I do not own hetalia

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As Sweden soon discovered Andrea was not the type to take orders lightly. She was up and about, walking around on her bad foot within two days. She ignored him when he corrected her foolhardy actions. The only thing she would let him do was wrap it tightly each morning. By Wednesday her foot was fine.

"Alright," Sweden watched as she marched around the kitchen staring at a clipboard, "Three cakes are needed for the Melding family reunion, not to mention pies for the church Fall Festival," muttering under her breath she continued pacing before turning to Sweden.

"I need to go to the store."

"Do ya even h've a c'r?"

"Yes ," With an out of character smirk Andrea gentured for Sweden to follow. Curious he did so out to the garage which he had not bothered to inspect, "We only use it for emergencies, the other car is in Arkansas but this one runs like a top despite her age." With a smirk Andrea punched the code for the door to rise. It did so and dramatically revealed a beautiful, black WW II German staff car. Sweden gasped at the sight, he hadn't seen one of those in decades. "It's not modern but my families had it for a while so we take good care of it."

"It's be'tiful." He stepped forward and ran a hand lovingly along the frame.

"We called her Verra, we took off all that nasty Nazi stuff when we brought it home but let's get going." Andrea fished a silver key out of her pocket and tossed it Sweden's directions, "Let's go, Save-A-Lot is on Main street."

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Sweden was very aware of the stares from other drivers but couldn't care less. Verra ran beautifully, even if the car had been made of 75 years ago it looked better and had more fuel efficiently due to the decades of tinkering by the cooks family.

"H'w m'ny c'kes da ya h've ta make?" Sweden asked as he pushed the ever heavy cart before him.

"Five cakes, three pies and 320 cookies," she answered without of second beat.

Sweden shook his head in resignation as she grabbed a second cart.

"F'r wh't?"

"People commission me to make these things for parties or such. Sometimes just because they need something sweet. I don't charge much but enough to help with supplies." Andrea pushed both cart to the check out line and Sweden took note that her gloves remained firmly on her hands.

"Gonna buy the whole place," a massive teenager was manning the check out line. He was tall and brawny, looking like he could go three rounds with Russia without breaking a sweat. "Geez Andy." The boy didn't give Sweden a second glance.

"Maybe Cupcake but it's all for a good cause." Andy said, smiling in her usual sweet manner.

"Hey Andy, you know my birthday's coming up right?" Cupcake's hand moved with blurred motion that impressed the tall nation.

"If you're a good boy I'll make your normal present." Sweden decided not to faint at the price. It was quite a lot but nowhere near as bad as if they had gone somewhere else.

"Did you bring Verra?"

"Of course," Andrea didn't even blink an eye at the price, from a satchel hanging from her shoulder she pulled the apporite bills.

"Good job with the game last week, I heard you guys kicked some serious butt." Andrea gave modest shrug while Sweden observed quietly while repacking the bags.

"Thank Cupcake, but don't try to butter me up for more sweets," The teenagers gave a hearty laugh as the money changed hands again.

"Can't blame a guy for trying."

"Yes I can."

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"Andy, go ta b'd," Sweden stared in from the doorway as the American labored under the weight of her baking load. It was now midnight and she had been on her feet since 6 that morning.

"I still have to much work to do. There are people counting on me and I can't let them down." Andrea measured out several cups of flour as eight different batters for cookies. Sweden gave a small growl before moving around the table to push the stubborn teen toward the staircase and past the books.

"B'd Andy," He rumbled pushing her toward the door. Andrea didn't have prayer in fighting against him but made her displeasure clear with grumbling and growling.

Once Sweden was sure she was upstairs and in bed he turned to the batter and sighed, it was going to be a very long night.

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Halfway through icing the lst cake at four in the morning a heartbreaking and desperate scream shattered the calm of the witching hour. Sweden was up the stairs and wrenching Andrea's door open before he even registered the movement.

"ANDREA!" He barked in her room only to see her short form srwestling with blankets. Her eyes were wide and blank, unseeing in the dimness of the night and blinded by the horrors she had seen in her mind.

The teen's body shuddered with adrenalin and as Sweden approached she flinched, pulling away with jerky movements.

"Go away!" She rasped wrapping her tighter in the blankets, "I don't need help." Her body shivered and every moment her fingers would jerk as if tapping out the notes to a piece of music. That's when Sweden noticed she no long wore her black gloves. Those rested on a stack of books near her bed. It was now he saw the purpose for the gloves. Shriveled red skin stretched over her hands, laced with ugly white scars that raced up her arms and disappeared into her sleeves. Sweden finally saw Andrea without her make up. Red dotted her skin as if it had been melted together in a horrendous accident. Overall the effect was rather grotesque and he knew why she wore so many clothes.
"Get out of my room!" The teen rasped again and Sweden understood why she spoke so softly, "Get out!" Andrea huddled into her stack of pillows, still trying to minimize what he saw.

She looked pathetic.

With one knee on the bed the former Viking swept her into his arms. She did not go quietly, instead she thrashed about and kicked at him, screaming despite her obviously damaged throat. But Sweden knew she would tire herself out eventually. Andrea continued to cry and toss about. Tears oozed from beneath tightly clenched eyelids, her limbs trembled as she finally exhausted herself. Limp in Sweden's arm her body shuddered one last time before going still completely.

Then, like a soft rainstorm turning into a gale the tears leaking from her eyes began to run and she bawled like a baby. Andrea latched onto Sweden's neck and sobbed into his shoulder, unable to contain herself any longer. Kneeling on her bed Berwald held the child close as she expunged months of festering emotions in a manner he hadn't seen since World War Two. Snot dripped from her nose as spittle dribbled from her mouth but he paid it no mind. Eventually from her violent crying she began to hiccup. Each hiccup shook her body violently and she sobbed harder.

Berwald himself began to cry, tears slipped from beneath his own glasses as he held her to his chest. He tightened his grip on her shoulders and tried to convey as much support and love he could offer without having to say anything. Words would ruin the moment.

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Sorry for the angst but my Grandmother died two days ago and I'm using this to help me cope.