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Post by Sweden on Aug 9, 2011 20:17:08 GMT -5
Pushing up the frame of his glasses back up onto his nose, Berwald turned his head towards the window of the coach. He was sitting in the back seat, Hana Tamago in his lap. The dog was drowsing in his lap, likely after getting exhausted with trying to keep up with everyone on the train. There was an air of merriment and Berwald could hear some singing further back. Sounding a bit like dancing as well, although how one managed to dance within the confines of the steam powered pulled carts, was beyond him. He would have liked to join in, but he wasn't the one returning home. He was on the road for other reasons. Reasons that made both his heart and mind heavy with a mix of emotions the Swede wasn't sure how to deal with yet.
The Second World War had ended a few ago, and it was now December with winter biting fast on the soft heels of peace. The blond nation was just starting to wind down from all the stress and toil of it, although that had all taken its toll on him. At first he'd chalked it up to overexertion. Used to his bad vision, Berwald hadn't thought much of it until his peripherals had continuously creeping shadows and colours had started to have a faded look. Bright lights had started to bug him quite a bit, and although he'd never had great night vision either, eventually his eyes had become so bad that he couldn't see anything all. Even if something was being waved an inch from his nose. That's when he'd realized that he, a once strong Empire, the feared Lion of the North, was going blind. Even now as he stared out the window that he was sitting next to, all he could see were vague fleeting shadows playing a vast expanse of white.
“We're almost at Rovaniemi, Mr Oxenstierna,” pipped up the aide, sitting himself across from the nation. Well, the man was dressed in civilian clothing. There wasn't any doubt though that he was a personal escort of sorts, and Berwald wasn't quite happy with the choice. He could understand why a soldier had been sent with him, and it had taken quite a bit of arguing to convince his boss to not send more than just one person.
Humming in acknowledgement of the statement, the blond kept staring at the shadows moving across the landscape. Berwald honestly wasn't sure if that was a good thing. On the one hand, it would be nice to see the Laplanders home. On the other hand, he dreaded meeting up with Tino. It wasn't because the other had allied with Germany either. He simply feared facing the bitterness and anger he knew would greet him. That fear shamed him, but Berwald couldn't shake the feeling that he'd let his best friend down. Actually, he knew he'd done just that. Like he'd let everyone else that had counted on him down. The blond was certain he'd get the same contempt filled remarks and biting criticism from Tino, as he'd gotten from everyone else. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to take it, without the dam he'd built inside of himself to bottle everything in, breaking.
A change in speed made Berwald lift his head and push aside his musings. It looked liked the train was slowing down. “D'we 'ave ev'rythin'?” he asked his escort.
“Yes, sir,” the soldier in disguise replied with an affirmative, getting up to double check that they had all their luggage with them, including the supplies for the dog.
“Good,” mumbled the nearly blind nation, neither men saying much after that.
It wasn't long after that when the train finally pulled into the station, and the cheering from both outside and inside was loud. This was the last trip of the day, and the train would return to Sweden in the morning. Berwald listened to the music outside, eyes going to the window again to see absolutely nothing but the bright specs of light. Fires or lamps, he guessed with a frown. Getting off the train would prove interesting, now that it was dark. He hadn't even noticed the passage of time until now.
As the train finally pulled to a stop, both men waited for the rush of the crowd to ebb. Hana had woken up at the noise and was yapping with excitement, trying to get in on the action. Berwald held onto her firmly, taking care to wrap the leash around one hand. With some help from his aide, he soon had a loaded backpack on his back and with a bit of stumbling, was helped off the train, the nation carrying the dog in his arms.
Setting Hana on the ground once they were onto the floor of the station itself, Berwald unrolled the leash from his hand to let the dog have a bit of room to sniff around. His assistant lead him through the throng of people, the Swedish nation moving stiffly along behind the escort. It was strange still to hear everything around him and not being able to see any of it. It made the blond nervous, and the relief he felt once he'd been handed his cane was immense. They were standing off to the side from everyone, Berwald waiting and dreading to meet Tino and the aide trying to loosen his charge up.
It wasn't until there was a hard tug on the leash and that Hana Tamago started barking with excitement, that Berwald knew the fluffy dog had spotted Tino. He turned to face the direction she was pulling in, eyes squinting to try and see if he could make out his friend in what little of the world he could see.
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Post by Finland on Aug 10, 2011 14:39:00 GMT -5
A loud whistle proclaimed the arrival of the midnight passenger train to Rovaniemi. The last one,[/color] Tino thought with an appreciative sigh. Brushing a mound of wet snow away from the railing of the platform banister, the Finn was able to lean out over it just far enough to see the big electric lamp just above the smoke box door on the front of the engine approaching on the tree-lined tracks. The light seemed to flicker as the locomotive shook and rocked its way to the station, a fluffy plume of coal smoke trailing behind it and showing where it had once been.
It was a sight Tino had seen for two months now. Nearly every day, he had watched the trains roll into the station like a team of lumbering metal oxen. The doors to the passenger cars would be unlocked by the engineer or station workers and people would pour out into the waiting arms of their friends and family in Lapland.
There had been considerably fewer people to greet the first arrivals, of course, since nearly the entire region had been evacuated. Soldiers, veterans and hardened warriors of the Winter and Continuation and Lapland Wars, served as a welcoming committee, shaking the hands of returning citizens with a battle-weary tervetuloa takaisin. By the end of the first month, more than half of the population had made it home, and now, nearly at the end of the eighth week of greeting returnees, nearly all of the abandoned homes in Lapland had found their owners.
The train had hissed to a stop, now, its coupling rods and pistons still and its doors aligned with the platform. Once again, Tino, fully decked out in military dress as he’d been instructed some two months ago to be, briskly stepped up to the first door of the first car, standing in line with a group of three soldiers in similar dress. They faced another line of four soldiers almost like a mirror image, forming a partition around the front car as the engineer disembarked and rushed to unlock the chains and pull the lever keeping the door closed. Around each car there were two lines of four soldiers. They were to be a human cattle chute, Tino had realized after the first day of being placed on this duty, forming a hallway of sorts to keep people from scattering all over the place and slowing down the system of unloading other ex-refugees.
The door hinges creaked as they were pulled open, the first wave of people rushing down the steps and onto the wooden platform with luggage and children in tow. Tino mustered up the best smile he could to greet the oncoming horde. He had hoped, after first hearing about this assignment, by the assured happiness of his people that he would get some vicarious feeling of happiness, just a byproduct of their emotions rubbing off on him, their nation.
But he was far too tired for such emotions. He had been abandoned in his hour of need and had been backstabbed by his lone savior. He was happy for his people, but he was not happy with them. His smile was, indeed, fake.
“Tervetuloa takaisin,” he greeted one elderly couple with a brisk nod. They responded in kind, old eyes glinting with a hidden youthful happiness as the husband carried two worn carpetbags. “Tervetuloa,” he greeted a young girl balancing her even younger brother on one hip and a pile of thick fur coats on the other. A man, presumably her father, rushed soon after her demanding she let him carry something before both the coats and little Mauno ended up in the snow. “Tervetuloa… Terve… Terve… Terve…”
A big clock hanging from the eve of the station moved its hands to read 12:33. The train would be empty, soon, Tino reminded himself as the swarm thinned out considerably. A few stragglers remained on the car – a boy in a wheelchair who had to be lifted across the gap between the train and the platform, an elderly woman whose gnarled fingers and bent spine suggested years of arthritis, a young pregnant woman who simply did not want to fight the rush…
At 12:40, Tino’s little squadron of guides had been given the clear to break formation, the seven humans and one nation mumbling sluggish farewells of hyvää yötä to one another. However, this did not mean Tino’s work was done. His boss has specifically requested that he stay behind until every last passenger had disembarked and either found a ride home or successfully purchased a connecting ticket for the next day. For nearly two months, the golden-haired little Finn had been resigned to pace the length of the train station until half past one in the morning, shivering from the wet December snows and feet aching inside dress shoes not designed to insulate. Tonight would be no exception.
