Okay, first thing's first: I don't own Hetalia or any of the characters. I just came up with the plot and wrote it down.

Now, this is the first thing I've submitted, so I'm unsure if I submitted everything right. Anyway, enjoy~

I would always remember how Denmark died, no matter how hard I tried to push the memory from my normally clear mind. The incident left me visibly shaken, something the other Nordics had trouble accustoming to. After I had heard that Denmark couldn't be saved, I went into shock. I personally blacked out so I can't recall what happened, but Iceland informed me of all that occurred. I fell to my knees, shrieking out sobs as tears suddenly streamed from my indigo eyes. Anyone who came to close I would latch onto them, begging for it not to be true, but my words just came out as blabbering gibberish. I was taken to the hospital along with Denmark's corpse, or at least what remained of it, and was treated for shock, minor burns, and the smoke in my lungs. The sedatives they gave me made me fall asleep, and when I woke up, things weren't much better.

Iceland was crying, yes, and so was Finland and Sealand. Sweden tried to keep a straight face, but I could tell easily from the look on his face that he was about to break any moment. I was in denial at first, demanding that they stopped their joke and let me see the Dane that I… was very fond of, and in response they kept trying to tell me that Denmark was dead. That day, I got a look at Denmark's charred body, or at least as much as the doctors let me see. Finland wanted me to see it so I got the message… Denmark was dead, and even if Sweden was heavily against the idea, Finland had prevailed. Denmark's body was mostly black and laid out on a metal table, a towel covering him from the collarbone down. Denmark's face was purely black, some of the flesh around his lip and cheek missing, baring his still shining teeth. In a way, it still looked like he was smiling, the thought making me feel nauseas. His hair was coal black, with barely any dull brown showing through. Most of the locks were burned almost to the scalp, giving him an almost soldier-like appearance, except for the wild tuft that still remained on the right side of his head that stuck out, glued together stiffly by the ash.

I let out a half-choked sob then and leaned against the table with my arms, hunched over the lifeless body on the cold metal. Tears fell from my eyes and onto the clean towel that hid whatever injuries Denmark had suffered, and I didn't care. I didn't care that Sweden had his hand on my shoulder, or that Iceland was comforting me. I just cared that Denmark was gone… and that I couldn't do a damn thing to save him.

I was there, running up the Dane's driveway, and toward the blazing inferno that used to be a place of comfort and warmth, where I could always find a smiling Dane shouting a cheerful hello with two cups of coffee in his hands. The fire was freakishly hot, but I didn't pay no mind as I slammed my shoulder into the front door, feeling it splinter slightly under my strength but not budging what-so-ever.

"Denmark!" I shouted out, and I heard a weak voice calling to me from inside the house.

I continued calling as I ran around the outside of the house, listening closely to the shouts that came from the inside. Finally I found the loudest spot… the garage. I ran up to the door at the back of the small building and attempted to shove it open, but to no avail.

"Norway!" Denmark's panic stricken voice shouted through the crackling of flames, "T-The door's blocked! My leg- My leg's stuck, Norge! Help me, please!"

"Don't worry! I'm coming!" I shouted back, and I asked for my troll to try to help him, but even his power couldn't smash the door away, and his lungs couldn't handle the smoke inside when he tried to get through a window.

I bit my lip as I tried to climb through a window, the shattered glass embedding themselves into my palms and knees, the sounds of sirens from fire trucks in the distance. The smoke burned my throat and my nose, but I couldn't care less as I stumbled in, half tripping over a beam that had fallen from the ceiling. Fire coated everything in the small house, from the cozy walnut sofas to the marble-topped counters in the kitchen. Quickly I squeezed between the flames, feeling my bear arms redden against the heat. I clambered from the kitchen where I entered and into the living room, stumbling down the hallway and toward the door that lead to the garage. The door was wide open, the hinge at the top snapped so it hung half-off. I ran into the doorway, and that's when I saw Denmark through the smoke, he was on his back, slightly sitting up and trying to pull his leg free from his motorcycle, its metal digging into the fawn's skin.

I ran into the garage, and through the smoke I didn't see the toolbox that caught the end of my toes, me toppling over it and slamming onto the concrete floor. My chin and arms stung when my skin scraped the surface of the floor, and I saw a flash of blue as Denmark turned to look at me. His face was alarmed, terrified. He looked up above me and I followed his gaze, one of Denmark's prized old boats was swinging back and forth dangerously above me, ready to fall at any moment.

"Norway! G-Get out!" Denmark screamed, shooing me with a motion of his hand, which I pretended not to notice.

