sorry. I posted it at like, 5:30 in the morning and I didn’t bother to proof read it. OTL

Recommended listening for this chapter: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-ayuRE5xd8

I seriously spent the entire time writing this with that song on loop. *A*

--

Once the doctors have the items, the three of them are shooed out of the room again, much to Norway’s distaste. America appears a few minutes later and tells them that they should head back for the night and come back in the morning.

“Which is only a few hours from now,” The American had reminded them. Reluctantly, Norway agreed and they had tiredly piled into a cab and made their way back to the hotel.

Upon reaching their destination, they go their separate ways at the elevators and Norway trudges to his room, thoroughly exhausted and more than ready to fall into bed. It is a desire that is, however, short lived when a light knocking on the door reveals an awkward looking Sweden.

“Fin dead-bolted th’ door,” he explains quietly. “C’n’t get in. D’ya mind?”

Norway shakes his head and opens the door for him to come inside. “It’s probably best that you don’t wake them up, anyways.”

Sweden nods and shrugs out of his jacket. “Thanks.”

“It’s fine. I’m going to shower, but feel free to shut the lights off and go to sleep.”

Sweden sits down on the bed and slips his shoes off as Norway shuts the door and moves into the bathroom. He keeps his shower brief, too tired to bother with anything more than a quick rinse and brushing his teeth. Once he’s dried himself off and changed, he pushes his damp hair back and clips it away from his face, draping a dry towel around his neck before he quietly opens the door back into the room.

He’s surprised to find the lights are all still on and even more surprised to find that Sweden is still very much awake, sitting cross legged on the bed with the photo album open in his lap. He doesn’t look up when Norway sits down on the bed next to him. It’s open to a page featuring photos of the grand opening of the Øresund bridge, photos alternating between shots of the bridge its self and ones of Sweden; cutting the ribbon, shaking hands with construction officials, and holding Sealand on his shoulders to look out over the water.

Sweden stares at the photos for a long time before speaking. “I d’n’t know how he got these…” he mutters. “I n’ver even saw ‘im that day.”

Norway frowns slightly. “What? That bridge was a huge cooperation between your governments, how did you not see him on opening day?”

Sweden shrugs and turns the page. “Didn’t think t’look for ‘im.”

Norway leans back against the headboard and sighs. “He was really excited about that bridge. I’m surprised he wasn’t all over you about it.”

Sweden doesn’t reply; he just keeps turning pages.

Norway allows his eyes to fall shut. It’s well past four in the morning and he has every intention of being back at the hospital before ten, but he can’t seem to turn his brain off. He exhales deeply. It’s just as well; Denmark is getting enough sleep for them both.

“D’ya think he’ll die?”

Norway blinks. “What?”

Sweden repeats himself. He’s staring down at the very last picture in the book. “D’ya think he’s g’ing t’die?”

Norway looks down at his hands. It’s harder to lie to Sweden than it is to Iceland. “I don’t know.” He fingers the edge of the bedspread. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

The Swede’s blunt answer falls heavily across the room and Norway resists the urge to sock Berwald across the head. “Why?”

Sweden rests his hand on the large, grainy photograph. “If Ice ‘s right, he won’t wake up. W’ldn’t want to.” He pauses. “Been thinkin’ all day ‘bout how ‘m g’nna explain death to Peter.”

Norway scowls and crosses his arms. “You won’t need to,” he replies hotly. “They still have another treatment option to explore. And besides, he-”

A soft knocking on the door interrupts him. He exchanges a curious look with Sweden before sliding out of bed and peering through the peephole. “It’s Finland and Sealand,” he says, surprised. He opens the door for the bed rumpled duo.

“I’m sorry, did we wake you?”

Norway shakes his head. “No, we’re still up.”

“Is Berwald with you? He never came back to the room.”

“’m here,” Sweden calls from the bed.

Sealand lets go of Finland’s hand and stumbles inside, immediately making himself at home and crawling into bed with his father. “Ah, Peter, maybe you shouldn’t-”

The boy ignores Finland and pulls the covers over himself. “I’m going back to sleep,” he mutters, tucking his head against Sweden’s lap.

Finland sighs. “I’m sorry, Norway, we’ll get out of your hair and let you get back to sl-”

For a third time, there is a knocking on the door. While Finland gets onto the bed and tries to coax Sealand up again, Norway answers the door for a half asleep Iceland. The violet eyed boy holds up his cell phone.

“Finland called me twice, but now he won’t pick up his phone and there’s no one answering the door in their room,” he grumbles tiredly. “Did something happen?”