Tino made his way past the second car. The soldiers’ schedules had been staggered by five minutes. Because the door to the first passenger car was unlocked first, it was to be assumed these passengers would finish disembarking first. The soldiers attending this car, including Tino, were dismissed at 12:40. The second car was unlocked second, and so the soldiers here were allowed to leave at 12:45, and so on.
As he made his rounds, Tino took inventory of the situation. A few people still trickled off of the second car, and an increasing number from the third, fourth and fifth. As he watched someone from the third car bound over to embrace someone – maybe her lover or her brother, Tino couldn’t tell – he let his mind wander to his little cabin not far from the station. He thought of how nice it would be to curl up by the fireplace with a cup of coffee before finally staggering back to his bed sometime around three in the morning to crash. He would be alone in the little house, but that was nothing he wasn’t used to. He didn’t mind the loneliness so much. Being alone meant not having to worry about others failing you. Loneliness was safe.
Tino, lost in thought, realized that someone had been talking to him. He gave his head a little shake as he snapped back to reality, asking the man standing in front of him to kindly repeat his question. The man had asked something about tickets, and Tino pointed him to the ticket window. “It’s there. They’ll be able to direct you,” the little Finn explained. And just like that, the man darted to the window and Tino, though surrounded by hundreds of noisy people, could be alone again.
The station was full, now, but the train was as good as empty. Tino weaved his way through the crowds to stand by the edge of the platform, doing his best to keep out of the way. The atmosphere was heavy with excitement and movement, a dull roar filling the station. Still, one noise could be heard clearly above the others –a frisky little yip. It was not uncommon to see people carrying pets, and so Tino didn’t give the barking dog much thought until he saw a tiny little ball of white fur come running up to him with its nails clicking along the wood of the station, pulling eagerly at her leash.
He studied the pup for a moment, watching as she licked at the toe of his shoe and then looked up to bark and wag her stub of a tail. Couldn’t be, Tino thought, suppressing the idea that this little puffball looked familiar. But…
“Hanatamago?” he asked, watching as the dog’s ears perked up before she gave several excited yips. In disbelief, Tino knelt down to scratch the coarse, wooly fur. “Hey, girl!” he breathed in wonder, letting her flat tongue lick his palm and fingers and giggling. “What are you doing—”
The Finn suddenly went deathly silent as he realized what the dog’s presence had to mean. Grudgingly, his eyes followed the dog’s leash, starting at her collar and trailing his gaze up the lead to the hand and then arm and then face of the man holding it. Tino immediately stood upright, back straight and hands at his sides as if greeting a general. “Berwald,” he acknowledged, his voice indicating not happiness nor anger nor any sort of emotion.
“What are you doing here?” Again, his voice held no indication of what emotion he was feeling. Tino wasn’t even sure how he felt. It was a cocktail of shock and anger, for sure, and maybe just the tiniest bit of happiness over the familiarity of an old friend.
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Post by Sweden on Aug 11, 2011 18:32:32 GMT -5
“Hanatamago?”
Hearing Tino's voice for the first time had a mixed effect on the Swede. There was relief which was swiftly followed by nervousness and his stifling shyness. Berwald's jaw locked, tongue held in place with dread. This was it. This is what he'd spent most of the trip here, mentally preparing himself for.
“Hey, girl! What are you doing-”
But for now, while Tino was distracted with greeting Hanatamago, the tall nation would enjoy the nuances of his best friend's voice. Berwald had almost cracked a smile, until the Finn's words cut short mid sentence. Lips thinning and head turned in a way he hoped had him staring at the other nation, Berwald gave a stiff and curt nod in greeting.
“Berwald, what are you doing here?”
Not having seen his friend stand up, Berwald's reactions were a little slow and he didn't lift his head until he'd heard Tino speak again. The Swede's gaze once again wasn't quite right, eyes staring at a point somewhere over Tino's shoulder. Beside the near blind nation, the single soldier escort matched the Finn's posture and guessing at who this person before him was, saluted out of respect. Tino outranked the aide anyway, and a good soldier always saluted a higher ranked officer, no matter what army they belonged to. Or what that army had done. The man had actually been one of the volunteers that had gone to fight for Finland during the Winter War, and he was quite glad to have the honour of stepping onto Finnish soil once more.
After an uneasy moment of silence, Berwald extended his hand holding onto Hanatamago's leash towards the other nation. “Came t'return y'dog,” he answered quietly. “Brought sum other stuff too,” he added, trying to gesture at some of his excess bags and missing the mark. The escort made a bit of an amused, but pained expression and took it upon himself to get the point across by lifting the two barack boxes he carried.
The ex-empire fell silent, at a lost of anything else to say. He didn't know what to make of Tino's apparent distance. Not that Berwald had expected a warm welcome, but the lack of emotion from his friend seemed to be disturbing him more than outright anger. Or contempt. Berwald had expected contempt, even getting yelled at or get punched. He hadn't prepared himself for the void like response.
Swallowing nervously, the tall blond forced himself to keep talking. “Also... 'appy birthday,” he finished lamely, lowering his gaze to awkwardly stare at the ground. Or what he thought was the ground, but ended up being somewhere around Tino's knees.
Berwald fell silent after that, Hanatamago the only being daring to break it as she panted and pulled at the leash, frolicking happily at Tino's feet. She finally sat and looked up at both nations back and forth, tongue lolling out of her mouth happily. The bespectacled nation was debating on mentioning his nearing blindness. He thought better of it though, assuming the way he knew he wasn't quite looking at Tino and the white cane in held in his other hand, would be enough clues for his friend to figure it out. Besides, Berwald was here for the Finn and didn't want to make their meeting any more difficult than it already was.
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Post by Finland on Aug 18, 2011 11:37:10 GMT -5
In his stupor over the appearance of Berwald, Tino barely noticed the other man present, watching with a blank stare as he respectfully saluted. After a few seconds, the Finn came to and brought his arm up in a brief, stiff salute, dropping his arm again and nodding for the Swede to stand at ease. Tino didn’t recognize the man and he couldn’t quite be bothered to wonder why Berwald had brought him along. He was instead wondering why his once friend seemed to be avoiding meeting his eyes, his gaze averted just over his shoulder or down under his face.
“Came t’return y’dog.”
Making no move to take the leash being offered to him, the little blond stared at the leather strap for a moment and then looked back up at the other.
“Brought sum other stuff, too.”
Berwald was gesturing at something now. Tino looked at the spot on the ground to which he was pointing, but saw nothing but the wooden floorboards of the train station, quirking a brow and murmuring a quiet “Um?” The aide shifted the boxes in his hands, then, and Tino nodded in understanding. He didn’t know what was in the boxes. That wasn’t his prime concern.
“Also… ‘appy birthday.”
The smaller nation’s mouth opened a bit and he waited to think of something to say, watching as Berwald stared at his legs. This was all too sudden. Why was Berwald here? Why now and without any warning? Tino had nothing to say to him and, judging by the way he wouldn’t even look the Finn in the eye, Tino assumed Berwald had nothing to say to him, either. His own gaze dropped, fixing on the fluffy white creature dancing around his feet. With his mind racing to process all that was happening, he thought nothing of the cane in the Swede’s hand as his eyes swept across it.
What did it mean that he had come to return Tino’s belongings? He’s ridding himself of me,[/i] Tino realized. Though part of him dreaded this separation, another part had braced himself for this moment years ago. It was only a matter of time, really, for how could he expect Berwald – Sweden to forgive him for what he’d done? He’d allied himself with the very nation blockading precious supplies from reaching Swedish borders.
He drove me to it, a small, sadistic voice reminded the Finn. He abandoned me.
“Yes,” the Finn mumbled blankly. “Um, I mean thank you.” That was right, he’d been wished a happy birthday, hadn’t he? Was it that time already? Tino tried to count the days in his head, but couldn’t quite figure out if today was the Sixth or if Berwald was giving him his birthday wishes in advance.
He’d be twenty-eight this year. No thanks to him.
