Heart Break With Hetalia: Day 1

Thirty One Days Of Hetalia Heart Break

Thirty-one days of sadness,

thirty-one days of fear.

Thirty-one days of anxiety,

for one whole day of cheer.

One whole month,spent all alone,

of not calling you my friend.

Thirty-one days is how long it takes

for a broken heart

to mend.

.

Day One

Iceland: Home is where the heart is     

      Iceland wanders, lost, through the thick December snow as the sun slowly sets on the horizon. His fingers and toes are stiff from the biting winter chill, and he trembles beneath the dark brown coat he had stolen from Norway so long ago. The coat seemed to be made of more holes than cloth now, and the freezing wind flies through every gap. How he wishes he that Sweden, or Finland, or even Denmark was here with him to patch up his coat. His friends... When was the last time he had seen them? Two years ago? Three? Iceland shakes his head sadly, he barely remembers the last time he had felt their warmth or companionship. He had been alone for so long, that he had forgotten. Pausing for a moment, the little country tries to remember when he had last experienced warmth, the pleasure of a full belly, and the familiarity of home. How he missed having someone to go home to. Sweden, Finland, Denmark...Norway. All would be nice to return to... Shaking his head firmly to clear it, Iceland begins searching the depths of his mind for the last time he had felt at home, and after a few tries, he finally finds the right memory.  Slowly, he closes his eyes and lets the images wash over him.

   He sits upon his bed, his pet, Mr. Puffin, on his head. Scattered all around him are maps and atlases, spread out in a way that made sense to no one but him. He carefully examines diagrams and pictures of far away places; England and America, Bulgaria and Brazil. Every country that ever was can be found in that room, and there Iceland sits, right in the middle. He holds a map of his own country in his hands, and carefully traces the route between his house and the nearest town with his finger. Upon the young nation's face is a grim smile of concentration, tinged with wistfulness. This was his one chance to travel the world like he always wanted, and to escape from being under his brother's constant supervision. He was not going to let anyone mess this up for him. Mr. Puffin shifts his weight from foot to foot, before finally opening his beak,

   "Hey Icy, kid, ya sure 'bout blowing this popsicle stand? Me and the other birds been talkin' and honestly, we ain't thinkin' you to ready for this kinda thing. I mean, you is only sixteen and all... Why don't ya just hang here with your brother for a few years more. I mean, Norway can act like an emotionless jerk from time ta time, but he cares for ya, Icy. We all do. We don't want ya hurt, okay? Just stay here and grow up a little before ya go and do somethin' like this."  Iceland swats at the puffin on his head, his grin disappearing. 

    " If I say I'm old enough, then I am old enough. Do you think I care about what you think of me?"  Iceland asks angrily. Mr. Puffin jumps off the young country's head and flies over to his nightstand. The offended bird turns to the little nation and says, 

     "Alright, I can't stop ya, but what you gonna do 'bout your brother, Norway, and his friends? They are gonna worry, Icy, and there is no way they just gonna let ya go off on your own like that!" Iceland frowns at the puffin and gets up, spilling maps all over the floor. He walks over to the bookshelf his friend, Sweden, had made him. 

     "What they don't know won't hurt them." the young nation retorts as he opens the secret compartment in the side of the case. The small country grunts at the sudden weight as he lifts out a large backpack. Inside, he has already packed all the essentials, meaning a blanket or two, some items of sentimental value, a bottle of water, enough money to buy food for himself for a month, and his entire licorice stash. Stumbling to his bed, Iceland lifts the heavy bag onto his pillow. It had taken the young nation months to save up enough money to buy all of this, but it would be worth it! Finally, he could live the life he always wanted, and no one could ever tell him what to do ever again!   Iceland turns to Mr. Puffin, placing his hands on his hips.

