A/N: This story was a request from Arashi91 because she thinks I can write characters that I really can't write, like the Nordics. :P And I'm going through a bit of a writer's block with my multi-chapters, but I'm working on it! Anyways, this is for Arashi.
The plot for this fluffy little thing is inspired by a headcanon I stole from tumblr: "Sweden's mumbling speech isn't because of his accent. It's because during the Kalmar Union, the night he and Finland fled, Denmark hit him hard enough to damage the speech centre of his brain. Only recently has he started the process of forgiving Denmark for stealing his words from him."
Note: I'm saying 2020, because I'm tweaking it a little. They planned on leaving the night of the climax of the Stockholm Bloodbath, and Denmark got wind and fought with Sweden, damaging his brain. This event delayed their leave, but made Sweden and Finland want to leave even more, and so on June 6th, 1523, they had the chance and did so.
Oh, beware, this is probably really bad and really OOC (because Denmark is a super douche-y drunk). I'm warning you now. It also takes place in the FUTURE. :D
Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, things would be much different. Also, there's some sensitive material in here for some who may be of the Scandinavian descent/current residency. You are warned.
It was a breezy day in October, nothing all that special, but Sealand was bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. He was about to burst into spontaneous tears just for something to do. Latvia was doing chores for scary Mr. Russia, Seborga was out, and said he wouldn't be back until much, much later. Lichtenstein was training with her brother, and Wy decided that today would be the perfect day to be on Australia's Koala Chasing Watch, which left her busy and tired. Jerk England was over at Mister America's house being a jerk, and Hanatamago was at the vet.
So, who was he supposed to play with?
He supposed that he could go ask Papa Sve to play a game with him, but he was probably busy doing paperwork or something. The only other option was to go ask Mama. Then, his cute face lit up in brilliant realisation.
'Why didn't I think of this before?' Sealand thought. 'Finally, something interesting to do!'
Well, as Sealand trekked off towards Finland's office, he heard noises coming from the inside of his Papa's bedroom. He tiptoed towards the bedroom door and pushed on the oak barrier, peeking through the little crack he had made. The odd noises were now given a picture, as Sealand was nearly thrown aback by the sight of his strong, kind, unbreakable Papa crying his eyes out into his Mama's chest.
It was November 8th, 2020.
Beep. Beep. Beep. BEEP!
"Ahh!"
Finland jolted up out of bed with a yell at the sound of his and Sweden's alarm clock going off. The time read a really late 12:46 p.m. He rubbed his eyes and smacked his delicate hand down onto the Snooze button, cutting the loud alarm off mid-ring and shaking the still-slumbering form of Sweden awake. A yawn and a stretch from Finland while Sweden roused himself from dreamland, and then a glance at the date on their little digital clock was the norm, and that morning was no different. The date formed by those little red lines on the clock was the only troubling thing.
November 8th.
It was the 500th anniversary of the Stockholm Bloodbath.
500 years since Sweden's citizens were slaughtered in cold blood.
500 years since Denmark had brought the dull part of his axe down on Sweden's head.
500 years since Sweden's brain was permanently damaged, and his speech was stolen from him forever.
500 years of healing, with only 6 of them consisting of the beginnings of forgiveness on both Sweden's and Finland's parts.
Tinö was ready to go back to bed.
He jumped and was roused from his musings when Sweden sat up, wiped the sleep from his eyes, and donned his customary glasses.
A groan and a, "M'rn'ng, T'nö." made Finland laugh a bit breathlessly at his own foolish behaviour, and a cheery, "Good morning, Su-san!" followed Sweden's mumbled greeting.
Sweden smiled his tiny, satisfied smile and turned to embrace his Finland around the waist.
"H'w 're you t'day?" he asked, as normal for every morning. Finland blushed at Sweden's actions and responded with a quiet, "Oh, I'm alright. How are you?"
Sweden just said, "'Kay." and the couple shuffled out of bed to go eat breakfast and start their day. 'Maybe it won't be so bad, after all.' thought Finland. Oh, was he wrong.
Breakfast went by uneventfully, if not for a little flirting on the couple's part, and a grumbling and sleepy Sealand telling them off for it. Finland cleared the table, and then left to take a shower and get dressed for the day. He skipped off, leaving the dishes in the sink and kissing his boys on the forehead. Sealand said a quick 'thank you' to his caretakers before running off to go see if his friends could play. Sweden just set to work on the dirty dishes, humming a quiet and sombre tune under his breath while he worked. Just as he was drying his hands off, the phone started to ring.
"H'llo?"
"Hahahaha! Heeey, Sve! How's it hangin', bro?" came the slurred voice of Denmark from the other line. Sweden's expression did a complete 360*, and his voice dropped to a below-zero tone.
"Wh't d'you w'nt, D'nm'rk? 'Nd why're you dr'nk th's e'rly 'n th' m'rnin?" he said, his eyes narrowing behind their glass prisons.
A loud, overly boisterous laugh rang out from the other line. "Ahahahaha, oh Sve! Do you not remember what day it is?" Denmark giggled out. "It's November 8th!"
Any blood that had risen to Sweden's face in an angry flush was now completely drained, leaving his face whiter than snow. November 8th. The day that 80-90 of his strongest and most loyal citizens were captured, and then the next day, slaughtered, at the hands of Danish soldiers. The day that sparked the death of almost 100 people, including a child. Sweden could remember the lifeless and dirt-stained face of the young Sture child, as Denmark's Christian II dug his body up and burnt it alongside his father's, as if it were yesterday.
