*NOTE*: I changed a few things so I re-uploaded this chapter.

After watching the news tonight, it still pained me to see what has happening in Norway. Here, in Canada, I wish I could lend a helping hand across the Atlantic, but unfortunately, I can't. I wish I could send roses; I wish I could do anything to help. However, being a teen, I really can't go anywhere without a parent's permission. :/

Here is my meager little offering in part of a second chapter in this story. Please bear with it; I hope, once again, that it is alright. I mean it to show that this nation is slowly recovering, and that the world will continue to be behind Norway.

Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz

Gunshots are fired; the blast of a bomb rings throughout the area, deafeningly loud. Fire flares upwards - a burning pyre - as smoke engulfs the building in dark hands…

Norway shot up from his bed with a cry, his eyes wide in his sudden terror. After a few anxious moments, he finally realized where he was, and, releasing a long, shuddering breath, he fell back onto his bed, suddenly exhausted. One hand going for his throat in an attempt to stifle his scream of sudden agony, he examined his other hand, watched as it shook; he was so cold.

It had been two days since that terrible day - two days ago, 76 people had had their lives violently torn away from them in that bloody massacre. Still, he had nightmares; still, the images of the dead flashed across his mind's eye: the images of destruction, of pain, of fear… He shuddered, his hand curling into a fist as he attempted to calm himself. Taking in a deep breath, he suddenly felt the urge to move around; he felt trapped, restrained. Slipping from the warm covers of his bed, he willed himself to move without falling over - he felt so weak. Stumbling to his window, he fisted the thick drapes as he, with all his might, pulled them open. Soft, white light spilled into his room, and as he stared out the window, he felt his body go still in his sudden terror as his heart pounded in his chest.

Staring back at him was not his face, but that of a young girl. She stared right at him, her dark brown eyes filled with sorrow, her brown hair clinging to her body in wet clumps. Her expression seemed one of defeated understanding; Norway's heart felt so heavy as he looked deep into those sad, brown eyes… Blood flowed steadily from the crown of her head, covered her chest, her arms… She reached outwards towards him, her hands stained with red.

In his mortified wonder, Norway slowly reached out towards her, his fingers brushing over the cold glass. Yet, as soon as she had appeared before him, she was suddenly gone, disappearing as though blown away by the breeze. Now, Norway found himself staring deep into his own eyes, and as he saw that expression of anguish so prominently etched across his features, he felt suddenly overwhelmed.

Collapsing onto his knees, he doubled over as sobs wracked his slender frame; as his tears of pure and utter sorrow filled the air, hanging there like a silent song of agony.

There was a flash of red, a screeching sound that rang in my ears, resonating repeatedly like drums, boom, boom, boom. Repeatedly, I could hear the whirring drone of the gun; still, I could hear the dull clutter as empty shells hit the ground. I could still hear the dull, fleshy thud as the bullet tore through my flesh; could still feel the sudden flare of pain in my shoulder and neck; that sensation of searing agony as my nerves tingled with terrible sensation; as my brain worked in overdrive attempting to process what had just happened.

Unintelligible noise buzzed in my head. I could not make sense of it; it was all jumbled together like a mass of words, as if everyone was speaking at the same time and nothing was getting anywhere.

The pain was endless. Time did not matter; it too was endless. How many seconds passed by? Minutes, hours, days, weeks? It felt like years. Consciousness was just beyond my grasp, hanging there, taunting me, laughing at me. But when I could reach it, what would I do? Would I lose my resolve, my composure? The pain was so great… I knew, without a doubt, that I would shriek, scream, thrash about. I would lose control of my body, of my mind.

I could sustain this. I knew I could.

Iceland watched closely as his brother staggered down the street, clutched tightly in his hands a bouquet of roses. Denmark wrapped his arm securely around the other nation's shoulders, positioning him so that he would not fall over. Oh God, he looked so weak, so frail. His skin was as white as snow, his eyes lined with dark bags. His dull gaze seemed duller, and he seemed so thin, as though his clothing was hanging off his frame.

Woken from terrible bout of screaming, Iceland had rushed from his room and into his brother's, only to find him on his knees on the floor, Denmark holding him firmly to his body as he sobbed out his fears and his troubles and his agony into the bigger man's shoulder. Iceland could see that his knuckles were white from where he gripped Denmark's shirt so tightly between his fingers, as though afraid he'd be lost if he let go. All the while, Denmark was silent, his expression troubled as he hugged the smaller nation closer.

