Title: Crystal Kisses
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. If I did, it would be awesome. D:
Pairing/Characters: DenNor with some SuFin on the side.
Warnings: A fight scene, but no blood, but some swearing and heavy kissing scenes. No clothes are taken off, but I'm horribly descriptive.
Summary: My prompt was DenNor - Cinderella. So that's my summary.
Author's Notes: This story does not exactly follow the Cinderella story. There is no magical mice, no wand-waving fairy godmother. It's all AU, so the countries are humans (I did not come up with human names for Denmark, Norway, and Iceland). It was hella-pain to write at times, but generally I had fun with a lot of parts. I hope that you enjoy it, hidane! And a million thanks to my beta, who supported me and helped me so much throughout the whole thing.
Merry Christmas!
- x - x - x -
It was snowing outside, thick flakes drifting lazily towards the ground with the sort of mindlessness that one would expect of solidified water particles. There was no wind to push them around or guide them forcefully into a path other than what they may have liked. They slipped through the gray air slowly, a sort of muted dance that no one in the town paid attention to as they went about their lives. Most of the people walking the streets had boxes piled high in their arms, bordering dangerously close to blocking their vision. Others carried bags while shuffling through pockets or purses for car keys, the snow went blissfully unappreciated as it moved about its destined path to the ground and joined it's brethren to hinder the busy people. A silent message to slow down in their lives.
Christmas seemed fast approaching when December rolled around, which of course brought up not only talk of the big day itself but also other things surrounding it. Most importantly to Denmark, of course, being the parties. Where there was a party there was undeniably drink to be found and where there was alcohol he either was or wanted to be. Through the frozen grapevine he had already heard whispers of several, but for some reason his party-spirit hadn't caught up with him completely. It hung unmotivated in the back of his mind, like a once favorite scarf that was on the eve of its replacement.
"What's with all the sucky parties this year?" He pouted, shuffling behind Berwald with his hands tucked so far in his pockets that his fingers had curled into his palms. The blond was balancing two boxes in one arm with at least three bags in the other, but knew better than to insist Denmark carry any of it. He would deliberately drop it and then absent-mindedly swing it around just for the satisfaction for breaking it as retribution.
"Dunno," Berwald replied, his thoughts focused a bit more on his steps than Denmark's words. The other blond didn't much notice this as he looked around, as if someone would run across the street to invite him to the big bash he had been holding out for. He would hate to have to settle for one of the lamer parties this year - or any year for that matter.
He kicked at a snow bank as he walked passed it, scattering snow across the back of Berwald's legs which made the other grunt and pause to shoot a displeased expression at him. It was just another thing that went unnoticed, however, because by the time the other looked forward again Berwald had pulled several feet ahead of him. He jogged briefly to catch up, snagging the end of the other's blue and yellow striped scarf between his fingers to pull on it, "Hey! Don't you run away from me!"
The yank wasn't enough to choke him, Denmark didn't mean it to be, but it was enough to make Berwald wobble and clutch with particular care at the packages he had. A pleased snicker snuck from the other's mouth at the sight and when Berwald tried to walk again, he was once again snagged.
"We 'ave t'get 'ome," he snapped, or as close to a snap at his transected speech and naturally cool demeanor would allow.
Denmark rolled his eyes, visibly dropping the scarf, "Yeah, yeah."
They started walking again but once more Denmark's attention wandered, keeping the other's massive blue form out of the corner of his eye so he didn't get lost. Not that he would have gotten lost anyway, he knew this place like the back of his hand, but why put forward the effort if he could just trek along? Unfortunately for him, focusing on everything else save for a blue blob on the edge of his vision meant ignoring things that were right in front of him. Such as the telephone pole that he walked into that sent a searing pain through the side of his head and made him almost fall backwards into the snow. Thankfully, his self-proclaimed superiority in all things ever done surged forward and saved him. Well, that and grabbing onto Berwald's scarf again.
"Kn'ck 't off," He grumbled with a very mild increase in volume, reaching to the top of the small pile of packages to steady them which caused the bags to slip down awkwardly to the crook of his elbow, pulling some of his sleeve with it and exposing skin to the cold air.
