Berwald was keenly aware that the boy he picked up from the airport was not the same one he'd agreed to adopt. They seemed similar at first – Berwald's comment about the long flight was met with a quip about how steel bones made airport security a hassle – but it ended there. Shining blue eyes were instead dull and dry, hints of dark circles forming beneath. The expressiveness was gone: the beaming smile, furrowed brows, puffed-up pouting, and other such animated ways of showing every little emotion were gone, the spark extinguished. He held himself differently, shoulders slightly hunched as though trying to make himself smaller.

This was not the Peter that pushed him like a skilled salesman, spoke passionately about his duties, and had unwavering determination. The confidence had faltered at times, certainly, but it never disappeared like it did now. The longer the car ride to his home on the outskirts of Stockholm went on, the more he saw Peter positively deflate in the back seat as he checked his rearview mirror. Was he doing the right thing? He posed joining the family as an ultimatum, which admittedly might not be the most ethical start to a parent-child relationship. Claiming that he would only assist in keeping Sealand alive if Peter came to live with him may have been too harsh. What else was he supposed to do?

"...What am - What am I supposed to call you?"

A tiny, crackling voice, again such a change from the week before, broke his thoughts. "Hm?"

"You know, like, should I call you Berwald, or Mr. Oxenstierna, or, erm… d-dad?"

Peter's voice wavered at the last one, wobbling like one's body might when checking if a stone was safe to step on while crossing a stream. "Whatever ya feel comfortable with. But – not mad at ya – ya should know that it's Beer-VAHLD Oh-ksen-HYER-nah. No problem if it takes some time. Know it's a new sound for ya. Prob'ly sounds pretty weird, huh?"

In the mirror, he could see cheeks pinken as Peter went stiff, likely remembering that he'd already said it wrong multiple times. "It's no problem," Berwald repeated. "Figured it's better to correct it now."

"...Mr. Awxenheera."

"Mm. That was real close. Try again."

"Can I just call you Mr. O?"

"Mhm."

He only gave a little hum in response, but it was somehow enough to put Peter into even worse spirits. His focus stayed fixed on his knees or the empty passenger seat in front of him, lips pressing into a thin line. There was sweat on his forehead. He was visibly tense.

At the fort, Berwald had asked Peter when he last acted like a kid. Now, he was. Taken away from a task to focus on and a familiar environment to feel secure in, he was left with no choice but to act like a child: scared, lost, and confused. That wasn't a good thing, but at the same time, trying to force positivity and distract Peter from processing his feelings wouldn't help in the long run, either. He could at least try to give something to help, knowing that his own words would likely fail. "I can turn on some music if-"

HURK! Retch.

Berwald didn't need to look in the rear view mirror. He knew that sound, and soon, that smell. With a little sigh through his nose, he pulled onto the shoulder of the road, parked the car, and headed to the backseat. "Pete-"

"I-I am so, so sorry! I'm not used to cars, a-and I didn't - I…" His face was splotchy, a mixture of too pale and too pink.

"Yer alright. Gonna help ya out of the car. We'll clean up 'nd get some fresh air."

"I didn't mean to-"

"No one does. Happens sometimes. C'mon," he said as he stepped back, letting Peter unbuckle himself and slip out of the car, "some fresh air'll do ya good." Berwald went to the trunk, popping it open and pulling out some paper towels, a trash bag, disinfecting wipes, and a blanket. The unblinking blue eyes locked on him didn't go unnoticed.

"Fin gets carsick real easy, too. Always ready for it," he explained. He set the folded blanket on the ground. "Ya want help cleanin', or ya wanna clean yerself?"

"I… I'll clean myself."

"Alright. Blanket's on the ground so ya can sit a bit when yer done. Focus on breathin', 'kay?" And with that, Berwald set to work. It wasn't much, thankfully, but while he didn't want to focus on the mess too much, he couldn't help but notice that it was nothing but bile. He narrowed his eyes. Truth be told, this made it easier to clean, but he cast a glance back to the little Brit sitting on the side of the road and scrubbing his shirt with wipes.

"Pete… Did ya eat anythin' before flyin' over?" No answer. Berwald finished disinfecting and came to sit beside him on the blanket, leaving the door open to let the car air out as he took stock of where they were.

All around them were trees, mixes of spruce and pine towering overhead and casting deep shadows from the midday sun. There were a few meters of grass between the asphalt and the edges of the forest, allowing them to keep a safe distance from traffic. He almost asked again, but he saw how wide Peter's eyes were. He followed his stare to the branches above.

"...Don't see trees often, huh?"