“You must be tired,” Tino remarked almost mechanically in thickly-accented Swedish, looking up at last, but not at Berwald. Instead, he focused on the soldier accompanying him. He felt as if his mind was just reciting lines for a play. Nothing felt sincere. “Please give me a few minutes to finish up and I will be with you.” With that, he sharply turned and marched hurriedly to check on the progress of the unloading, leaving Berwald with his aide and the dog. He didn’t want to go back to the group. He didn’t want them to be here in the train station at Rovaniemi. He didn’t want to have to face Sweden after what he’d done – after what had been done to him. He wanted to go back to the quiet emptiness of his house and wait in silence until he was sleepy and drunk off of hard liquor and then pass out alone in his bed.
But minutes passed and the clock showed that it was now 1:00. The train was empty and it was time to leave. The other soldiers were already making their way to the exit of the station behind the stampede of joy-drunk Lapps. Putting off what had to be done was no longer an option. Suppressing a rising feeling of panic, Tino sighed and returned to the small group, keeping his eyes trained on Hanatamago who was happily wagging her tail, not at all aware of the tense atmosphere around her. The Finn was almost jealous of such naivety.
“The trains will not run again until tomorrow,” he explained, still using their shared human tongue. “It will be cheaper to stay at my house than at a motel.” It was, perhaps, the weakest display of hospitality he’d ever managed, but it took every ounce of willpower he had to invite them into his home – his sanctuary. “I don’t have a car, but there are taxis.” At last, he reached out and gently pried the leash from Berwald’s grip. “Please follow me.”
After reaching down to give another scratch behind the dog’s ears, Tino took off in measured strides across the floor, leading the two Swedes through the crowded terminal and out through the main exit into the cold December night. The Finn did his best to step over the puddles of slushy mud and clumps of dirty snow that bordered the street once he’d hailed down a cab, waving to his guests to follow him and carrying Hanatamago under one arm. With the three of them and the dog, it made for an uncomfortably close ride. The Finn had managed to snag a window seat and was keeping his gaze locked out the window once he’d given directions, his breath fogging up the cold glass. Tired eyes watched as the familiar nightscape of Rovaniemi slid by. A left turn, and then a right, and then a long stretch of straight.
All too soon, the ride was over. Tino found himself slipping the driver a few markkas and sliding out of the cab in a trance to usher his guests up the slight hill to the doorway of his home. His boss had purchased the little cabin for him after the war so he would have easy access to the train station.
“Välkommen,” he added respectfully as he opened the door and gestured for the two to enter.
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Post by Sweden on Aug 27, 2011 17:58:14 GMT -5
“Please give me a few minutes to finish up and I will be with you.”
Looking up at those words, Berwald gave a stiff nod in acknowledgement. He could still hear people wandering around the station, although it wasn't as loud as when they'd arrived. He listened to Tino's footsteps retreat until they were swallowed up by the other noises around him and he turned to face his escort. The Swede really wished he could see, just so that he could tell what kind of a mood his best friend was in. He wasn't good enough at telling by ear just yet.
The soldier, Henrik, turned to face his charge not quite sure what to say. The two spoke between each other for as they waited for Tino's return. Berwald apologized for how awkward this must be for the volunteer escort. The aide reassured the taller blond that he was fine and actually quite excited to be in Finland again. It was a nice change from the last time he'd been here, back during the Winter War.
Needing something to distract himself with and to keep the thoughts of how cold Tino had spoken to them, Berwald grabbed onto the subject. They both stayed where they were, Henrik having to move them to the side a bit so that they weren't in the way of others too much. The dog, after figuring out she wasn't able to chase after the Finn, settled down for a nap at her Swedish part time owner's feet.
By the time one in the morning had rolled around, the two men had exhausted their conversation. Henrik was tiring and Berwald had simply grown too uncomfortable to talk any further. The latter of the two did hear the other come at attention though and Berwald perked up slightly himself, head turning slowly to try and pin point Tino's returning steps. His gaze was, once again, not quite directly focusing on his friend.
“The trains will not run again until tomorrow,” Berwald heard the Finn say. The tall blond nodded, fully aware of that. His return ticket was for the last train departing in the morning. He'd chosen that one, in case he'd hadn't had found Tino upon arrival.
“It will be cheaper to stay at my house than at a motel.”
Both men were surprised at that, the emotion showing more on Henrik. He was about to politely refuse, but Berwald stopped him. “Takk,” rumbled the tall nation, inclining his head slightly in a gesture of thanks. He was grateful, although he hadn't expected for Tino to offer to host them. The soldier blurted out his own thanks, then gathered up the luggage, helping Berwald with taking one of the bags. After Tino had taken Hana Tamago's leash of course and with one hand at the back of the Swedish nation's elbow to act as a guide, the two Swedes followed after their host. Henrik was able to dodge the worst of the slush and puddles but Berwald didn't fare as well. The tall blond simply ploughed through whatever ground came up beneath his feet, glad to be wearing a good pair of boots.
“I'm sorry sir-” started the aide, cut off from a shake of his charge's head.
“S'fine. 'aven't fallen yet, y'doin' good job,” was the low and calm reply. He was glad when they got in the cab though, but got stuck with sitting in the middle. He did clock his head on the top of the door getting in though, cutting off any apologies from Henrik once again. He had to get used to using his hands and feel his way around more often and clumsily felt around the seat to try and locate his seat belt. It ended up with Berwald accidentally grabbing Tino's thigh, causing the Swede to blush and apologize awkwardly, before finally locating both ends of the seat belt and buckling in.
Getting out of the vehicle proved to be just as hazardous to Berwald, as getting in had been. Again, he clocked his head on the cab door getting out and this time he let his aide help him out. All of this was starting to get rather embarrassing for the tall nation, who hadn't wanted to appear weak or out of shape too much before his friend.
Getting up the small hill to the house proved treacherous as well, the two Swedes lagging behind Tino. Berwald seemed to be finding all the icy patches and between juggling the luggage and trying to keep the both of them upright, Henrik ended up with his hands being ridiculously full. Later Berwald would have been able to laugh at it, imagining the two of them stumbling along like idiots, but at the moment the these little hardships were just deepening his silent frustration. All of this because he couldn't see where he was going.
“Takk,” thanked the soldier, giving Tino a smile, once they'd finally managed their way up. Berwald simply gave a terse nod as he was lead through the doorway, back and shoulders held stiffly wondering what this new environment held in store for him. The end of his white cane swept the floor in front of him, and he held one hand out extended slightly to warn him of any imminent objects he was bound to bump into.
After unloading himself, Henrik helped Berwald out of his coat and boots. Following the quick removal of his own, he guided the tall nation over to a chair to sit in, least his charge wander around and knock something over. Everything was done in tense silence, the tall blond unresponsive in his brooding and the aide too wary of that brooding to say anything. With Berwald settled and sitting ramrod straight in his seat, eyes gazing right in front of himself, Henrik bounded back over to Tino.
“We're grateful for your hospitality, sir,” the soldier quipped, giving the Finn a tired smiled. “I'll help with setting up cots if you'd like,” he added, slipping into a professional mode. “I don't know if you'd like me to put away your supplies tonight or in the morning though.”
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Post by Finland on Aug 31, 2011 16:05:42 GMT -5
With the two Swedes and the puffball of a dog safely inside his house, a process that Tino noticed was taking longer than usual, the exhausted Finn closed and latched the door behind them to preserve what little heat still remained inside the house. No acknowledgement other than a terse “Joo,” was given at Berwald’s aide’s token of gratitude. He supposed he should’ve offered to take some of the cumbersome boxes with which the unfamiliar Swede was struggling; they were filled with his belongings, apparently.
It’s not like I asked for my things back,[/color] Tino tried to convince himself, brushing it off as Berwald’s own fault. Besides, he’s doing it to get rid of me.[/color]
He’d noticed a slight oddity – that cane Berwald was carrying, what was it for? If he’d hurt himself, it looked too thin and spindly to provide any kind of support for walking. The Swede had no obvious signs of pain or difficulty walking and there was no limp, though his balance did seem to be off, Tino mused, thinking of how he’d noticed the aide scrambling to keep Berwald from veering off of the walkway up to the front door.
