Author's Notes: A different take of what exactly Berwald was doing during the Winter War.
Winter Sun
The filthy, rag wearing man on the floor breathed harshly as he felt his people die one by one at the Russians' hands. His normally cheery face has harrowed in pain and half dried blood obscured what was left of his uniform, put together with whatever he had found at hand. His hair, once a light shade of yellow, was a mess of brown, both body fluids and mud, and skin was lacerated beyond salvation. His lanky frame demised by hunger, hollow checks covered with a mixture of both dried tears and mud. But it was not any of this that the small finish noticed, any discomfort he felt forgotten by the inner struggle in his mind.
He had asked, pleaded, begged them to help, but all remained silent. They would say that they sympathized with him, that they supported him, but no-one would officially intervened, just planting false hope in his people hearts. Oh, they were thankful to the volunteers, without them Finland feared the war would had ended already, but the shear despair brought by the world's inaction was enough to make him physically ill.
"Berwald..." The name brought new tears to his eyes, shame and anger overcoming him. Where was he? Didn't he promise to protect him? A half shocked sob escaped his throat at the thought. Sweden was to busy being suspicious of Finland and trying to save it's own skin to worry about it's neighbor's. The United Kingdom and France were proving to be more annoyances than help. In the end, he had had no choice but to turn to Germany for support and now the world was condemning him for it.
Tino wanted to shout, to cry, to hurt them as his land was conquered, as his people died of hunger, as his land dried. He wondered if Berwald was at least taking care of their dog and laughed hysterically at his concern for a dog over his people, a sad attempt to curve lunacy, he supposed.
His hands, bloody, battered by the cold and struggle, gripped his hair painfully as he curled into a bruised ball, black uneven nails pulling at the dirty fangs and scratching his face leaving angry red mark around his eyes. He was outnumbered, badly supplied and had little armament, neither vehicles or guns enough to defend himself with, but what else could he do?
His people, his brave, stubborn, foolish people would fight to the last one, never giving into the URSS's demands. And as new soldiers died, as his territory was trampled, burned, violated by them he could feel himself growing weaker, fainter. General Winter may not have power over him as he did over the previous Russians' enemies but the cold steel from their bullets did.
"Captain Väinämöinen?" Tino bitted his lip for a second, gathering what little strength was left in his tired body. "Captain?"
"Yes? What is it?" His answer sounded faint, even to his own ears but the soldier gave to indication to hearing his nation weakness.
"Captain, more volunteers have arrived." Finland wanted to cry again but held back and stood up, hand brushing his clothes in a half-hearted attempt to clean them.
"I'll be right there." The blond exited the room and saluted the tired soldier, only a boy really, who came to give him the news. "At ease. Now tell me, where are they from this time?" His voice came strong now, his face hiding the shear anguish because once again it was volunteers and not the nations who swore to come to aid. How had things ended like this?
"More tropes from Sweden sir." The boy, maybe sixteen, seem to be as peeved as he felt about the fact that Sweden's citizens came to fight in their war but their government remained 'not-belligerent'. His people would held out, but he wondered how long could he held out.
"I see." The words left a bitter taste in his mouth, his body railing against him as despair filled every bit of his being as the weak light of the winter sun covered his skin.
Maybe twenty, the Swedish group, fresh and wearing his own military garb was another blow to Tino's fragile self control. The Swedish soldiers always made him want to shout, Berwald absence all the more apparent with their presence. However, once again the male held himself back and, thanking the men, gave them instructions before disappearing inside the building once again.
He curled and stayed in a semi-conscious state for maybe an hour until the noise of the door opening woke him up. Soft, careful footsteps stopped besides him and a body dropped besides him before he deemed it safe to turn to investigate. Familiar blue eyes, hidden behind round glasses grated him and a sob escaped his mouth as he launched himself into the other's arms.
"Berwald, Berwald, Berwald, Berwald..." He couldn't stop himself and clutched to the other as his life, his sanity depended on it. "Berwald…"
"Tino." The gruff response, one which in the past had filled him with fear, was like a sorely needed balm to his fried nerves. He wondered when had he come to relay on the other like this, when had the huge terrifying giant turned into the man in his arms.
"What, what are you doing here?" Because if Sweden chose to enter the war it would not be like this, hidden, barely a handful of soldiers to help him. "Berwald?"
"...Sw'd'n will not join th' w'r." The taller man hugged him tightly, in the same desperate way Tino did. The Fin could feel his tears, tears that mirrored the ones in his own eyes. "B't th'r' 's noth'ng th't stops B'rw'ld Ox'nsti'rn' from doing so."
When Ivan, after both wars had ended and his lands lost to him, would complain about Sweden presence despite his status as 'not-belligerent' during it, Tino would deny his presence hotly as Berwald stated his innocence. Finland would not let him, even if he came as a person and not a nation, get in trouble for going against his bosses for him.
Author's Notes: Because if Alfred can do it, so can Berwald~. Finland, even if you lost, you rock~.
Sw'd'n will not join th' w'r.: Sweden will not join the war.
B't th'r' 's nothing th't stops B'rw'ld Ox'nsti'rn' from doing so.: But there is nothing that stops Berwald Oxenstierna from foing so.