Norway shakes his head. “No, everything’s fine. They were just looking for Berwald and now they’re all in here.”

Iceland peers in and frowns. “So, I got up for nothing.”

“Yes, you did. You might as well come inside too.”

Iceland sighs and pads into the room. Finland has stopped trying to rouse Sealand in favor of slowly going through the photo album with Sweden. “Did…did either of you know that he had this?” The Finnish man asks quietly.

Iceland sits down at the foot of the bed. “No, we found it when we went to his house.”

Finland frowns sadly. “Some of these are so old…” he turns the page. “Aah! Oh no, I look so fat in this one!”

“Y’look fine.”

Norway sighs and wedges himself into the last bit of space in the bed. “He’s apparently been keeping it for a long time.”

Finland looks up at him. “But why? I mean, I could understand a small album, but this is so meticulous and there are so many photos.”

Norway starts to reply, but Sweden interrupts him, staring at the wall, his speech unmarred and perfectly clear.

“It’s because we’re his family.”

Finland bites his bottom lip and looks back down at the album. For a long time, no one says anything and they just keep their eyes turned down. Finally, Finland slowly closes the book. “I think…” he gently hands it to Norway. “I think…maybe we should all sleep together tonight…”

Sweden gives him a curious look.

Finland fidgets slightly. “Tomorrow could be…it…” he says carefully. “And I’m really, really nervous.” He reaches for Sweden’s hand and laces their fingers together over Sealand’s shoulders. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep, but…” he looks up, pleadingly, to Norway and Iceland. “It would really give me some peace of mind if we could all just stay together tonight.” He looks down. “Like we used to.”

After a moment, Iceland gingerly lifts the covers up and slides his legs underneath them. “Me too,” he says softly. He glances at Norway. “Is it alright?”

Norway pauses, holding the photo album tightly in his hands. “No…” he says lowly. He stands up. “It’s not.”

I’m so embarrassed. I had this all typed up and ready to go by the time I got off of work, but I came home and fell asleep while waiting for my laptop to boot up. OTL I’m kinda ehhhh on this chapter, but what can you do, eh?


--

They oversleep.

By a series of unfortunate, unrelated events, their wake-up call is never delivered and none of them thought to set their own alarms before falling into an exhausted sleep. They miss the cab at nine, miss the shot at ten, and don’t wake until well after noon when Norway’s cell phone rings loudly. There is a short scrabble of obscenities and detangling of bodies as they all rush to their feet, realizing just how late it is, and Norway barely makes it to his phone by the last ring.


“Hey, Norway, this is America…where are you guys?” Alfred’s tired voice greets him from the other line.

“We overslept,” Norway scrubs the sleep from his eyes and hurries to the bathroom to gather his clothes. “I’m sorry, we’re on our way.”

There is a short pause before America speaks again. “Listen…Norway, I…”

Norway’s heart freezes. “What? What is it?”

“I don’t really want to do this over the phone.”

“What’s happened?”

The others pause in their scramble to get their shoes and coats on and stare at Norway. “America, tell me what’s going on.”

America sighs. “The nostalgia therapy didn’t work. We gave him the shot and…just get here as soon as you can, okay? I need to go.”

“Wait, America, what-” Norway stares at his phone as the call disconnects. He looks up at the rest of them and quickly pockets his phone. “We need to go. Now.”

Finland finishes zipping up Sealand’s coat. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

Norway grabs his wallet from the bedside table. “Yes. But I don’t know what.”

--

Outside, the weather is storming.

None of them say anything in the cab on their way to the hospital. Norway repeatedly tries to call America, eventually giving up and trying Russia and Japan instead, but receives no answer from any of them and settles for just chewing his bottom lip raw as they fight their way through traffic.

Even once they reach the hospital, it takes them fifteen minutes to find anyone, but a nurse eventually manages to page America, who meets them in the lobby looking harried and exhausted.

“Come with me,” he skips any pleasantries and waves for them to follow him into a small office. Once they are all inside, he closes the door quietly and turns to face their apprehensive gazes.

“What’s going on?” Iceland takes a step forward. “Why isn’t anyone telling us anything?”

America sighs and holds up a hand. “Because no one needs to know about this yet except for people like us. Look, you guys…” he shoves his hands into his pockets and stares at the ground. “We started the nightmare treatment a few hours ago. He wasn’t waking up on his own, so we started him on opioid blockers and gave him a controlled dose of LSD.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “It should be working, but…”

Norway swallows thickly. “But?”

