Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia - Axis Powers or any of the characters appearing in the oneshot.
The sound of the rain is like a persistent drumbeat against the ground, and as yet another flash of lightning dances across the night sky, a deep growl of thunder goes off in the distance. He is staring into his older brother's eyes, and he sees the poorly concealed sadness in the otherwise familiar blue irises. Nevertheless, he easily pushes any regret he might have, far into the depths of his mind.
"Ya don't want to do this." Says his brother, his voice grim as never before.
But he remains indifferent all the same, gaze never faltering. "Ye' don' know wha' I want."
"Just surrender already, Sve; we both know I will win!"
"You're n'thin' but t'lk."
Children, barely tall enough to reach the hips of a grown man, were facing one another amidst high grass and yellow flowers. They kept a close eye on one another, wooden swords raised and ready to strike any second now. One wore a confident smirk, while another wore a collected mask. The warm June wind tousled their hair, gently playing with strands of butter blonde. Not a single cloud was disturbing the deep, blue colour of the sky.
"What! Well, come on you bastard, then!"
Sve grunted and narrowed his eyes at the taller boy, who had charged forward at full speed. His brother swung his toy sword, intending for the blade to find his younger sibling's side, but it was instead blocked by another wooden blade. Sve now found himself looking straight into the shimmering, blue eyes of his eldest brother, scowling as the both of them pushed forward, trying to gain the upper hand.
His blade, gleaming even in this dense darkness, cuts through the almost electrical air, seaking the flesh of his brother's thigh. With a loud clatter, however, metal clashes against metal, the sharp blow blocked in the last minute. He can feel his arms trembling the slightest, unwanted emotions coursing through his veins. He can tell his older brother is fairing much the same as he. Of all of their countless fights, he cannot lose this particular one.
"Bror, let us stop this!" Shouts his brother over the howling wind. "Listen to me!"
"Nej," he mutters, more to himself than to his sibling. "Ye'll j'st try an' ch'nge my mind."
More than anything, it looked like a complicated dance, the one the two boys had going. Jump, swirl, dodge, avoid the blade at all costs. They always moved in the same steady rhythm, synchronized and skillfully. Both were panting and grunting as their small bodies were pushed towards their limits, but neither of them would ever throw in the towel unless forced.
"Ai! That was a close one," shrieked the eldest as he parried another slash from his brother. "But not nearly close enough!" He laughed gleefully as the shorter blond sent him an intense glare.
"Käften." Grumbled the younger under his breath. However, in an attempt to avoid his older brother's wooden blade, he stumbled backwards with a barely audible gasp, soon finding himself on the ground with high grass and yellow flowers framing the sky. It only took a second for his opponent's sword to find its place by his vulnerable throat, the wielder smiling broadly down at him.
"I win, it seems. Again."
The younger of the two huffed and sat up.
His older brother pinched his cheek. "Aw, don't ya fret, Sve. One day, ya may become just as strong as I!"
"Don't t'ch me."
The taller blond laughed and pulled back his arm, letting his sword drift away from the younger's throat. In spite of himself, he reached out his free hand to his little brother, smiling wryly. "I think ya have improved since last time, though. Ya were a lot faster this time!"
At first, he received no reply to his praising words, although the younger nodded once and, in spite of himself, took his brother's outstretched hand. He looked anywhere but at his brother's face, his own slightly reddened.
"Tack."
His brother falls backwards, slips in the mud and comes crashing down onto the ground. Sweden just watches in disbelief for a moment, then finally takes action and moves. The tip of his blade is but a mere millimetre from his brother's throat, and he is being strong for himself and his own people. They need this victory, it is what they want, and it is what he wants, too.
"Please, Sve," and he finds it hard to believe, that he has broken his older brother to the point where he is begging. "Don't go. Don't leave me— don't leave us!"
"I'm s'rry," and yet, there is a lack of truth in those words. Is this not what he wants, the only thing he wants? How can he possibly apologize for that? He has waited for so many decades, and now he finally has the chance to be his own. He cannot lose this fight, and neither does he want to. "But my m'nd's made up."