Even if Sweden was injured, he was holding the object in such a manner that if he fell, it would have done nothing to stop the large man from crashing to the ground.
There are more pressing matters at hand, Finland reminded himself as he toed off his shoes and flung them haphazardly towards the doorway.
Straight away, Tino busied himself with lighting a fire. The embers that had sufficiently kept the house warm that morning had long since died down, leaving only cold ashes in their stead. The blond managed to find a box of matches and went about lighting the fireplace, crouching before the hearth and poking at the ashes until a warm glow crackled to life. His house was small, containing amenities for one person only. With two extra bodies, a dog and the large amount of luggage they had brought with them, the atmosphere had suddenly become stiflingly crowded.
Tino could still feel the spot on his leg Berwald had touched earlier. Accidental or not, the Finn had not had such gentle contact in years. For the duration of the wars, his physical contact had been limited to hands pressed around his throat and those driving knives and bayonets into his body. During the final days of fighting, it became rare that he even trusted a medic enough to have his wounds cleaned and wrapped or to treat the infections that would ensue from failing to do so. He’d grown unaccustomed to friendly touches.
The little tingly spot on his thigh served as a reminder that he now had other people in his home. Though he didn’t think it possible, he was even more on edge now.
The Finn stood and was making to continue bustling about when the strange Swede suddenly presented himself once again. Tino took a step back and observed the man with a slight frown. The man reminded him of Hanatamago – too excited and too ready to serve. In Tino’s mind, it was an empty display, some sort of faux loyalty.
“We’re grateful for your hospitality, sir,” the annoying Swede began, a dopey sort of smile on his face. Tino nodded. “I’ll help with setting up cots if you’d like. I don’t know if you’d like me to put away your supplies tonight or in the morning, though.”
“I can manage on my own,” Tino recited dryly. It felt so natural to say such things. After all, it had been his mantra for the past six years. Fighting wars or unpacking luggage, he didn’t need help. It was offensive that this aide thought otherwise.
A quick survey of the living room found Berwald sitting in a chair looking lost and the pup curled up at his feet. There was a pile of luggage by the sofa and strange jackets hung on the coat rack by the entryway.
“And I don’t own any cots,” he continued, almost sounding irritated. Irritated at the annoying Swedish aide for making stupid assumptions and irritated at Berwald just sitting there staring uselessly into space and irritated at having to use Swedish in his own home. He gestured towards the sofa, explaining, “I’ll sleep here. You and Berwald should both be able to fit on my bed. I’ll find some clean bedclothes.”
With that, he briskly made his way to the kitchen, giving a clipped “Hana, tule!” and sending the dog skittering after him. He filled a bowl with warm water for her to lap and went about finding food for his guests. The Finn didn’t eat much these days. Rarely was he at home and when he was, the quiet depression of being alone took away any feeling, hunger or otherwise, he might have felt. He rummaged through his pantry, finding an entire loaf of bread that seemed to have molded several days ago. Tino couldn’t remember when he’d bought it and, with a sigh, tossed the fuzzy green-gray mass into the garbage can.
At last, after going through loaves of moldy bread and bottles of soured milk, he’d come up with a jar of lingonberry jam and a box of crisp bread wafers. I’ll go to the market tomorrow, he told himself, studying the pathetic excuse for a meal with a frown. He supposed it was better than nothing for his unexpected guests.
Before returning to them, he crouched to open a cabinet door under the sink, reaching into the far back for his target: a bottle of koskenkorva viina. Tino made quick work of the cap and tipped the bottle up, chugging and breathing through his nose so he could continue chugging. The liquor stung his throat and belly and made his eyes water. It was well worth it. Soon he’d be numb and he wouldn’t care about the two Swedes in the living room.
With half the alcohol depleted, he screwed the cap back on and stashed it away. He wasn’t quite willing to share the only thing keeping him going. Taking up the box of hardtack and the jar of jelly, he returned to the living room, setting the provisions on the table.
“Sorry. I don’t really eat.” It was a vague and awkward explanation, but Tino knew at least Berwald would understand. Nearly every nation had gone through that post-war period of not wanting to do anything other than lie around licking their wounds. During such times, human rituals like eating and socializing held little appeal. Of course, what with it being nearly 2 a.m., Tino wasn’t sure they were hungry, either.
Easing himself onto the couch and finding himself with a lapful of Hanatamago, Finland motioned for Henrik to make himself at home.
“Why have you come here?” the little Nordic asked Berwald in his non-human tongue. Already the alcohol was beginning to take effect, his words just slightly slurred. Unable to look at Sweden out of shame and disgust and fear that he might actually miss the friendship he once had with him, Tino kept his eyes fixed on the dog’s white fur. “Really, my birthday? I seriously doubt that. Do you have some business here?”
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Seeing as how the white canes were a relatively new commodity at this time, I’m going with the theory that Tino has never seen one before.
And poor Henrik. Tino doesn’t like him much right now. Once he gets over his little self-pity thing, he’s going to have to take the man out for some apology coffee.
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Post by Sweden on Sept 12, 2011 8:49:37 GMT -5
“I can manage on my own.”
“Ah... sorry, sir,” said Henrik, sensing the offense Tino had taken. He nodded tersely, taking the words as a dismissal. Going back to the boxes, the man opened up one of the barrack boxes. When the Finn said he didn't have cots, the soldier pulled out two folded up ones from the luggage. Berwald had drafted up the list of things to take with them on the trip. From the dictation of it, to the actual packing and finally the double checking, the Swedish nation had gone over every detail with a fine toothed comb.
Berwald hadn't been expected to be welcomed into Tino's home, yet had made sure that they'd have what they'd need, in the event it they would have been.
“And there's no need for you to give up your bed, sir,” pipped up the soldier. “Mr. Oxenstierna made sure we'd come prepared for anything,” he finished, then cussed as he tried to snap a piece into place. There was a click and the aide grunted in victory, continuing with his task. As such it had turned out. And while Henrik busied himself with setting up the cots, the tall nation sat on the chair feeling useless.
He should be the one making his own bed. He should be the one to go over everything he'd brought over, with the Finn in the morning. He should have been the one to carry over all the luggage and supplies in. Instead he was chair bound, not because he didn't want to do anything, but because Berwald would just have been a danger to himself and the other two present in this unfamiliar environment. He shifted uncomfortably, itching to just get up and help set up, knowing how and where Tino would like things and unable to get the words out to direct his escort.
As he brooded over his uselessness, Berwald's face darkened. His frown grew more pronounced, the set of his jaw stonier. He moved again, about to bend down to pet Hana, able to feel her at his feet, until Tino called to her and she scampered off towards the Finn. Shoulders sagging now that he was alone in his corner, the Swede grew even more morose. Curving in on himself and gaze directed at the floor, he simply sat and listened.
He closed his eyes at some point and waved Henrik away when he heard the soldier step towards him. There was a pause and then then the steps retreated back to where the noise had been. Berwald listened to the sounds in what he assumed was a kitchen. He heard the soft clink of glass and wondered what the Finn was doing. Wondering if Tino was boiling and then bottling water, Berwald shifted his head slowly towards the sound. He heard a cap being fiddled with and narrowed his eyes at the odd sounds that followed after, unable to place them.
It's after he heard Tino return, that he smelled the soft yet sharp hint of alcohol in the air. So that settled it then. The Finn was so angry with him that he had to drink to even bear Berwald's presence. Expression hardening even more at his silent distress, the tall nation turned his head to look ahead of himself, the muscles of his jaw flexing as he chewed over words he could think of saying.
“Sorry. I don’t really eat.”
“S'a'right,” grumbled out Berwald, concern passing over his features briefly. It was a good thing he'd brought over a lot of non perishable supplies then. He hadn't been eating that much himself, more concerned with making sure his people could put food on their tables.
