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Despite the thick blankets covering the bed, Norway is still shivering. There's a dull throb behind his eyes that hurts whenever he moves, keeping him awake. His body feels tender and swollen all over, and he's absolutely miserable, but it's only made worse when he's reminded that his people are going through the same agony he is, only ten times as bad.
The window is open, curtains fluttering in the slight breeze. A stray beam of sunlight is giving him a massive headache, forcing him to tilt his head on the pillow to avoid it. He can hear someone knocking on the door, but he doesn't have the energy to get up and check who it is. Hopefully it's just the mailman, and he can ignore it...
Fate doesn't grant him these kinds of small miracles, though, and it's only a matter of minutes before the door to his room is creaking open and Denmark is peering in.
"Norge, you okay?" He asks. Even in his weakened state Norway can't help but roll his eyes.
"Do I look okay?" Denmark approaches the bed and Norway frowns. "Dan, aren't you sick, too?"
"'S not as bad as you," Denmark replies. There's a moment of quiet, as Denmark goes to the window, mercifully shutting the curtains and blocking the sunlight. Norway exhales in relief, coughs a little, and moves his head back to its normal position on the pillow.
Denmark turns at the sound of his cough. His eyes are soft with emotion, and for all the times Norway had thought of him as a demon, now he is reminded of an angel sent to protect and heal.
"Do you want anything?" He asks. Norway thinks for a moment.
"Maybe some tea," he mumbles.
Denmark nods and moves toward the door, and Norway tries to croak out a thank you, but ends up sending himself into a coughing fit.
Denmark is immediately at his side, soothing him through the scratchiness and roughness of his throat, murmuring gentle words. Eventually the coughing resolves, even as a wave of emotion cascades over his heart, overflowing with sorrow, guilt, and despair.
"How many?" Norway asks, tears in his eyes, looking up at Denmark as if he has all the answers. "How many will it take? How many are going to die under my watch?"
Denmark can't answer. It hurts to see Norway like this, but he has to say something. The only thing he knows for sure is this.
"We'll make it out," he says, pressing a kiss to Norway's forehead, a promise.
"We'll both make it out." Norway clutches at his hand, a point of focus so he can ground himself. The feeling of hopelessness slowly drains away, replaced with a sense of determination. Denmark murmurs something about the tea and Norway releases him.
He has his hand on the doorknob when Norway speaks up. "We won't give up," he says, and it's even though it's only a whisper, he swears he sees Denmark smile.