Fic: En svensk tiger
Mar. 12th, 2009 10:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drcalvinTitle: En svensk tiger
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters: Germany, Sweden, Finland. Pairings switch between them as story progresses.
Rating: PG-13 (I think?)
Warnings: Fail!poethic!style. Historically sensitive topics.
Disclaimer: I do not own.
Summary: WWII. Sweden is neutral but Germany comes by with troops and leaves with ore. Finland fights alone.
And then the war is over.
Fic inspired by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emlan's wonderful art!
The creaking of the trains is always there nowadays, a soft noise in the back of his head.
During his waking hours, he smelled iron and thought it was ore from his mines, the deep bones of his body being extracted to strengthen (the invaders) his business partner.
In the night, he knew it was the smell of his brothers' blood and he struggled to wake up (or dream waking dreams of peace).
The first time he woke to be wrapped in a pair of pale arms in the night, he smiled in relief and joy. It's alright, he's not alone and the nightmare world is only mist and shadow.
"F'nl-"
Then the hand on his shoulder clenched him, too much and too intense and simply too wrong. The voice that whispered behind him was harsh and unmelodic, even when just woken from slumber.
"Was sagst du da?"
Sweden closed his eyes and willed himself back to sleep.
The visits were sporadic, but the trains kept on rolling, creaking and whistling. Even if they rolled over his own body, he thought he could hear them grinding Norway down.
"I'm glad you still have your honour," Germany whispered one night after his boss had turned him against Russia. "They don't, the Reds... they would have attacked us. It was only a matter of time."
Sweden doesn't know if Germany is trying to convince his listener or himself. He doesn't care. He doesn't have to speak, only lie still and wait and hear the heartbeats in the long night, like cogs in a broken watch which can't run down but can't find the hour of sunset.
"I can trust you, right? Not like with Austria and silly little Italy, I don't want to push you into anything like that."
"Mmm." Please be quiet.
Relief in the other's voice. "Excellent. No-one needs to get hurt. You'll see, we'll be great neighbours again when this mess is over."
Those war-calloused hands, too large, too domineering, are roaming over Sweden's body again. The hands are looking for something he doesn't want to give and the other... the other probably doesn't want find. Not here.
But there are things one doesn't do to ones allies, not if they have said no. Even if the all-too-familiar stranger in his bed turned against Russia, Sweden thinks the other has a bit of a weak spot for a sunny country in the south. He knows what that's like - but that is another thought to put away in the not-dreams one shouldn't have, dreams that must be swallowed and forgotten in silence. At least, there is no need to speak during this act, only move and stroke and allow...
Still.
The German is in his bed. Neither Sweden nor his children have been brought to the house with the red-black flag. The house which is growing with such a frightening pace, with the mad-eyed boss and the cold soldiers and the smoke no-one wants to think about rising against the horizon, and if it costs ore and silence and closing your eyes to not think of what is happening in the night, Sweden will pay that price.
He only hopes it is worth it.
When Finland comes over to Sweden's house the first time, he is nervous, but not afraid. Finland is wearing a white uniform and he carries only a rifle and Sweden is afraid for his sake, because he looks so small and fragile, but he can't tell him that and so he only holds him close. It may be the last true moment, he will think later.
The enemy is overwhelmingly large, but Finland trusts his children and himself and his words ring clear and true.
Finland doesn't ask about Sweden joining him, he simply assumes that they will stand together like they are meant to. To realize that he has finally earned Finland's complete trust when he is about to betray fills Sweden with a sense of vertigo and he reaches out for the country he has loved for hundreds of years. But again, he can't hold him (he should have stayed in my house!) and he can't tell him because...
They've been together for many, many years, first in the house of another and then simply together. Sweden longs to join him in battle again. It's always been easier to do things than to speak of things, even when he knew Finland would find a great deal of pleasure from his words.
Only this time his bosses have spoken for him. Their words are worried (prudent? cowardly? protective? He can't decide), afraid for the German, fearing for their country. Their words are also final.