“Oh, we did bring coffee!” Henrik suddenly exclaimed, getting up hurriedly to get the ground stuff and the coffee maker they'd brought a long as well. Shuffling off to the kitchen, he went to get the brew started.
“Why have you come here?” asked Tino, making Berwald shift his unseeing gaze somewhere along the Finn's chest level. “Really, my birthday? I seriously doubt that. Do you have some business here?”
The tall nation was quiet for a while, digesting the question. “Jus' wanted t'see ya,” he replied in the same tongue. “S'too late fer tha' though,” he added softly. He shook his head and then rubbed at his eyes, smudging the lenses perched on his nose, but not seeming to notice or care about the dirty prints.
“Brought ya s'plies,” Berwald continued, trying to make out the details in the badly blurred and opaque shapes he could see. Maybe if Tino would move a little, he'd be able to find his friend in the mass of grey and black. The strain became too much though and the Swede closed his eyes. It was becoming easier and easier to rely on them less and less everyday. When he next spoke, it was to list off what he'd had packed for Tino.
He was so concentrated on listing everything off, he didn't hear Henrik return with the brewed coffee. When Berwald's white cane was tugged from his hand and replaced with a warm mug, the nation startled badly. The mug landed on the floor with a crash, Hanatamago standing up to yap at the object. Berwald went rigid after that, eyes wide and staring at his scalded lap. Hands trembling just the slightest bit, he inhaled deeply, held his breath and after containing and swallowing his would have been outburst of emotion, slowly exhaled.
“Don't worry, Mr Oxenstierna, I'll clean it up and we'll help you change,” Henrik said calmly, looking like he was used to this kind of thing happening. “It's my fault, sir. I should have warned you of what I was going to do.”
“M'a'right,” mumbled Berwald, looking shaken and deflated. Bending forward, the tall blonde groped for the floor and then for the mug he'd dropped, amidst Henrik's reassurances that he could take of it. The more the aide tried to get Berwald to sit and let him deal with him, the more the nation got visibly frustrated. In a fit of anger, the taller Swede grabbed Henrik by the shirt and pulled him in close.
“M'goin' blind,” Berwald growled low, forgetting for the moment where they were. “Not dumb,” he finished and shoved the man in his grasp backwards. Henrik scrambled to keep his balance, mumbling a hasty 'Yessir' and standing up awkwardly at a safe distance from Berwald, shooting Tino a nervous look. The aide was at a loss of what to do, but the danger passed as Berwald realized what he'd done and buried his face in his hands in his shame.
This wasn't how things were supposed to happen and it was all his fault. How was he going to mend things with Tino, if he couldn't even reconcile with himself?
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Post by Finland on Sept 13, 2011 11:02:44 GMT -5
After a pregnant pause, Berwald finally came out with “Jus’ wanted t’see ya. S’too late fer tha’ though.”
Tino, not fully understanding the statement, gave a scoff. I should say so, he thought, lip curled in annoyance. As if I’d let him “just see me” after he abandoned me like that.
“Brought ya s’plies,” he heard the Swede continue, watching as he closed his eyes. The Finn assumed that could be chalked up to the ungodly late hour until which they’d stayed awake compounded with the exhaust of the trip from Sweden to Finland. The giant of a Scandinavian continued, then, to rattle off everything he’d brought with him, the look of exertion on his face indicating that he was taking painstaking care of not forgetting a single iota of information.
Tino’s eyes scanned the other as he talked; Berwald didn’t seem to notice if the Finn was looking at him or not, anyway. He was thin. The way his clothes hung more loosely than usual from his frame made that obvious. Of course Finland had heard of the blockades Germany had imposed on Sweden. It had flooded the newspapers and radio programs for weeks. His once ally had nearly killed his once friend by starving him to death. It bothered the Finn very little. They were both traitors as far as he was concerned – Germany by commission and Sweden by omission.
And there was something wrong with Berwald’s gaze. The way it rested not on anything in particular, but drifted somewhere in the space in front of him before finally closing altogether indicated that something clearly was abnormal.
He’s tired, Tino concluded once more, crossing his arms over his chest defensively and leaning back into the couch. We’re all tired.
Henrik reappeared at last. Where had he been? Finland could hardly remember until the smell of coffee drifted into the warm den. Some part of his brain suggested that coffee sounded very delicious, actually, and that he should go pour himself a cup, but another part, the one marinating in grudge and alcohol, was taking up too much of his energy for the message to reach his feet and make them carry him to the kitchen. So he sat still and watched as the aide delivered the cup of coffee to his boss, taking the odd cane out of his hand and thrusting the cup against his palm.
The sudden frightened reaction from Berwald put Tino instantly on edge. His hackles raised and he nearly leapt off the couch, dumping the yapping pup out of his lap and onto the wood floor. The Finn’s hand reached towards his hip – his knife was there if he needed it – but he relaxed a bit once he realized that Berwald had merely dropped his cup, slowly letting out a breath and feeling his heart drum rapidly in his chest and neck. His knife remained securely sheathed under the tail of his uniform jacket as he studied the blossoming dark puddle of coffee on Berwald’s pants.
“Dammit, Berwald,” he grumbled under his breath, watching as Henrik scrambled to take care of the mess. “Hana, quiet,” he ordered a bit more loudly, effectively shutting up the pooch.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Oxenstierna, I’ll clean it up and we’ll help you change. It’s my fault, sir. I should have warned you of what I was going to do.”
Berwald’s hand caught his eye. It was trembling. Tino hadn’t noticed if it had been the trembling that had caused him to drop his cup or if it was just a reaction to the spilt coffee now scalding his lap. It was the same kind of trembling one might expect from a man whose hands had lost the still assurance of youth, not horribly tremulous but with just enough movement to be noticeable. Almost like…
Like he’s scared.[/color] That had to be it, Tino concluded, still watching the scene as the nation continued to assure the human that everything was fine.
“M’a’right,” he heard Berwald assert.
But what was he scared of? Henrik hadn’t walked up on him from behind, so even if it was something like shellshock, that couldn’t have caused it. The shock seemed to have come after the aide tried to pry away that white cane. What was it about that cane?
A second lightning quick reaction propelled Sweden’s body forward, his hand suddenly gripping the collar of Henrik’s shirt. Tino could hear him warn in a low grumble, “M’goin’ blind. Not dumb.”
The words hit Tino like a bullet, fast and ruthless. Blind. He replayed the word over and over in his head, Berwald’s deep voice and the shape of his mouth forming the word burned into his memory like a brand. Blind. Blind. Blind.
Finland hardly noticed when Henrik had been pushed away or what Sweden was doing now or where Hanatamago had gotten to. He was transfixed on the word. That word. Blind.[/color]
It wasn’t possible. His mind told him that it was – of course it was. Berwald’s vision had been going for a long time. This final outcome was, after all, inevitable.
But this was Berwald. This was Sweden. Sweden was the strong one, the Viking, the warrior. He wasn’t prone to such ailments as blindness. Tino’s voice came out in a shaky exhale, caught in the tight muscles and cords of his throat. He was imagining how it must have been – the dark, murky world of sightlessness. For the Finn, it had always been a deep rooted fear, a nagging phobia that entered his mind every time he was lost in a whiteout or when he dove so deep into the water of a lake that the sunlight was nearly blocked from reaching him.
“What?” Tino’s voice was soft and gentle for the first time tonight, showing just a hint of emotion, a glimpse of sympathy. He hadn’t noticed what language he used. Finnish, Swedish or Shaykomay, it didn’t matter. Berwald would understand. “You’re what?”
Tino’s feet began to move of their own free will and he found himself standing with Berwald in front of him and the warm glow of the fireplace at his back.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice nearly breaking with some emotion even he couldn’t explain. He realized, then, how thickheaded that order must have sounded. Berwald couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t look at anything anymore.
“How long?” he continued, voice hardening again. He’d already shown far too much human emotion for his own comfort. “How long have you been blind, Berwald?”
