Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: This idea had been lingering in my mind a while and so I wanted to get it down on paper..or a word document...or ah whatever, enjoy!
1809
Wind rattled against the thin glass windows as the heat from inside condensed onto them, making the glass fog up and the view outside seem all the more enchanting. Snow coated the landscape outside, of which consisted of evergreens, valleys and breathtaking mountains, the tips whiter than Väinämöinens beard. The dwelling itself was modest in size, but the interior within did not diminish the inhabitants status. Said one of the pair was happily humming a tune of pelimanni music as he bent over and reached out with one hand covered in a towel, pulling out a tray of pulla bread from the oven. Inhaling the scent, the creator seemed pleased at how it turned out and placed it on the counter to cool, closing the oven door carefully with his foot as he did so.
Forcing the sweet bread off the tray with a wooden spatula, Tino smiled inwardly at being allowed to make Finnish cuisine, not that Berwald had a problem with it-the poor Finn had been too terrified to ask. But the few hours of debating in his mind with needless amounts of stressing, he managed to get the question out and assumed either Berwald had no problem with it, or that he was so confused at the jumble of Swedish, he merely nodded his head to make the said questioner happy.
After placing the pieces of bread onto a beautifully designed ceramic plate (and a few swears from his mother-tongue realising that the bread was hotter than it appeared when transferring it to the plate) he leant against the counter and sighed happily, content with his current situation. It had been centuries ago when Denmark was a threat, and now seemed nothing more than an older brother wanting to fix the family again. As far as he was concerned he was safe, but Su-san...His thoughts took a darker turn as he faced the gravity of current times. Su-san was fighting against Russia and it seemed he wasn't doing so well on his side. Not that Finland ever doubted his strength, he assured himself, after all, he wouldn't have made it out of Denmark's place if he wasn't strong. But there was definitely something odd about that man, about Russia. The very mention of his name made him feel nervous and he was grateful that he hadn't spent much time with the man.
Coming out of his thoughts again, he shook his head as if to remind himself to stay positive, and moved to the sink so that he could wash the tray and spatula before anything stuck to them. Once he was content that they were clean, his dried them and then put each object in their respectful place, having already washed the rest of the equipment when the bread was rising. With a smile on his face, Tino picked up the plate of bread and made his way to the living room for an afternoon snack with Berwald. Although the man scared him beyond wits end at times, he actually cared for him and it would be rude to distance himself. And you like him too...a voice whispered at the back of his head but he shook it away with a blush.
Though when he stepped into the living room, something immediately felt...off. He was positive Berwald was sitting on the couch, reading a book when he announced he was going to make bread for them, and it was a rather large book. He could have gone to relieve himself Tino thought, coming up with explanations, but he couldn't shake off this anxious feeling growing in the base of his stomach. Out of his peripheral vision, something caught his eye.
The fire was out.
That's odd, he thought to himself as he bent down to feel that there was no heat radiating from the soot, indicating it had been out for a while. Why would he put out a perfectly good fire in winter? Placing the plate of bread down onto the small decorative holly table Sweden had made for him he stood, unconsciously hugging himself from the draft that had enveloped the house and forced what warm feeling there was to dissipate, making it look void and dull causing Tino to involuntarily shiver. Where was Su-san?
"Su-san, are you there?" He called out, his voice bouncing off the logs of the cabin, but never reached the ears of the man he was asking for.
"Sweden?" He tried, a little more anxious as he moved towards the doorway to the main hall where the stairs were located. Maybe he was sleeping or upstairs?
"Berwa-" Lilac eyes widened in shock as a hand came out from nowhere, grabbing the back of his throat and nearly crushing it, causing unbelievable pain and forcing tears to well in his eyes as the man was slammed against the wall.
Upon realising just who the inflicter of the pain was, his eyes widened in even more shock than they had been before, his feet thrashing against the wall as he was held in the air, desperately trying to get a grip. Choked sobs and gasps made their way out of his mouth, causing the person, no, monster in front of him to smile that oh so sweet yet sinister smile.
"Ru-russia." He choked, gasping for air as his face was now turning a bright red as he feared it would soon become a dangerous purple. As much as he was worried about his own condition and why that man was here, in their house, he found himself rasping,
"W-where is S-sweden?"
At that, Russia's smile simple grew wider, and to say it was a maniacal grin was a grave understatement.
"Oh, do not worry about him," He stated in his deep voice, clashing against his childlike tone, "He is...how do you say-dealt with, да?"
Finland couldn't help but let panic settle into him as he frantically tried to rid himself of the Russian's death like grip, clawing at the gloved hand in a frenzy. He heard the man chuckle but ignored it as he continued to thrash, his thoughts the only thing motivating him as his muscles screamed for air. Find Sweden. Findhimfindhimfindhim! We have to escape, work legs, work!
With one final effort, Tino raised a leg and caught his captor straight in the wind pipe, surprising him as he relaxed his grip and gave him a chance to escape. In a flash, Tino crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath. But as soon as he pushed himself to get up and escape, a colossal weight pressed itself onto his lungs, brining back the feeling of lacking air as he realised he was being straddled by Russia.