Sweden knows what he wants to do say, he knows even better what he wants to do. The laughter of his children (safe) keeps him silent. They were friends and Germany was happy to show him his grand new army. They also all know Russia, far too well...
He can't even explain it, and perhaps that is the worst betrayal. When Finland goes off to war, he trusts his friend (husband, still, where it matters) to follow.
How could he explain, when Finland returns for one last try, stealing time from the battle, time he doesn't have because they are fighting for him and he must fight with them.
Tired and hurt. Still standing, still proud. He should be more angry, Sweden thinks, like many of his children are, but he just looks at him and asks why and Sweden fears something entirely different than the feel of foreign troops on his lands.
"Come with me," Finland says, eyes burning with feverish determination, "The Red Army isn't as strong as it looks. But... there are so many of them. If we only stood together..."
Some of Sweden's children hear and he lets them go, wishes them joy in his heart, but he will not join them.
"Didn't it mean anything to you?" Finland cries as he prepares to leave, yes, with gifts of food and other materials. But alone. (too small)
"'m s'rry" he whispers at the smaller nation's back, but there is nobody to hear.
The world lies in rubbles. Germany cries for his children (he killed his children), for his brother (his other self) who is being taken to the great red house. He cries for the blood on his hands (there is so much blood, enough to drench Europe and stain the world red) and the accusations that will follow him long after the scars of war are faded.
Sweden stands apart, though close to the Allies and he is grateful. Grateful that it is over, that he is still himself, that his children are healthy and whole and he is allowed to stand near the victors.
On the other side stands a small pale nation, who fought and struggled. Alone, not with the cowed group that are to live in the red house (not all of him), not with the victors, undefeated but nevertheless on the losing side.
Alone and silent, his eyes passing over Sweden as if he's invisible, leaving behind only pain.
As things calm down, when the victors have decided and the great rebuilding (the great funeral) begins, he moves towards Finland slowly.
He has obeyed his boss, he has protected his children, he is whole and yet he is asking for more, one thing he does not think he will have.
"What do you want?"
There's too much pain in that voice. He holds his arm in a queer way and Sweden remembers the pain of losing a part of yourself, the vicious wound that slowly bleeds until you can take yourself back, become whole again.
Pain that also lasts until all the children have forgotten who they were and only know who they are and the scar grows old and numb and only the soul of the nation remembers.
"'m s'rry."
All the ore that has left him returns at once, and it fills his mouth, his mind, his world until he's heavy and silent.
"Sorry isn't enough." Now Finland looks at him, and his eyes are lake-clear and winter-cold. "I can see why you did it. But still..."
He will turn around, and walk away and then. Then they will be Sweden and Finland, just countries that share a border, and nothing that was before will matter.
"'m s'rry. Sor- So sorry."
He's reaching, blindly, and all the words he never said are choking him when he needs to speak. Arms that have not lifted a weapon (coward!) are holding the other as close as he dares.
"Wanted. Wanted to join you. But 'm not even y'r husband now. An', an' my children... w're so few 'nd I feared for my children."
Silence and shame. He needs to let Finland go, but this time he knows the moment will end without ever coming back and if he can just grasp it a little longer, just a little bit more to last him until the wound has healed (never) if he can just show all those things he couldn't say, please listen to what I mean, you used to be able. We used to be able, when I was still brave and you were still weak and I held you close, always.
Then Finland is speaking, but now his voice is muffled, because he's buried his head against Sweden's chest and his arms (when did he grow so strong?) are around him and he's yelling but the words aren't angry.
"Was it that hard to just tell me? You big idiot!"
"S'rry."
And then the sun rises over the lakes and his mouth is laughing even while his eyes fill with tears and they won't forget this. Sweden knows the memory will linger. Because Finland's arm is bleeding and his children starve. Because he went to battle alone and returned more victorious than anyone believed but right now, right here, he's forgiving and they hold each other close and perhaps...
Some words need to be said, some moments need to be treasured.
Perhaps, some words are to be treasured too, and some moments can be made eternal.
I know, this is probably history!fail... Blaim Wikipedia?
Title explanation.