    "I've come this far, I'm not going to let anyone get in my way! I hate being treated like a baby. I'm sixteen, and I'm going to act like it!" He begins mimicking his older brother, Norway, and his friends in a sing-song voice," 'Iceland, go clean your room!' 'Let's go to the park and play hide and seek again! That game is your favorite, right Icy?' 'Call me big brother, Iceland!' 'You have sauce on your face, let me clean it for you! No need to thank me, okay?' Gaghh! I'm freaking sick of it! I hate being treated like I'm some stupid little kid who can't take care of himself! Traveling the world is my one ticket out of this #&@*% daycare, and into the grown up world, and you're not going to stop me, you stupid bird!" Mr. Puffin sits there, stunned at his usually calm and collected owner's outburst, and Iceland nods in satisfaction. 

     The Icelandic boy turns back to packing a few final necessities, and looks around his room one last time, trying to memorize every detail. He doesn't think he will ever come back here again. The light blue walls, the wooden furniture, all courtesy of Sweden and his obsession with Ikea. The books upon his shelves, all thanks to Finland, while Denmark had gone and bought him several tubs of LEGOs, claiming, "You could never have too many of the things!". Norway had probably been the most generous, and had bought him many of the knickknacks and pictures that dotted the walls and sat, untouched, upon his desk. Speaking of which, Iceland looks to the picture of the time he and his friends had gone and celebrated his fifteenth birthday, the day they discovered that he had become a country. In the photograph, everyone wears a happy grin, except for the boy in the bottom corner of the scene. That boy was him, and instead of a cheerful smile like the others, he wears an annoyed frown. He hated the life that had been dictated to him for so long, even then. Iceland hesitates for a moment, before slipping the picture out of it's frame and shoves it into his pocket. 'Its just to remember them by,' he reasons with himself, before slinging the bulky backpack over his shoulders. Iceland staggers for a moment before finding his balance, and opens his door, ready to face the world. 

          However, he is not prepared to see his older brother, Norway, standing there with a plate of animal crackers and a slightly confused look on his face. Norway examines every detail about his little brother before him. Why was his brother wearing a backpack almost as large as he was...unless..... The plate clatters to the floor and Norway's eyes widen in shock, before narrowing into a hard glare. 

    "You're leaving little brother!? You can't!" Norway says, a hint of panic in his normally even voice. Iceland looks at his sibling coldly, his voice filled with malice,

   "I can and I will. You can't stop me anymore. Blockhead..." He whispers the last word under his breath. The older country's usually calm face contorts in anger, saying,

   "I'm your big brother, so that means I can stop you! Now, I am ordering you, Iceland, to put. The backpack. Down!" 

 "No."  

"No?" the older nation repeats, confused once again. "What do you mean, no?"

     Iceland glares at Norway, who takes a step back, slightly fearful at the amount of anger in his little brother's eyes. Iceland steps forward, grabs him by his shirt collar, and yanks him down to his level. 

   "I am not a baby anymore, Norway, and all you ever do is treat me like one, you stupid jerk! You order me around, tell me how to live my life, and you expect me to be thankful?!" Iceland looks the older man straight in the eye, a scowl on his face. 

    "All you've ever done is dictate my life to me, and I hate it! I hate the life you are forcing on me, you moron! If you want a little brother who is perfect, just like you, go looking somewhere else! I'm not perfect and I'm proud to be that way! If you think this," he gestures to the broken cookies looking mournfully up at the pair, "is what having a little brother means, I don't want to be your little brother anymore!!!" 

    Iceland shoves the larger nation away, but one look at Norway's face sends him stumbling back a step or two in return. His ex brother's usually pale blue eyes are filled with ice, and his face is frozen into a dark look of pure anger. The older country's entire being seems to give of an aura of rage, but it is his next words that strike the most fear into the little nation. 

   "Fine." The older man hisses venomously. Iceland feels a stab of terror run through him. Norway couldn't have meant what he had said, he must have made a mistake...right? Trying to hide his growing dread, the small country yells back,

    "What do you mean, fine, you dummy?!" Norway glowers at him, growling,

    "You heard what I said. If you aren't my little brother, then you're a stranger to me; and I don't like letting strangers into my home!" 

