"So." Denmark said, loudly enough to bring the attention of all the people in the meeting to him. "What's it with you old Empire's an' destroyin' your charges sanity?"
Sweden looked up at him and England cast him a glare that could melt steel. "I mean, look at America. That's some effort you put into breakin' him, England. Several decades of hard work, I'd wager." The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
"America's mental instability does not rest squarely on my shoulders." England groused. Denmark gave a lazy smile. "No, no. 'Course not. And it's not like you actually intended to turn him into a raving lunatic, right? You were jus' a little too possessive, hm?" His eyes were as sharp as razor-blades, grin entirely to knowing for England's peace of mind.
Of course England hadn't intended to create insanity in America. But he was the British Empire, and everything he touched was eventually ravaged by war and death. He had tried to protect America from that fate, had begged and pleaded with God to leave him untainted. In his fervour he had kept him away from anyone else, desperately keeping him close so as to always be there if the colony needed it. As an Empire he had other things to take care of though, and was away from the child too often for his liking. So he made sure to shower him in affection – paying attention to him everyday, all day – whenever he could find the time to visit.
But he was the British Empire, and war and death had come to America too.
Denmark's eyes glimmered with malice as they slyly glanced at the shocked and hurt form of the U.S. "Not like Sweden." He continued, watching with amusement as the other Nordic simply rolled his eyes. "You actually fucked 'em up deliberately, didn't ya?" He could see some nation's blink in confusion, looking around as if expecting Sweden's children to jump out of the walls. It was Denmark's turn to roll his eyes. Honestly, did these people know nothing about their fellow nation's histories?
"Yeah, Ukraine turned out pretty well." He said, and watched with utter glee as – one by one – the room's inhabitants turned towards Russia and his sisters. "But that's 'cause you mostly ignored her, 'm I right?" he said, grinning. Sweden stared back at him with a raised eyebrow, silently wondering what had brought all this on.
"Russia and Belarus, on the other hand…" the Dane trailed off, looking like a kid in a candy shop. Denmark had always loved chaos, and Sweden supposed he was bored. Shrugging his shoulder minutely, he simply settled back to watch the mayhem the silver-tongued man was bound to create. "Well, you really messed 'em up, didn't ya? Seriously, one's a knife-wieldin' maniac obsessed with marryin' her brother, an' the other's so emotionally stunted he acts like a kid most of the time. An' he turned out nearly as sadistic as you. Ya must be so proud." Sweden looked at his neighbour, and shrugged again. Might as well play along, it had been a bit too quiet lately. And it wasn't as if the smaller nation was lying.
"Ya weren't 'xactly a saint eith'r, ya kno'. An' i's not 's'f I don' care 'bout th'm. Th're my kids. 'Love th'm." He said, giving Denmark a pointed look. He saw Norway shake his head in exasperated amusement behind the Dane, and Finland actually rolled his eyes at their antics. He did love them, no matter what the rest of the world might believe. He loved all three of them, but he had the nasty habit of destroying everything that he loved. Russia and his sister's were no exceptions. Even Finland's cheerful sanity had shattered in his hands, ripped from him until he was just as mad as his Scandinavian neighbours.
Denmark broke out in a wide grin, gleeful to find his rival/friend/brother/enemy playing along with his scheme.
"I've done some horrible things, true, but the feat of turnin' one of the world's two superpowers into crazies lies with you an' England alone."
Russia's eyes were huge in shock. He completely ignored the havoc around him – nations shouting and running around, England trying to appease a nearly crying America, begging him to 'just listen to me!'. He didn't feel Belarus tug at his sleeve in concern, nor did he see Ukraine's worried look from across the room.
It was true that the Swede had behaved strangely when he came around for a visit – which was rarely – but that he should have deliberately turned him… That he should have… He shook his head, trying to deny it. Trying to believe that – if Sweden had indeed turned him crazy – it hadn't been by choice.
The words of comfort he tried to instil in himself sounded fake, even to his own ears. He approached the tall man – almost timidly – to hear the denial Sweden was sure to utter. If he heard it from the man's own mouth, it would surely quiet the voices that screamed at him, telling him it all made sense now.
"You… broke me? You're the reason I… am as I am?" Ivan asked, eyes fragile and pleading with his father figure to tell him it was not so. Sweden regarded him from his sitting position, affection staining his otherwise intimidating features.
"Yes. I ruin'd ya. Play'd with yer min' unt'l it broke und'r th' press're." He rose from his chair, watching the Russian with fond eyes. "An' ya crack'd be'utif'lly." Sweden's fingers slid over his cheek with a nigh gentle touch. Nearly caring. Almost loving.
Almost.
Because Sweden destroyed what he loved, and when it was shattered it was discarded, tossed aside like a broken toy.
Then he drew away, leaving the conference room with Denmark and Norway – who both seemed to find the whole situation incredibly amusing – at his sides, not even sparing a glance for the screaming Russian collapsed on the floor behind him.