A/N : Dunno. I was baking mustikkapiirakka and a Donauwellen at the same time. Yeah.

Warnings! : Language, angst, dissolution of friendship, some Finland x Germany friendliness (if you want, I guess you can interpret it as fluff), a heavy dose of America, mentions of war, etc. Not meant to be a detailed analysis of the Finnish Civil War, which is a topic I will not delve whole-heartedly into. Actually, not meant to be a serious study of war at all. Just the relationship between Germany and Finland.

Love to hear from you guys, and as always, thanks for reading. To anyone knowledgeable about Finnish history or history in general, I apologize in advance for any errors, although I do strive double to make sure there aren't any at all.

Three shot.

On The Nature Of Daylight

Daylight was a curious thing.

Far up north, where sometimes there was day and sometimes there wasn't, some of the best times of the year weren't holidays; not Christmas, or the New Year, or May Day. Not All Saints' Day.

It was whenever the sun came out. Light streaming through the trees, dust dancing in the beams, and the snow melting as the grass sprouted up.

The best times. Times spent in the daylight. Daylight could cure just about anything, just by being. Curious.

But sometimes, daylight dissolved. Shadows crept. War blotted out the sun like smoke on the horizon.

War. The great war. And something else.

Civil war.

The hardest to swallow.

So many centuries of having Berwald doing everything for him hadn't prepared him for any of this, he would be the first to admit, and it was already proving to be a great test.

The threat of having his country implode in on itself, when he'd only been standing on his own feet for such a short period of time, was devastating. He couldn't even imagine the sun coming out in the summer, let alone enjoying the daylight anymore.

Everything was overcast. Dreary. Dark. Cold. Shadows constantly shifting in the distance.

Knowing that he was a breath away from complete civil war was really the only thing then that had led Timo to finally suck in a great breath and swallow his pride, and go crawling back to Berwald.

He didn't want to.

Such a delicate situation had all but forced his hand, and with the Whites and Reds shoving at each other, there was really no choice but to end the whole thing as quickly as possible.

Between Berwald and Ivan, Berwald was the lesser evil.

He had once been a friend.

Well. Maybe friend was a strong word.

Certainly Berwald had always had a great interest in him, hovering over him since before he could remember and keeping him tucked firmly under a foot of dominance, and certainly they had been together for many, many years, but maybe it hadn't been friendship quite so much as bullying.

Berwald usually took whatever he wanted, and asked questions later, and Timo had never really been able to open up his mouth and tell Berwald where he could go and what he could do to himself, and instead kept silent and still, and just let Berwald do whatever he'd wanted. And after so long, he had even come to rely and depend on Berwald, who had spent so long looking down at him and speaking for him that he had almost forgotten how to do it himself.

Berwald had never left him alone.

Of course, Berwald's interest had dimmed considerably once he was no longer part of Sweden.

It wasn't like he'd wanted to be nothing more than a territory of the Swedish Empire. In all honesty, he couldn't even really remember how that had happened in the first place. It had been so long ago.

It had been a shock, almost, to discover that he could really be a nation unto himself. His own man, so to speak, and really run things on his own without Berwald telling him how.

After Berwald it had been Ivan telling him what to do, but at least he'd kind of been autonomous.

He'd only been truly independent now for a few measly months.

However...

His stand as a sovereign nation was not going well so far. But, he was quick to remind himself, how could it really be expected to, when half of his country were Swedes left behind from Berwald's reign, and some of the others were Russians? Half of his own people didn't even speak Finnish.

Newspapers had only ever been in Swedish.

Ha. Some nation he was! Scraps from other nations' tables.

Ivan had been thrust out, if not mostly unofficially, but he'd left plenty of ideologues behind.

And so, Timo concluded, it was Berwald's duty to intervene in this mess, as the northern Whites and the southern Reds threatened to rip the whole country apart, because it had been Berwald who had spent countless decades making him feel that he couldn't do anything on his own.

Berwald had made him feel like the child to a weary adult. So let Berwald be the adult now, and fix this fuckin' disaster.

Besides, the Whites were mostly former Swedes anyway, keeping hold of the farmlands up north after Berwald had given it to them and told them they were more important than the Finnish-speakers lower down.

Now the south was industrialized and Russified, and the Reds wanted the Whites to be that way too.

And even though Timo felt something that bordered on contempt for Berwald, he hated Ivan.

Hated him.

Berwald had crippled his growth and kept him isolated from the world, but Ivan was just the same, only under a different flag. Couldn't win with either one of them.

Berwald wasn't interested in him so much anymore, so a White victory was best for Finland, and would ensure the continued growth and stabilization of his country.

Assuming, of course, that he'd still be a country, afterwards. What a way to start off. Berwald had not prepared him for any of this. For the hardships.