America shifts awkwardly. “We were right. About the Black Mercy, I mean. It’s doing everything it can to keep him asleep and it’s quadrupled its poison output in the last three hours. His body is starting to shut down. We’re doing everything we can, but the plant won’t let us get near him.” He bites his lip. “At this point…at this point, we’re just trying to make him comfortable.” He looks up at them. “We’re out of time.”

Norway feels like the floor has dropped out from under him. He clenches his hands and stares at his feet. “How much time do we have left?”

America shakes his head. “At the rate he’s going, two hours. Maybe three.”

Norway sinks into the chair behind him. “And there’s nothing we can do?”

“Not in the little time we have. There’s simply no way to safely remove the plant without putting others in danger.” He clears his throat quietly. “I wasn’t sure if you would want to be there for when it happens, but I figured I should call you guys in to make sure you could at least say goodbye.” He clasps his hands in front of him. “We did everything we could. I’m really, really sorry, you guys.”

Sweden surprises them by being the first to break the heavy silence. “I w’nt a minute alone w’th ‘im.”

Finland looks up at him. “Su?”

Sweden places a gentle hand on Finland’s head. “Got s’me things I want t’ reconcile.” He says quietly.

Finland gives him a watery smile and hugs him tightly. America nods and gestures for Sweden to come with him.

“I’ll page reception once he’s done.” He bites his lip. “Try to keep your chin up, okay? I don’t think he’d want to see you sad.” He closes the door and leaves the rest of them in silence.

“Mama?” Sealand stares up at Finland, perplexed. “What’s going on?”

Finland stoops down and picks up Sealand, holding the boy tightly. “Your uncle Denmark is sick, Peter. Really sick.”

Sealand hugs Finland’s shoulders. “Don’t worry! The doctors will make him better.”

Finland buries his face in the crook of Sealand’s neck. “No, Peter…” he whispers. “He’s not going to get better.” He leans back and pushes the hair out of the boy’s face. “We have to say goodbye to him, okay?”

Sealand’s eyes widen. “What? Why?”

Norway gets to his feet suddenly, knocking the chair backwards loudly. He wrenches the door of the office open and storms out into the hall. Iceland grimaces and turns to Finland.

“I’ll be right back…”

Hello, everyone!

First off and foremost, thank you all SO much for your continued support with this story. This is my first fill for the kink meme and I never expected to get such an overwhelming response, let alone beautiful art. It means an awful lot!

Secondly, I've been keeping an eye on the comment count for part ten and it's filling up really quickly. On the off chance that part ten maxes before I finish, I will continue to update in the past parts block as well as on a separate journal. I need to open up a new account, since I'm not entirely comfortable posting fanfiction on my personal blog, but once I do, I will post the link here. I will also continue to post the update links in the fill list to both my journal and the past parts fill. I hope to finish before it maxes so that you don't all have to go hunting for it, but I figure it would be a good precaution to take.

Lastly, the next chapter is just about finished and should be up in a few hours or so. I'm going to do my best to get two chapters up tonight provided work is slow. And again, same as the last two weeks, there won't be any updates over Thursday and Friday.

Again, thank you all so much for reading! I'll see you again in a few hours. :)

Same warnings apply here, folks. The nightmares are only going to get worse.

Recommended listening for this chapter: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3_AEpZ-vpGA or anything from this soundtrack, really. I’ve been listening to the Project Zero OST pretty much the entire time I’ve been writing the nightmare sequences.

I also apologize for the wait. Work was kinda retarded tonight. I hope the length makes up for the delay!

--

A never ending stretch of desolate road.

His legs carry him as far as the center of Copenhagen before giving out, sending him head over heels onto the pavement, his lungs burning and his chest pounding agonizingly. Above him, the black rain continues to come down in relentless torrents that slowly melt any solid object that they touch, buildings and cars collapsing in on themselves into shiny, wet puddles that run together into the cracks in the brick street. Mathias shields his face and grits his teeth together. His eyes are still stinging with tears and the terrible rain isn’t helping.

His heart feels like it’s on fire. It’s still racing too fast to possibly be healthy, physical exhaustion or otherwise. He digs his fingers into his chest, clawing through the ragged fabric of his shirt, and grips at himself to feel the unnaturally quick thudding beneath. He tries to get a hold of his breath; tries to slow his heart rate. But the panic that bubbles up when he can’t only makes it worse and all he can manage is a choked sob.

