The room was cold and the knife was dull. Through the haze of blood and pain obscuring his vision, he could just vaguely see the others, huddled against the wall. Sweden was curled around Finland in the corner, and he could see their bright lines their tear-tracks painted against their dirty, bloodied faces. Denmark sat in the middle, sobbing and rocking back and forth. He was curled around something red and glistening, and his fingers were twisted in his hair, occasionally bringing his head down sharply on the floor or on the wall whenever he got close enough. Norway was sitting apart from the others, face a deliberate blank. He was cradling what was left of one arm in his lap and staring at some point on the wall just beyond where Iceland was hanging from his chains.
He heard the sound of metal clattering to the floor behind him and drooped a little in his chains in relief. He knew what came next, but the anything had to be better than the knife. This had always been his least favorite part when he was a child, because of the sounds involved. It was always so wet and messy and there was always so much screaming.
He almost wished he was human, because a human wouldn’t be able to move after what the demon behind him had done. They’d split his spine with that horrid dull knife – he sort of wished that the knife was sharper, too – and now they were going to smash his ribs.
The hammer came down with a sickening crunch, and Iceland screamed as a fresh jolt of pain shot through him, piercing through the dull fog of agony that had surrounded him for as long as he could remember.
He whimpered and tried to focus his attention on the others. Sweden and Finland were still crying, Denmark was still trapped in his own personal hell, and Norway had turned away.
“B-big brother?” He asked, voice rasping from dryness.
Norway’s gaze snapped back up, and for the first time Iceland realized he was crying.
“Why are you crying?” He asked, pain retreating back in a fugue of confusion.
Norway cast his gaze towards the floor and tried to wipe away his tears with his one good arm.
A figure stepped out of the shadows and prodded Norway. “Go on, answer your brother.”
Norway took a shaky breath. “I’m crying because they’re hurting you.”
“And w-why is big brother Denmark crying?”
The same gruff voice from the shadows spoke before Norway had a chance to answer. “’Cause he’s a coward. We ain’t even laid a hand on him and he’s always bawling like a baby.”
Denmark stopped rocking and looked up at the man with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m crying,” he spat, “because you’re hurting my family.”
“Your family?” The man laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, your family all left you, and you let them without so much of a word of protest.”
“I loved them enough to let them be free.”
“Poor bastard. I know this may be hard on you, but they don’t love you back,” the man mocked.
“I do,” Iceland said.
The man chuckled low in his throat. “Do you now? We’ll see about that.” He bid the executioner to step back, and withdrew a small sack from his pocket. “Think carefully. Do you love that man?” The man gestured to Denmark, shook his head violently.
“Y-yes,” Iceland answered, voice only wavering slightly.
“Wrong,” the man replied, and took a pinch of salt from the bag and sprinkled it on Iceland’s wounds. Iceland gritted his teeth against the burn and squeezed his eyes shut. “Want to reconsider?”
“N-no!”
“Wrong again!” The man said, delighted, and pulled out a small handful of salt. He liberally rubbed it along Iceland’s open back, cause the nation to arch away and shout out in agony. “You still love him?”
“Just tell him what he wants to hear,” Denmark pleaded.
“Yes.”
“Wrong.” More salt, this time spread along the place where his spine had split. “Do. You. Love. Him?”
“Yes!”
The man huffed. “There is nothing hate more than family loyalty, you know,” he said in a conversational tone as he poured the rest of the salt on Iceland’s back. When the nation let out a short, pained scream and nothing else, he asked, “Still no change of heart?”
“You have twenty-three more ribs to break, you know,” the man said.
Iceland shivered.
“Let’s get started than, shall we?”
He broke on the twenty-second rib, when they made a deal that he could keep his last two ribs if he told them what he wanted to hear. And so he did. He confessed to hating Denmark, and Norway, and everyone else he’d ever met, and he’d even listed every little thing he hated about them, much to the shadow man’s delight.
At the end, the whole room was filled with sound – the executioner’s and the shadow man’s peals of laughter, Iceland’s screams, Denmark’s anguished howls, Sweden and Finland’s chains clanking together as they tried to crawl into one another, and Norway crying for the first time in a thousand years as they tore Iceland’s lungs out and made him a Blood Eagle – “At least I’m still beautiful, right, brother?”
The two men turned on the television in the aftermath, as they always did. Channel One news was reporting on global grain shortages and global warming and some celebrity’s wardrobe malfunction. On the rolling headlines below came the words, “Citizens Protesting About Kidnapping of High-Ranking Danish, Swedish, Norwegian, Finnish, and Icelandic Government Officials Jailed.”
At some point, the world had broken when the two men and their countless cohorts had struck a deal – give us five, and we’ll spare the rest. When they’d first the seen the news broadcasts, their hopes had bled out as slowly and as surely as they had that first night.
No one was going to find them, because no one was looking.
(Not OP btw) Aaaah anon this made me so happy to be filled cause angst and nordics are my favorite combination and this tugged at my heartstrings so many ways and I think I need some tissues soon.
Also Norway and his one(?) arm- ouch that hurt to read.
Now if you excuse me, I'll be going to find something to cheer myself up.
One tiny criticism - it's more likely that the Blood Eagle involved cutting and spreading the shoulder blades rather than the lungs. Lungs collapse once outside the body and you don't get the look of nice big wings. The shoulder blades are also easier to get at.
AHHH!! I was the OP and I didn't get a notification that this was filled?! WTF?! I'm so excited! This was everything I wanted, emotional and physical angst and torture abounds! Please, PLEASE tell me there is going to be more to this? So sorry for the late reply. Need to fix my alert settings or something, still learning my way around DreamWidth.