But he was too proud and too stubborn to really admit his faults, and so, when he finally procured his meeting with Berwald and stood there in the room before him, Timo was careful to make sure that he remembered to point out to Berwald that most of this was his fault anyway.

Because it was.

"So, I assume you've noticed all the trouble lately?"

Timo kept his back against the wall, arms crossed above his chest, and tried to appear nonchalant.

Even as his heart hammered.

He couldn't control this on his own. He needed help. Berwald's help.

Standing there like a statue, pale hair a bit messy and looking a little tired, Berwald only looked him up and down, and then tilted his head.

A deep, "Mm-hm."

Timo observed his wrinkled suit and the dark circles under his eyes, and, oddly enough, felt no sympathy. What did Berwald have to be so exhausted about? He'd claimed neutrality in the great war. No problems for him.

Timo's country was crumbling out from under his feet only months after Russia had fallen.

Jerk.

"So, Timo continued, casually, "What's your opinion on the matter?"

Berwald moved then, shifting his weight awkwardly, and tucked his hands in his pockets, squaring his broad shoulders as he averted his eyes. Finally, he muttered, "Don't have one."

A twinge of anger.

"Oh? How's that?" he asked, feeling the strain in his voice, and Berwald's shifting became restless.

The anger was ever blazing.

Sure, Berwald had always had an opinion for him before, but now that he was on his own, not even a thought? Not a little word of observation? Nothing?

Really?

"I shouldn't get involved."

Now Berwald didn't want to get involved?

"Well," Timo was quick to continue, "I suppose you just haven't seen firsthand what's going on. I'd be happy to sit down with you and explain the situation."

He could not keep the note of unfriendliness from his voice, and Berwald picked up on it with a quick, half-hearted glare.

But he didn't speak.

Timo pressed forward.

"Or maybe you'd like to swing by, and see things for yourself? You remember the Whites, right? You know, all those people you left behind when we split. Remember?"

"I didn' leave anyone behind. They were born there. That was our land."

Ours.

Liar—it had never been their land. It had been Berwald's. It had always been called 'Sweden'. Always. Just part of the empire.

Well, it was his land now, and yet most of the northerners still spoke Swedish. So, even though it was his land, that made Berwald responsible, too.

"Right. So act like it's still our land, then. Come help."

No answer.

The agitation was growing. The air became tense.

Berwald didn't move. He just stood there, a strange look upon his face, glasses glinting in the dim light and feet always shuffling, and Timo felt his heart drop steadily down into his stomach.

Silence. No reaction.

He hated asking for help. But what else could he do? The threat of civil war was too frightening.

With a deep breath, Timo took a step forward, furrowed his brow, and said, sternly, "Well? Are you going to help out or not? The Whites are your responsibility, too! You were the one that split them all up and made some better than the others. A lot of the Whites don't even speak Finnish! They're your people, too! Help them out. The faster this all ends, the better. You were always in my business before. Why stop now?"

A plea, if not a rather abrasive one.

His hands dropped down at his sides, and he waited. Lurching of adrenaline.

Berwald only ducked his chin down into his cravat, and stayed strangely quiet.

The sinking turned into dread.

"Well?"

His voice was nearly a whine; high-pitched and cracking. Desperate. He needed help.

Finally, Berwald shook his head, and murmured, lowly, "Can't. Sorry."

A moment of stunned disbelief.

"What?"

Berwald turned his back, shifting his weight this way and that as he stared out into space.

"I can't. Can't get involved. Not with this war goin' on. Too much trouble. ...sorry."

"That's—that's all you have to say?" was all he managed, and he couldn't help but stomp his foot. "After all that, that's all you have to say? You can't? Why the hell not?"

A short hesitation, and Berwald's voice was so low that it was barely audible.

"If I step in, I lose neutrality. Russia'll take it personally. Can't take sides. Not in the war. Boss said so."

"How is it taking sides?" he spat back, infuriated and agitated and hurt, "They're your people too! How is that a side? Won't you help 'em out? What's wrong with you?"

No answer.

Devastation. Berwald wasn't going to help him. It barely sank in. Now, because he wasn't a part of Sweden anymore, Berwald would not stand up to help him.

And that wasn't a friendship.

Timo had never been allowed to make decisions. ow Berwald refused to make one.

Hurt mingled with confusion, and frustration.

Because it had been Berwald all along who had been hovering over him, an invisible hand tangled up in his collar and always overbearing and always dragging him along, and yet now it was Berwald who stood there, shoulders slumped and grumbling half-assed excuses even as Timo threw away his pride and asked for help from a man he swore he would never run to again.

Berwald wouldn't help.

He had no choice. He cast aside his pride, and pushed down the urge to cry, and clasped his hands before him.

"Please! I need you to help! If you won't step in, won't you at least help them out? Can't you send them arms? Can't you send in volunteers? Anything!"

Oh, how it killed him inside to beg like this. To Berwald, of all people. He'd rather have gone crawling to literally anyone else on the entire planet.