From beside him, there is a sudden rustling. He jerks his head sideways and rolls unsteadily to his side, eyes darting in every direction until he finds the source of the sound. A torn scrap of sky blue fabric flaps limply against the howling gale, caught on the bent antenna of an old, rusty truck. It should be insignificant. It’s just a piece of cloth. But as he makes eye contact with it, a dark, hollow feeling begins to carve it’s way through his stomach and he slowly pushes himself to his feet and limps across the street to the vehicle. He plucks the fabric off and stares at it for a long time before the familiarity finally clicks.

Finland…

He whips his head around, nearly losing his balance as he does so. He tries calling out but still, only the high pitched, static whine comes through and he has to settle for simply clutching the cloth tightly in his hand. He turns back to the truck. It seems to be perfectly intact except for the rust, all four tires still full and round as opposed to melted and sizzling like every other car on the block. He slowly makes his way over to the driver’s side and peers inside.

There is a single, golden key lying on top of a folded piece of paper on the seat.

He bites his lip and cautiously reaches out to grasp the handle, completely expecting for it to burn him or even disappear when his fingers wrap around the gritty metal. The door opens easily and he slides inside. He’s temporarily relieved to be out of the rain, but the feeling is short lived when he picks up the key and paper, unfolding it and staring at it.

It’s a map. And it’s directing him to cross the Øresund bridge.

He swallows the lump in his throat and inserts the key into the ignition, turning it slowly and nervously pulling his seatbelt closed when the old truck coughs to life. Better safe than sorry. It clunks loudly when he shifts it into gear, but moves smoothly forward when he guides it back onto the main road.

A never ending stretch of desolate road.

It should take him much, much longer to make his way to the water. He brings the truck to a stop just short of the ramp to the bridge and spends several minutes just staring at the looming white pillars, the windshield wipers leaving greasy tracks at they pass in and out of his vision. This bridge had been his pride and joy; a symbol of cooperation and a new link to his brother in Sweden, not to mention a stylish and incredibly functional landmark. But now, as the truck rumbles at the base of the ramp, the huge, imposing structure just frightens him. The stark white cables stand out against the swirling red and black sky, stock still despite the raging winds and violently churning water below. It reminds him of bones. It reminds him of…

Norge…

He shakes his head and eases the truck up the ramp. The main path of the bridge is completely empty except for him, devoid of any obstructions including the usual tollbooths, the familiar lanes blanked out entirely to expose nothing but a dull, barren stretch of pavement. He watches the road uneasily. The silence unnerves him. He hasn’t seen the bridge this empty since it was opened, when the only traffic was the Prince of Denmark and the Princess of Sweden meeting half way to shake hands and present a large pair of scissors to Berwald.

He frowns slightly. He can’t remember where he himself had been on opening day.

The bridge isn’t terribly long, less than five miles, and as he approaches the halfway point, an unexplainable sense of dread washes over him. There is something hanging over the center of the street, flapping noiselessly as he gets closer, squinting through the rain as he tries to figure out what it is. He brings the truck to a slow stop and cautiously steps out. A strange sense of déjà vu hits him as soon as his feet touch the pavement and he steps closer.

It’s a red, silk ribbon.

Tied in a neat bow, it is strung from either side of the bridge, hanging in a perfectly even, taut line, the tails fluttering against his legs as he stands before it. He reaches out and runs his fingers along the smooth surface. His hands leave greasy streaks, but nothing else changes. It’s only a ribbon. Just a harmless, plain ribbon.

Slowly, he shifts his hand to touch his back pocket, fingers looping around hard plastic to pull out a small, brassy pair of scissors that he didn’t know he had been carrying. Mechanically, he lifts the blades to the ribbon and snips it in half. The two halves drop to the street.

Immediately, there is a huge rush of howling wind that nearly bowls him over. He throws his hands over his head and stumbles to his knees, grit biting into every piece of exposed flesh that the wind can push it against as it shrieks around him. Beneath him, the road is trembling. He struggles back onto his feet and forces himself again the wind in a slow and painful attempt to get back to the truck, his hair whipping loudly around his ears despite his best efforts to keep his face protected with his forearms. The bridge begins to sway alarmingly, the cables creaking. He gropes blindly for the door handle of the truck, but his hand only passes through the rushing air. He cracks his eyes open.

The truck has vanished.

He jerks his head around, searching desperately for it, assuming that he had simply gotten turned around, but the vehicle is nowhere to be found. The bridge groans loudly and Mathias squints up at the sky, watching the nervously as the cables clatter and pull at each other. He needs to get off the bridge but the violent wind is too thick with rust and dirt for him to see in any direction. He bites his lip. The road is beginning to crack. Swallowing the rising panic in his throat, he picks a direction and takes a few steps, but the wind shrieks with a new intensity and throws him back before he can make it very far.