Denmark, of course, was beyond listening to him and had noticing something as he had been glaring at the pole, contemplating chopping it down and remembering that he didn't have his axe with him. It was a large, somewhat formal sign that had been tacked carefully to the wood, preventing it from blowing off in the stormy days. Blue eyes scanned through the information quickly, absorbing it like a sponge for only one distinct, rock-solid reason.
"Hey! Check it out!" He shouted, pulling on the scarf he hadn't yet let go of. Berwald turned around, walking backwards for the sheer purpose of grabbing the edge of the scarf and yanking it free of Denmark's grip. It came easily enough, but that was only because he was close enough that an arm could shoot around his shoulders, forcing him to duck and close the few inches of gap between them. Denmark was already going off before Berwald even found the object he was pointing at, "It's a party! A really big one, for some price or something!"
"S' 'prince,'" Berwald clarified, reading with more care than Denmark had.
"Yeah, whatever, we can afford it!" He replied in a nonchalant tone that melted all too perfectly with his previous excitement. The taller blonde straightened up, shaking the other's arm off of his shoulders and adjusting his glasses so he could re-read it. Denmark, of course, always ran low on patience and was already ahead of him by the time Berwald absorbed any useful information from it, "C'mon, Berwald!" He called, cupping his hands around his mouth despite being only a few meters away, "Tino's going to need time to pick out his dress!"
The blond rolled his eyes uncharacteristically and followed.
- x - x - x -
"Absolutely not!" Tino shouted as loud as his whisper would allow him. As if it would help at all to emphasize his point, he thrust his hands almost elbow deep in the sudsy water and resumed scrubbing dishes with a renewed vigor. Berwald stood beside him, leaning back against the counter and drying them off before placing them with an almost unnecessary care into the drying rack. His attention briefly lifted to the doorway of the kitchen, able to make out the edge of the couch where Denmark was swaying back and forth with enthusiasm as he played a racing game with Peter.
Once it was confirmed that he hadn't heard, his attention went back to Tino, "'E alr'dy saw th'sign."
"Well, then," the shorter blond started, puffing his cheeks slightly with thought before passing over a plate. He was so quick to let it go that Berwald nearly dropped it, somewhat disappointed in the back of his mind that their fingers hadn't brushed the way they usually did, "We'll just have to tell him he can't go."
He slowed down in drying the plate, staring at Tino with a long look of stoic consideration and vague bewilderment, as though Tino had just suggested they throw away all the dishes instead of washing them. The proposal wasn't quite deserving of such a blank stare, but when shocked it was difficult to hide it completely. Tino looked over at him, his brows furrowed and a slightly shaking resolution in his eyes, "What?"
"N'th'n," Berwald answered, deliberately turning to place the plate in the drying rack. He heard Tino give a heavy sigh and looked over just as his shoulders sank. A swell of guilt bubbled in him, closing around his lungs and quickly forcing out whatever medicinal words came to mind, "Agree w'th y'n'all. J'st th'nk it'll be diff'c'lt."
"Of course it'll be difficult. I wish you hadn't waited until the day of the party to tell me," Tino replied, his voice relaxed from the previous flash of agitation. It was sort of terrifying to see a glimpse into that aspect of his personality, though people often forgot that he was not simply (or at all, if he had it his way) a house wife, "But he'll make a mess of everything if he goes and-"
Tino's thought was abruptly cut short as Denmark wandered into the kitchen, yelling something over his shoulder about Peter's latest win and how he was just being nice so the kid wouldn't cry. He yanked open the refrigerator, tugging out a drink and was halfway through with it before he bothered to notice Berwald and Tino staring at him.
"What?" he asked, lowering the drink, "I'm not drinking out of the carton or anything."
"No, we know that," Tino said with a light smile, taking the dry-cloth from Berwald to wipe the suds away from his hands. Without anything to occupy his hands, Berwald crossed his arms loosely over his stomach, his cyan eyes fixated calmly on Denmark. "So, what are your plans for tonight?"