Anyone but Berwald.

There was no answer. Berwald, facing away from him, stayed still.

Nothing.

Drums of distant war echoed in his ears. The despair was overwhelming, and he had never imagined that he would leave this meeting the same way he had come in; alone, and in dire straights.

What a mess. What a betrayal.

Berwald had betrayed him.

He shook his head to clear it, shoved down the ball in his throat, and straightened his back.

"Right," he finally whispered, barely keeping the tremor from his voice, "I see. Well, that's that, then."

With that, he turned on his heel, and walked towards the door. And yet, somehow, he wasn't really surprised. Some part of him had had a feeling that this would play out exactly as it had.

As he left, stepping into the hall and pulling the door shut from behind, he heard Berwald's deep, mournful voice call after him, "Sorry."

But he wasn't sorry.

All talk.

Berwald was all talk. Neutral.

Timo could barely even remember the last time he had been so angry, because Berwald was only there when it would benefit Sweden, and a civil war in the middle of Finland was hardly worth sticking his nose in. Berwald's neutrality was only a front to keep his options open. If the Whites won, then that was just great, and life carried on. If the Reds won, then he wouldn't have taken sides and so could keep up good relations with Russia.

Coward. Self-absorbed, self-serving, back-stabbing son of a bitch. Finland had only been of interest to Sweden when it had been a territory.

Now, no go. Not worth the time and effort. Berwald wasn't going to help him.

The words left a bitter taste at the back of his throat, and it hurt to know that he was on his own, and that the one who had all but pressed him under his boot for centuries wouldn't even offer a hand in friendship now.

How strange, and how unfair, that Berwald and Ivan had successfully caused a civil war within his lands without ever showing their faces.

He returned to his tumultuous home with his tail pressed firmly between his legs.

Winter days passed in dismal moods and thoughts. What could he do?

Finns against Finns. Whites against Reds. Nobody won.

Well. If Berwald wouldn't jump in because he was afraid of getting on Ivan's bad side, then maybe Timo could look for someone who was already on Ivan's bad side. No lack of contenders there. And the first person that came to mind, although the most obvious, wasn't exactly the best. So, Timo tried to think of others. Roderich and Erzsébet were out, already too exhausted with repeated battles on the Isonzo, and they didn't have the resources and the manpower and the money anyway. Broke. Sadiq was frightening and unapproachable. No way. The Bulgarians were only interested in Serbia. Unlikely.

And, well, that only left...

Oh, man.

It would be embarrassing, and a little shameful (very shameful), to call up Ludwig, so heavily entrenched in the awful war down on the Western Front, and beg for help.

Ludwig, who was pretty much fighting the entire war himself, shouldering everyone else and making all of the decisions, and it would be mortifying to bother him in the middle of all of this and plead for assistance because he couldn't keep his country together.

Ludwig was too busy. Ludwig was too tired. Ludwig was too...

Too intimidating, actually.

Ludwig, who'd risen up and done everything on his own and become the greatest power in Europe.

He was afraid to even think of asking.

But, well... Desperate times called for desperate measures.

It had taken him weeks to gather up the courage to do what needed to be done, and it had taken four separate occasions of dialing the number before he finally let it ring long enough to be picked up.

His heart had hammered so hard he thought he'd faint.

The first time he'd ever heard Ludwig's voice had been a little overwhelming. He'd seen Ludwig from a distance, when the fledgling country had met with Berwald, but he'd never actually spoken to him, and he'd never really met him.

He remembered Ludwig as being rather daunting, tall and pale and icy-eyed, voice as deep as thunder and so strong and confident for one so young, a sort of unstoppable wolf next to Berwald's wise lion, although he'd just been a kid back then, and so it was frightening to consider actually speaking to him now, and in such circumstances.

Oh. God.

"Hello?"

A burst of rumbling thunder, and he recognized Ludwig's voice immediately.

"H-hey! Hey, Ludwig, it's Timo! Do you remember me?"

A short hesitation, and then Ludwig, his deep voice scratchy and a little sleepy, said, "Oh! Yeah, I remember. How have you been?"

"Not so good."

"Ah. Well. Join the club."

A nervous laugh, and Timo was beginning to reconsider the entire thing, and pretend that he was only calling to offer verbal support.

Knowing that the blood of his people was already starting to flow was enough to keep him pressing forward.

"So," Ludwig began, at his silence, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Well, now or never.

"Look, I know you've been, ah, busy lately, and I know you're really tired, so it's not like you have to!"

"What's wrong?"

"I need help. I'm about to go into all-out civil war. I've gotta finish this up as soon as I can. Can you—that is, if you want to, do you think you could spare some firepower? Oh, damn, I hate asking, I know you're so loaded down right now!"

He expected a rebuttal. He expected a sharp, 'Alfred is kickin' my ass all the way back to the dark ages, and you want me to send you some machine guns?'

