Written for the Nordic Summer Exchange on LJ. Written for Stalkerbunny.
There are some vague references to the Kalmar Union and the Danish invasions of Estonia if you don't get the references. I was stumped as to what to write when I received my prompts. Then I was standing in a storm outside my house in a red raincoat late at night waiting calling my brothers who were inside to come outside so I could take them storm chasing. When neither of them answered, I realized the whole situation was really eerie and I was struck immediately with the idea I wanted to work with.
Denmark sighed as he shut his phone again, placing it into the pocket of his raincoat. Thunder roared above his head as he paced outside of his own house, his thick boots upsetting water puddles. He shivered, licking stray raindrops off of his lips as he decided to try again, pulling out the phone, finding Norway's number, and letting out a sigh as he pressed "CALL."
Like the twenty previous times before, no response.
And the texts he sent to Iceland?
An arc of light swept across the sky with a crack as Denmark started to pace again. He supposed that he understood why nobody was picking up. Three in the morning was not an appropriate time to try in get in touch with someone without a valid reason (Although, Norway had said once that three in the morning was not an appropriate time for anything). He turned his head toward the sky, watching the heavenly light show as he reached Norway's voice mail.
"Have you ever realized how beautiful the sky is, Nor?" he mumbled, "And how utterly destructive it can be at the same time?"
"Such is life," he could hear Norway breathe back, not to Denmark, but at his morning coffee—a memory of a day long past.
Biting his lip, he shook the ghost of Norway out of his mind, swallowed his pride, and tried again.
Denmark was surprised when he finally got a response.
"Hey," he finally spat out.
"I know it's late, but I need to talk."
"I know that you don't want to talk and I know that you need to wake up early, but you need to come over here right now."
"Need? I don't th'nk-"
"Okay, fine!" Denmark scoffed, "I need you right now, so get over here. I need to talk to you. Happy? Now, are you going to do it or not?"
A pause, and Denmark could hear Sweden mumble to himself over the phone.
"Be there 'n ten."
Denmark waited on the porch, resting his head on his knees as he thought about all the things he wanted to say.
It never occurred to him that he didn't have a single thing to say. He just wanted to talk. To someone. Anyone.
Hence the frantic three AM phone calling.
But what did he want to say? Was there anything to say? He had feelings, emotions, things he had to resolve and put to rest, but was Sweden the right one to tell?
He was hoping for Norway, who would sit there and say, "You're an idiot," when all was said and done.
Or Iceland, who wouldn't say a word and would only half-listen, nodding just to let Denmark know that he was somewhat paying attention.
Sweden would have to do tonight, he decided.
He heard Sweden's rain boots click against the pavement and water before he even saw him. Blue raincoat to contrast Denmark's red.
"Thanks," he awkwardly said, standing to his feet to greet the slightly taller nation.
"If I hadn't come ya woulda just bother'd other peopl'."
Denmark ignored him and gestured to the sidewalk.
"Let's go for a walk, shall we?"
Sweden only grunted.
"I've been thinking."
"I don't know, things."
Denmark's jaw locked, his body not wishing for him to speak his mind. Words came so easily when he didn't have anything important to say. But for Denmark, talking seriously—especially to someone like Sweden—was incredibly difficult. He wried his hands, face contorting as he tried to speak.
"I want to reconcile."
"Reconcile what, D'nmark?"
"I don't know!" he shouted to the rain. "I know I've done wrong to you—both between our countries and between ourselves as men. And I was thinking that I need to apologize for it."
"Th't's not true."
He blinked. "What?"
"Th't's not true," Sweden rolled his eyes. "Ya don't need ta talk t' me. I know ya were trying ta talk ta Norway or Iceland."
"I guess, but-"
"Don't ya realize yer not tryin' ta reconcile with me? Neither Norway nor Iceland either. An' I bet ya called up 'Tonia at least tw'ce."
"... Okay, you're right, but-"
Sweden stopped. Denmark stopped too. They stared at one another in the pouring rain, deep within the middle of a storm, water dancing round their heads and round their feet.
"Ya mean to reconcile with yerself, D'nmark. Don't ya get it? We've all forgiv'n ya a long time ago. Ya never noticed, cause yer so caught up in yer cloudy head. Ya can't even understand yerself."
The other nation said nothing in response, staring at his feet.
Sweden sighed, hanging his head and playfully poking Denmark square in the forehead. "As Norway says, yer an idiot. Yer just makin' excuses ta talk. Ya gotta stop that. I mean, with the excuses."
A frown spread across Denmark's face. "Heh, well you wouldn't mind if I stopped talking all together, right?"
"'S not true. Sometimes ya say intelligent th'ngs."
"Once in a blue moon, right?"
Sweden turned, walking back toward the direction in which they came. "I need ta go back home. Peter m'ght wake up 'cause of this storm."
He left Denmark standing in the rain alone.
Sweden stopped, turned, surprised that Denmark had used his personal name.
"Thanks. You know, for putting up with my nonsense."
The bespectacled nation shrugged, "Yer welcome, I guess."
And even as water penetrated through the cracks and seams of his crimsoned veil, seeping into the holes between the fibers of his shirt, Denmark couldn't help but smile.
One would think that Sweden was the one who had trouble getting understood, since he's not used to communicating with words, whereas Denmark has no compunctions touching or talking people's ears full... but what about when he actually has something important to say, and realizes his family/the person has long ago stopped listening to him?