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It was half past two in the morning, and Norway (ever the night owl) was just getting ready for bed when his cell phone buzzed on his nightstand, shaking and jolting and generally causing a ruckus.
Sparing only a moment to wonder who the fuck would call him at such an ungodly hour of the night, Norway picked up, too tired to even look at the caller ID. “Hello?”
For a few moments, all he heard in reply were harsh, fast-paced breaths that almost pushed the point of hyperventilation. Then, finally, Denmark gasped out, “Norge? Is that you?”
“Yes,” Norway said, slightly disgruntled and trying his darnedest to hide the concern that crept into the edges of his voice. If Denmark was panicking, worrying would only make things worse. “What’s going on? It’s almost three, y’know.”
Another pause, this time occupied by one short, staccatoed inhale and one long, wavering exhale. “Yeah, I know that. I just really need to hear your voice right now, okay?”
Denmark didn’t seem too keen on discussing whatever had caused this state of unrest, so Norway chose to comply. “Alright, what do you want to hear?”
“Anything!” The desperation in his voice even seemed to startle himself, and Norway could imagine him nervously rubbing at the back of his neck as he stuttered out a meager addition, “I mean, ah, what are you doing right now?”
Realizing he probably wasn’t going to sleep any time soon, Norway stretched, the joints in his back and shoulders popping as he stood up and walked to the kitchen. “Well, I was just about to go to bed-”
“Ah, fuck, I’m so sorry-”
“But!” Norway interjected, before Denmark could start hyperventilating again. “I’ve had pretty bad insomnia lately, anyway, so I probably wouldn’t’ve gone to sleep for a while.”
He trailed off without even meaning to, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a carton of milk.
“Oh… I guess it’s alright then. I’m sorry you’ve had insomnia.”
Perhaps, Norway decided as he took a deep gulp from the carton (he lived alone, so he could pull shit like that), it would be better to stick to lighter topics. “It’s no big deal. Dealt with it since the Viking Age, you know that.” He wiped the milk off his face, placing the carton back into the fridge and leaning on the door. If it weren’t for the sympathy-adrenaline coursing through his veins from Dnemark’s panic attack, he’d probably be exhausted.
“S’pose so,” Denmark groused, voice was so low and rumbly that Norway had to wonder for a moment whether or not Sweden was on the line instead.
That was a bad sign. “Danmark,” he remarked, rolling his shoulders and feeling all his joints pop, “do you remember way back then? When we would travel the world, pillaging as we pleased?”
“‘Course I do.”
Norway allowed himself a small smile as he went on. “And you’d always make fun of Sverige because he was so short?”
“Heh, I guess I did, didn’t I?”
He did, and Norway thought it was a wonder that Sweden had never tried to make fun of Denmark once they’d all hit their growth spurts. “Yeah, pretty funny in retrospect,” Norway continued. “There was one thing that always got t’me though.”
Denmark didn’t speak for a moment, likely expecting Norway to elaborate. But, when he did reply, he sounded stern and almost contemplative (and far too serious for this hour of the night, in Norway’s opinion). “Oh yeah? And what was that?”
As his smirk faded, Norway found himself wandering over to the living room and lying down on the sofa. “No matter how many times you’d poke fun at Sve, you wouldn’t dare mock me – not even if I was shorter than the both of you, or if I was scared of the dark, or if I couldn’t take you in arm wrestling. Sverige might’ve teased me once or twice, but you couldn’t speak poorly of me if I made you.”
“Well,” Denmark said dismissively, “that’s just because I knew you’d beat me up if I did.”
Norway snorted. “Like that ever stopped you from bullying Sve. Nah, you just liked me too much to make fun of me. You always tried so hard to impress me, even if there was no reason to value me over yourself.”
“Nor-”
But Norway just shook his head. “Not done yet. Do you remember why I couldn’t ever fall asleep at night, even back then?”
Silence. Then, “yeah, I think so. You’d get… you’d get nightmares, right?” The word ‘nightmare’ was spoken with the type of innocent horror Norway would expect from a young child, shivering under his bedsheets and lamenting the monster hiding under the bed.
Norway smirked – hit the nail on the head. “That’s right,” he affirmed, thrumming his fingers on his phone in a subtle show of triumph, “I used to get nightmares all the time. And you know who I’d call for, every single time?”
Denmark made a noise that sounded sort of gravelly over the phone, and Norway hoped that was stifled laughter. “Me?”
At this hour, it was hard not to get lost reveling in the memories, especially as Norway studied the patterns on the ceiling with increasingly weary eyes. “Every single time,” he yawned. “I trusted you with my life; why not my dignity as well?”
“You sound tired, Nor. Are you sure you’re okay staying up with me?”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Denmark sighed into the receiver. “Well, I don’t need to wonder how you figured out my problem so quickly; you’re probably an expert on nightmares at this point.”
What with his own nightmares as a child, and Iceland’s still-not-so-uncommon bad dreams, Norway was inclined to agree. “You could say that.”
“I just wish it was like the good old days, when I could just ask you to come over and you could be there within the day.”
“Who says it isn’t? I work mostly from home anyway. I can do paperwork in København just as well as I can in Oslo.”
“You would really take a three-hour ferry to Denmark, just because I had a nightmare.”
“I dunno. Depends on the nightmare.”
“It’s the type of nightmare where you die and I don’t know what to do without you.”
Oh god, that one. This wasn’t the first time Denmark had had such a nightmare, and it always left him feeling alone and depressed. Norway kept his voice firm and blunt as he replied, “then yes, I would.”
No one spoke for a few minutes, and Norway had half fallen asleep when he began to wonder if Denmark had hung up.
“Danmark,” he murmured, “are you still there?”
But, just he the words left his mouth, he noticed the soft sniffles and whimpers that were seamlessly camouflaged by the white noise of the phone.
There was a muffled click that sounded like plastic on wood (Norway guessed Denmark had just set the phone down), and he distantly heard Denmark blow his nose before picking up the phone again. “Yeah. Would you please come get me, Nor?”
Norway would normally tease Denmark for crying, but he thought it cruel at this hour in the morning. “Of course. I’ll take the 6 o’clock train to Kristiansand, then catch the next ferry over. Will you be okay by yourself for eleven hours?”
It sounded sort of silly, and both of them knew it – eleven hours, really? – but, Norway felt he needed to make sure. If all else failed, he could send Sweden across that lovely little bridge that Denmark was so proud of.
“Yeah, I think so,” Denmark rasped, tearful but honest. “Sorry to put you through this.”
“Idiot,” Norway chided, rolling his eyes. “Like we’re not at each other’s houses all the time as it is.”
Denmark offered no verbal response, but he gave a short laugh.
Norway smiled. “I probably need to get some sleep. You’ll have proof that I’m still alive later, okay?”
“Okay. See ya, Norge.”
“Bye, Dan.”
Norway had barely set the alarm on his phone when he nodded off, dozing on the couch with his cellphone on his chest.