Iceland didn't know what to do as he stood there silently; he felt a sudden urge to go over and wrap his arms around Norway's shaking body in an attempt to protect him from the destruction from two days past, and yet, he could find no strength in his own body to move over to his brother's side. So instead, he watched in pain as Norway sat there, weeping, while he stood by, unable to do anything. Behind him, he heard the entrance of both Sweden and Finland. However, he did not turn to face them; in fact, he couldn't feel anything in his body. The only thing he could feel were the tears that poured down his face as he stared at his brother.

But why? Why did Norway have to feel such a violent onset of terror and agony? Why was it he that had to feel such devastation and ruin? He was such a peaceful nation, and yet… What had happened there… So truly unforgivable…

Iceland barely felt his nails cut into his skin as they dug into his palm; barely felt the blood that trickled past his knuckles onto the ground. Barely did he feel anything; yet, with a sharpness so clear and crushing, he could feel his brother's grief as it pressed against him in a ceaseless tide, over and over and over again.

Immeasurable moments later… The pain began to fade ever so slowly. The blockage in my throat had disappeared. The fire in my chest… it was gone. My head felt clearer, I did not feel as dull, lifeless. Consciousness slipped closer, closer. I could touch it with my fingers.

The noise, those words, became comprehensible. I could make them out now, if barely. Deeper voices, soft, soothing. Commanding. Then, higher pitched voices. Women, perhaps? They scratched at my ears…

The pain was gradually leaving. The fire retreated from my limbs. I could breath easier.

Consciousness was slipping even closer; I could reach it.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours.

Darkness. Screams. Red, red, red.

Boom, boom, boom.

Endless.

Hokkaido's breath caught in her throat as she stepped through the streets of Oslo, her heels make faint clicking noises against the pavement sidewalk. Attempting to keep her composure, she felt her bottom lip tremble as she took in another shuddering breath. Red-and-white littered the roads; filled up practically every corner of the city - the petals were sprinkled with dew, the drops of water glittering there like transparent tears. Held between her hands was a small glass vase, and in that vase, a sprig of cherry blossom, a flower so reminiscent of her culture and nation itself. Beside her was her brother, Japan, his eyes downcast as he walked beside her, a ruby-red rose gripped tightly in his hand.

Silence hung heavily in the air, and she could practically taste the anguish on her tongue as it clung to her like an unshakeable stench. Looking skywards, the sky was clear - peaceful. It was almost hilariously cruel, she found, when such horror had gripped this serene nation only a few days ago.

Teeth gritting together, she resisted the urge to scream her frustrations out to the heavens. Why had they turned away that day? Why had they let so many innocent people die? Hokkaido almost felt betrayed by her merciful Bodhisattva, the Goddess of Compassion, Kanzeon. Why hadn't she done anything to save these people? If the Gods were truly enlightened, why hadn't they done anything? Why did they let that… that… disgusting creature of a man - could Hokkaido even call him human anymore? - do what he had done? Why hadn't they seen this?

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, Hokkaido almost tripped, one hand releasing the vase as she grabbed her brother's shoulder. Turning his head to the side in a quick motion, he asked, voice concerned,

"Imouto, are you alright?"

Hokkaido just nodded as she staggered upright, pushing her hand through the short locks of her cropped black hair. "I'm fine, nii-san, just a little… tired."

Japan just nodded knowingly, his expression grave. "I know, Hokkaido, I know."

Of course he knew; he knew what it was like for an entire country to be in mourning over a tragedy. They both did. And although the circumstance was completely different - one had been a natural disaster, while the other was a mass murder - both of them had lost so many innocent lives. Both of them had felt the pain; felt the sudden jolt of agonizing distress and suffering rip through their bodies as their people were killed, yet knowing they were helpless to stop it.

After that terrible earthquake and tsunami March 11th, 2011, Japan and his siblings had been powerless to do anything, their bodies battered and half-destroyed from the damage they had sustained - Japan and Honshu had received the most. Thousands of people had died, hundreds of others injured, countless more missing. And yet, at their darkest hour, so many people offered their help - so many nations came to assist the shattered country rebuild what was so brutally lost. And out of the forty-five nations that lent a hand, Norway had been one of them. Silent and efficient, he helped pick them up; he led rescue operations and helped re-erect broken buildings.

And now, it was their turn to lend a helping hand; it was their turn to pick him off the ground, offer support and comfort.

After a short walk, the two reached the area where the majority of the tributes were placed, right outside the Cathedral of Oslo. Pulling up the silk fabric of her trousers, Hokkaido squatted down, action followed by Japan. Silently, he placed the rose among the millions of others, closing his eyes as he quietly paid his respects. After watching her brother, Hokkaido brought the sprig of cherry blossoms to her lips as she whispered a silent prayer under her breath.

"O, Merciful Goddess, Kanzeon, I beg of you, please watch over the victims who suffered in this shooting. Please shed upon them the light of your compassion."