It didn't come.

And immediately, Ludwig said, "Of course."

Even though he'd heard it, it didn't really click, and he could only shake his head to himself and utter, "R-really?"

"Of course. I'll send arms and men as soon as I can. Give me a few days."

Wow.

His first comprehensible thought.

Shocked and feeling a breathless smile creep over his face, Timo finally managed to grip the phone and say, "Thank you! Thank you so much! Are you sure it's not a problem? I know you're stretched out pretty thin right now against France—"

"It's alright. I can spare it. Don't worry about it. We'll get it sorted out later."

'It' being what he would owe Ludwig.

Anything. He'd give him anything.

Sputtered thanks later, Timo set down the phone, and it was with a jittery feeling in his chest that he leaned back into his seat, tucked his hands behind his head, and heaved a great sigh.

It was the last thing he ever wanted, to arm one side of his country so that they could fight the other side, but if cooperation and negotiation were impossible, then it was better to get the Whites armed and trained and get them a victory.

Make it clear to Ivan that he wasn't going to just sit back and take it.

Not anymore.

He had learned long ago from Alfred that sometimes terrible sacrifices had to be made for the good of the country.

What else could he do?

He waited for Ludwig's aid.

Daylight streamed in through the windows.

Ludwig was as good as his word.

The first sight of the guns had been like a strike of lightening.

The reality sank in.

He was really going to arm some of his countrymen to kill others.

Oh, god.

He hadn't know it would be this hard.

Not like this. He hadn't ever known it would be like this.

He could only take comfort in how strong Alfred was now, and how he had seemingly recovered so well from his own catastrophe.

He could do it.

He could.

And he didn't need Berwald.

He had Ludwig.

'Either you'll do it, or you'll cry and you'll do it.'

The old women had said that, as they grabbed their grandchildren by the ears and tugged them along, and Timo could see now how true it was.

He had to do it. Even if he didn't want to.

But that didn't mean he wouldn't cry about it.

It was worse than he could have ever imagined. Blood in the fields. Camps on both sides built up. Impromptu executions in the streets. Little kids with guns in hands, running through the roads next to adults and shooting their neighbors.

He didn't sleep. Couldn't. Gunfire and the sharp smell of blood kept him awake.

Nightmares, always.

Maybe he wasn't cut out for war. It had seemed a lot easier when Berwald had done it all. Berwald had always gone off to great battles with his head held high and shoulders braced, the vision of complete confidence.

Berwald.

Fuckin' Berwald hadn't even called to check in.

Who needed him?

For now, he spent his time trying to hold things together and always looking to secure a truce between the two sides. But neither of them would relent, and they seemed to be at a stalemate.

He wanted to speed things up. He couldn't bear much more of this. The Whites needed an extra push.

How many more had to die?

He wanted it over.

So, he picked up the phone.

Again.

Maybe he was starting to lean on Ludwig like he had always leaned on Berwald.

He longed to find his own two feet, but it was proving to be difficult, after so long belonging to someone else. He hadn't been free for long. He couldn't figure it out. It was like a puzzle he couldn't finish.

Ring, ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

Ludwig knew his voice now, and kept his own calm and polite.

"Hey, Timo. How's it going? You holding together alright?"

"I'll survive," he replied, even though it seemed like wishful thinking, and Ludwig gave a deep, somewhat dry laugh.

"I have no doubt."

Time for another shameful request.

"Can you spare some more weapons? Maybe some tanks...or something?" he finally asked, feeling shamed and weak.

But there was no disdain in Ludwig's voice, and what he said next was something that Timo would never, ever forget, not as long as he lived :

"I'll do more than that. See you in a few days."

A click.

The disbelief then had only been intensified when Ludwig had made good on his word, and did, in fact, show up on his doorstep a few days later.

A rush of gratitude, and adrenaline.

The first time he'd ever met Ludwig face to face.

Standing there before the door, uniform immaculate and not a hair out of place and pale skin bright in the white sun, he'd been nearly everything Timo had remembered.

The great German Empire right before him.

The war had obviously taken its toll on him; like Berwald, the dark circles hung under his eyes, and there were a few bruises visible here and there, and he looked a little wan. But, despite it all, Ludwig still seemed supreme and powerful. Collected and dignified, chin held high and eyes narrowed in easy confidence, even as the war grinded on. Hair and eyes like lightening. A real-life Ukko come to earth.

Ha!

Timo couldn't help the exhilaration.

Because who would ever need Berwald, when Ludwig was willing to help out? Fuck Berwald. Such history between them, and he couldn't even toss a damn gun to help out.

Well.

Ludwig was standing here, wasn't he?

"Come in!" he said, perhaps too eagerly, and when Ludwig crossed the threshold, boots heavy on the wooden floor and removing his hat politely as he dusted off snow, Timo could already feel a little relief.

He just wanted this to be over with.