I growled and crawled forward, relishing the somewhat smoke-free air close to the ground. He continued screaming the closer I got, and then I saw a flash of pain course through his eyes, and I stopped moving to see him scream and contort harshly, gripping his leg and digging his fingers into the burnt and scraped flesh. I gasped and tried to hurry forward, but the recently inhaled smoke blurred my vision with tears as I coughed violently, making me press my forehead against the warm concrete. Next thing I knew, firemen gripped my arms and were dragging me from the house. I was kicking, trying to scream in a hoarse voice to have the men save Denmark instead of me.

When we were back in the hallway that connected to the garage, I heard a blood curdling scream, a large crash, and then it went quiet, the only remaining sound being the crackling of fire and the creaking of the wooden boards above. The firemen carried me outside as I still tried to scream, my voice dying on me and leaving my voice as a husky squeak of a whisper. I was lowered into Sweden's arms outside the shattered remains of a front door, and he carried me farther away, across the street where he lowered me onto the sidewalk and sat beside me, gripping my wrist fiercely and staring at me with concerned blue eyes. I fought off the paramedics that flocked around me, attempting to help me; eventually they managed to snap an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth, to which I was secretly grateful for.

Fifteen minutes went by, and it felt like eternity. The heat from the house was atrocious, and all I could do was watch and hope that Denmark would be carried out like me. Only when the fire was under control did I see some firemen carrying out something big and black… an arm hanging from the side of it limply. My heart flew into my throat and I nearly jumped forward, but Sweden stopped me. I looked back at him with wide amethyst eyes, but his own eyes showed understanding, and that alone relaxed me. He picked me up bridal style and carried me over to the motionless Dane, my oxygen tank painfully held between the Swede's fingers. The firemen stopped us before we got too close, and they told us that he was critically injured.

Sweden put me down then, and I ripped the mask off, gripping the front of the firemen's ash laden coat and demanding for them to step aside. I was about to throw him out of my way with my above average strength, but a paramedic stepped up, his words coming out as clear as a car's horn, "He's dead." The two words echoed in my head countless times, and then I collapsed and blacked out, vague memories of shortly after my episode, before falling back into blackness. My only real memories started after I woke up in the hospital.

Over the next week, Denmark's screams haunted my dream… as well as his corpse. Teeth gleaming in a gruesome smile that twisted his stained features, which used to be soft and caring yet aged over the centuries he lived, but now turned lifeless, hollow, blackened by ash and the charred remains of his house. He's always in some sort of danger, either trapped below something, hiding in a corner or huddled up against a wall, a barrier of fire separating us. Sometimes he's standing in plain reach, but no matter how hard I try, I always trip or get lost in the smoke, following his screaming until I find his unmoving body. Last night he was alive and well, but the fire was still attacking his house. He was going along with life as usual, while I was trying to get him out of the burning hellhole. He left me to get coffee, and I screamed at him that it was no time for that, that we had to escape. He returned to the arch that opened the kitchen to the living room a second later, a confused expression on his perfect face, and holding two mugs in his large hands.

"What're you talkin' about? Everythin's fine!" his cheery smile returned… but his teeth were smeared with black, but he didn't notice as he walked up to me normally.

I cringed when he handed me a mug of watery ash, my eyes looking up at Denmark's in panic. Instantly, his expression turned startled and he set the mugs down before pulling me in for an embrace. He was hotter than the surface of the sun, and it felt like I was melting in his arms, but it was so nice. I cried out and clung onto him, feeling my skin sting in pain as the burns formed. My tears turned to steam that hissed by my bangs the second they made contact with Denmark's shirt. He whispered comforting words in my ear, a mash of different languages rolled into a few sentences. He pulled me away suddenly and I looked at him… he looked perfect, besides his black teeth. Smiling to myself softly at the picture before me, I brought my hand to his cheek and I ran my thumb over it, leaving a smear of ash on his pale skin. His blue eyes watered slightly as he gave me a crooked smile, and he reached up to touch my face, but then it all blinked out of existence.

The ceiling sat before me and instead of Denmark's soft skin under my hand, it was a silk curtain that had strayed from the window. Tears stung at my eyes once more and I rolled to my side, clutching my pillow intensely to my chest… and I sobbed loudly into it, not stopping even after all my tears had dried up. I didn't notice that Iceland was in the same bed, and he wrapped his arms around me when he realized what was happening, rubbing awkward yet soothing circles into my back and whispering soothing statements. Once I was calmed down, he led me to the living room, where I sat on his small chocolate-coloured couch, staring blankly at the wall until he returned from the kitchen with our breakfast. I'm not sure what it was, but I barely nibbled on it before I pushed it away.

"You are going to eat that." Iceland growled at me, and I looked up at him with bewildered eyes.

"An'what if I d'n't…?" I slurred challengingly, tilting my head over slightly.

"I'll sit on you." Was Iceland's response, and I managed to get the rest of the food down… before it returned only a few minutes later.