Denmark x Reader- Bloody Vengeance

  A hot and thick crimson liquid coats your shoulder, seeping through your thick tunic. Your breaths are reduced to mere gasps and huffs, your throat tight and narrow, only allowing minuscule air to pass. The scent of death and smog assaulted your nostrils, making it more painful to breathe and making it harder to not stop and empty the contents of your stomach on the cobblestone road.

The scenery blurs in and out of focus, making you nauseous. But what you do manage to see is horrifying. People, various ages and genders, are strewn across the streets. Their lifeless, mangled bodies are bloodied and burned, some still have a noose tied tightly around their snapped necks. You stumbled around, light headed from the loss of blood, your left leg dragging behind you.  

What did I ever do to deserve this?

Your right leg wobbles unstably from underneath your weight and you fall over, landing on the cold, unforgiving ground. Hot blood trails onto the cobblestone roads and pools in the smalls rivets of the stone. You feel more blood flow out of your mouth and nostrils, your eyes closing. Your body's temperature begins to heavily decline, your skin greying.

* * *

Your eyes have been shut for awhile now, your breathing coming to a stop, even your heart stops. However, you very well know that death will not take you easily. No. It would take much more to kill you. For now you will lie on the cold roads of your city coated in your own blood, unable to get up.

Damn him. Damn that bastard to hell. I'll kill him, I'll fucking kill him!

You are _____ _____, otherwise known as the personification of Stockholm. It is widely known that your brother, Sweden, has never been on the best of terms with Denmark. Years have passed and you have had little involvement, much to your liking. However, six months ago, your city was attacked by the Danes. Today your city has once again been ambushed, though much worse this time about. 90 of your own people have been murdered. Not just your brother's people, but your people. Pure anger boils in your blood, rekindling your strength. Though fatigued and malnourished, you manage to reawaken, _____ eyes flaring with hatred.  

You will avenge their deaths.

* * *

  It was long before your brother was able to locate you. Your body was grey and cold with no heartbeat. He knew that you were far from your actual death, you were merely suffering from the day's events. Carrying you back to your home, he tended to your wounds, confirming that your right leg was broken beyond repair and the gouge in your shoulder was the cause of your death. You lost nearly all of your blood and it would take weeks until you would be able to even begin breathing, let alone open your eyes or sit up.

As always, Sweden was correct, four weeks had passed until your breathing rekindled. Until then, your brother had never left your side, but when he saw that your recovery was going as he planned, he left, leaving you in the hands of his 'wife', Finland. When you finally were able to open your eyes and retain knowledge, Finland told you of the most recent events. You were still very bitter with the massacre know known as the Stockholm Bloodbath. You expressed your anger by trying to get out of your bed to arm yourself for a fight, however, you fell back down from your still mending injuries, as well as giving the poor Fin a near heart attack in doing so.

"At least wait until you get better or Su-san returns."

You heeded his words and stayed in bed until the wound in your shoulder healed and you were able to breathe correctly once more. Though, you would never be able to use your right leg anymore, which greatly restricted your movements. When Sweden returned he had helped you try to walk again. He knew that your leg was permanently damaged, but he prayed to the Gods that by some miracle, your leg would heal. However, your leg was still as limp as ever, completely useless. Your brother forged a brace for your leg so you'd at least be able to stand and walk, with the use of a crutch. This greatly angered you. You wanted, no, needed to fight. You swore on your own grave that you would avenge your people. Never would you forget the day he killed them.

* * *

   As the years passed, it became more and more to you apparent that your disability would greatly affect everything, even simple everyday actions. Your brother was yet again involved in another war Denmark and you made it clear that you wanted vengeance. He told you to stay out of the war, that he didn't want you more injured than you already were. Yet again you were left in the house you shared with Sweden, being babysat by Finland once more. You were more restless than the last time you were with him, rebelling and even fighting back the blonde.

"Stockholm, I understand that you want vengeance, but-"

"I don't want it, Finland. I need it. He killed my people. My people. Not just Sweden's, but mine."

"I can see where you're coming from, but-"

"It's not the same. I'm not even a legitimate personification, like you and bror. Just a city. It's different."

"Yes, however, you're brother-"

"I don't give a damn what he says anymore!"