"What kind of question is that?" Denmark asked, "I'm going to that party! Which reminds me, I should probably get ready-"
"Oh, a party? Can I go?" Peter asked, peeking into the room.
"No way, kid," Denmark snorted, waving him off absently with the can in his hand, "It's a big-person party. You gotta come to at least here on me." He gestured around his hip, causing Peter to huff and stick his tongue out in retaliation.
"You're just sore that you lost three races straight!"
"Hey, I told you, I was letting you win!" Denmark said, not quite getting riled but showing early, playful signs of it. Knowing all too easily how playful could flicker with lightning speed to serious, Berwald straightened up a little and stepped to the forefront of the stage the kitchen was undoubtedly going to turn into.
"Pet'r, go t'yer room," Berwald ordered with the sort of firm voice that was reserved for serious moments that were better left unquestioned. Peter pouted briefly, recognizing the expression and biting back his whine of why he never got to participate in anything to run upstairs. The faint tinkering of dog tags followed as Hanatamgo scurried after him, his beyond human senses telling him that whatever was going to happen wasn't something he wanted to get in the way of.
"Listen, Denmark," Tino started, setting the dry-cloth out of the way of the sink and walking forward. There was a slight nervousness over his features, though whether it was because of concern for himself or for something else was unknown, "Maybe you should pick a different party to go to. This one is very important and besides, it doesn't sound like it's really your style anyway. You usually-"
"Nope," Denmark cut in, lifting the can to his lips and chugging the rest of its contents. Tino lifted his head in surprise, having focused his eyes somewhere around Denmark's midsection, just in time to see him turn to leave. A dismissive hand raised over his shoulder, "I'm big enough to pick out my own parties, thanks."
Denmark had noticed Berwald move around the room but hadn't paid much attention to it until his arm was grabbed just above the crook of his elbow. He probably could have avoided it if he really wanted to, but he'd always found things more interesting when they got physical. Blue eyes slid down to the hand on his arm briefly before turning to meet the taller male's, the hazy beginnings of a threat lingering in them. He yanked hard and wasn't surprised when it pulled free of the grip, particularly after he heard Tino gasp Berwald's name. The taller blond's mouth set into a firm line, which really wasn't much different from his usual expression save for the fact that the look in his eyes was not nearly as mellow.
"Che, you're so whipped," Denmark snorted, once again fully intent of leaving. Berwald glanced over his shoulder at Tino and the look they exchanged could have been one of confirmation or apology, but the truth was that it was so brief that it was debatable if either party knew its meaning.
His hand closed on Denmark's arm again and this time Denmark didn't dumb it down to words and locked eyes. He turned sharply, his fist raised and headed for Berwald's head. The collision-course he intended should have knocked the other backwards, if not out completely, but Berwald shifted and instead it collided with his jaw. Painful, but not something he couldn't recover from, which he made obvious when his fist collided more solidly with Denmark's stomach. A rush of air exited the now doubled-over form and his fingers grasped at Berwald's arm for support. The fight may have been over right there for most people - but "most people" was the farthest thing away from them.
Denmark's fist shot up, sending Berwald's bottom jaw up into his top with a snap similar to the one that came from a dog being hit in the muzzle. He stumbled backwards, uprooted from his spot and completely vulnerable to the kick that collided with his abdomen and sent him sliding across the linoleum floor. His head smacked against the wall beside the exit of the kitchen with enough force to send a stab of pain shooting through his skull and down his neck, but not enough to knock him out.
"You'd better hope I don't end up with a bruise there, you asshole!" Denmark snapped, an excited fire crackling blue in his eyes. He caught Tino out of the corner of his vision, rushing over to make sure his husband was alright.
Berwald's collision with the wall had turned their kitchen into a merry-go-round that he couldn't get off of and rather than try to stand again he covered his eyes. Tino was quick to support his back when he tried to sit up, bracing one hand against the taller male's shoulder and rubbing the other between his shoulder blades. The bespectacled male was thrown off when the arm slid more fully around him, tugging him back against the small chest in a manner that could only be protective. He heard a faint scoff and looked up just as Denmark's hand closed on the front of his shirt.
