Chapter One

Norway was really mad at Denmark. He had gotten drunk the night before and promptly passed out on their doorstep after yet another fight with Sweden. Why couldn't he just let it go? Sweden had left with Finland a long time ago. Why couldn't they leave each other in peace?

There was a loud bang outside. Norway got up from where he was sitting at the kitchen table to look out the front door.

Outside stood a stout woman with the biggest head he had ever seen. She wore all red and black, and had an army of- playing cards?

He called to Denmark, not one to fight when others could do it for him. As mad as he was, he needed him. Whether he liked it or not.

Denmark came blundering down the stairs, axe slung over one shoulder. He rubbed his eyes, then looked at Norway in question. He just shrugged and motioned to the door. Denmark walked up and looked out the peephole.

Norway felt Denmark freeze, then start shaking. He jerked back, red face decorated by the expression of raw fury. He wrenched open the door, stepping outside with heavy footsteps. Norway couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Denmark in such a state.

Norway slipped out behind him, almost stepping on the girl lying on his doorstep. She was covered in blood and her black dress was in tatters, showing bloody skin. She was barely breathing, and her face was screwed up in intense pain. He was surprised she hadn't screamed, but then realized she didn't have the energy to.

Gingerly, he picked her up. She whimpered slightly and cracked open one eye. Her expression changed to one of confusion, but then she winced and it went back to pain.

He brought her inside as fast as he could. He didn't know where to put her, and finally decided on the dining table. He put a pillow under her head to support it. She groaned loudly, and he patted her head. Then he went outside to check on Denmark.

The playing card people were all dead. Denmark hadn't indulged himself like he usually did- he had merely killed them. And he was currently yelling at the woman.

"You weren't supposed to do this! This isn't what we agreed to! What happened to the pact that said I couldn't kill you? That you couldn't hurt her, or get anyone else to?"

The woman was smiling. It was a cruel, cold smile that gave Norway goosebumps. Then she said, "The soviet cards aren't people. Nor are they technically living things. They can hurt her. Besides, you didn't get mad when that Hatter person cut her with a smashed teacup."

Denmark's fists tightened. Then he growled out, "That was an accident. You of all people should know how fond he is of her."

The woman waved her hand. She was still smiling. "Whatever. I still haven't broken the contract. You never made me swear to anything. So I think what I did was fine. Besides, I returned her to you, didn't I?"

Denmark's nails were digging so hard into his palms there was blood. He looked over to Norway, then back at the woman.

"Fine. But let me warn you- she is more than a mere girl. She will destroy you to the point where you wish you were dead. And your precious knave too."

The woman's smile turned into a sneer and she yelled, "Off with his head!" Then she seemed to realize everyone around her was dead, and she would have to do it herself. Then she huffed and stormed off into the woods.

Denmark stood in front of the house, watching her go. Norway jogged down the steps of the house and up to him. Then he put his hand on his shoulder. Denmark turned his head slightly to look at him. Then he sighed and started towards the house.

Something's wrong, Norway thought. Denmark never acted like that- he never walked away from Norway's touch. Especially after a fight.

Norway walked behind him until they were in the house. Then he led Denmark into the dining room where he had left the girl.

When they walked in she was gone.

Denmark went frantic, searching the entire house for her. Still, she was no where to be found- until he saw her curled up on his bed, sound asleep.

Denmark sighed and smiled, happy to see her. Not with circumstances at which he could, but he didn't think about that. He reached out and touched her stomach.

She screamed.

It was the worst thing he'd ever experienced, that scream. It was one of not only physical pain, but also emotional and mental. Her body flung itself all across the bed, spreading itself out and arching her back. Her eyes were screwed shut and her mouth wide open. She looked to be in agony.

And he knew he was the one who caused it.

Quickly, before Norway could come up and scold him for being careless, Denmark put his hand over her mouth. The screaming subsided to a whimper and her eyes opened to look at him.

He'd forgotten about her eyes. Or, not remembered the full extent of them. One was sea blue, the other silver, and each had swirls of the other in it. They were large, wondrous eyes that were forever curious.

And right now were filled with immense pain.