Ludwig stood there, silently, and looked around.

The pale winter sun lit up the room in a cool glow.

His ally was here.

A stillness.

Ludwig, tall and handsome, was just as intimidating as he had always remembered.

Glad to see him, though.

"Well," Timo finally said, as he lowered weary arms and tried to smile at Ludwig, "I'm glad you made it alright."

"It wasn't a problem," Ludwig responded, in that calm, dignified voice he used in the presence of intelligent company, "Berwald escorted me personally."

"Ah."

A moment of tense silence. He hadn't expected that.

Ludwig, taking note of the look on his face, lifted his brow.

"He's given me access to his waters, until this is cleared up. In addition, he's also allowed some of his people to volunteer. So a few of them are here, too. Not many. Guess he sweet-talked his boss a little, huh?"

Volunteers.

Berwald.

...didn't even wanna hear his fuckin' name. He was far too bitter to even care. It was too late. He'd asked Berwald for help, and he'd refused. This wasn't going to fix it.

Too late.

"So!" he began, too loudly, trying to change the subject, "I made some kalja. Sit."

Ludwig did.

As Timo stood before the stove, he heard Ludwig tapping his foot, and then a deep question from behind.

"What's kalja?"

"A drink," he supplied, and the smile on his face was pleasant.

It had been a long time since he'd smiled. A long time.

"Ah," came the charming rumble of Ludwig's voice. "That sounds nice. I could use a drink."

"I bet."

Once he actually sat down in front of Ludwig, mugs in hand, it was almost like a dream.

He'd been living under someone else for most of his life, and now look at him! Having a drink with one of the most powerful nations on earth.

"So," Ludwig said, when they were both settled, "Why don't you fill me in on exactly what's going on?"

An invitation to speak. Timo was more than happy to oblige. He opened his mouth, and told Ludwig everything. He made no effort to omit his ill-feelings towards Ivan and Berwald.

Actually, he seemed to linger on them.

Nothing they didn't deserve.

Ludwig sipped at the kalja and listened intently, nodding when it was needed and offering a word of wisdom every so often, and the weight on Timo's shoulders was lifted, just a little.

Sitting with Ludwig was like sitting with hope, because Ludwig's presence meant that the civil war would finally be forced to an end. With Ludwig's men training and aiding the Whites and taking control of this situation, the end would come soon.

He was grateful.

To see his people shooting each other in the streets was not how he had wanted to start himself off.

Ludwig had only one condition :

"We're fighting the Finnish Reds. Not Russia. Got it?"

"Got it."

Russia had collapsed from the war, and it was unwise to stoke it any further.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

He just wanted it all to be over with, and he wouldn't go out of his way to antagonize deadly enemies. Ludwig, thankfully, seemed to understand his woes and worries, and was quick to offer consolation.

"Don't worry," he said, as they started on their third glasses, "I'm sure this won't last too much longer. It's nothing you won't get through."

"You make it sound so easy!" Timo replied, as he held his mug in his hands and watched Ludwig with a careful eye. "But I guess you're used to war, huh?"

"I don't think you ever get used to it. You just get a little better every time."

Maybe it was a mark of his dependence on others that he couldn't really imagine himself getting any better the next time it happened. He wasn't sure he wanted to be one of those nations who were skilled in every aspect of the war machine.

He'd rather go out and enjoy the daylight when it came.

"I hope I don't have to deal with it much."

Ludwig only smiled, and leaned back in his chair, shoulders lowering a bit.

"Me too. You've been around for a long, long time. I'm glad you haven't really turned out like me. I've had enough of war."

He hadn't really expected to hear that from someone like Ludwig, and placed his chin in his palm.

"Oh? Well, you've really got it down to a science, you know? I know you're the first I'd come to for help in a war."

"Ha. Thanks."

The daylight faded into night, and as they continued to drink, Timo found that his chest was lightening a little, and he was glad to have someone sitting here with him. He'd been pretty much on his own since he and Berwald had parted ways, and Ivan had never really had the desire to hang around him so much as bully from afar and over the phone.

Nice not to be alone, and with someone who would actually help him.

This catastrophe was looking like it was about to come to wind down. Now that Ludwig was here, things would start to calm. The beginning of the end.

The hours passed.

Even as he sat there before Ludwig, switching to vodka when the kalja ran out, he was surprised (but pleasantly so) that someone like Ludwig—strong and brave and intelligent—was leaning forward and smiling at him as though he were speaking to a friend.

An equal.

He had dreaded this encounter for so long. Just the thought of it had been enough to make his stomach churn. To meet someone as strong as Ludwig, who was so fearless and bold, had been frightening.

But Ludwig just sat there, shoulders loose and stance unguarded, and when he spoke, there was no superiority or condescending notes in his voice.

Just talk.

