Yay~ story number two! Maybe I'll actually get a review for this one. -ahem- But yeah, this is just a random story of things involving Denmark and Sweden and other random characters. Sorry it's not very long...But, some disclaimers, of course. One, I do not own Hetalia or any of the other things I mention. I just like to play with them for fun. Also, this will hopefully become yaoi towards the end of it, so if you don't like that, I would recommend you not read and thing past this chapter.
Icy aqua eyes met hard blue ones as the two men crashed together once again, the ringing sound of steel and the hollow thump of wood filling the air. The shorter man grunted as the other pushed him away, his legs fighting to support him as he lost still more ground. He gripped his sword tighter as he tossed aside the red, wooden shield, a low growl grating in his throat.
"T'kin' tha offense ag'n, I see." The tall platinum blonde chuckled gruffly and took an easy stance. His languid posture belied the tense muscles just under the surface; sinewy and stalwart, his practiced body was never completely off guard. This was just a dance to Berwald, one with steps that had been played out over and over again for centuries. He loved to get a rise from the Danish man now and again. Niels was rarely ever passionate about anything anymore; the only emotion he could ever seem to coax out of him lately was anger.
The not-quite-as-tall Dane narrowed his eyes at his long-time sparring partner. "One of us has to! You're always do damn slow…" He took up a fighting stance once more, holding his heavy broadsword with both hands for more power.
The usually cheerful Dane was not in a good mood today. Over the course of a week, boredom had turned to frustration which had now in turn turned to irrational rage. Somehow fighting the challenging Swede always made him feel better. He regained his posture and concentration before he stepped one slow pace forward, then rushed at his opponent, the flashing weapon raised high over his head.
The Swede immediately re-tensed, raising his shield to deflect the strong blow, his arm straining to hold the other's sword at bay. He stepped aside to strike from a new angle but the angry Danish man had already turned to face him and their swords met once more in a cacophonous sounding of welded metal sliding over welded metal. They struggled for a few moments at a standstill but then broke away and stepped back, each breathing heavily.
"Slow, maybe. Bu' ya h'ven' been able to beat me since that time. The Great N'rthern War…and ev'n then ya still didn' get all ya wanted." He smiled almost teasingly as he took a few deep breaths, clouds of smoke forming in the bitterly cold air.
"Don't mention that, Oxensteirna. You know I should have won then…you were too strong. And I have hurt you many times since then." His eyes harden, the tip of his decades-old sword dragging a line in the soft soil as he circles the bespectacled Swedish man.
"We both were…" An odd expression flickers across the Swede's face for a moment before he once again raises his sword and shild in defense of the attack he knows is coming.
The Dane looks confused momentarily before resuming his attack against Berwald, 35 inches of tried-and-tested steel crashing down onto a quickly raised shield. A crack is heard as the hardened wood begins to split, chips of blue paint raining onto the musty earth below; Niels' mouth curves into a grin at his apparent victory. The Swede, however, deftly flips his hand's grip on his own 40 inch sword, swinging the heavy brass pommel against the Dane's shoulder.
A shout and a step back follows the sickening crunch of metal on bone, a stream of Danish obscenities fluttering from lips on a face that has gone pale from shock and pain. He grimaces and holds his fractured right shoulder with his left hand, his discarded sword now lying on the ground in front of the taller man's feet. "Ber, you ass…"
The Swede's face goes blank as he steps back, discarding his sword and shield as well. "Didn' mean at hit ya so hard. I was…'ngry." He moves toward the Dane, concern threatening to breach the surface of his characteristically stoic face. "C'me back to tha house…" He takes his other's elbow, leading his towards the back door through a worn trail in the forest where they had been practicing.
Niels' face flexes in confusion as he cradles his injured arm to his chest (this is now a familiar procedure to him). "You weren't angry, I was. You were…something else." He frowns at being led, but allows the Swede to walk him to the back door.
Inside Berwald's kitchen it is neat and stark; nothing is there that isn't necessary. Oddly enough, a fully equipped first aid kit is necessary. After gesturing for the injured Dane to sit at the table, the impromptu medic goes to the cabinet, retrieves the med kit, and begins to take out the things he needs. He sits down next to Niels and begins to calmly but firmly treat the surface cut of the wound. His mind wonders as he applies honey and gauze, thinking of all the other times he and the Dane had sat at the table doing this exact same thing, though sometimes in each other's place. However, he then began to think of all the times that he had caused such pains purposefully, in hate and anger - the times they had been against each other. It had not been a good history with these two.