He put a finger to his lips, then left the room to get a first aid kit. She frowned and made to follow him, but fell back down when the pain hit her. He looked back and said, "I'll be right back." Then he slipped out of the room.

He returned moments later carrying a first aid kit, as well as another assortment of things. He set them on the bedside table and looked at her for a moment. She seemed to realize he was asking permission, and she managed to croak out, "Why aren't you talking?"

Denmark grinned and laughed. "Intense moment. Didn't want to piss you off."

She smiled. "You always ruin those. I wouldn't be mad. I'm too mad with everything to be mad at you- for the moment."

He laughed again. Then he asked, "If you didn't get the look, do you have anything on underneath this? I thought you might be uncomfortable if I worked on you naked."

She chuckled, then winced in pain. "Yeah, I've got stuff on underneath this."

Denmark nodded, and set to work on removing her dress. By cutting straight down the middle.

His breath caught in his throat. Not because of anything to do with lust- not even close. She had cuts everywhere, and of all different sizes and depth. Some were shallow, but long; others deep, but short. Some were still bleeding heavily.

Denmark called Norway up, and asked for a cloth and a bucket of warm water. Norway soon came back with these necessities, and put pressure on the bleeding wounds while Denmark cleaned her. He tried to avoid her wounds- truly, he did. but under all that blood it was impossible to tell where one wound ended and one began, or whether there was one or not. After and agonizing amount of time, she was clean.

Norway had stopped the bleeding on most of the wounds. Denmark bandaged them first, so as to make sure they didn't start bleeding again. Norway started putting pressure on the last of the bleeding cuts. He didn't do much, since Denmark proceeded to bandage them soon after he started, but it helped. The girl tried to keep herself quiet, only letting out the occasional whimper. That is until they reached her stomach.

Just like when Denmark touched it, she screamed when the bandage connected with her gash. Denmark cursed.

"Chess, I know you're out there, being all invisible and stuff. We actually need your help now."

Out of thin air, a grey cat with purple and blue stripes appeared. He had unblinking blue-green eyes, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

"I knew you'd call. Of course, she needs someone with evaporating skills to purify it." The cat floated down until his head hovered just above the girls wound. Then he licked it.

"What are you doing? That'll just make it worse!" Norway yelled, reaching to yank the cat away. Except the cat wasn't there anymore. His head was halfway across the room, still grinning. Denmark pulled Norway back from launching across the room at the cat, saying, "Stop, Norge. He's not a normal cat- this is what I want him to do."

Norway spun around and looked at him like he was insane. He probably was. "Have you gone mad? We're having hallucinations of floating, smiling cats, and you want it to lick the girls wound with that dirty tongue of his? You're insane! Mad! Both of you!"

The cat's body appeared, and he bowed. "Thank you very much for that compliment. Not everyone is truly mad- not even in Wonderland. She should know this best of all. Now make her some tea, and she will be fine. Oh, if only the White Queen were here. She would get Alice in her right, proper state in a jiffy."

Norway stared at him. Then he stuttered out, "Wh-who's the white qu-queen? A-and who's Alice?"

The cat looked at him in surprise. "Why, the girl you're helping is Alice. She is the essence of Wonderland, like you are the essence of Norway, and he," he said, pointing to Denmark, "Is the essence of Denmark. And she must be better in two months time to fall back down the rabbit hole in England. She knows where it is. Now, I trust she will be better by then?"

Denmark shook his head. "No, Cheshire. She won't be. You know how long it takes to heal up here. She'll be ready in four. Even with tea." At this, the Cheshire Cat made a face. Then he grinned.

"Alright then. Four months it is. I'm still on time's good side- I'll make a compromise. She'll understand."

Denmark nodded and waved him away, saying, "Go. You're needed in Wonderland more than you are here. Besides, Hatter's probably waiting to cuss you out."

The cat grinned even wider and, bit by bit, he disappeared. First his tail faded, then his lower stomach and back, then his middle, shoulders, ears, and head. Then his eyes disappeared. His grin danced for a moment, taunting them, and then it, too, disappeared.

Norway fainted.