“That’s not the right way, you know.”

Hello again, everyone! Back with an update later than I expected due to some awful insomnia. Believe it or not, I’ve been absolutely plagued with nightmares over the last few nights. I’m completely exhausted, hence the slow writing, but it’s good inspiration! Find the silver lining!

Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me thus far. This story has sort of gotten to be a beast (now over a hundred pages in Word!) and a lot more involved than I ever planned, so it means a lot to me that people are reading. I’ve literally been walking on cloud nine since you two amazing artist anons posted your beautiful artwork. You guys rock! ;A;

Recommended listening for this chapter: Detektivbyrån – Monster http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AbyF6ntJXvI This is a Swedish band that does a lot of ambient instrumental music. This particular song is my favorite. It’s very melancholy and I think fits very well. It’s not very long, but it will at least set the mood. Plus, I’m shamelessly pimping out this band to everyone in the universe, haha.

Okay, enough with my rambling, here’s some more story for you!

--

Norway waits in the hall with the others as Russia and his doctors silently file into Denmark’s room to begin preparations. Ivan offers them a long, sympathetic gaze as he passes, but keeps his words to a minimum, simply informing them that they are welcome back in the room as soon as they have finished with the necessary precautions and that he is sorry for their loss. Norway snaps at him for acting like Denmark is already dead and the tall Russian just shakes his head and closes the door.

While they wait, no one bothers to make any conversation. Iceland keeps a steady hand on Norway’s elbow at all times and Finland keeps Sealand occupied, but otherwise, the hall remains silent save for the ever present ticking of the clock on the wall; a grim, consistent reminder of the time and just how little of it they have left. Norway has long since discarded his watch, but he cannot escape the minutes as they slip by, seemingly quicker now that the door to Denmark’s room is shut.

Tick, tick, tick, tick…

Sweden leans against the wall and inhales deeply. Since his time by Denmark’s bedside, the austere Swede has yet to say a word. Occasionally, Finland will pause in his quiet murmuring to Sealand and reach up to squeeze Berwald’s hand, unspoken understanding drifting between them as the smaller man tries his best to look reassuring. A thin smile, a firm clasp of the hand…

It’s all so fake, it makes Norway’s stomach churn.

Tick, tick, tick, tick…

He scowls and glares at the clock. It hurts his heart to look at it, but he figures that if he stares at it furiously enough, perhaps it might explode, taking its infernal ticking with it. There is, of course, no such luck, and he must settle for fixing his anger back on the polished hospital floor.

One hour left.

It takes Russia less than twenty minutes to complete his work, but it seems that they have been standing with the clock for much longer than that by the time the door opens again and Ivan waves them inside.

“We are ready. America said that you requested to touch him, so we have removed the case for now.” He eyes them as they all crowd to the door. “Is the boy coming in as well?”

“Yes!” Sealand huffs indignantly.

Finland places a hand on Peter’s back and gently guides him to fall into step behind Sweden. “Yes, he is. If he gets frightened, America has agreed to keep him company in the hall.”

“I’m not going to get scared!”

Russia sighs. “Very well. We have placed several chairs by his bedside for you,” he opens the door a bit wider so that they can all pass through, “Please watch your step.”

Inside, several long hoses have been run along the floor, connecting a large, pressured tank to the top of the incubator case, which lies on it’s side below Denmark’s bloodstained bed. Several of the machines previously monitoring the Dane have been removed and leave only the vitals monitor and respirator still connected to him. Several thick blankets have been neatly draped over his waist and legs and a small pillow placed beneath his head.

Russia shuts the door behind them and carefully steps over the hoses. “We have brought in an airtight case,” he explains, motioning to the floor. “Once he has…passed…we will seal him in and flood the incubator with an extremely concentrated, lethal amount of carbon monoxide gas.” He points to the tank. “Once the plant has been killed, we will dispose of it by way of fire.”

Norway circles the table slowly, only half paying attention to Ivan’s words. Denmark’s face is tight and drawn and every inch of exposed skin is drenched in sweat, yet his entire body is trembling, a barely visible quiver beneath the dark web of tendrils wrapped around him. Norway turns his attention back to Ivan.

“How long has he been shivering like this?” He asks quietly.

Russia moves to the bedside. “It began about thirty minutes ago. We believe it is a side effect of the LSD.” He pats the corner of the blankets. “We are keeping him covered as much as the plant will allow. It isn’t much, but some warmth is better than none, yes?”

