The group was scheduled to meet at the park on top of the hill, during the evening. Few children lived on the street, but it was best to go when the sun began to set, when they were less likely to play outside. Emil shrugged his gray sweatshirt on, scrolling through a list of text messages he had sent to Mathias. He had spent the past two days texting him, sneaking around the house searching for possible discussion about his and Lukas's parents, and attempting to search the Internet for anything about his father. Every time he tried, the name "Josef Karl" brought nothing but dozens of middle-aged men, information on insurance companies and law firms, and nothing that suggested he had two children. Frustrated, he would shut down the computer and stare at the ceiling, aching for the chance to meet up with the others. Perhaps they would have something to say about it. Mathias's texts seemed curious at first, but after a while, he had nothing. There wasn't much his friend could do about the situation, but Emil had begun to hate the feeling of knowing nothing. He didn't know how his mother in Iceland felt about him, and if she would even accept him. Then there was the group and their powers, which they had to guess at. Of course, nobody could explain why Lukas had developed at a much earlier age than anyone else, and their mothers' pasts could not be confirmed. Learning that he shared a mother with Lukas cleared up some confusion, but not much. And now, he had a name to go off of, but it was less than helpful. Everything was frustrating, and nothing could be fixed. He tried to take his mind off things through photography, but after a while, he had nothing left to take a picture of. He never left the house, despite the fact that the Bondeviks had been so excited to host him and show him around. They certainly weren't the hospitable, caring people he first met.
"Are you ready to go?" Lukas's words caught him off-guard. He stood behind him, dressed in comfortable clothes. He hadn't had any new nightmares, but insignificant illusions distracted him. He stared at Emil through distracted eyes.
"Sure," he replied, opening the door. "Let's do this."
Mathias was riding the swings with a huge smile on his face when they arrived. His long legs stuck out as he whopped in delight, leaving Emil to question why he ever trusted a person like this. On the bench, Berwald sat in a T-shirt that appeared far too small for him, ripped black jeans, and a series of spiky bracelets. Emil stared at him, noticing a pair of black combat boots.
"Do you like how I've dressed Berwald today?" Tino asked, smiling sweetly. Mathias promptly stopped swinging. "I was inspired by my scene days. I wanted to dye his hair pink, but Berwald said no."
"He had good reason to," Lukas said.
"Isn't that shirt a little too—"
"Oh, it's mine. I went out and bought the pants and boots, but I came up a little short, so I figured I could use one of mine." Berwald huffed, looking away.
"Twelve centimeters," he muttered. "Twelve centimeters shorter than me."
"Cheer up, Berwald! Now that Emil and Lukas are here, we can begin!"
"Which raises an important concern," Mathias interrupted, his loud voice drawing everyone's attention. "Berwald can't really practice on anyone."
"'S a concern we've already raised," Berwald argued, his low voice threatening. "Told you at the dinner. Were you listening?"
"You said you would do this. You can't back out now," Mathias insisted, walking closer to Berwald. He did not react.
"Agreed for Tino's sake. Seemed so enthusiastic, and he could benefit—"
"You can, too. If you don't want to try, that's your problem."
"Maybe you should've thought this through." The two stood very close to each other, but they were still about a head apart. Berwald wasn't too much taller than Mathias, but his height did have an effect on the latter, who refused to make eye contact. Berwald, on the other hand, fidgeted as he spoke, backing away whenever Mathias spoke.
"Guys, can't we just start?" Tino protested feebly. His cries were not heard.
"Next time you agree to something, make sure you know what you've signed up for!"
"I did. 'S your fault you don't know how to deal with me. I told you, and yet—"
"So we don't know what to do about you! That's not my problem, it's yours—you don't know how to deal with yourself either, Berwald!" The air suddenly felt thick. Everyone took slow, shallow breaths, as if even moving normally could cause chaos. Berwald stared straight into Mathias's eyes, his mouth a thin line. His fists were balled as he stood in place, still making no move forward. Tino became the first to move, though he didn't do much but walk around the two arguing men, watching them with round, fear-filled eyes. Mathias tried to look at the ground, but his face eventually locked onto his challenger's. Slowly, he deepened his breath and began to speak.