"There. Jus' wear this sling 'ntill it heals. A d'y or so." He hands the Dane a sling for his arm, helping him to put it on slightly awkwardly, not noticing the Danish man who is now smiling at him. "Really, 'm s'rry…"
"Ha, it's fine. I broke your hand last week remember?" Niels grins and shrugs his good shoulder. "We both know the risks of practicing with real swords. People get hurt."
"I know. I've seen men die, just as you have." His brows furrow in concern or pain. "But it's nice to see you back to you're old self for a bit."
"Huh? What do you mean?" The Dane's head tilts to the side, messy blonde hair falling over his eyes.
"I-I jus' mean…you've seemed a bi' d'wn lately. No' like yerself. Ya don' even drink anymore." He says this all with a slightly concerned but honest face, leaning back in his chair to look at Niels from across the table.
"Heh, I guess you're right. I couldn't really tell you what or even if anything's wrong though. I jus' feel…off." Now the Dane leans back in his own chair, further tipping it back to balance on the back legs of the chair.
Berwald looks at Niels' actions a bit critically but decided to let it go. "W'll, what 'ave ya been doin' lately?"
Thin blonde brows come together as he tries to recall the last week. What had he done? "Well…not much. Played some video games, watched shark week, texted Prussia and America, and came over here today."
"So tha only p'ple you've actually seen all week are me an' Peter?" Berwald's adoptive son Peter (whom he now only had partial custody of since that thing with Finland that we won't mention) came over a few days a week after school, and today was one of those days. For some odd reason, the young man really seemed to look up to Niels Hensen.
"Well, yeah." He shrugs his left shoulder.
"Tha's pr'lly why ya're so 'off'. 'S not good fer a man at jus' be by 'imself all tha time."
"True…but my house if so far away…" His voice takes on a whiney quality as he sinks down into his chair. The Dane was right though. For some reason unbeknownst to the rest of their little community, he lives quite a few miles out of town. Sweden's theory though was that he liked to have loud parties. And if you live in the country like Niels does, such things are less likely to be noticed.
"Well, why don't ya move here a while. Stay wit' a fr'nd."
"Ah, well…Prussia stays with Germany, so that wouldn't work…America! Yeah, and his brother what's-his-name!" The Dane's eyes light up at the prospect and he immediately takes out his cell phone. He presses a few keys and soon Sweden starts to here one half of a conversation. "Hey, what's up? Alfred Fuckin' Jones! …yeah, dude, I was just wondering if I could maybe stay with you for a few days or something'. I need to get out of the house. Oh, right, forgot about him. …Ya sure?" A loud yell is heard from the other end; something along the lines of 'It's my house too!'. "Okay, man, I understand. Thanks anyways. Bye."
The Swede looks the other man's unhappy expression and slumped posture(again…), and assumes the worse. "No?"
"No." The Dane's face is now crestfallen and he is staring at the floor, his hair shading his eyes.
"Well, ya c-" Berwald is suddenly interrupted by the sounds of quick footsteps coming down the stairs.
"Papa, I finished my homework!" Peter walks into the kitchen, school uniform still on, sans tie and jacket. He spots the two older men and walks over to sit down at the table with them. "Papa, what did you do to Mr. Hensen now…?"
"Br'ke 'is should'r…" He looks away, slightly guilty, possibly embarrassed.
"I'm fine, kid! No worries." He reaches over with his left arm and ruffles Peter's hair.
"Okay then…" He smiles at his role-model's affections. "So what else is happening?"
"Well, I was planning on staying in town for a few days, but now I guess I'll just go back.", replies the still slightly let down Danish man. "America was going to let me stay over but apparently his brother has some problem with me…got no idea why… Hm…"
Peter thinks for a moment, his face screwed up in puerile concentration. Then: "You could stay with me!" He beams and turns to Berwald. "Please, papa? I hardly ever get to see Mr. Hensen!"
A war of emotions take place just beneath the surface of his façade - doubt, hope, anxiousness, and potential regret all squirming together in a roiling mass of uncertainty… But not wanting to be rude and not wanting to disappoint his obviously excited son, he sighs and replies: "I suppose. But, Niels, please don't be a bad influence."
(And thus is how Denmark came to stay in Sweden's house as a guest.)
Thanks for reading~ hope you liked it. ^.^ more coming soon.
-Emiline Vance