Quickly, Denmark pulled the other man across the room and sat him in a chair. Then he turned back to Wonderland.

Her eyes were closed and she was snoring softly. Denmark smiled gently, remembering when she was a little girl who hated everything about the world. Though it wasn't exactly that she hated the world- she just hated the normality of it. Routines, lessons (most of them), and even meal times and names. He chuckled as he remembered her walking down his stairs, yawning, and asking what they were having for dinner. Of course, it was actually nine a.m. when she did this.

He also remembered her fighting with England a lot. He had been her guardian, because the only way to get to Wonderland was either to fall down a specific rabbit hole there, or to use evaporation skills, of which only the Cheshire Cat had. She had hated the man, and America. She questioned everything, giving both men a headache. France loved her, of course, but she absolutely loathed him. It was one of the few similarities she had to England. That and tea, pocket-watches, dynasties, croquet, and crumpets. Oh, and don't forget biscuits. She loved those.

His mind wandered to the first time he had met her, both of them being little children. Her hair had been lighter, almost white instead of the gold it was now. She had always worn a little blue dress with white boots similar to Iceland's, and a small chain around her neck. He had once asked her what was on it. Her response was, "Fuck off you bloody wanker!" From then on he had never underestimated her vocabulary.

They were in a field of tall wheat grass. She was chasing a rabbit, moving at impossible speeds, often buzzing out of view, though she stumbled often. He was infatuated with her the moment he saw her long blonde hair swishing as she ran. She laughed, dazing him with the sound of wind chimes floating over to him. She didn't notice him, not until she was walking home after catching the rabbit and holding it in her arms. She looked over at him and smiled, bounding over. Her smile stunned him in its warmth. No one had ever smiled at him like that.

"HI! Do you like rabbits? There's lots of them here! Is that why you came? Who are you?" She asked him in a huge gust of air. He paused for a second, making sense of what she had said, before answering, "I do like rabbits. I didn't know there were a lot of them here. I've never been here before- Norway sent me away. You probably don't know him. The actual reason I came was to clear my head. I'm Denmark. My country isn't very strong yet, and we're running out of a lot of land, so I've been stressed out lately. That's why I wanted to clear my head." He had to take several breaths to get the whole thing out, and stammered a bit. She was grinning like a madman, though it faded when he told her about his country.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I don't think I could be much help. Nobody really knows who I am. Only Iggy, who's a bastard, Spain, France, who's a frog, Prussia, Germany, Austria, Romano, Italy, and Hungary. And now you. Most of them think I don't have a country yet, and only Iggy and Romano know who I am. Iggy doesn't like me telling people. It's impossible to invade, but what if someone did? That's his argument anyway. I'd like a lot more people to visit me. There's plenty of room. Maybe I could help you, as long as you didn't tell anyone. Your people might be freaked out a little though..." The girl bit her lip and hung her head, looking up at him through hooded eyes. As much as he appreciated her trying to help, his independence kicked in. Strong.

"I don't need your help! I'm fine!" He yelled, and turned around to run. Before he made two steps, though, she had grabbed his arm and thrown him to the ground. She sat squarely on his chest, and crossed her arms over her own.

"No need to be a jerk," she said, "I was just trying to help. If you don't want it, fine. I'm not offended by it. By the way, since I'm not restricted from telling you, I'm Wonderland."

He smiled. "What's your country like? And where is it?" She laughed. "Let me show you."

After that, they had become best friends and she had taken him to Wonderland often. England hated him, having wanted America and Wonderland to be friends. Denmark knew there was no chance of that ever happening, but never said it to his face. He didn't want to be banned entirely from seeing Wonderland.

He had grown up extremely fast after the first few years of their friendship, while she had stayed her six-year-old self for around fifty years. When he was at the "age" of around seventeen, her growth spurt had hit.

A country's growth spurt happens much, much faster than regular humans. As in, it took moments instead of weeks. She had grown from a six-year-old girl to a sixteen year old one in mere seconds. But that's not really the point.

The moment she had walked into his home in new clothes(mostly mens) and her new body, he had become very painfully aware of how beautiful she was. With his teenage hormones running wild, he had to resist his every urge to ravage her. He had managed, but only just. After that it had been easier.