"Look, it's not your fault. I'm trying to help us all, including you. But if you're going to be so negative about it, you can leave—"
"'M trying not to put anyone in danger," Berwald interrupted, a controlled calmness in his voice. "Can't figure out how it works, 'f I can't . . . you know perfectly well that I can't, and you keep insisting that everything's going to be fine—"
"Do you want me to believe it's not? That we're always going to be a band of freaks with no control?"
"Might be easier than trying—"
"Continuing to suffer the way you do would be easier? Constantly worrying about hurting who you're talking to, that would be better than working on control? You could learn to identify how it feels, so when the time came to spare someone from his or her accidental petrification, you could. You could try to look into your mind, and find out what makes it happen. But if you want to walk away and spend the rest of your life in fear, why not? Why the hell should I stop you, Oxenstierna?" Berwald furrowed his eyebrows, for a moment he appeared to be thinking of some sort of response. Instead of retorting something in his low voice, he appeared to stare at the mountains in the distance. His shoulders relaxed, his arms swung limply at his sides. Mathias appeared confused. He reoriented himself so he stood by his side, still wary of Berwald's presence. "I have a plan this time." He addressed his next sentence to the entire group. "Look inside of yourself. Don't force it out, but think of it. How do you feel when it accidentally slips?" Turning away from Berwald, he approached the swing set and grabbed the pole with one hand. His chest rose as he breathed; suddenly, the rod was swarming with an electric buzz. "I dare you to touch that," he laughed jokingly, as if all of this was as simple as he made it look. Emil found himself watching his own hands, and quickly found a new question.
"This is a tiny park," he began, attracting everyone's attention. "There's a bench, the swings, that thing over there—" he gestured towards the wooden play structure "—and a slide. Most of it's made of metal. Sure, Mathias can practice with it, although we don't know if we may accidentally electrocute some kids, Tino can practice here without any problems, I'm guessing Lukas can manage, and Berwald, but I'm guessing whoever owns this place does not want to find melted metal where the slide or something once was." Mathias should have planned better, he thought. It felt almost crowded with only five people. He looked a bit disappointed, as if he thought his plan should have worked perfectly. Berwald nodded, as if satisfied with this development. Clearly the two of them weren't going to get along well.
"Um . . . well . . . hey, we've got some distance between us! There has to be some place nobody cares about that we can destroy with our freak powers—"
"Don't say that," Lukas interrupted taking the group by surprise. Emil wasn't sure what to make of his blank, disinterested expression. By now he was used to it, but it slightly annoyed him how he couldn't tell what he was thinking. "People always care. When it comes to possessions, anyways."
"Well," Mathias shrugged, trying to shake off the intensity of Lukas's words. "Maybe there's a warehouse somewhere nobody uses . . ." He shook his head, carefully avoiding Lukas. Something about the way he stared ahead worried him, Emil could tell. It worried him, too—was this the beginning of a horrific accident?
If something bad's going to happen, I should be prepared. Almost instantly, his hands glowed, producing heat Emil could barely feel but registered was there. Suddenly, Lukas's eyes shifted, noticing Emil. They grew lighter, his pupils more prominent—his creepy demeanor seemed to disappear almost entirely. A second later, Emil found soft skin in the place of liquid fire.
"Wait," he spoke softly, Mathias and Tino gaping at him, Berwald watching the scene curiously. "This will work. I don't have to destroy anything—anything real, at least." For a moment, everything was silent. Suddenly, Emil found a force strike his head and push him down a bit.
"Great job, kid!" Mathias ruffled his hair, grinning annoyingly wide. "Told you it would work, Oxenstierna!"
"Don't call me that," Berwald grunted, narrowing his eyes. "Only the news calls me that. Reminds me 'f being a criminal."