He was so used to Berwald and Ivan talking over him that he'd really almost forgotten what it was like to have someone talking to him. After so many years of Berwald telling him what to do. Of Ivan coming in and taking the ground from beneath him. So long with someone else making all of the decisions for him.

It felt strange.

But damn good. Satisfying.

It was great to be treated as a respectable, self-sufficient being, rather than just a possession. Not that Ludwig didn't have territories that he watched over, but he wasn't one of them, and Ludwig didn't treat him like one, and that was more than enough.

Vodka flowed.

The more Ludwig drank, the more he smiled, and the more he smiled, the less intimidating he was. His laugh was as charming as his voice. Actually, Ludwig wasn't really scary at all. Not once he settled in and started to loosen up.

Or maybe that was his own tipsiness making him less anxious.

They chatted.

But not about war. About things they wanted to do when war was over.

It seemed that Ludwig, like himself, wanted nothing more than to go outside in the peace and quiet and bask in the sunlight, and just not worry about anything.

Ludwig wasn't scary. Maybe the uniform didn't make the man, after all.

He felt like he was with a comrade.

When Ludwig placed his elbow on the table and challenged him to a random bout of arm-wrestling, Timo accepted immediately, even though he knew Ludwig would win.

He gave his best effort, and they laughed through grimaces of exertion as they each tried to claim victory, and it was no surprise when Ludwig won.

He was, however, surprised when Ludwig reached up and rubbed his bicep, before finally quipping, "Say! You're pretty damn strong! I think you almost got me. Thought my bone was gonna snap there for a second."

A rush of adrenaline.

Strong. What a strange word!

"You think?" Timo gushed, maybe a little too eagerly, and Ludwig only nodded as he massaged his arm.

After a short silence, Ludwig took up another glass, and suddenly said, "Don't know why you look so surprised. All you've been through. I thought you'd've split from Berwald a long time ago."

"I wanted to," he was quick to toss out. "I just...wasn't really sure about myself, I guess."

"Well," Ludwig said, airily, "You shouldn't worry. You'll do fine on your own."

With those words in the air, a boost of confidence, he found himself smiling all through the night, and when they finally called it quits and went to bed, he actually slept.

It was easier to fall asleep knowing that the solution to his problem was sleeping in the spare room down the hall.

Relief.

In the morning, when dawn broke, Ludwig took him out to the edge of the forest where the soldiers slept, and showed off the men he'd brought here with him. Trained Jägers, elite soldiers, the best guns available, and plenty of seriousness.

His excitement was dampened by despair.

Oh, if he could have only settled all of this without any killing...

He may have sought help for the Whites, but the Reds were his people too. He didn't want to hurt any of them. He just wanted it to be over with. That was all.

That was why he took a deep breath, and looked them over, listening to Ludwig speak and reminding himself that this was for everyone's well-being.

Ludwig was quick to point out everything, and there was no mistaking the pride in his voice. Timo noticed something else, too; when Ludwig stood out there beside of him in front of the Jägers, he did not position himself slightly ahead or shove a domineering shoulder in front of Timo to mark him as inferior.

Instead, he stood there at his side, and at a respectable distance. Equals. Like they were equals.

Berwald had always walked in front. Ludwig stood at his side.

It was a feeling that he couldn't put into words.

He couldn't stop beaming, as the Jägers started to march off, and he knew his chest was puffing out. How wonderful it felt, to have someone acknowledge him and just know that he was strong and capable and worthy of their respect.

To know that he was a nation, too. Not a territory. Not a piece of land for the taking.

"It's pretty here," Ludwig suddenly murmured, when they were alone, and Timo sighed.

"Yeah. Say, it's Friday. Why don't you stay for the weekend?"

Company would be nice.

There was a hesitation, and then Ludwig snorted.

"Sure! Why not?"

So Ludwig stayed, and Timo knew that it was because he was exhausted, after four long years of war, and so he did everything he could to be an accommodating host, and make his newfound ally of sorts as comfortable as possible.

A few days out in a cabin in the Finnish woods would do Ludwig a world of good.

They didn't do much. Just sat, and drank a little too much, and Timo introduced Ludwig to his first sauna experience, followed by the traditional dive into a frozen lake (which Ludwig was not quite so excited about), and it really surprised him now that he had ever been scared of Ludwig at all.

Ludwig was reliable. Brave. True to his word. And Ludwig had come to help out, even though he was fighting so many others at the same time. Ludwig had spared a moment for someone he'd never really even met.

That was more of a friendship than what he'd had before.

Timo was glad to walk beside of him and make small talk.

The forests seemed to be Ludwig's favorite pastime, always walking to its edge and staring into its depths, and he told Timo one night that he liked it here because everything smelled like snow and pine.

Timo made a note that, when the war was over, he would make it a point to spend more time with Ludwig.

Ludwig didn't talk down to him. In fact, simple words exchanged with Ludwig were the biggest picker-uppers of all. To have someone just tell him, 'you can do it.'

