Sweden had gotten him good.

Norway served as Denmark’s crutch when the two men retreated from the battle field. Sweden had nearly delivered the final blow when Norway had drawn his sword and he reached in close enough that the pointed edge was against Sweden’s throat. Not a word had been exchanged but their eyes had said more than enough. Sweden was sent here to do a job and was determined to finish it. Norway on the other hand did not care that they were family (well, ex-family). He was ready to stab him if he moved even an inch. But Sweden exhaled deeply, tucked his sword away into his scabbard, and backed away from the fight, much to Norway’s relief. It bought them enough time to get away in one piece.

He plopped Denmark down into the snow, with his back up against a spruce tree, and he hissed at the pain pulsing throughout his entire body. He had been clutching a piece of cloth against the spot where Sweden had stabbed him, right underneath his heart, which had become completely soaked with his blood. Early in the battle, he had gotten cocky and ran his mouth. His winning prize was a heavy bash to the head, courtesy of Sweden’s fist. His surroundings since then have been nothing but a giant blur. It was no wonder that Sweden got the upper hand.

“I’m gonna die aren’t I?” Denmark asked, his tone raspy and anxious. Norway rolled his eyes and pulled a white cloth from his left pocket. He removed his gloves and wrapped it around Denmark’s head to stop the mild bleeding coming from the right side of his head.

“Don’t be stupid. You can’t die ya dummy.”

Norway could spot the medics emerging from the forest and looked as if they were running towards their direction. To be safe, he waved his arms to alert them of their location which it appeared as if it has done the trick.

“Who’s comin’?”

“The medics,” Norway replied. “They’ll be able to take ya back to the camp and get you fixed up.”

“Are ya comin’ with me?”

“No.”

Denmark looked visibly distressed. His stomach turned and he briefly bit his bottom lip. He used his free hand to grab onto Norway’s wrist as if he were holding on for dear life.

“Nor please, I don’t want to wake up alone.”

He broke away from Denmark’s grip and gave him a stern look, “Someone needs to stay here and lead the soldiers in battle. You’ll be fine.”

The scenario was always the same. Denmark would fall to an injury, he’d pull him away from the battle site, give him temporary care, and when it was time to send him off with the medics, Denmark would put up a fuss.

But in the end, he still loved him. Norway was understanding of Denmark’s fears and to show it, he always made sure to seal his words with a kiss to Denmark’s lips. They were bitterly cold from the winter weather but nevertheless it seemed to help ease the tension when Denmark’s eyes grew dark and heavy.

“Promise me you’ll be there,” Denmark said.

“Promise.”

“Again.”

“Promise.”

“One more time.”

Norway leaned in for one last kiss. Denmark closed his eyes and smiled through the pain when Norway’s lips gently brushed against his bandaged forehead. His final words were all that Denmark needed to hear when he had finally fallen unconscious.

“I promise.”