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters: Germany, Sweden, Finland. Pairings switch between them as story progresses.
Rating: PG-13 (I think?)
Warnings: Fail!poethic!style. Historically sensitive topics.
Disclaimer: I do not own.
Summary: WWII. Sweden is neutral but Germany comes by with troops and leaves with ore. Finland fights alone.
And then the war is over.
Fic inspired by
emlan's wonderful art!The creaking of the trains is always there nowadays, a soft noise in the back of his head.
During his waking hours, he smelled iron and thought it was ore from his mines, the deep bones of his body being extracted to strengthen (the invaders) his business partner.
In the night, he knew it was the smell of his brothers' blood and he struggled to wake up (or dream waking dreams of peace).
The first time he woke to be wrapped in a pair of pale arms in the night, he smiled in relief and joy. It's alright, he's not alone and the nightmare world is only mist and shadow.
"F'nl-"
Then the hand on his shoulder clenched him, too much and too intense and simply too wrong. The voice that whispered behind him was harsh and unmelodic, even when just woken from slumber.
"Was sagst du da?"
Sweden closed his eyes and willed himself back to sleep.
The visits were sporadic, but the trains kept on rolling, creaking and whistling. Even if they rolled over his own body, he thought he could hear them grinding Norway down.
"I'm glad you still have your honour," Germany whispered one night after his boss had turned him against Russia. "They don't, the Reds... they would have attacked us. It was only a matter of time."
Sweden doesn't know if Germany is trying to convince his listener or himself. He doesn't care. He doesn't have to speak, only lie still and wait and hear the heartbeats in the long night, like cogs in a broken watch which can't run down but can't find the hour of sunset.
"I can trust you, right? Not like with Austria and silly little Italy, I don't want to push you into anything like that."
"Mmm." Please be quiet.
Relief in the other's voice. "Excellent. No-one needs to get hurt. You'll see, we'll be great neighbours again when this mess is over."
Those war-calloused hands, too large, too domineering, are roaming over Sweden's body again. The hands are looking for something he doesn't want to give and the other... the other probably doesn't want find. Not here.
But there are things one doesn't do to ones allies, not if they have said no. Even if the all-too-familiar stranger in his bed turned against Russia, Sweden thinks the other has a bit of a weak spot for a sunny country in the south. He knows what that's like - but that is another thought to put away in the not-dreams one shouldn't have, dreams that must be swallowed and forgotten in silence. At least, there is no need to speak during this act, only move and stroke and allow...
Still.
The German is in his bed. Neither Sweden nor his children have been brought to the house with the red-black flag. The house which is growing with such a frightening pace, with the mad-eyed boss and the cold soldiers and the smoke no-one wants to think about rising against the horizon, and if it costs ore and silence and closing your eyes to not think of what is happening in the night, Sweden will pay that price.
He only hopes it is worth it.
When Finland comes over to Sweden's house the first time, he is nervous, but not afraid. Finland is wearing a white uniform and he carries only a rifle and Sweden is afraid for his sake, because he looks so small and fragile, but he can't tell him that and so he only holds him close. It may be the last true moment, he will think later.
The enemy is overwhelmingly large, but Finland trusts his children and himself and his words ring clear and true.
Finland doesn't ask about Sweden joining him, he simply assumes that they will stand together like they are meant to. To realize that he has finally earned Finland's complete trust when he is about to betray fills Sweden with a sense of vertigo and he reaches out for the country he has loved for hundreds of years. But again, he can't hold him (he should have stayed in my house!) and he can't tell him because...
They've been together for many, many years, first in the house of another and then simply together. Sweden longs to join him in battle again. It's always been easier to do things than to speak of things, even when he knew Finland would find a great deal of pleasure from his words.
Only this time his bosses have spoken for him. Their words are worried (prudent? cowardly? protective? He can't decide), afraid for the German, fearing for their country. Their words are also final.
Sweden knows what he wants to do say, he knows even better what he wants to do. The laughter of his children (safe) keeps him silent. They were friends and Germany was happy to show him his grand new army. They also all know Russia, far too well...