Then, with a motion so gentle, she placed the glass vase on the ground. For a moment, she stared into sea of flowers, before rising slowly off the ground. Then, clutching her brother's hand, they both bowed low before the tribute as they preformed their respects.

Before them, a small flag of Norway fluttered in the breeze, unwavering and proud.

Millimeters. The blackness was fading away. Pain became sharper, but it was receding. My mind became clearer. I could hear, words became intelligible, comprehensible.

The grasp the shadows had on me loosened. The distinct pain in my throat and shoulder told me I was still alive; the startling ache in my chest told me I could still breath, that I was still here, still human. I regained control of my limbs, my coordination, perception, dexterity.

The pain was so sharp.

Hours, minutes, seconds.

Light slipped through the darkness, startling me in it's brilliance.

Whiteness was blinding.

Norway clutched onto Denmark's arm as they finally reached the massive tribute in the square before the Cathedral of Oslo. Flowers seemed to bloom from the cement; the soft perfume of roses infused the air. Hands trembling, Norway felt his hands enclose around the plastic wrap of the roses tighter and tighter until he felt the blood flow stop at the tip of his fingers. Pausing, Norway felt completely helpless as he stood there, suddenly not knowing what to do. A small nudge on his back caused him to startle, and he looked behind him to see Denmark standing there, flanked by Iceland.

"Go," he murmured. "We'll be right here."

Nodding slowly, Norway took a small hesitant step forwards, his body trembling as he resisted the urge to burst into sobs once more. Body suddenly beginning to ache, he released one of his hands to clutch the fabric of his shirt just above his heart. He could feel it pounding in his chest, thump, thump, thump.

Now standing before the mass of roses, Norway practically fell to his knees as he placed the roses down with a shaking hand. Taking in a deep breath, he felt the tears begin to pour down his cheeks as he felt his composure crumble under him again. Grief crushed him under its weight like a boulder, heavy, oppressive - he could barely breath.

"Norway-san," a gentle voice murmured, so familiar. Through the haze of his tears, he turned to see four figures standing before him, three of them male and the single other female. Wiping his eyes, he could now distinguish the smaller two were of Asian descent, their features soft and elfin upon pretty faces. Japan and Hokkaido? Denmark towered behind them, his hands on both of their shoulders. Their dark eyes, fathomless with emotion, stared down at him with a sense of great sympathy and sadness. Suddenly, he was in Hokkaido's embrace as she hugged him tightly, her arms vise-like around his waist.

"Hokkaido?" He whispered, his voice hoarse. "What are you doing here?"

"To repay to you the great help you once gave us," Japan answered as he kneeled at his sister's side. "Although we cannot do anything to help rebuild what was destroyed or help give back what was lost, we can give to you what will hope help you and this strong nation recover." Reaching forwards, he placed a gentle but firm hand on Norway's shoulder, position awkward by Hokkaido's hug.

"Please listen to me for the moment," Japan went on. "And open your eyes; look around."

Before Norway could question Japan's odd choice of words, Hokkaido pulled away, as if urging him to follow her brother's order. So, Norway looked around, for once seeing those around him. Although the grief still hung in the air, what he saw was the beginning of a mending nation, whose wounds were slowly healing.

Couples walked by, heads close together as they whispered to one another; children skipped and laughed as they ran through the square, some pausing to admire the sea of roses or to place one down themselves. Families stopped as they strolled by to pay their respects, some lighting a candle or putting down a rose. Already, Norway could almost feel the sadness slowly lift away, the burden beginning to gradually disappear. Norway looked on in awe, before his thoughts were quickly interrupted as Japan continued.

"What you not need now is pity; what you truly need is the knowledge that from around the world, you are receiving love. Each person is connected to another, and as a whole, you are all healing. And however slow the process, know that the world will be behind you the entire time."

Bit by bit, Norway felt a small smile beginning to spread across his lips as new tears began to spill from his eyes. What Japan said was true: although they were still picking up the pieces of their shattered hearts - they were slowly recovering.

"Evil can kill a human being but never defeat a people." - Prime Minister Stoltenberg

The italicized portion represents a victim who managed to survive the shooting and woke up in the hospital. I really do hope that this is acceptable and correct; my knowledge of the 'rose march' are pictures off the internet. When I saw them, I was moved to tears. I really was. I really do hope that Norway is recovering; but know that love is always around if you need it.

Kanzeon is the Buddhist Goddess of Compassion; in Chinese, she is known as Guanyin. I like to think I'm Buddhist.

Uhmm... I'm really sorry about the OC. I felt more comfortable writing her into the story, so I apologize for that.

Thank you to anyone who read this story - once again, I hope what happened in Norway touched your heart as much as it touched mine.