          Iceland's eyes widen in horror as Norway suddenly grasps his wrist and begins to drag him down the hall. His once angry expression morphs into one of terror as the tall nation pulls him to the front door, before opening it with a loud bang. Giving him a final shove, Norway sends him a look of grim satisfaction, tinged with the barest hint of regret, as Iceland face plants into the freezing snow outside and bites his tongue in the process. Iceland thinks nothing of the older nation's expression as a wave of emotion engulfs him. In a matter of seconds, Iceland is filled with shock, fury, and remorse, before he is consumed by a surge of pure hatred. How dare his brother, no, his ex brother, do this to him! How dare Norway despise him enough to throw him out! Wait... Iceland grows a spite-filled grin. Wasn't he planning on escaping anyway? So what if Norway had just thrown him out, he had just given him the perfect chance to leave! But first...Slowly, Iceland gets to his feet. Spitting crimson blood out into the white snow, staining it  scarlet, the young nation turns to face the tall country standing in the doorway. 

         Overwhelming rage floods the young country as he glares wickedly at the man before him. He might not care about being thrown out, but the reason why burned him. Just because he didn't want to be babied anymore, he gets thrown out? How was that fair?! It made him furious that the one he had thought of as his brother had done this to him, and only because he refused to believe that he was old enough to be his own person! 'What a stupid,idiotic,selfish pig!' he thinks to himself, 'Know what?! I don't need him as a brother anymore!!!' Looking at the older country, Iceland scowls at him and grits his teeth. This was the source of his problems, this country before him! How dare he do this to him! Iceland takes a deep breath and lets his anger flow out like a roaring tidal wave. It curdles and twists into painful, acid-like words in the air, screaming out for all to hear; 

    "I hate you Norway!!!" Clenching his hands into fists, the small country storms off into the frozen air, never looking back to see a pair of pale blue eyes slowly fill with tears.

      Slowly, the memory fades away, leaving the Icelandic boy yearning to experience the sensation of being safe and warm with his friends and...brother...again. What was it called that feeling? That warmth...love? Iceland shakes his head at himself. How foolish he was for leaving that beautiful haven, for thinking that Norway's caring advice of how to take care of himself and others, was nothing more than impossible-to-fulfill orders to be perfect. Norway had only wanted what was best for him, and he had left him with nothing but cruel words in return. He deserved every cruel thing that had happened to him since the day he had first escaped. At first, he had thought everything was going to be alright, but that soon proved not to be the case. A freak snowstorm had sent him wandering for hours in the freezing chill. He had finally found a small house deep in the forest in which he could take refuge, yet it only got worse from there. The owner of the run down building was a vicious old man, who insisted upon taking the small country's backpack as payment for letting him stay the night. He had had no choice but to hand over his treasured backpack, along with all it contained, before he went forth to search for a nearby town that would hopefully treat him better.

    After several hungry days of wandering through the frozen landscape, he stumbled upon a sea-side town. Iceland had thought his luck had finally changed after he apprenticed himself to a friendly-looking doll maker, but alas, that too turned into a living nightmare. The kind-looking exterior of the man hid his cruel intentions from the world. As the doll maker forced him to paint each intricately hand-carved doll, he had been beaten and ridiculed for every brush stroke that was out of place. For years, this cycle of work and abuse continued until the young nation had finally had enough. During a snow storm, Iceland had simply ran off into the blizzard and never returned.

    He had traveled from house to house from then on, hoping for refuge, work, anything, but every family turned him down, thinking he was either too young to work, or because they didn't have enough to eat either. Iceland smiles grimly. They were right of course, he was too young to do adult work, and he was a fool for thinking that he could make it in the world all alone. 'Norway was right all along.' he thinks to himself. 'I'm an idiot for trying to go on an adventure like this...'