"Why are you doing this?" He cried, finding himself unable to hold back tears any more as they fell from his face and collected on the wooden floor.
"Why?" Russia re-iterated the word as if it was a question he was asking, playing with the thought in his mind before chuckling to himself yet again and answering,
"When there is a prize that can be claimed, why not claim it?" Finland heard the quiet uttering of 'especially when it is so close' and squirmed under the man as if it was going to get him somewhere, letting anger take control of his words and actions.
"But I am with Sweden, so how am I yours to claim?!" He roared, but in spite of the outburst coughed at the lack of air as his lungs struggled under the Russian's weight.
He felt Russia lean over to him, his platinum hair falling past his ears, tickling the Finn's as he whispered in a dangerously low tone,
"Sweden tried to claim the Baltic in the great northern war, and I always hold grudge," He smiled, yet again, but this one was not used as a mask for simply scaring people, this was was of true apathy towards the state of all living things as he added, "Think of this as a warning to him."
Before Finland could question what was just explained to him, he felt the weight shift on his midsection, which was soon followed by feeling his leg being picked up and an unbelievable searing pain that coursed through him.
A blood curdling scream tore through his oxygen-deprived lungs, and he swore multiple times as he tried to control the tears that were now falling not due to sorrow, but due to unnatural pain. Straining his neck, he managed to look around and was paralysed with shock and fear as he saw what had caused such immense pain.
His leg which was currently held up by Russia, had been practically snapped in half as the man had forced the bone to break and did so at an unnatural angle so his tibia was protruding through his flesh and skin, some of which clung in strands, stretching and tearing against the ghost white spear, soaking it with blood. The disturbed nation before him merely held his mask as blood began to dry on his face which had splattered against it as he broke the bone.
Positive he was hyperventilating and would soon pass out from pain, thoughts raced through his mind but only one reached his mouth, too far into shock to be able to stop it as he quietly asked,
"W-why...are y-you," He gulped, resisting the urge to cry out in fear or pain. He was a Finn and God dammit he would refuse to beg even at this monstrosities hands. "Why are you d-doing t-this?"
For once in all this time, Russia let his mask slip as he turned around, ignoring the cry of pain as he bumped the Finn's injured leg as he did so, and replied in a tone that insisted it was common knowledge,
"So you can't run away."
Too many times in one day, Tino's eyes widened to an unnatural degree of horror as he slowly, painfully slowly, saw the Russian turn again, as he muttered annoyed to himself, 'kneecaps would have been easier to break, but my boss didn't like my pipe' and turned to his other leg. Grunting, Finland placed his hands on the floor and tried to push him away from the Russian, to get away from him, or to even pathetically slide across the floor to some form of safety, but his weight was too great and found himself screaming again as the all too familiar pain encased his second leg and made the already red and puffy periwinkle eyes spill endless tears.
With a pleased snuff of approval from his work, Ivan stood and stretched, his joints clicking as he stood, admiring his work. Finland merely lay there weeping and broken as his eyes gazed onto nothing, vacant and unseeing as he willed this all to be a horrible nightmare from which to wake up from. But one final question still lingered in his mind.
"What happened to Sweden?"
He could guess that the Russian's calculating gaze was figuring if he should disclose such information, but after hearing a satisfied hum, Finland guessed that it wasn't too important to him.
"He noticed intruders. When he came to face my men he fought but was eventually defeated."
Tino nodded sadly before something clicked in his mind.
"Your men? That's hardly fair-he was clearly outnumbered!"
"100 to 1 is usually unfair, but he killed the majority of them so this in turn is only fair, да?"
Finland gasped in pain as he felt himself being dragged by his collar, no consideration for his current condition as he was dragged out through the front door and across the cold snow, coating it red with blood.
"Where are you taking me?" He whispered, barely audible beyond the howling of the wind and the crunch of the snow.
Although continuing to walk at the same pace, Ivan responded to the question, stating,
"You are Russian property now." Without his trademark ' да' as if that made it all the more official.
Finland could only whimper at that, having no energy and was on the brink of passing out, though his head perked up when another patch of red drew his attention out as he bit back the urge to wail.
There, in the snow, lay Berwald's mutilated corpse, abandoned long ago by Russia's men. Spears protruded him at all angles, forcing the flesh surrounding them to stretch and be raised by the wood. Cuts littered his skin as that all too familiar crimson leaked through his wounds and onto the once innocent white beneath him. Bullets had forced their way through and were accompanied by stabs from bayonets as Finland saw what he could only assume were his intestines, the pale pink and frostbitten flesh daring to venture out from underneath it's master. And the worst part, dear God the worst part were his eyes. The once crisp sea blue paradises glanced onward to foreign lands, unseeing of his wife that was dragged before him, almost as listless as his corpse itself.
Tino chocked as sob as he forced himself to fall into an unconscious state, as he would must rather be surrounded by darkness than the harsh reality that awaited him. His government were in favour of a stronger protector, as were his people, both more than willing to be rid of a bond that lasted centuries and he could only stand there and watch as the changed happened. A lone tear slid down his cheek as he let loose an empty sigh, falling into a much welcomed and suffocating oblivion.
Sweden was no longer his husband.