Great writing, and the blood eagle is a torture implement I put to use in an old Supernatural fanfiction of mine!
I really hope that since part 25 has been fulfilled and the meme has moved onto part 26, you won't abandon this like a couple of the other fills I was watching.
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Blood Eagle
(Anonymous) 2013-07-29 02:23 am (UTC)(link)He heard the sound of metal clattering to the floor behind him and drooped a little in his chains in relief. He knew what came next, but the anything had to be better than the knife. This had always been his least favorite part when he was a child, because of the sounds involved. It was always so wet and messy and there was always so much screaming.
He almost wished he was human, because a human wouldn’t be able to move after what the demon behind him had done. They’d split his spine with that horrid dull knife – he sort of wished that the knife was sharper, too – and now they were going to smash his ribs.
The hammer came down with a sickening crunch, and Iceland screamed as a fresh jolt of pain shot through him, piercing through the dull fog of agony that had surrounded him for as long as he could remember.
He whimpered and tried to focus his attention on the others. Sweden and Finland were still crying, Denmark was still trapped in his own personal hell, and Norway had turned away.
“B-big brother?” He asked, voice rasping from dryness.
Norway’s gaze snapped back up, and for the first time Iceland realized he was crying.
“Why are you crying?” He asked, pain retreating back in a fugue of confusion.
Norway cast his gaze towards the floor and tried to wipe away his tears with his one good arm.
A figure stepped out of the shadows and prodded Norway. “Go on, answer your brother.”
Norway took a shaky breath. “I’m crying because they’re hurting you.”
“And w-why is big brother Denmark crying?”
The same gruff voice from the shadows spoke before Norway had a chance to answer. “’Cause he’s a coward. We ain’t even laid a hand on him and he’s always bawling like a baby.”
Denmark stopped rocking and looked up at the man with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m crying,” he spat, “because you’re hurting my family.”
“Your family?” The man laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, your family all left you, and you let them without so much of a word of protest.”
“I loved them enough to let them be free.”
“Poor bastard. I know this may be hard on you, but they don’t love you back,” the man mocked.
“I do,” Iceland said.
The man chuckled low in his throat. “Do you now? We’ll see about that.” He bid the executioner to step back, and withdrew a small sack from his pocket. “Think carefully. Do you love that man?” The man gestured to Denmark, shook his head violently.
“Y-yes,” Iceland answered, voice only wavering slightly.
“Wrong,” the man replied, and took a pinch of salt from the bag and sprinkled it on Iceland’s wounds. Iceland gritted his teeth against the burn and squeezed his eyes shut. “Want to reconsider?”
“N-no!”
“Wrong again!” The man said, delighted, and pulled out a small handful of salt. He liberally rubbed it along Iceland’s open back, cause the nation to arch away and shout out in agony. “You still love him?”
“Just tell him what he wants to hear,” Denmark pleaded.
“Yes.”
“Wrong.” More salt, this time spread along the place where his spine had split. “Do. You. Love. Him?”
“Yes!”
The man huffed. “There is nothing hate more than family loyalty, you know,” he said in a conversational tone as he poured the rest of the salt on Iceland’s back. When the nation let out a short, pained scream and nothing else, he asked, “Still no change of heart?”
“You have twenty-three more ribs to break, you know,” the man said.
Iceland shivered.
“Let’s get started than, shall we?”
He broke on the twenty-second rib, when they made a deal that he could keep his last two ribs if he told them what he wanted to hear. And so he did. He confessed to hating Denmark, and Norway, and everyone else he’d ever met, and he’d even listed every little thing he hated about them, much to the shadow man’s delight.
At the end, the whole room was filled with sound – the executioner’s and the shadow man’s peals of laughter, Iceland’s screams, Denmark’s anguished howls, Sweden and Finland’s chains clanking together as they tried to crawl into one another, and Norway crying for the first time in a thousand years as they tore Iceland’s lungs out and made him a Blood Eagle – “At least I’m still beautiful, right, brother?”
The two men turned on the television in the aftermath, as they always did. Channel One news was reporting on global grain shortages and global warming and some celebrity’s wardrobe malfunction. On the rolling headlines below came the words, “Citizens Protesting About Kidnapping of High-Ranking Danish, Swedish, Norwegian, Finnish, and Icelandic Government Officials Jailed.”
At some point, the world had broken when the two men and their countless cohorts had struck a deal – give us five, and we’ll spare the rest. When they’d first the seen the news broadcasts, their hopes had bled out as slowly and as surely as they had that first night.
No one was going to find them, because no one was looking.
Re: Blood Eagle
(Anonymous) 2013-07-29 02:53 am (UTC)(link)Aaaah anon this made me so happy to be filled cause angst and nordics are my favorite combination and this tugged at my heartstrings so many ways and I think I need some tissues soon.
Also Norway and his one(?) arm- ouch that hurt to read.
Now if you excuse me, I'll be going to find something to cheer myself up.
*Bookmarks this for later*
Re: Blood Eagle
(Anonymous) 2013-07-29 05:42 am (UTC)(link)Re: Blood Eagle
(Anonymous) 2013-07-29 07:59 am (UTC)(link)I really hope there's more!
Re: Blood Eagle
(Anonymous) 2013-08-09 05:25 am (UTC)(link)Great writing, and the blood eagle is a torture implement I put to use in an old Supernatural fanfiction of mine!
Re: Blood Eagle
(Anonymous) 2013-08-09 05:26 am (UTC)(link)Re: Blood Eagle
(Anonymous) 2014-09-23 02:20 am (UTC)(link)