"Stop it!" Tino shouted, closing his grip on Denmark's wrist and prying his hand away. A misconception of the smaller male was that he was weak and needed Berwald's protection, it wasn't one that Denmark often forgot. His grip closed over the offending wrist with more force than "iron grip" could describe. Berwald felt Tino's other fingers twist in the material of his jacket just as a slight and surprised squeak brushed against his ear. The other tucked against his shoulder, though who he was trying to hide his pain from was a mystery. He still didn't release Denmark's wrist.
"L't 'm go," Berwald's voice, in spite or perhaps because of his mumbling, came out as almost a growl. Denmark, who's eyes had focused on Tino, did not move.
"Gladly, just as soon as he lets me go." Another squeak as he tightened his grip and Berwald felt a surge of protective rage slither through him. There wasn't much that made him want to attack someone, the effort itself would only lead to more fighting anyway. If a punch was thrown by most people he would simply ignore it, he even chose to ignore a lot of Denmark's swings. But Tino was an entirely different category in his brain, separate from his own bodily health and much more important.
"S'okay, T'no," Berwald said, moving his hand up to the other's in the hopes of getting him to lessen his grip from Denmark's. Tino hesitated, violet hues flicking between the piled on grips like a group handshake and Berwald's face before he let go. Denmark seemed to yank him back to his feet before he was even completely released, causing Berwald to stumble slightly. But Tino's obvious pain was still fresh in his mind and his fumbling state didn't last for very long. Denmark could become too dangerous too fast for him to waste anymore time with chatter or light blows - with Tino and Peter in the house, so close to that unpredictable force, Berwald wasn't about to take any risks.
An audible curse hissed from the shorter man's mouth as Berwald's fist crushed against his jaw and made his head snap to the side. He recovered quickly, but was surprised to look over and see the other had disappeared from his direct vision. The realization of why caught up when he felt his legs forcefully swept out from under him and he was suddenly tumbling backwards.
Normally, this wouldn't have meant much in the way of stopping him because he would have collided with his back before his head, cushioning some of the blow. However, Berwald had followed upwards with his kick, giving just enough of a tilt to his fall that his head smacked with more force than it would have against the cool floor. For a few brief seconds he saw stars and his entire body tingled with numbness, his fingers twitching to be sure he wasn't paralyzed or worse. The ferocity didn't really surprise him, considering throughout their lives the two always seemed to fight with some intent to seriously injure the other, and at the same time he hadn't been expecting it. For a few brief seconds fear flashed across his minds eye, terrified that he'd never move again. But then he lifted his hand a few inches from the ground and it flooded out, replaced with adrenaline and the need to do something equally dangerous in return.
"Son of a bitch," he groaned, struggling to get more upright. Recognizing that if he got up that meant he'd keep fighting, Berwald moved over him, fist already raised, "Don't you fucking da-"
Had his movements been up to par, he could have caught the other's punch before it knocked the remaining air out of his lungs with a pained "oompf." But his world was already swimming and the swirling Novocain-feeling hadn't left his body enough to grant him that. He took pride in his endurance and there were a lot of things that he could fight, but blacking out wasn't one of them.
- x - x - x -
When Denmark woke up again he was a little bit cold, but could feel the weight of a blanket settled somewhere over his chest and yanked it up over his shoulder. His head was throbbing worse than any hangover he'd ever induced upon himself but the nauseous feeling was definitely the worst. As he was slowly dragged along towards the waking world he realized that pretty much everything above his waist hurt. It wasn't exactly the most pleasant feeling to wake up with and he groaned his verbal disapproval of it quite audibly. Somewhere below him he heard a muffled cry from Peter, something about being awake, and then the light thuds of him running through the house.
"Stupid...kid," he mumbled, pressing his hand to his forehead and rolling onto his back. A few long minutes passed before he heard some movement south of his feet and sat up just in time to be slapped in the face with a bright light flooding across the floor. The sound that emerged because of it was a strange sort of low yelp and he fell backwards, concerned for a second that he'd hit his head on the floor but quite relieved to remember that he had been put on a pillow.