      Suddenly, a huge gust of wind blasts the small country, blowing straight through the many holes in his battered coat, and chilling him to the bone. Iceland shivers even harder and sinks into the torn, brown fabric, trying to keep warm. He sticks his hands into the deep pockets, shoving them down into cloth to try and conserve what little body heat he had left. Frowning slightly, he pulls out a folded, worn piece of paper which he hadn't noticed before. Gingerly, he opens it, and is stunned to find that it was the picture he had taken from his desk all those years ago. From this simple slip of paper, his friends smile at him, bringing back the roaring torrent of memories he had forgotten. Denmark, with his childish personality, fondness of beer, and his love for all things LEGO. Sweden,as strict and stoic as ever, Finland with his cheerful, ever-present grin, and lastly, Norway. Norway...his care taker, his confidant...his friend. 

      Slowly,stinging tears roll down Iceland's cheeks, leaving warm, wet tracks on his pale skin. He sinks to his knees, ignoring the freezing snow he was sitting in, and begins to cry his heart out. Large sobs wrack his small, shivering body, each accented by painful wails. The tiny nation presses the worn and tattered photograph to his forehead. At that moment, he would have given his whole world just be in the arms of his friends again. Gently, delicate snowflakes start to fall from the inky black sky, settling on his shoulders. For hours, the scene was silent except for the sound of the tiny county's pitiful whimpers. Iceland is too wrapped up in his own grief to realize just how cold he was growing. 

    Finally, Iceland is all cried out, his mind foggy and his body growing numb. He curls into a ball and watches the snowflakes fall. 'They look like stars.' the young nation thinks sleepily to himself. He welcomes the growing dullness in his limbs as he rolls over and lays his head upon the frozen ground. Maybe now, his pain could finally end.Iceland gazes off into the distance, his vision slightly blurry. Iceland blinks once, twice, before languidly closing his eyes and welcoming to darkness. He listens to the sound of the stars wheeling overhead, calmly waiting for the end. Quietly at first, but with growing strength, a familiar tune is carried to his ears by the wind. 'A Christmas carol...' the small nation thinks to himself drowsily. 'It sounds just like the ones Norway and the others used to sing every Christmas...wait...' Iceland strains his ears, trying to pick out the individual voices from the howling gusts. 'It can't be!...Bu-but it is! My friends! My friends are singing to me!' Iceland pries open his eyes, only to see a golden glow on the horizon. It was a house, covered in shining strings of lights. The welcoming tune of a carol he knew so well drifts through the air. 

     It was the young country's home! 'Home! I've got to get to Norway! ' jolts through his brain, sending to the tiny nation struggling to his feet. The icy snow drags at Iceland's limbs, it's cold embrace trying to pull him down once again. He curses his numb legs as he pushes himself to stand. He presses himself into a slow, stumbling march towards the beacon of life in the distance. Tripping over his feet every few steps, each time he falls, the small boy determinedly gets back up and trudges on. With every mile he travels, Iceland becomes even happier. Soon, he could be safe, warm, engulfed in Norway's gentle embrace. Soon, he would be home.

    Elation overtakes the small country as he finally reaches the familiar house in which he had spent his childhood. Every window gleams with glorious light, and he peeks into one to see if anyone was home. Inside was the living room, a fire in the hearth and a Christmas tree by the sofa. Denmark, Sweden, Finland, and Norway were all sitting around the fireplace, drinking hot chocolate and laughing over a joke Denmark had told them. The small nation presses a hand against the glass that separates him from their cheerful banter. Iceland's stomach rumbles at the sight of his favorite drink, but he hungers even more for the sense of companionship that floats throughout the room. They all looked so happy... 

    Iceland gazes upon the scene, slightly shocked at the sudden realization. They were so joyful, even when he had been gone for so long. Didn't they miss him? Why weren't they saving him a spot, saving him a mug of chocolate? They couldn't have forgotten about him, could they? Slowly, it dawns on him just how long he had been gone from this picture. Years had gone by, lonely years in which he had never even thought of contacting them. It was a miracle that he was even here, standing at the window of his childhood, in the first place. Not once, had the young country tried to return to this loving family, and what about them? How did they feel when they found him missing? He had left suddenly, not even bothering to say goodbye, especially to Norway. His only parting words to the one who had cared for him so long were the words 'I hate you!'. Perhaps he deserved to be forgotten...

