As the Seasons Change

Willow

Sorry for the lateness of this chapter, and the next chapter may also be late because I have not started on it yet! Please bear with me.

Our Icelandic and Danish duo are back this chapter!

~ Sergeant Leaf

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Heavy breathing.

Heaving, rattling, breathing, that quickened every once in a while, then slowed to an unhealthy pace. His heart jumped like a jackrabbit, thrumming against his chest like an unsteady drum. This was a very dangerous situation for the aloof protagonist.

Denmark was laid on the brown couch, given to Sweden courtesy of IKEA, he was completely motionless, with Sweden sitting on a wooden stool in front of him, an undecipherable expression crossing the quiet man's face, as he watched his old time rival's condition worsen by the minute. He seemed distressed. Iceland stood next to the Swede, looking concerned, and almost sick, yes, sick, for his body trembled ever so slightly and his stomach seemed to twist into knots. The Icelander appeared so much smaller than normal, he looked just like a frightened little child. Sweden seemed to catch on to this, because after a moment, he sighed,

"Go on upstairs 'n rest," Sweden said softly, making the Icelander jump from the sudden, though quiet noise. "Denmark's not goin' anywhere.." He paused, placing his left hand in his right palm, tightening them together.

"I'll make sure 'f it."

Though, something plagued in the back of his mind, he almost wished...that Denmark would go somewhere, anywhere, please, please, get up, and move! He thought back to earlier.

They'd called Sweden not long after the discovery of poison in Denmark's system was made.

The Swede had agreed to come and get them, to bring them into Malmö, and that's exactly what he did. It hadn't taken him more than an hour, but still, the two nations had been huddled together on the icy grass, (A/N: No pun intended) shivering, though the rancid, throat tightening smell of vomit told the Swede that Denmark had left the huddle quite a few times, for a rather...sickening reason. They
quickly got settled into Sweden's old minivan, both sat in the back. Denmark had started complaining quite often about his stomach, and seemed to keep forgetting that, for soon he began to voice his complaints every five minutes. Then every three. Then every other minute.

However, sometime during that ride, Denmark had fallen unconscious.

And he had remained that way the past five hours they'd been there.

So, in terms that were easier for him to swallow, he just wanted...for his old rival to wake up.

Iceland softened a little, running a hand through his silver hair, and he slowly headed for the stairs, and trudged up them to the Swede's guest room on the right, to rest and clear his head from the horrific events he had witnessed only three hours before. He laid down on the bed, shifting uncomfortably. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep for a while. Iceland closed his eyes, wishing to be whisked away to the land of dreams. "Big brother..."

Meanwhile, in the middle of drought-riddled and burning California...

"You!" America spat, over the telephone as he stomped into his kitchen, he was angry. There was sweat visible on his face an on the front of his shirt. After taking down that bastard England, he had returned home, to deal with another upsetting matter. "What'd you attack Denmark and Iceland for!? You're interfering! Don't screw this up for me! This wasn't what we agreed on!"