"Sorry," Tino said softly, slipping up into the attic and crossing the room with a bottle of pills in one hand and glass of water in another, "I thought you might need these. How're you feeling?"
"Awesome," he lied, sitting upright and uninhibited now that the light was gone. There was no sarcastic edge to his voice, only a haughty sort of arrogance that came from some unending supply of it, "Your husband hits like a bitch anyway. The floor's tougher than he is." His hand swiped over the back of his head with an almost nostalgic air and he flinched a bit when he found the bruise that was blossoming across it.
Tino considered arguing but instead thrust the pills down towards him, never wanting to be in Denmark's company for long after he and Berwald fought, "Here."
"Don't need 'em," Denmark said, a well hidden pout in the words. The shorter blond sighed, kneeling down to set both objects safely within reach and turning to leave. "Does he usually beat the shit out of Peter to keep him from going places? I'd hate for the kid to feel left out."
"Peter never throws a punch," he replied shortly, "Unlike you."
"You two aren't in charge of me," he snapped back, leaning forward a bit more and crossing his legs underneath the blanket, "I can go wherever the hell I want!"
"Except with this!" Tino sounded exasperated, as though he had tried to explain it ten times and the other still wasn't understanding. "It isn't just some stupid party, Denmark, it's so that a visiting prince can find a bride!"
"So? What's your point?"
Tino balanced his elbow on the arm crossed over his stomach, rubbing his eyes, "You're going to go there, get drunk, and make a mess of everything! Why would we let you ruin something so important? You could go to any other party."
"I don't want to go to any other party, I'm going to this one," he struggled for a moment to push himself to his feet and even when he got there he needed to grab one of the boards above his head to steady himself, "It doesn't fucking matter if you let me or not!"
"Well," Tino said, pulling up the door that lead out of the attack and once again briefly blinding the other, "I think it does matter."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"Because the only key to this door is downstairs," he explained, "And I think that matters a lot."
With that he snapped the door closed and Denmark heard the distinct click of a heavy lock setting into place.
There were no windows in the attic, which made it the prime place to lock him because his own room had a window that he easily could have snuck out of. In addition to that, even if he did mange to break a hole through the wall or ceiling there then came the matter of getting down without breaking his leg. Denmark knew that he was very close to indestructible but if he was going to a party then he didn't want to risk even a sprained ankle. Despite the fact actually getting to the party was looking very hopeless, he would be there. This was the single, resolute thought that kept him going for the hour and a half he spent looking for any weak spot he could find to sneak out of.
"Not so much as a goddamned air vent!" he cursed, stomping on the floor where the fold-open door melded into.
Below him he heard Peter squeak before punching the door back with an irritated, "Hey! Watch it!"
"What the hell are you even doing down there?" Denmark responded, standing up to stomp on the floor for good measure. The older blonde was fairly certain that he was getting a not-too-pleased look but waved the feeling away with a gesture that went unseen.
Peter didn't respond immediately, but he heard him shuffle down to the next step below the door, as if Denmark's foot would suddenly manage to break through the wood and smack him in the head. He sighed, dropping to an Indian-style position in front of the door and bracing his hands on the bent knees, "Sorry, kid, I don't do well in confinement."
"Well, I was going to offer to help you out," Peter replied, his voice slightly muffled more with a huffy sulk than the wood, but it remained very understandable. If Denmark were an animal, his ears would have perked up - the straightening of his back with peaked curiosity seemed close enough.
"Oh yeah?" He asked after a brief hesitation, raising a brow at the locked door, "Why's that?"
"Because I feel like it!" Denmark could just imagine the boy taking a very enthusiastic pose on the stairs that was wasted on the wooden boards between them.
"Aren't you worried Mommy and Daddy will get mad?" Denmark teased, a smirk breaking the previous frustration of his face.
"So what! I can do whatever I want, just like you!" Peter's voice had slightly haughty air that might have made Denmark a bit more proud of his influence if his mind were not more absorbed in the idea of his freedom, "But I'm not going to do it unless- "
"Whatever you want it's a deal!" He agreed, jumping up. It wasn't in his nature to be suspicious of little kids, which had gotten in him in trouble with Peter once or twice though he had yet to make the connection, "Now open this stupid door!"