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Post by Sweden on Sept 20, 2011 20:30:59 GMT -5
Taking another deep breath to steady his nerves, Berwald remained sitting in the chair powerlessly. Letting his hands drop away from his face, he didn't hear Tino speak at first. The blond did register the foot steps though and swallowing heavily, shifted his head to follow them. He began to frown, thinking it was Henrik and then looked guilty, because he shouldn't be taking his frustrations out on the poor soldier.
“Look at me,” came the order and Berwald snapped his head upwards at sound. So it was Tino. He could tell the Finn was close, could feel the shadow of the other fall over him. Again, the Swede swallowed. Had Tino sounded upset? Or was that slight tremor fear?
“How long?” he heard his friend demand. The blip of emotion was gone, leaving Berwald to wonder where the ground between them was. “How long have you been blind, Berwald?”
Staring tensely upwards, the tall nation swallower again, throat suddenly dry. He had to fish for words as well and his voice was rough, when he finally spoke.
“No' compl'tly,” Berwald got out, licking his lips nervously. His eyes were shifting even if he couldn't see anything, as if trying to find something. Unable to rely on his sight anymore, he couldn't read the atmosphere as well. Couldn't sense how Tino was feeling, or what he was going to do. Should he brace himself for a blow? Should he reach out and try to touch his neighbor? Take Tino's hand? Did his friend need comforting? Being unable to tell was frustrating.
Closing his hands into tight fists in his lap, Berwald let his head lower. The trembling had returned and he leaned forward to try and hide it, to make himself small. As if he was doing his best to keep something leashed inside of himself, to not let any more weakness show.
“Jus' see shapes... if s'nough light,” the Swede spoke again, voice a low unsteady rumble. “Vision started t'go 'bout year 'go. Jus' little bits.”
Berwald fell silent, trying to think of what else to say. “Goin' t'be blind, fully, soon think,” he finally got out, after the long pregnant pause. “I'll b'fine, though. Dun worry 'bout it.”
The last thing he wanted to do, was to cause Tino to worry about him. But the Swede wouldn't blame the Finn for laughing in his face and gloating about it either.
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Post by Finland on Sept 25, 2011 17:21:58 GMT -5
“No’ compl’tly,” came the nervous response from Berwald.
Tino didn’t understand. That response didn’t match the question he’d posed. He’d asked for how long Berwald how been blind, not the extent of his blindness. Was the Swede so scared that he couldn’t even keep up with the questions being presented to him? Or was he correcting Tino? Such a notion made the Finn sick with anger. Who was Berwald to correct him?
The Swede didn’t seem to catch the change in Tino’s mood as he continued to explain “Jus’ see shapes… if s’nough light.”
Finland wanted to look into his friend’s eyes. He wanted to know if the Scandinavian looked as scared as he sounded, but Sweden had dropped his head so that his gaze rested near his lap.
“Vision started t’go ‘bout year ‘go,” he heard the Swede continue, answering his original question at last. “Jus’ little bits.”
An unconscious shudder ripped through Tino’s body as he thought of what that would be like. He couldn’t imagine going blind slowly, thinking only that it must have been like watching pieces of a puzzle fall out of place one at a time until the picture was distorted and then completely gone. Was that what Berwald saw? Was his world a myriad of bits and pieces of the full picture? Goosebumps textured the smaller Nordic’s arms and the soft hair at the nape of his neck bristled, terrified at the thought of the torturously impending blindness.
There was a silence, then. Tino would have said something, but he didn’t know what to say. No words seemed to fit the way he felt at that moment. I’m sorry would have been a lie. Finland wasn’t exactly sorry that Berwald was suffering. He had been suffering for so long, himself, that he found it hard to spare extra worry to another. Misery loved company. On the other hand, You deserve this, you bastard was none the more correct. For as much as he wanted it to be true, Berwald – Sweden – didn’t deserve to go blind. He, his government and his people had done all they could do.
No, he insisted internally. No, no, no. There was more he could have done. There was more. He could have saved me.
“Goin’ t’be blind, fully, soon think.”
Lost in his own thoughts, Tino’s head jerked up at the sound of the voice and his eyes, hazy from drunkenness, studied Berwald once again.
“I’ll b’fine, though. Dun worry ‘bout it.”
It was too much. Before his mind had time to process it, Tino’s arm went back and he brought his hand down hard across the skin of Berwald’s cheek. The sound of the slap made him cringe; he’d hit harder than he’d meant to.
“Shut up!” he ordered, growling loud and dangerously. “Why the hell would I worry about you?! You, who did nothing at all to help me when I needed it! You let Russia and Germany have their way with me while you sat in the safety of your neutrality! I could care less what happens to you! I hate you! I hate—” The Finn stopped his tirade, panting, as he realized the magnitude of what he just expressed. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe the late hour that made his mouth so loose.
Instantly, he wished he could take it back.
He looked to Henrik, still standing pathetically off to the side. He looked over to the dog who had taken to cowering in the doorway, her puff of a tail tucked down and body slightly trembling at hearing her master raise his voice so uncharacteristically. And he looked to Berwald. Berwald, his best friend for centuries, sitting helplessly in the chair as the soft illumination from the fireplace made visible the blossoming bruise on his cheek. Tino let out a choked exhale. He’d made that bruise. He’d struck Berwald in his most pathetic state. Berwald, sightless, would have never been able to defend himself against the blow.
Tino dropped to his knees before the Swede, a sign of his humility.
“It’s not fair,” he whispered, a fat tear rolling down his cheek. “It’s not fair. You don’t deserve this.” The Finn leaned forward, gingerly resting his forehead against Berwald’s knees and noting how bony they felt. With a gulp and a scarcely stronger voice, he continued, “Oh, God, what if I did this? I allied with Germany even after I knew about the blockades. I should have helped you.”
He didn’t know for whom he was crying anymore. It could’ve been Sweden. In all their years of union, in spite of all their trials and difficult times, he had never, never told Berwald he hated him. He never had. He still didn’t. He’d let his emotions get the better of him and he’d hurt his best friend.
Or maybe he was crying for himself. Tino was ashamed of his actions, but some bitter part of him just wouldn’t let him forget that Berwald had abandoned him. What did it matter that he’d aligned with Ludwig? What did it matter that Berwald was blind? If he had not done what he had done, Tino would be dead.
“You were neutral,” Tino whispered at last, head bowed low. “ You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”
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Post by Sweden on Oct 1, 2011 14:23:50 GMT -5
The first though inside Berwald's mind after the initial shock of the open palm hitting his cheek, was that he'd deserved it. He deserved so much than the sting and burn of the smack, quietly wishing he'd get a bigger beating than just the slap across his face. His glasses had gone flying at the impact and he vaguely registered the sound of Henrik scrambling to get them, before anyone stepped on them.
The sting extended to the Swede's bottom lip and he prodded at it with his tongue, lifting one hand to rub against cheek and chin. The coppery taste and smell of blood flooded his senses, as Berwald managed to smear it across the underside of his lip.
“I hate you! I hate-”
Freezing at those words, Berwald suddenly found it hard to breathe. There were the words he'd afraid of hearing this whole time, the words he'd hoped he'd never hear from the one person that mattered the most to him. Hunching in on himself, the tall nation lifted a hand to his face to hide the pain he was sure was plain as day on his face. Those words hadn't hurt as much, coming from Norway or Denmark. Although Norge had never said them out loud, Berwald had been able to hear them in the tense silence when he'd gone to see if western brother had needed a hand recuperating. The piece of Danmark's mermaid statue that had been thrown at him, when he'd extended his hand to his other brother had hurt more than the loud verbal vitriol shouted his way.
Biting at his already split lip, he focused on the physical sting of the wound to keep himself from completely losing his composure. He couldn't crumble yet, not in front of Henrik although the man had already somewhat seen him at his weakest. Some part of him still wanted to be strong, had to prove that Tino's words hadn't cut as deep as they did.
“Sir?” came a soft query from Henrik, of which Berwald waved aside, quieting the human back to the sidelines.