How odd, that four days with Ludwig had given him faith in himself. He wouldn't ever forget those words that Ludwig had uttered that night.

'Say! You're pretty damn strong!'

Never.

The first time anyone had ever called him strong.

It only lasted five months.

But it felt like an eternity.

Five months of brothers killing brothers. Of children bleeding to death in front of buildings and no one coming out to help.

The worst five months of his life. Never had he prepared for this. Everything was turmoil.

Even after the war was over, the two sides were still divided. A catastrophe, in every sense of the word, and so many dead.

So many.

Numbness was mostly what he felt these days. Shock. Sometimes he wondered how he could ever possibly recover from this. Alfred had done it. He wasn't sure he could.

Maybe he wasn't that strong, after all.

He passed about in a daze, and Ludwig came to see him sometimes, just to check in.

Ludwig looked worse every time.

He imagined they looked about the same. He was surprised he could still walk.

Ludwig took a look at him through weary eyes, and, with slumped shoulders, said, "Don't worry about getting everything back together. I'll just... I'll just stay with you until the end of the war. I'll keep my men here. Stick with me."

He had only nodded his head.

More months passed.

The wounds still stung.

And when November came rolling around, he barely even realized when the great war finally came to an end.

Here, nothing ended. Everything still hurt.

The treaties were signed. Soldiers pulled out. Once Russian loyalists fled, and when Ludwig, beaten far beyond senselessness, finally fell back, everything started to quiet down, as the declaration of sovereignty rang out.

Glad to see Ivan's people go.

Ludwig's departure was bittersweet. Knowing that he'd been beaten so badly, after helping Timo out.

For now, the important thing was to focus on his people, and try to draw them all back together. Civil war was the hardest. Worse than fighting an enemy outside.

This time, the enemy had been the neighbor.

Hell.

He was glad it was over. Even if the cost had been so high.

The road to recovery was paved now, and he was ready to march down it, no matter how long it took to stop his hands from shaking.

Little kids lyin' dead in the snow.

"I'm happy for you."

A declaration of support. Words of praise.

Even as Ludwig had to lean against the doorframe to support himself, pale and wan and the circles under his eyes visible even in the dusk, battered and bruised and yet somehow still dressed immaculately.

Ironed and pressed just to be buried.

Timo could only straighten up and resist the urge to reach out and do something—touch his shoulder, grab his upper arm for support, or even stand up on his toes and hug him.

Ludwig, so strong before the war, could barely stand up.

And even as Arthur and Francis were humiliating him to the best of their abilities, kicking him when he was down, Ludwig still had spared himself a moment from his wallowing to swing by, and offer a congratulation.

'I'm happy for you.'

Words that meant more than he could explain.

His independence. An established, sovereign country. No Berwald. No Ivan. Just him.

Finland.

Others had offered congratulations, too. Erzsébet and Roderich had called, and so had Basch and Herakles, but Ludwig's meant something more, because it had been Ludwig who had come in and helped.

Only Ludwig.

Berwald hadn't come by. Hadn't even called; instead, he'd sent a shortly-worded card. And that was it. He was no doubt too worried about keeping face. Or maybe he was just too stubborn and proud.

Neutrality was a convenient excuse for selfishness. But the war was over now; why stay silent?

Timo hoped, bitterly, that it was guilt that kept Berwald's tongue.

Finally, Timo found his voice, and only said, "I'll try to make the best of it."

Ludwig looked on the verge of fainting, but smiled all the same.

"You'll do fine."

How much those words meant. To be believed in.

"I didn't think I'd ever get this far. On my own now. Berwald's gone. Got Ivan out. I almost can't believe it! Kinda feels like a dream."

He took a step forward, as Ludwig swayed, just in case.

"Ah," Ludwig murmured, as he waved a hand in the air and nearly fell straight over from the effort, "I wasn't worried 'bout ya... I—I knew you'd pull it all together. Feel a lot better now, huh?"

Timo wanted to smile and say, 'Yeah!', but seeing Ludwig tottering to and fro, his voice rising and falling as lightheadedness came and went, kept his face blank and the excitement at bay.

He did feel better now. Time was healing, and he was finally free of all foreign rule. He felt good.

He wished he could say the same now for Ludwig, who had believed in him. Ludwig was beaten down. Now he was being stomped, unfairly, and punished for something he hadn't even started.

What a travesty.

But, like Ludwig had had faith in him, he too had faith in Ludwig.

Down, sure, but not out. It would take the apocalypse itself to take Ludwig out. He'd rise up again from the ashes.

"Say," he finally said, in false airiness, "I made some kalja. Sit."

And Ludwig did. Collapsed, actually. He didn't stay awake long enough to drink.

Timo stayed there with him all the same, and placed ice upon his bruises.

The least he could do.

Ludwig had come running when he'd called. He would always remember that.

Always.