Denmark laughed again in the sudden tense silence. "Surely, ya remember Sve! It was the 'Stockholm Bloodbath'! My Christian II dug up your idiot Sture's body and burned it all up!"
That earned Denmark a nice, loud growl that resonated from the deepest cavities of Sweden's body. Denmark's tone grew near-black with hatred at the oh-so-familiar noise.
"He slaughtered your noblemen and took your noblewomen to Danish prison." a sinister chuckle. "Don't you remember, Berwald?"
Sweden dreaded any words that could possibly make their way towards his numb ears, and then Denmark said, as loudly as he possibly could:
"How's your head, by the way? I see you're still mumbling. Did I really hit you that hard, Sve?"
What could only be described as a primal roar ripped itself from the confines of Sweden's entire being, as he took the receiver and smashed it so hard onto the cradle, that the plastic split and shattered into huge, jagged pieces. His now-sliced hands gripped the kitchen wall for support as liquid ice replaced his blood, and primitive, murderous urges obliterated any and all of his capabilities of rational thought. Another roar tore itself free as Sweden slumped to the ground, clutching his head. Memories of his and Finland's time in the Kalmar Union danced inside of his mind's eye, and a particular memory flashed to the surface of the jumbled mess.
Blood.
That was all Sweden could see. Every inch of land around him was covered in blood and dirt and ash. The grotesquely distorted and lifeless bodies of his countrymen, the very people that made him who he was, lay carelessly strewn around like dolls.
Denmark.
That was the only name he could think of. Denmark. The creator of the man who not only tried to kill, but then dug up, and burned the bodies of a Swedish father and his young child; that disgusting man was currently ruling Denmark's country.
His field of view bled to into a blur of black and white as the blood that stained his body and poured out of his wounds splashed onto the horrifically charred body of a child. His form shook violently with sobs as he kneeled on the ground in font of the child's remains.
Sweden had to leave this God forsaken monarchy, before another innocent died. He would not stay a day longer.
"Denmark, sir. We've received word that Sweden and Finland are planning on leaving the Union." came the voice of a nameless Danish soldier. Sweden hid just behind the door, waiting to bolt at any point in time.
That damn Danish messenger was ruining all of his carefully orchestrated plans!
Sweden tensed when he heard Denmark's strained voice dismissing the soldier, and he backed himself up flat against the wall, avoiding the retreating form of the messenger.
But soon, a voice that would haunt Sweden's nightmares floated into the hall from the open door.
"Oh, Sve! I know you're out there! Come here and face me like a real man!"
Pain. Blood. Tears. Sweat.
Crack. Thump. Thud.
As soon as Sweden woke up, he was lying in the darkness of Finland's bedroom. From the chair pulled up next to the bed, a soft voice rang out clear into the stillness of the night.
"Berwald," he began. "Denmark smashed your head in with his axe. I…I think you might have injured your brain in that fight. I didn't know if you'd even wake up, it was so bad." Finland finished, his big eyes welling with crystalline tears.
Sweden was silent, until the sobs of his partner finally reached their peak. Sweden clumsily swung his arms around Finland's shoulders and held him until the tears stopped, letting a few of his own tears fall neatly down the pale planes of his cheeks.
Finland's hoarse voice rang out again.
"We have to leave, Berwald. The Kalmar Union can be no more."
Sweden could only nod.
Once Sweden came-to, he was curled up in Finland's tiny arms, melodic words of comfort being whispered into his ears. He sat up, shifting so his back was leaning against the headboard of their bed, but was still in Finland's arms.
"It's okay, Su-san. The Kalmar Union is over. It has been for almost 500 years." said Finland, eyes filled with tenderness and determination.
Sweden's own icy eyes widened fractionally in recognition, before he buried his face into Finland's pale neck, and promptly broke into anguished sobs.
And that was how Sealand found them: his Papa sobbing like a child and his Mama soothing him, while his own tears streamed down his face. Without a second thought, Sealand flung his lithe little body through the door and straight into the prone form of his Papa.
"Papa!" he yelled, throwing his tiny arms around his caretaker's too-big neck and squeezing for dear life.
"Please stop crying. You're too strong to cry! Grown-ups don't cry, especially not countries like you! Please…" he pleaded, his own crocodile tears forming at the sight of his parents in such states of anguish.
Finland shushed the near-hysterical micro-nation and reached over to wipe the boy's tears. "Peter, honey, it's okay for grown-ups to cry." Finland explained, a gentle smile flitting across his face before sobering.
"Your Papa is going through a rough time right now, and I need you to be strong for me, like he is for you. He needs comfort, and he needs your strength if he's ever going to get back up again." Sealand's eyes welled up with more tears as he heard his Mama speak of the hardships his caretaker was facing.
"Shh…" Finland hushed. "Don't cry, baby. It's okay." Finland lifted Peter's chin up and smiled into his big sky-coloured eyes.
Sealand told himself that he would cry no more, and brushed away the tears rolling down his pale cheeks, then placing a kiss on Sweden's forehead.
"Please don't cry, Papa." He said, smiling at his caretaker. "Everything is okay." Sweden could only smile and embrace his family.
"Yer r'ght, P't'r. H'st'ry w'll n'v'r r'peat 'tself."
Because I'll never let anyone touch you two. The Bloodbath took one child and his father, and I'll be damned if I let it happen again.
A/N: OH GOD THIS IS THE WORST THING I'VE EVER WRITTEN. SOMEONE SHOOT ME. I'M SORRY ARASHI AND ALL SCANDINAVIANS AND JUST EVERYONE IN THE WORD WHO READS THIS.