Straightening himself out slowly, the mostly blind nation gathered himself. Feeling the familiar tension of his stoney expression worn on his face, Berwald let his hand fall to his lap, just as Tino dropped to his knees. The sound felt amplified to the Swede, who tensed up and stiffly kept his seat, waiting for his frie- no, neighbour – to do the next move.
“It’s not fair,” Berwald heard Tino whisper. “It’s not fair. You don’t deserve this.”
Swallowing heavily, the Swede tried to correct the other. No words would come out though and Berwald was left to stare ahead in space. He licked at his lip again and turned his head slightly to the side as he heard Henrik approach. This time he felt something soft against the back of his hand and he turned the limb to grasp the handkerchief given to him.
“Oh, God, what if I did this? I allied with Germany even after I knew about the blockades. I should have helped you.”
“Y'din'-” started to object Berwald, but the rest of his words were lost in a mumbled and behind the cloth he used to try and wipe at the blood oozing down his chin. But he could hear the sadness coating Tino's voice and with a shaky hand starting petting the Finn's hair. He could feel it on his knees, as Tino's tears wet the fabric of his pants.
“You were neutral,” Tino whispered at last, head bowed low. “ You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”
Putting his own emotional suffering aside, the tall nation gently tugged Tino's head upward. His hands were clumsy and trembling, but with careful sweeps of his thumbs, Berwald wiped at the tears staining the Finn's cheeks and then gave them a final pass with the blood stained handkerchief he still held in his hand.
“None o' us w'sposed t'get 'urt,” the Swede gruffly ground out, referring to their whole Nordic family. Pulling Tino upward some more with a few clumsy pats to find out what parts of the Finn he was touching, Berwald pulled his friend into an awkward embrace.
Tucking his neighbour's head on his shoulder and gently petting the hair again, it was then the Swede noticed the wetness on his own face. He wasn't sure when he'd started shedding tears himself, but he continued to pretend to not know. “M's'rry,” he added after a while, when he could trust his voice to be steady enough. He didn't think he'd be able to say it often enough or ever be able to convey how sorry he was.
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Post by Finland on Oct 6, 2011 10:17:26 GMT -5
At Berwald’s gentle prompting, Tino timorously lifted his face to meet the dull eyes peering not at him, but somewhere over his head. It made him feel queasy. Berwald wasn’t looking at Tino not because he was disgusted with his neighbor for siding with the enemy, though the nagging fear that this might have also been true remained, but because he couldn’t physically perform the task. Berwald wasn’t looking at Tino; he wasn’t looking at anything.
And he was crying. Tino had seen such a gesture only a very few times in his long life and each time broke his heart more than the last. Berwald was not supposed to cry – he was the strong one. He was Sweden. He wasn’t weak and emotional like Finland.
It’s not right.
With a large hand forcing his jaw up, Tino felt another slide up his cheek, the rough thumb sweeping along the tear-raw skin and gently brushing just under his eyelid to collect the droplets that still clung to his lashes. Had it been anyone else, the Finn would have never trusted them touching so close to his eyes, the houses for his most precious sense. It was different with the Swede. Tino knew Berwald would never hurt him. At least, he hoped. If the man decided to gouge his thumbs into the delicate eyeballs and crush them until the Finn’s eye sockets were dripping with bloody pulp, who was Tino to object? He’d helped to take Berwald’s sight, after all.
He has every right,[/i] Tino thought, letting his eyes go closed as he prepared for the likely attack.
Instead of fingers in his eyes came the tender brush of something soft against his face. He cracked open an unharmed eye to see the bloody handkerchief being dragged clumsily down his face, just a bit too far towards his ear to be of any use. Silently, Tino turned his head to assist Berwald’s efforts.
“None o’ us w’sposed t’get ‘urt.”
Suddenly the Swede’s hands had left Tino’s face and were, instead, travelling down the smaller man’s neck and shoulders and back, pressing gently and coaxing him up from the floor. With strengthless knees, Tino wobbled into a stance and awkwardly hunched over Berwald’s lap until they were forced together in something like a hug. He felt an arm wrap around his shoulders and a hand pulling his head into the crook of the Swede’s neck. Unsure of what to do, he let himself lower until he was perched on the Scandinavian’s knees, keeping the muscles of his legs tense in case he needed to make a sudden dash for safety.
Shuddering in a voiceless sob into Berwald’s shoulder as he resumed the delicate pets to Tino’s hair, the Finn was content to let his eyes close once more and, perhaps for a moment, forget that anything had ever happened. There was no War, he imagined. There were no Nazis and there was no Russian invasion and there was no co-belligerence with the Third Reich. Tino did not have constant pain in his left side where Vyborg – no, where Viipuri, his lung, used to be. The earth was not filled with Finnish men who were ripped apart by machine guns or air strikes, and was not scarred with tank tracks on the surface. Finland had never been betrayed by Germany, had never been abandoned by the Allies, by his brothers. Berwald did not go blind because he had never been blockaded.
No, these things never happened. They were only the figment of a sick man’s imagination, a nightmare. Tino had woken up with his heart racing from fear, had tiptoed into Berwald’s bedroom and had taken up residence under the sheets against the warm body. And now Berwald was cradling him and whispering him back to sleep, telling him that such a war could never happen because he would never ever abandon Tino because he loved him more than anything.
But Tino opened his eyes and the nightmare became reality once again. He was not in the warmth and comfort of Sweden’s bed; he was perched against his frail shoulder, just below the dead gaze that exuded from his eyes like a void. He and Berwald were both sobbing not because of a bad dream, but because of something much more sinister and real. There were scars covering Tino’s bare skin and his side did, indeed, burn with pain as the organ housed in his ribcage hung lifelessly. He had been abandoned and he had betrayed his own brothers. The War was real and its effects even more so.
“M s’rry.”
Barely louder than a whisper, Tino formed the words, “Stop it.” It wasn’t an order by any means, more like a desperate plea. He reflexively pulled away, standing and backing away from the blind Swede quickly, cowering as if he could be struck at any moment. He took in the sight of his friend sitting helplessly, crying and mouth oozing blood. “Please, just stop,” he begged again, shaking his head quickly. He couldn’t do this. Tino couldn’t let himself get close to anyone ever again. He needed Berwald to hate him for what he’d done, for everything he’d done. Hatred would have been so much easier than having to admit that he’d contributed to the damage taken by Berwald. Loathing was less painful than owning up to the truth, spite easier than recanting his claims that he actually did hate Berwald. Being alone was safer than having people there to fail him and for him to fail.
In my aloneness, I’m safe, Tino reminded himself, trembling in a fit of violent shivers. I can’t let him in. I can’t…[/i]
He paced in small, drunken circles around the room for a few moments, breathing deeply and collecting his thoughts before at last asking, “Now what?” His tears dried up and if it weren’t for the redness of his face and the way his voice was badly broken, it was almost as if he’d not been sobbing moments before.
“What’ll you do? You’re blind now; what can you do?” As an afterthought, he mumbled a quiet, “There are places here to sleep for as long as you need them, I suppose.” He looked to Henrik courteously as he made the proposal, hoping the other man understood he was also welcome to stay in Tino's small home until he returned to Sweden.
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Post by Sweden on Oct 27, 2011 12:24:26 GMT -5
“Stop it.”
Taken aback by those words, Berwald didn't resist when Tino pulled away and distanced himself. He couldn't see the other cower, just sat with his arms held out, as if still holding onto the Finn, frozen in place. They dropped shortly after, slowly, as if the tall nation didn't know what to do with them.
“Please, just stop.”
Sucking on his split lip, Berwald wiped at the blood again, with the handkerchief still in his hand. Then he wiped at the tears on his own face, lifting his glasses to get at his eyes. By the time he'd finished cleaning himself up to the best of his abilities, the hard neutral mask back in place on his visage. Just as his features were returned to their familiar stoney appearance, so were Berwald's feelings, and his heart, bottled back up safely to the far recesses from his being. Even though he hadn't physically moved, his was his own way of stepping back and putting even more distance between him and his neighbour.