He can't even explain it, and perhaps that is the worst betrayal. When Finland goes off to war, he trusts his friend (husband, still, where it matters) to follow.
How could he explain, when Finland returns for one last try, stealing time from the battle, time he doesn't have because they are fighting for him and he must fight with them.
Tired and hurt. Still standing, still proud. He should be more angry, Sweden thinks, like many of his children are, but he just looks at him and asks why and Sweden fears something entirely different than the feel of foreign troops on his lands.
"Come with me," Finland says, eyes burning with feverish determination, "The Red Army isn't as strong as it looks. But... there are so many of them. If we only stood together..."
Some of Sweden's children hear and he lets them go, wishes them joy in his heart, but he will not join them.
"Didn't it mean anything to you?" Finland cries as he prepares to leave, yes, with gifts of food and other materials. But alone. (too small)
"'m s'rry" he whispers at the smaller nation's back, but there is nobody to hear.
The world lies in rubbles. Germany cries for his children (he killed his children), for his brother (his other self) who is being taken to the great red house. He cries for the blood on his hands (there is so much blood, enough to drench Europe and stain the world red) and the accusations that will follow him long after the scars of war are faded.
Sweden stands apart, though close to the Allies and he is grateful. Grateful that it is over, that he is still himself, that his children are healthy and whole and he is allowed to stand near the victors.
On the other side stands a small pale nation, who fought and struggled. Alone, not with the cowed group that are to live in the red house (not all of him), not with the victors, undefeated but nevertheless on the losing side.
Alone and silent, his eyes passing over Sweden as if he's invisible, leaving behind only pain.
As things calm down, when the victors have decided and the great rebuilding (the great funeral) begins, he moves towards Finland slowly.
He has obeyed his boss, he has protected his children, he is whole and yet he is asking for more, one thing he does not think he will have.
"What do you want?"
There's too much pain in that voice. He holds his arm in a queer way and Sweden remembers the pain of losing a part of yourself, the vicious wound that slowly bleeds until you can take yourself back, become whole again.
Pain that also lasts until all the children have forgotten who they were and only know who they are and the scar grows old and numb and only the soul of the nation remembers.
"'m s'rry."
All the ore that has left him returns at once, and it fills his mouth, his mind, his world until he's heavy and silent.
"Sorry isn't enough." Now Finland looks at him, and his eyes are lake-clear and winter-cold. "I can see why you did it. But still..."
He will turn around, and walk away and then. Then they will be Sweden and Finland, just countries that share a border, and nothing that was before will matter.
"'m s'rry. Sor- So sorry."
He's reaching, blindly, and all the words he never said are choking him when he needs to speak. Arms that have not lifted a weapon (coward!) are holding the other as close as he dares.
"Wanted. Wanted to join you. But 'm not even y'r husband now. An', an' my children... w're so few 'nd I feared for my children."
Silence and shame. He needs to let Finland go, but this time he knows the moment will end without ever coming back and if he can just grasp it a little longer, just a little bit more to last him until the wound has healed (never) if he can just show all those things he couldn't say, please listen to what I mean, you used to be able. We used to be able, when I was still brave and you were still weak and I held you close, always.
Then Finland is speaking, but now his voice is muffled, because he's buried his head against Sweden's chest and his arms (when did he grow so strong?) are around him and he's yelling but the words aren't angry.
"Was it that hard to just tell me? You big idiot!"
"S'rry."
And then the sun rises over the lakes and his mouth is laughing even while his eyes fill with tears and they won't forget this. Sweden knows the memory will linger. Because Finland's arm is bleeding and his children starve. Because he went to battle alone and returned more victorious than anyone believed but right now, right here, he's forgiving and they hold each other close and perhaps...
Some words need to be said, some moments need to be treasured.
Perhaps, some words are to be treasured too, and some moments can be made eternal.
I know, this is probably history!fail... Blaim Wikipedia?
Title explanation.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-03-15 11:10 am (UTC)I'm really happy to hear that you think I didn't waffle up the history, because I was afraid I'd make some glaring error