Ludwig hung around for a few weeks and nursed his wounds, and even though he looked so sad and so dazed, Timo was confident he would recover.

Those five little months civil war had nearly ruined him. He couldn't imagine how Ludwig felt, after four years and millions of casualties.

What horrors Ludwig had seen.

Ludwig woke up screaming most nights. His hands were always shaking.

Something else that they could bond over, perhaps; the trauma of war.

The trauma of reparations.

By staying with Ludwig after the end of the civil war, he'd been a part of the sphere of the German Empire, and that meant that he, too, was forced to pay money to all of the Entente once they'd won. And so he had to work as hard as Ludwig did.

Ludwig said all the time, 'I'm sorry you got dragged into it.'

It wasn't really Ludwig's fault. It was his, too. Struggling with everything, he'd gone and asked Alfred (just about the only person who wasn't broke anymore) for a loan in order to keep his country running.

Now he was in debt, too. Oh well.

And besides, all this great darkness that had been cast by war had an upside :

It made being outside in the sunlight in front of the forest all the more beautiful, and it was only when they sat out on the porch in the late evening, when the musk from the forests was the strongest, that Ludwig finally stopped trembling and the darkness fled from his face, and the heaviness lifted from Timo's chest.

Daylight.

Timo did all he could to remind Ludwig of the things he himself had said.

'You'll get through it.'

Ludwig had urged him on. So he did the same.

The German Empire would not be extinguished so easily, no matter how hard Arthur and Francis tried to smother the embers.

"It's quiet out here," Ludwig said sometimes, as they sat together outside.

It was. No gunfire. No trenches. No tanks.

Just silence and trees and quiet friendship.

As the years passed and Ludwig struggled through the worst economic crises he'd ever known, Timo made sure to call him nearly every day.

Just because.

They got together sometimes, when Ludwig could actually spare a moment from working himself to death, and the little things were the best.

It was nice to have Ludwig as an acquaintance, and a friend.

Times that he had spent in similar fashion long ago with Berwald, but that had been different somehow. Berwald had been a superior. Not a friend. It wasn't like he'd never had friends before, though. Toris and Raivis were friends. Eduard was a friend. But they had never looked at him like he was strong. To them, he was just another one of the guys that were used to being bullied.

It felt different with Ludwig; a dreamy, surreal kind of something that he had never felt and couldn't even really put a name to. Ludwig had come when he'd called, and Ludwig had never looked down at him and said, 'why don't you just go back to Berwald or Ivan? You can't handle it on your own.'

Ludwig had had faith in him.

To Ludwig, he was a nation. Not a colony, or a territory.

Finland.

Timo tried to keep the horizon bright whenever Ludwig stopped by, and the words cheery. It wasn't but only a few weekends a year, but that was enough, and it was well worth it.

Ludwig, when he wasn't slaving away and having panic attacks, was interesting to be around. Maybe not all that fun; Ludwig wasn't really a fun person, so to speak, but he was thoughtful and patient and gentle, and that was better than 'fun', anyway.

Who had ever decided what fun was?

He liked spending time with quiet Ludwig as much as he would have a loud-mouthed attention-seeker (a certain Dane came to mind), maybe even more so. Peace and quiet was nice.

They didn't really do much. Most of the time they just sat together.

He tried to teach Ludwig the art of skiing once or twice, but it didn't ever take so well, and usually Ludwig seemed to wind up on his face, eating the snow. More often than not, they simply tromped in the forests through the snow, or sat outside on the porch, drinking vodka and pointing out shooting stars and glimpses of wildlife.

The soft, haunting fluttering of wings within the branches at night, as owls danced within the trees.

Ludwig stared a lot. Didn't say much, until he'd had a little alcohol, and then he could hold interesting conversations.

Before, the conversations had been about what they'd do after the war. But now that the war was over, more obstacles, and now the topic was 'what we'll do after we pay off all this goddamn money'.

Well, money was money.

There weren't any more people dying out in the fields or trenches. That was all that mattered.

Hearin' Ludwig screaming in the night had been too much. He slept quietly now, the few nights he did spend with Timo. Timo was grateful for it.

Timo tried to focus on the future. After all of that, how could anything worse possibly come about?

Ha. Smooth sailing from now on.

He'd get stronger, because of Ludwig's assurance, and he wouldn't have to worry about any of this anymore. He'd enjoy the daylight now, even though he had to bust his ass to pay reparations, but it wasn't so bad.

Not so bad at all.

Things were looking up.

Years passed.

Berwald never called.

Ludwig grew stronger, and Timo could see him gathering up his old sense of dignity.

His own country was coming together well. His chest could have exploded for the happiness.

But even when the sun was high and the light burst through gaps in the pine forest, Timo could swear, at times, that he heard the shifting of something dark. The rustling of unrest.

Years passed.

Shadows stirred.

How could it have gotten worse?