     The small country turned to leave, but was distracted by a sudden commotion inside. Denmark was standing, yelling at Norway, while the silent kingdom glares at the fire. Iceland presses his ear to the frosty glass, trying to listen to what his friends were saying. 

    " I'm telling you, Norway, Iceland's gonna come back! Don't say we should just forget about him, he's part of the family, even if he isn't here right now. So what if he's been gone for four years, there has to be a good reason for him not to return, right?" The Dane says, hoping his friend would agree. Iceland winces at the number, before turning back to the window. Norway sighs and looks at Denmark, saying, 

     "You don't know what I saw, Dane. He looked...he looked furious. Like he wanted me dead. He even told me he hated me." The Norwegian man sighs once more, his expressionless shell cracking a bit. 

   "I just don't think Iceland would want to come home, even if something was stopping him."  Denmark looks angrily at the country before him. 

   "Come on, you don't believe that! Norway, even if Iceland somehow is living the dream life, he would still at least come to visit," the Danish man pauses a moment at Norway's fearsome glare, before continuing on in a softer tone," eventually. Norway, do you... You do want Iceland to come back...right?" 

      Iceland's violet eyes glisten with unshed tears as the older country looks to the floor, not responding to Denmark's question. Did Norway really hate him enough to not want him back? Slowly, the young nation takes a shuddering breath, before trying out the phrase, 

   "Norway, the man I once called my brother, hates me." Each syllable leaves a bitter taste behind, as if each word were poison. The small country's chest throbs painfully at the idea, and he barely holds back tears. He knew he had earned being hated for all the pain he had inflicted upon his friends and family. His heart thumps in his ears, as the freezing wind swirls around him. The whole world seems to shift around Iceland as he came to terms with how truly awful he had been to these loving people. All the tears that must have been shed in his absence, how his cruel words must have echoed, taunting his friends. Hesitantly, Iceland looks to the front door, the same one he had been thrown out of all those years ago. Even if Norway hated him, he still deserved an apology.

        With shaking hands, the small nation rings the doorbell. Inside the house, a deep, reverberating ding-dooong resounds throughout the dwelling. Denmark looks up from his hot cocoa, a strange look on his face. 

   "What was that?" he asks the other countries, but all he gets in return are a couple of shrugs.

   "Maybe we should lay off on the eggnog, we must be hearing things. Who would be out at this time of night?" Finland smiles. Sweden nods at Finland, agreeing with the chipper man.

   "We m'st be im'ginin' th'ngs." He mumbles, not bothering to look up from his drink. Once again, the doorbell rings, and Norway finally emerges from his thoughts. The usually quiet nation blinks before setting his mug on a nearby table. 

    "I'm going to see who it is." he states, before pushing himself up from his seat. 

  "Be careful!" Finland chirps, and he nods in return, before walking over to the door. Opening it, he is blasted by a gust of icy wind. He looks around before looking down. His eyes widen as he gasps out, 

  "Iceland?!" 

       Iceland looks up for a split second, before getting pulled into a rough embrace. Norway squeezes him into his chest, as if to reassure himself that Iceland is real. The young nation stands stiff, unsure of what to do. Finally, after a long, awkward moment, the older country pulls away. Iceland is shocked to see that Norway was crying. 

   "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm sorry for whatever I did to make you hate me, just please don't leave me again!" ,the usually impassive country sobs. Iceland blinks once, twice. Didn't Norway hate him? Wasn't this all his fault? After a minute or so, he pulls the tall nation into a hug, burying his face into his shoulder. Iceland lets out a small whimper before allowing happy tears run down his face. Norway still loved him! 

  "I'm sorry too." he says into Norway's coat, hiding his face from the frigid air. Norway sighs happily. How it had pained him when his little brother had uttered those hate-filled words at him. Nothing could compare to how happy he first felt when he saw his little Iceland on his doorstep. No matter how many bitter words were fired at him, he would always love his brother. With a last sob, Iceland's small body stops shaking and a gentle smile grows upon his face. Gazing up into the sky, the little boy whispers into the cold, star-filled air,

 " I'm finally home...big brother."