Really, any teenager would have had a hard time keeping their hormones in check around her. Her hips and bust had filled out nicely, and her legs were long and shapely. Her long hair had turned from white-blonde to gold, and her face had matured as well. Gone was her chubby cheeks and smallish eyes. Now her eyes were huge, her cheeks almost gaunt and her mouth full. Her arched eyebrows sat just perfectly above her eyes, and her nose was neither crooked nor hooked. She was perfection. Or, at least to some people, she had been. Until, in a fit of rage against everyone and everything(including Denmark, since he had ogled her butt one too many times), she had gotten a tattoo.

Denmark remembered that day well. She had been thinking about getting a tattoo for a while, and was consulting him on designs. He had been bored, and ogled her butt as many times as he could. He had been doing that often, though usually when she wasn't looking. When she caught he usually said he was checking for grope marks from France. Then she'd laugh, and smack him lightly on the head.

Today was different. After a while she saw that he was bored and caught him looking at her ass often. She'd scolded him, smacked him, and even made a joke out of it by ogling his own butt(which was, in fact, quite nice). Nothing seemed to work.

Finally she had exploded, yelling at him. He had yelled right back, just for the fun of it. He soon regretted it.

She left soon after, still furious with his behaviour. She had, as he found out later, gone straight to the tattoo shop and gotten a black knot seeping what looked like ink or wines coming down her arm and back. The artist had worked extra hours to finish it in the wee hours of the morning. She had come straight back to his house, apologized, and got into bed with him, dropping off into sleep immediately. When they woke up at around noon, she showed him her tattoo. Needless to say, he thought it was pretty cool.

England didn't think so. As soon as she had gotten home the next day, he had yelled at her until his voice was hoarse, and then called Prussia to do it for him. Sadly, Prussia thought it was the most awesome thing since himself, and gave her a high-five. England then decided to ground her for a year. She wasn't allowed to see anyone, listen to any music(unless it was Austria's), read, or anything else she might want to do. Then he hunted down a surgeon who could remove it.

The day she was supposed to have it removed, she snuck out to his house, and they both went to get another one. This one connected to her back and wrapped around her waist. When England found out, he got so agitated, he fainted.

From then on, whenever England pissed her off,, she got a new tattoo done. It was always small, barely noticeable. Well, to anyone but England and herself.

Denmark was snapped out of his flashbacks by Wonderland's sudden moans. He looked down at her.

She had curled herself up into a little ball, clutching at his pillow and shaking in silent sobs. He could hear her whispering in a language he didn't understand, and instinctively sat down beside her, laying a hand on her shuddering body. She shook harder under his touch, and cried out, reaching for him. The moment her fingers found skin, she sighed, and whimpered out, "Danmark."

He shuddered. He had forgotten her voice as well. It was easy to become enchanted by it, especially when she read aloud. Not as much when she just talked. But to moan? That was truly erotic.

She curled into him, and sighed again, bringing his attention to her lips. They had formed themselves into a sort of smile. His own lips quirked up, and he brought a hand to her hair, stroking it. She shuddered, and pushed into his touch.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. They were friends, that was all. He couldn't take advantage of her, especially not now. And what about Norge?

He sighed. He had been lying to himself for decades about Norway. Thinking he loved him, wanted him forever. Sure, he'd been been aroused by him; more than he was by most people, even. But he had never truly been in love with him. Norway was more of a friend with benefits that he had used as a distraction on many, many occasions, until it had come to the point he had almost believed himself. Almost.

He looked down at Wonderland's sleeping face. Her lips were slightly open, and her eyebrows were drawn together. Whether she was in pain or was aroused, he could not tell. Not until he heard her mumble out, "More."

Not being able to stand being so near to her when she dreamt of other men, he raised himself up- at least, he tried to. Wonderland's grip on him grew tighter the more he tried to pull away. He had never known for her to talk in her sleep in reaction to what was going on outside of her dream in the real world. But she did now, saying, "No! Stay... please stay..."

He couldn't help himself. Not when she asked like that. He sat back down and watched her. Eventually, he slipped into sleep as well.