"But you don't even know what I want!" Peter near-shouted, clearly upset that they hadn't had one of the more dramatic exchanges like he'd seen in the movies.
"Who cares? Just let me the hell outta here!"
"No way! Not until you listen to what I want!" He demanded and Denmark was almost sure that he heard a distinct, "Hmpf." He glared at the floor with enough irritation to make the edge of his eye twitch just slightly.
"Fine," he groaned, "What do you want?"
"Admit that you didn't win those games earlier," Peter said, dropping his voice a little bit. Denmark didn't respond right away, listening carefully for the sound of movement beneath the wood that signaled Berwald or Tino coming by. When he didn't hear Peter scurry off or anyone ask him what he was doing he exhaled, rolling his eyes.
"Fine now-"
"And promise that you'll play Battleship with me later and sleep in the tree house next weekend," he continued.
"Hey, wait a minute!"
"Take it or leave it," Peter replied in a voice that carried almost like a teasing song. If Denmark had the opportunity right there, he probably would have shoved the little brat under his arm and knuckled his head so hard it took hair off. But the option wasn't available and if he wanted to have any fun tonight, he didn't have time to hang around negotiating with a twelve-year-old.
"Deal," he mumbled, careful to say it loud enough that Peter could understand him and avoid the back and forth he'd inevitably try to pull.
"You promise?"
"Yeah, yeah, I promise," he said, rolling his eyes and toeing the ground near the door sharply, "Now get a move on!"
"Wait here!" Below him he heard Peter shuffle down the ladder and head down the hallway. It was hard to not call back a response, which he greatly wanted to do if for no other reason than to point out that he had no where else to go, but he bit it back.
Plus, there was the added fact that if he shouted down that Tino and Berwald might hear him - though he was surprised how they hadn't heard Peter's shouting yet anyway. Not that it should have been as big a deal as it was anyway - locking him in a closet seemed completely over dramatic for the situation. He wasn't even going for the stupid prince! What did it matter to him if the guy was looking for a bride? He wasn't going with the intention of hooking up with anyone, just for a good time! Then again, being stuck with Berwald for a husband.\, how could he expect any less than a meter-stick shoved up Tino's behind?
The sound of a lock unlatching jarred him from his thoughts almost as much as the light that suddenly flooded from the square hole in the floor and into his retinas. After the bubbles and stars cleared from his vision he could see Peter waving him down with the jibes of "Come on" and "Hurry up!" Once they had both descended the stairs, Peter lifted up the ladder and pushed it back up into the ceiling. His height, however, hindered the process as the rope slipped from his hands and it slammed with unnecessary force - and noise - into the wood.
"Peter? What're you doing up there?" Tino called from the base of the stairs. The two exchanged glances briefly before Peter shoved Denmark towards his room, practically leaping in after him just to stick his head out the door again.
"Nothing! I...I just knocked over my chair, sorry!" he shouted, closing the door and turning around to face Denmark who was investigating the pile of disarrayed clothes on Peter's neatly made bed. When everything fell into somewhat-safe silence again he flicked his eyes towards the door.
"So, what's the deal, kid?" He raised a brow, crossing his arms over his stomach, "Since when do you lie and sneak around like such a rebel?"
"I don't!" Peter insisted, his tone somewhat resolved but laced with a sort of unease about what he was doing, "I just…I'm big enough to do what I want too!"
Denmark couldn't help but smile a little bit, either because of the fact his influence on Peter was obvious or because it was pathetically underdeveloped, as he moved forward and ruffled up the blonde's hair. Peter shrank a little, pulling his shoulders up near his ears, but after he realized what it was his smile couldn't have gotten wider.
A slight shudder ran down Denmark's spine as he processed the somehow overly sentimental moment and he pulled his hand away, jamming it into his pocket as he twisted around, "You know, whatever you tell yourself to sleep at night." His grin slipped a bit. "Now, how the hell do I get out of this house?"