As Tino paced around, Henrik gingerly crept back to Berwald's side. He placed a nervous hand on his charge's shoulder, the bespectacled Swede turning his head to face his aide.
“M'fine,” muttered Berwald, when the soldier carefully touched and examined the split on his lip.
“I packed a small kit sir,” replied Henrik, sounding subdued. “There's ointment...” the man trailed off, unable to finish his sentence because of Berwald's intense and misdirected stare. The aide couldn't help a small sigh of relief when the tall nation looked away to stare in Tino's direction, when the Finn started speaking again.
Licking his lip, Berwald cleared his throat to speak. “Goin' t'take part in th'United Nations. Rebuild. Try t'elp wit' makin' sure this sort of thing doesn't 'appen 'gain,” he said, serious but with the fire of determination in his voice. “Gonna work t'prevent wars, b'fore th'get t'start.”
He hadn't known himself what he'd do at first, but then the organization had sprung up. It was something he could throw himself into, to keep himself grounded and working and useful. There were so many things to do and so many people to repair relations with. But he could start with helping his brothers heal, and then work on the rest of the world. It was highly optimistic of Berwald, to think that. He had nothing else to grasp onto though.
“There are places here to sleep for as long as you need them, I suppose.”
Henrik spoke up next, at that offer. Giving Tino a friendly, but nervous grin, he nodded his head. “We appreciate it, sir,” he said, prodding Berwald up. They had to get the taller Swede out of the soaking pants after all. Berwald was quiet as Henrilk handed him the fresh pair of trousers and guided him into the kitchen to change in privacy.
“We're expected back in Stockholm tomo- later today though,” Henrik said, looking apologetic, after he'd exited the other room. “Although I'm sure Mr Oxenstierna would send any help you need, if you ask for it,” he finished, giving Tino a quick smile again. He hadn't expected this trip to be so emotionally charged. He hadn't expected to see Berwald cry at all either. The sight had disturbed the poor man greatly and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.
In all of the time he'd been assigned to help the tall nation with getting accustomed to blindness, Henril had never even seen Berwald so emotional. The spurts of anger and frustration, sure. But he'd never seen the blind Swede as broken as he'd seen him tonight. It made Henrik more determined to help his charge. Perhaps he'd try to talk to Berwald more on the train strip back.
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Post by Finland on Nov 2, 2011 20:29:14 GMT -5
“Goin' t'take part in th'United Nations. Rebuild. Try t'elp wit' makin' sure this sort of thing doesn't 'appen 'gain. Gonna work t'prevent wars, b'fore th'get t'start.”
Tino couldn’t help but smile a little. It was such a noble thought. Of course Berwald, who’d taken so much abuse during the War, would want to make sure no one ever had to go through such a thing. He knew better than many nations the pains and heartache of conflict even when trying to remain peaceful. His friend had become quite the philanthropist since the Viking days.
“I see.”
But his smile was a weak one and was short-lived. Finland was happy his friend was moving on. He was happy that his people would rebuild and recover, but he saw it as a sign of being left behind. Berwald was moving on, indeed, but without Tino.
But that’s what I want, isn’t it? I don’t want to be close to him. The only way I’ll survive is by severing ties. It’s what I want. I can’t waver on this. All the better for me if he finds himself a new group of friends.
Henrik was digging through one of the suitcases he’d brought along with him. With a pair of pants in his hands, Tino watched as the Swedish human helped his nation to his feet, gently guiding him towards the kitchen.
“We appreciate it, sir.”
The young man was very polite, Tino noted, though whether it was his true nature or whether he was just afraid to be caught up in the affairs of nations remained unknown. Still, he was taking his mission of caring for Berwald quite seriously. Tino thought it bizarre for Berwald to be the one dependent on Henrik, but then realized that it made perfect sense. It was a symbiotic relationship, he supposed. Henrik was a part of Berwald just as much as Berwald had to survive in order for Henrik to live. The Finn knew the same was true for his people, but it was rare that their complicated and profound relationship was so obvious.
Weakness, the small voice in his head told him. To depend so fully on others is weakness. If something happens to one, the other will be hurt. Truly, it’s better to be alone.
Tino’s gaze had dropped blankly to his feet without him realizing it and he only refocused once he saw Henrik emerging from the kitchen.
“We’re expected back in Stockholm tomo—later today, though.”
The Finn mumbled a slightly disappointed, “Oh.” Really, he should have expected. It was egotistical of him to think that Berwald might actually have a few days to spare on him when the Swede was preparing his nation for a new era. The arrangements for joining the European Union and the dialogues with the leaders of other countries would surely be time consuming. And once his request to join was approved, he’d likely be even busier with cooperating with the strange new entity. There would be no more time for Finland.
“Although I’m sure Mr. Oxenstierna would send any help you need, if you ask for it.”
“I don’t need help,” Tino reiterated, trying not to sound too frustrated with the human. “Told you, I can manage on my own. Berwald may need the Union and the help of aides…” Tino paused to gesture to Henrik, expression showing no definite emotion, before he continued, “but I don’t need anyone. Wounds will heal whether I have someone by my side or not.” He said it to convince himself as much as Henrik.
Tired and with a mind swimming from the alcohol, he suppressed a yawn and wearily continued, “I need to sleep.” His eyes turned to the kitchen door to see if Berwald would make another appearance before he lumbered back to his bedroom for the night. “If either of you would like to wash up, the bathroom’s at the end of the hall, and the linen closet is right beside it. There are extra blankets in there, too. The house gets cold at night. You can use the telephone in the kitchen to call for a taxi tomorrow.”
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Post by Sweden on Nov 25, 2011 9:46:42 GMT -5
If Berwald hadn't been changing, it would have been hard to tell who was more surprised at Tino's words. They stabbed into the Swede's heart like hot little needles and dug in their barbs to stay. It made him wish he'd been stricken deaf instead of blind. At least he could have been blissfully unaware of the crumbling friendship before him. At least now he had his answer. Tino didn't want anything to do with him anymore. Berwald would have to accept that and move on, because that's all there was left to do.
“Thank you,” spoke up Henrik, sounding just as confused as he looked. “We'll likely be gone before you wake,” he finished lamely. The poor man wasn't quite sure what else to say, but he knew the trip tomorrow would be even more awkward than it had been today. He knew Berwald could hear their conversation, and had a feeling his charge would be leaving a lonelier man than he'd been.
“Good night then,” the aide said, before turning around and dreading to see the sight in the kitchen.
Berwald had had time to compose himself by then, though. Changed, he waited for Henrik to come over and lay a hand on his elbow, his stone mask in place. The aide guided the tall nation back out and over to one of the cots he'd set up some time ago. The silence was heavy between them, but Berwald wasn't going to break it. He didn't trust his voice quite yet, and when Henrik inquired lowly if he needed anything else before going to sleep, the near blind Swede just grunted and shook his head.
Berwald turned his head to and fro once, as if trying to locate Tino through sounds. When he couldn't tell where the Finn was, or if he was still in the room, he lay down in the cot and pulled the blankets over himself. Eyes closed, he heard Henrik get into bed not far from him. There was the click of Hana Tamago's nails on the floor, as she got up to trot over to Tino, ready to follow him to bed.
...
Berwald wasn't sure if he'd managed sleep or not, before Henrik was carefully shaking him awake. They were as quiet as possible, to not trouble Tino as they packed up and the aide called for a cab to take them back to the train station. The tall nation insisted on making sure they left food and water out for Hana before leaving though. He also insisted on having fresh coffee brewed and leaving out ibuprofen pills out on the kitchen table with a glass of water, for when Tino did wake up. He knew the Finn's head would be sore from drink, no matter how high his tolerance was.
A mere half hour after waking, both men were out the door, with almost no trace of their stay. Other than the dog food, water and hang over aids, there was a simply folded up piece of white paper left behind. It was a short letter, obviously not penned by the Swedish nation.
Suomi,
I wish we could have met on better terms. I'm still sorry for what I couldn't do. For failing.
I hope we can rekindle our friendship when you're ready.
Waiting,
Sverige
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