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They just aren’t the same without Denmark.
And Norway doesn’t know if he can live without him. It’s so quiet. The world is so quiet. No more jets overhead or crowds shuffling down city streets. He could live with that, it would strip him of his very soul but he could live with that. The silence where Denmark’s voice used to be is what’s killing him.
The cold never got to him before, but it does now, and he wears Denmark’s coat constantly even in the American sun. He gets concerned looks from his fellow nations and humans in the settlement, and finds that he just can’t bring himself to care. There are too many questions he can’t answer. Was it worse when he thought Denmark was dead, or now that he knows Denmark is dead? Is he happy he got the chance to say goodbye? Does he really have enough left in him to mourn his lover again?
Still, he writes Denmark a letter every day. At first, he told him how each day went, what progress they were making. After a while, the letters turned into a library of archives, records of every story Norway remembered from their past together, happier days.
And then they turned into downright insanity. Everything he would do to have him back. Desperate pleas scrawled on scraps of paper. Denmark would’ve been able to read it, he had far worse handwriting even on a good day. Norway loses himself walking in circles in his mind, weighing up theoreticals, playing through every way this could’ve gone differently, better. Would he trade Sealand’s life for Denmark’s? What if it had been Iceland? He supposes he’s lucky he never had to choose.
Eventually, the letters turn to just wet pages, usually tears, that Norway drops in the mailbox anyway. Sometimes, it’s blood, and he watches the precious red drops fall from his wrists, taking a little bit of his reservoir of pain with it, a tribute to his lost love. But he knows he’s going to bleed out long before the sorrow ever does. The longer they were together, the more the time they had could never be enough.
He goes through the motions of each day, for his people, for humanity, but he feels so far away, drifting further every day. His body seems to be shutting down on him. He notices his vision clouding over, his legs losing their strength, finds himself coughing up blood when even breathing is hard.
Norway barely even acknowledges it. It’s already a struggle to keep on going when the reminders are all around him. Sealand, all grown up. He’s a good kid, all that’s left of Denmark, but Norway can’t stand to even look at him right now. And there’s Canada, eyes once again clear violet as he walks around the settlement like Denmark never got to. Norway has a vague memory of Denmark playing with a wild violet eyed child, maybe a thousand years ago.
Oh god, he’s been alive so long. They are all so old.
“Norja, please, we can help you.”
Finland sounds tired, like a busy parent, but also like a child up past his bedtime. Norway wipes the blood from his lips.
"I don’t need help.”
Finland doesn’t stop him as he limps past him out the door.
“Why won’t you let us look after you?” he asks, almost too quiet to hear. “Are you trying to be with Denmark?”
Norway turns around, looking him in the eye. He can barely see but he knows Finland, knows that expression that means he’s deathly afraid.
“What? I’m not going to die. I have things to do. Please don’t ask me that ever again.”
Eventually, he becomes too weak to resist the other nations’ attempts to save him. Floating between dreams and unconsciousness, he doesn’t notice the children of his nation looking after him, doesn’t hear Finland cry, doesn’t feel Sealand hold his hand. He doesn’t know that he was never alone for a second, always someone who loved him by his bedside.
Sweden is the one who volunteers to watch over him at night. He doesn’t sleep much these days, so after coaxing restless Finland to sleep, much like Finland had soothed a younger Sealand, he spends the rest of the night with his oldest friend. Watching Norway wither away before him is viscerally horrifying. He knows Norway better than anyone, having been around since they were children and having loved him too, and one night it becomes apparent to him that he isn’t sick from the ashes in the air but from his broken heart.
It’s like Norway isn’t alive anymore. When Denmark slipped away that night, his love followed him into the dark. He is a dead man walking, and Sweden wonders if it would be kinder to let him go. But Norway is also the only person on Earth stubborn enough to keep living months after his heart stops.
Weeks later, Iceland sits watching his brother sleep. He looks so calm and peaceful when he’s asleep, but every time he stirs, a frown settles over his features and Iceland wishes he could wipe that away. He would give anything to see Norway smile again.
Norway’s eyes flutter open, and Iceland smiles slightly down at him. His eyes are no longer clouded, beautiful indigo like they’d always been, but lifeless.
“Big brother?”
Norway looks at him, empty. He doesn’t flinch when Iceland throws himself into his arms, burying his head in his older brother’s chest so he can listen to his heartbeat, remind himself that Norway is still alive, here with him, and maybe one day they would all be okay.
He hears nothing.