"His name is Bernard!" Tino stated. "Though, I'm not sure if we should call him that anymore. His manager called him Bernard, and he knows—well, actually he can't say anything, 'cause he's frozen, but he knows, and maybe the police know—"
"So, what do we call him? Scary Eyes? IKEA? Tino's Bitch?" Red took over Berwald's face. Immediately, his eyes widened and he hid his face in his hands, Tino, on the other hand, equally red-faced, stammered unintelligibly, looking around frantically. Mathias flinched as Lukas hit him on the head. "I was just joking! No need to hurt me!"
"How about 'Sweden'?" he suggested calmly, paying no attention to Mathias's whining. Recovering from his shock, Tino nodded enthusiastically.
"Well, if he's Sweden, I get to be Denmark," Mathias announced. "Denmark. I love it! I respond only to Denmark now."
"Ooh, I want to be Finland!" Tino cheered. "Finland, the home of freezing winters, salmiakki, and saunas! All of my enemies will fear the wrath of Finland!" He turned to Lukas, smiling. "So, are you Norway, then?"
"Sure." They all turned to Emil expectantly.
"Secret identities? Isn't this a little cheesy?" Tino and Mathias seemed downright offended, while Lukas and Berwald watched him blankly. He sighed, knowing that following along with this wouldn't do any harm.
"Fine. I'm Iceland. Okay?" He was met with another hard push on the head. "If you don't stop doing that I will burn your hands off, and it won't be accidental."
Emil couldn't say he was much better with control, but by the time the sun finished setting, he couldn't deny that he had worked towards improvement. Lukas seemed a lot better, only mustering his illusions when needed, but today might just be a good day for him—his powers were unpredictable and varying, so not much could be said for his improvement, but at least it made Emil's job easy. He was nearly choked by invisible forces and struck by a troll, because his hands weren't cooperating with his mind, but he repelled them eventually. Silently, he and Lukas walked back to their house, neither speaking. Emil concluded he was just as exhausted and lost in thought as he was. The group decided to meet once a week, on Wednesdays. Nobody knew how much they'd progress by the end of the summer, but Emil did like that he was taking control of this power. Maybe his mother would appreciate it. Suddenly, he felt a chill in his gut. Don't think about that now, he thought bitterly, hands clenched into fists and shoved in his pockets. Maybe he would have more than the summer to improve. Thank goodness the Bondeviks weren't the type of people who forced freak children out of their house.
Now, he was named after the place he didn't know he'd ever see again. Iceland. He scowled, unsure if it even fit. He could morph his hands into lava. What did that have to do with Iceland? It was a stupid argument, as Danes didn't necessarily electrocute everything and Swedes weren't notorious for petrification. Still, it slightly bothered him. Must he be reminded that he was an outsider here—he was probably an outsider everywhere? Darkly, he remembered that Iceland wasn't even his place of birth; that he existed in Lukas's orphanage. He could've ended up like him—shoved into foster homes, driven from place to place, each resulting in a new disaster, unwanted by Mrs. Britta and the couples who were supposed to care for him . . . Iceland represented the life he'd avoided, maybe even the pain Lukas experienced. But at least he wasn't completely alone—Denmark, Sweden, Norway, and Finland couldn't be completely positive, either.
"We should call ourselves the Nordics," he muttered out loud, catching Lukas's attention. Emil just realized they were at the Bondevik's doorstep. "Like, Nordic Five or something. If we're going to join together, we should call ourselves something." When Lukas said nothing, Emil shrugged. "Just saying."
"I'm sure the others will agree to it," Lukas spoke, opening the door. He kicked off his shoes lazily and wandered into the house, Emil following closely behind. "Personally, I like Nordic Five."
A/N: I AM SO SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED THIS STORY IN 5 MONTHS! I had awful writers' block on this story, and then band and school started :( If you are a fan of this story, I will reassure you now that I am in the process of writing a chapter 15. Well, now the story's moving forward a bit! I've been wanting to introduce their Nordic alter-egoes for a while now :) I hope you enjoyed!