Norway nods slowly. “I suppose…” he reaches out a tentative hand and gently smoothes Denmark’s sweat-damp hair back, allowing his fingers to brush against the other’s fevered forehead. The Dane’s eyes are shut tightly, darting frantically, and his rapid, labored breath escapes in short whistles through his clenched teeth. Norway rests his hand on Denmark’s head. “He looks…scared….” He mutters softly.

Russia shakes his head. “We do not believe that he is aware of his surroundings any longer, dream-state or otherwise,” he says flatly. “His vitals are low enough that his brain will not be focusing energy on anything but keeping him alive. It is highly unlikely that he is still dreaming. It is simply the drug working it’s way through his system.”

You guys are seriously going to put me in a flattery coma. I swear to God. I love you all. ;A;!!

--

Denmark shoves Norway away and struggles backwards, toppling off of the bed and crashing to the floor, ripping out his IV lines and scrambling to press himself against the wall, knocking over the heart monitor as he does. He tears at his chest, trying to scratch the still stuck tendrils free from his skin without much success, only managing to splatter the tile floor with blood and thick, black fluid from what is left of the Black Mercy. His pupils are blown wide and he is hyperventilating between screams, eyes unfocused and darting frantically around the room as he tries to make himself as small as possible, fisting his hair between his fingers and burying his face between his shaking knees.

“Wake up!” He cries hoarsely. He digs his fingernails into his scalp. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

Russia frowns and moves quickly to a cabinet on the other side of the room. “The drugs are still in his system. He is still hallucinating.”

Denmark rakes his fingers down his neck, scraping desperately at the raised pieces of flesh where the tentacles have invaded.

“Get out, get out, get out…!” He pants, managing to pierce the skin just under his chin.

“For Gods sake, restrain him before he can hurt himself!” Russia bellows, yanking open drawers.

The doctors quickly descend on Denmark. They grab his arms and try to haul him back to the bed, but the Dane just struggles harder, screaming and kicking, his frantic twisting only spilling more blood onto the floor. They try to wrestle him forward, try to clamp his hands behind his back. Denmark’s shoulders strain painfully as he tries urgently to escape, awful, overwrought cries forcing their way through his tightly clenched teeth.

“Stop, stop!” Norway cries and rushes forward. “You’re just making it worse! Can’t you see how scared he is?” He pushes the doctors away and Denmark drops to his knees, immediately shoving himself against the wall again, throwing up his arms in front of himself defensively, hiding his face in the crook of his elbows.

“Go away…go away…!” He gasps. His entire body is trembling.

Norway slowly kneels down in front of him. “Denmark?” He says softly.

The Dane shrinks in on himself even further. “No, no, no, no, no…”

Norway hesitates for a moment. “Mathias…” he carefully wraps his hands around Denmark’s wrists, unsurprised when he tries to jerk away. He slowly pulls Denmark’s arms down and leans in. “Mathias? Can you hear me?”

Denmark’s head snaps up and his impossibly huge eyes lock with Norway’s. He makes a high-pitched strangled noise that in any other situation, Norway might have found hilarious, and gradually begins to unclench his fists. He blinks and nods clumsily. Norway smiles lightly and lifts his hands and gently cups the Dane’s face, running his thumbs over his cheeks.

“N-Niels?” He chokes.

Norway’s watery smile increases. “Yeah,” he says, voice cracking. “Yeah.”

Denmark’s face breaks and he pitches forward into Norway’s chest, clinging to the smaller man tightly, a tense, breathy sob ringing through the room as he does. Norway wraps his arms around the other and pulls him close, placing a careful hand on the back of his head to press their cheeks together.

“Shh, it’s okay…” he whispers. “You’re okay…”

Denmark just holds onto him even tighter, crying loudly without restraint. Norway allows his own tears to fall silently; he doesn’t want to startle Denmark even more than he already is. Denmark’s hands grip at the Norwegian’s back. It’s nearly painful, but Norway cannot even begin to be bothered to care as he whispers reassurance after reassurance into the Dane’s ear, stroking his hair and hugging him securely. He can feel blood seeping into his shirt.

Russia is suddenly beside them with a syringe. He exchanges a serious look with Norway who pulls back slightly and looks down at Denmark. He swipes his thumb under one of the Dane’s wide, panicked eyes, pushing the tears away gently.

“We have to fix you up,” he says quietly. Slowly, as if speaking to a child. “So you have to go back to sleep for a little while.”