"_____, please-!"

A loud shatter echoed through the empty corridors of the house. Finland lay on the ground, blood pooling from the wound in his head. You dropped the remaining glass of a vase from your hand and grabbed your crossbow, along with your cloak and walked out the door. You couldn't hold it in anymore. The anger you felt never quenched. It only grew. The more you were denied it, the more you needed it. You will avenge your people, even if it means hurting the ones you love.

* * *

   The trip was much longer than you had thought, even with taking your injury into consideration. Still you refused to give up and continued onwards. It ended up taking nearly a month for you to travel to Copenhagen, a trip that would usually only take a week, if you weren't injured. You hoped to the gods that your brother would not find you, the consequences would be too severe. It would only be worth to face said consequences if your quest is successful.

You knew where Denmark's house was, though you never had been there in person, you always saw the maps and heard Sweden talk of the location. Dead center in the capital in an impressive mansion. It was difficult not to find it. You, as stealthily as a cripple could be, crept in the shadows of the enormous building, trying to find some sort of entrance. After a while of searching, you located a loose window and crawled through, ignoring the dull pain in your leg. Once standing up, you reequip your crossbow and lightly walk along the dark corridors, careful not to be found. You ascended hundreds of stairs, and a multitude of staircases until you reached the top of the mansion. The layout of the place was too predictable. Denmark's room would undoubtedly be on the top floor.

The enormous mahogany doors swung open, creaking slightly. You treaded lightly, trying not to lean on your crutch too often. The tops floor was indeed massive with many large rooms and passageways. You hoped that you'd be able to complete you quest within nightfall, for when dawn broke, you'd be found and most likely executed for trespassing. Shaking the thought from your mind, you switch your crossbow for a long dagger, a present from your brother.

Room after room you continued your mission, ignoring your tired and weary leg. But determination forced you to keep moving, to keep searching. Your revenge will all be worth it in the end. Opening the next door, you found a more intimate living space.

Must be close...

You hastened your pace and approached the next few doors, until coming across a large pair of doors. A smile stretched across your face you you opened the doors, happy to find that the room did indeed contain a bed and even happier to see that said furniture contained a certain sleeping Dane. You hoisted your weapon above the figure, about to kill them. To get your long awaited vengeance.

However, all motives for vengeance dissipate from mind when you got a closer look at the male. His blonde hair was in disarray and he was snoring lightly. Your grip on your knife loosened.

No! I must kill him! I have to!

The thought drifted lightly through your mind, not even been taken notice to. Tears rolled down your cheeks, though you never realized it. This man. The one you were so keen on killing only mere minutes ago, was no stranger, no. You knew him far too well.

* * *

It all happened a couple hundred years prior to the bloodbath.

You were quite young, as well as your brother. The two of you were often joined by two other males about Sweden's age. An emotionless one and the spiky haired one. You had always liked the more energetic of the two, even if your brother disapproved. He had introduced himself as Mathias, you as _____. You were oblivious to the fact that he was a country. You only thought of him as a human boy. He was always so nice to you, always making you laugh. You honestly wanted him as your brother instead of Sve, though you never told anyone.

However, all good things come to an end.

It soon came time when your visits with Mathias became rarer. Your brother wanted you at home, studying, to stay away from Mathias, saying that he was trouble. But hell, you were young and rebellious, never really listening to Sweden. Therefore, you snuck out to see your friend, where the two of you talked for hours.

"Bror doesn't want me to come here anymore."

"What?! Well he's just a stick in the mud, _____. Don't listen to him!"

"But I have to one day! Even if I don't want to."

"Say, _____, we'll see each other again soon, I promise! I'll come back and marry you when we're older! I swear on my own grave!"

You laughed at your friend's silliness, until you realized he was serious.

"Do you really promise?"

"I swore on my only grave! Of course I do!"

"Okay, I'll be waiting!"

* * *

"How cruel fate can be, don't you think Matt? To think. We used to be the best of friends. Now here we are, about to kill each other."

Denmark was still fast asleep, thank the gods, and didn't seem like he'd be waking up anytime soon. Wiping the remaining tears and grinning a bittersweet smile, you sheathe your knife and leave the large room. Vengeance gone. Mission failed. But oh well. Shit happens.