Denmark jerks up. “No!” He shouts. “Please, no, I can’t-!” He starts to struggle again, trying to pull away. Russia sighs and grabs his arm, pulling him forward and sticking him with the needle before he can begin to fight again. Denmark’s eyes flutter and he sways for a moment before dropping down against Russia’s arm, limp and still once again. Russia carefully props him up and leans him back against Norway, who glares at him.

“That was unnecessarily rough,” he spits flatly, running his hand through Denmark’s hair.

Russia gets back to his feet and hits the page button by the bed. “He needs medical attention immediately,” he returns just as dully. “He has already died twice, let’s not make it three, da?”

The doors to the room fly open and another team of doctors hurry inside with a gurney. Norway surrenders him to the group and they carefully load him onto the bed, reattaching him to a new heart monitor and IV, snapping an oxygen mask over his nose before turning and wheeling him out into the hall, leaving a suddenly exhausted Norway to get shakily to his feet. The front of his shirt is smeared with red and black. He swallows thickly.

“I, uh…” he clears his throat. “I don’t suppose you have a shirt lying around that I could borrow?”

Russia smiles at him and claps a large hand on his shoulder. “Go see the nurse in reception. She will give you some scrubs to wear.” A sudden buzzing resounds through the room and he reaches to his belt to pull off his pager. He reads over the screen for a moment. “They are prepping him for surgery,” he says. He begins to steer Norway to the doors. “In the mean time, you should find the others and see how Iceland is fairing.”

Norway nods and steps into the hall. “Ivan…” he sighs. “Is he going to be okay?”

Russia hovers in the doorway and nods. “He has been hogging all of the best doctors for himself. I am sure he will pull through.” He grins hugely, his eyes darkening. “Now if you’ll please excuse me…”

He begins to slowly shut the door.

“I have a little weed to dispose of.”

Hey, all! Just wanted to let you know that there won't be an update tonight. I'm going to try my hand at writing some smut. *Cracks knuckles* Wish me luck!

Regular updates will resume tomorrow night. :)

This silent stalker!anon wishes you much luck on your smut writing adventure!
:)
Looking forward to the new chapters when they arrive too. I'm going to be so heartbroken when this is over. Hopefully we will see you do more amazing fills~

Recaptcha: or manner
Do you think I'm being a little forward in offering my soul captcha?

You're such a fast updater, no worries! Also, this different stalkernon thinks she found the fruits of your smut labor already~... They were good fruits. Nothing like grapefruit.

Hello again! Sorry I wasn’t able to get this up this up earlier. It wound up being a looooot longer than I had planned. There are parts of this chapter that I’m kinda eh about, but overall, I’m rather happy with it.

SO THEN.

AFTER ALL THAT ANGST, WHO’S READY FOR SOME COMFORT, EH?

I KNOW I AMMMMM.

--

Norway awakes late into the afternoon feeling better rested than he has all week despite having slept hunched over the side of Denmark’s bed all night. Sweden is already awake but has yet to move from his spot where Finland and Sealand are still sprawled out on his lap. Norway yawns and stretches, relishing in how satisfyingly loud his back pops.

“Good morning,” he mumbles. He eyes the empty cup of coffee in the Swede’s hand. “Where did you get that?”

Sweden points to the bedside table where a small carafe of coffee has been placed. “J’pan brought it.”

Norway pushes his chair back and goes to pour himself some. “He’s been here already?”

Sweden nods. “S’late. He came by this mornin’.”

Norway empties the Styrofoam cup of lukewarm coffee in one go crumples it. He tosses it into the trash and moves to adjust Denmark’s blankets, arranging them neatly around his waist. “Has there been any change?”

Sweden sighs and shakes his head. “Kiku said he’s lookin’ better but he hasn’t been ‘wake.” He sits up and gingerly shifts Finland down so that he isn’t squishing the Swede’s arm. “Said ‘f he wakes up, we c’n take ‘im home t’night.”

Norway smoothes the covers out. “That’s good news.” He reaches forward and gently presses the back of his hand to Denmark’s cheek, relieved when he finds that the Dane is no longer burningly warm. He smiles to himself and lets his arm drop so that he can squeeze Denmark’s shoulder. “He definitely looks better.”

Sweden makes a quiet noise of agreement as Norway returns to his seat after pouring himself another cup of coffee, choosing to sip it this time rather than shotgun it. He pauses for a moment and pretends to study the surface of his drink, absently carving shapes into the cup with his thumbnail. “Say, Berwald…” he starts slowly.

“Mm?”

“I was just wondering and…you don’t need to answer if you don’t want to, but…” he looks up from his coffee. “What did you say to him earlier? When you came up alone?”

Sweden stiffens slightly and Norway holds a hand up. “It’s alright, you don’t need to tell me.”

An awkward silence drops over the room. Norway tries to busy himself with watching the steady rise and fall of Denmark’s chest, mentally matching the rhythm with the stable tempo of the heart monitor. After a few moments, Sweden sighs deeply and pulls his glasses off to rub tiredly at his eyes.

“Told ‘im I forgave ‘im.”

Norway blinks and turns back to face Berwald, who continues without looking at him.

“Told ‘im it wasn’t just his fault. We did a lot ‘f terr’ble things t’ each other ‘n ‘m just as guilty as he is.” He slowly pushes his spectacles back on. “Said I was sorry. Fer a lot ‘f things.” He allows his gaze to drift slowly up to look at Norway. “’specially fer takin’ you ‘way from ‘im.” He exhales loudly and slumps back in his chair and brushes his fingers through Finland’s hair. “’s the most I‘ve said t’ ‘im ‘n years.”

Norway chuckles lowly. “I wonder if he heard any of it.”

“Doubt it.”

He reaches out and pats Denmark’s leg. “I guess you’ll just have to tell him later.”

“Tell me what…?”

A-alright, guys! Here it is! T-the last chapter!

S-stupid story! It’s not like I’ve enjoyed writing you or will miss you!

/sob

--

Despite Japan’s optimism, another three days pass before they can take Denmark home. He spends close to twenty-four hours miserably bent over a trash pin, puking up the greasy, black residue left behind from the Black Mercy and by the time he’s finally empty, his blood pressure is too high to warrant release. He spends the next day with a high fever, sleeping so deeply that America frets that the Dane has gone comatose again and Finland has to spend five minutes getting him to calm down. On the third day, he is still too exhausted to even hold himself upright and Norway spends most of the time alternating between rubbing his back and feeding him ice chips.

Iceland and the others visit periodically throughout each day, usually with armfuls of flowers and get well cards from the higher ups in Denmark’s government and a few gifts from other nations. Prussia drops by on the first day but only stays long enough to promise him a beer once he’s done throwing his guts up, and returns the next day with Germany and Holland, all three disappointed when the nurse turns them away. As the days progress, Sweden spends more and more time in the room, even staying over night with Norway on the last day to ensure that one has company when the other is asleep. Norway is grateful for the opportunity to nap and is even more pleased when he wakes up briefly to find the estranged brothers in deep, serious conversation, Denmark still barely lucid, but smiling tiredly as Sweden speaks lowly to him in quiet words that Norway can barely hear.

His fever breaks on the fourth day and his condition improves rapidly, enough so that he finally manages to eat something and can spend the hours blowing through crossword puzzles and whining to Norway about how bored he is. When he requests his Play Station, Japan deems it safe to release him and sends Finland and Sweden back to the Dane’s house to retrieve him some normal clothes. While they wait, Japan beckons Norway to the bedside and shows him how to properly change Denmark’s bandages, the normally stony faced Norwegian visibly recoiling when Japan pulls the gauze pads back to reveal a web of stitches and slowly building scar tissue, dark red and glossy with antibiotic ointment. He watches intently as Japan demonstrates how to gently clean the wounds and how to rewrap them, all the while rattling off a laundry list of all the terrible things that could happen if the sutures are improperly cared for, emphasizing his words every time Denmark sighs.

By the time Finland returns with a bag of clothes, Norway is thoroughly disgusted by everything the human body is capable of when inappropriately tended to and Denmark is still curiously inquiring about difference between pus and clear discharge. Finland hands the bag to Denmark, looking horrified.

“Berwald is pulling the car around…” he says slowly. “But, uh…if you’re still talking with Japan, take your time.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Denmark sits up and slowly swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m ready to get the hell out of here.”

“Please wait, I am not quite through with you,” Japan stops him before he can stand and Denmark sighs impatiently. “It’s just for a moment.” He steps forward and quickly replaces the bandage on Denmark’s cheek with a smaller, pink “Hello Kitty” band-aid, repeating the action on the top of his hand and the crook of his elbow where the IV lines had previously been connected. Once he’s satisfied, he nods. “Done. Would you like any assistance changing?”

Denmark glowers at him. “No, man, I’m a big boy, I think I can handle it.”

Japan exchanges an amused look with Norway. “Very well,” he smirks and steps back to yank the curtain shut. It takes less than a minute of muffled cursing and pained yelps before he finally sucks up his dignity and asks Norway to help him get his shirt on.