"Not really," he finally answered. "I get to go camping with Raivis, but it's been two years since last time, and I guess I forgot how big they are."

"Mm. Been watchin' 'em through the window?"

"It's different in the car. It feels like watching them on the telly because of the glass and all. I-I don't know, it's stupid."

"Not stupid at all. Pretty big change." He got a little nod of agreement out of the boy and let the silence settle between them for a few breaths. Even with cars zooming past, watching the pine needles rustle in the wind brought some calm. As much as he wanted to stay in this moment, though, he couldn't.

"When's the last time ya ate? Won't be mad."

"Yesterday morning."

Alright. That wasn't too terrible, but certainly not great. "Why?"

"I wasn't hungry."

Berwald watched him carefully. It made sense, in a way. The kid was probably scared as all hell, and as the trip to Sweden drew closer, his nerves upset his appetite. Still, not having food only made things worse. There should have been an adult encouraging him to get something down, be it some soup and crackers or a little sandwich. That was part of why Peter was coming to live with Berwald, wasn't it? So he could be that parental figure.

"Didn't bring snacks, but I want ya to sip some water. Ya feelin' better?"

"...a tad."

"We can sit a bit longer. Next time, tell me 'nd I'll pull over for ya." Again, he got no response aside from a muttered word of thanks as he passed over a water bottle. Now knowing that he hadn't eaten - and likely hadn't slept, judging by the circles under his eyes - helped explain some of his more despondent behavior. The poor kid was probably out of it. He needed to get home, have a small snack, and sleep until dinner.

"Gonna meet yer new brother. Ya excited?"

"What's he like?"

"Surprise."

Hopefully seeing a familiar face would liven things up and give some much-needed comfort. It was a few more minutes before they got back into the now-clean car, windows down to make sure Peter kept getting fresh air and gas pedal pressed as they headed off towards Berwald's home. The rest of the drive amongst the towering trees was peaceful, and gradually, Peter's shoulders began to untense as he focused on the woods around them.


"You told me you don't live with Sweden!"

"I don't! I live in my laptop! It – It just so happens to be Sve's house!"

"You said he's not your father!"

"Because he's not! Stop with all the pointin' at me shit. You-"

The surprise did not go as planned. The moment Nils laid eyes on his new brother, he was furious, and Peter immediately forgot about his exhaustion to instead be thoroughly annoyed at Berwald's biological son. Both kids pointing fingers, baffled questions heating up to snide comments and soon boiling into yelling. Admittedly, this was the part of parenting that was hardest for Berwald. After 200 years of neutrality, his instinctive response to conflict was to simply leave it be and keep to himself. That wasn't an option when the fighting was between two kids he was in charge of.

"Boys-"

"I have to speak English in my own damn house? Skojar du?! Nej. I'm not havin' it! You. Are. Gone! Sve, you kept the receipt for the damn thing, right? You gotta make a return. Get a refund! This one's defective."

"Stop that. Not returnin' family."

"He is not family! He's the worst!"

"Thought ya two were friends…"

"We are not friends. We're arch rivals!"

Peter responded in the form of a scoff, thin arms folding and his nose held high in the air. Berwald caught himself staring; it was impossible to ignore the resemblance to Arthur on most occasions, but when his pride got the better of him, it was utterly uncanny. "We are not rivals. You aren't Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus! You aren't nearly enough of a match for me to bother with calling you a rival. We're supposed to be friends, if you'd stop being a bully for once."

"I'm no bully! I'm honest and realistic. So, here's the big question: Why the hell should we want you when your own family doesn't? Y-"

"Nils." Berwald stepped between them, glaring down at the head of red hair since the boy refused to look up at him. "Ya don't talk like that. Apologize. Now."

"Stop speakin' to me in English."

"That isn't the issue. Apologize."

"Make me!" In a cloud of static, Nils was gone, having teleported into his laptop without a second thought. They needed to talk later, but for right now, Berwald knelt down in front of a shell-shocked Peter. What he'd expected to be a welcomed surprise was instead a complete nightmare, and that last line from the Ladonian knocked out any smugness Peter had on the topic of rivalry. Little fists clenched, blue eyes watered, teeth grit hard.

"...I want to go home."

"This's home now."

"No, it's not! I'm going back to Sealand. This was - This was a dumb, horrible idea!" The tears broke free. Gritting teeth grew to a grimace as he frantically rubbed his eyes, trying so hard to hide his crying from a watchful Berwald. "I'm going home. The deal is off. Keep the money. I-I don't care anymore! I don't care!"

"Hey, Pete, yer alright. Ignore 'im. He's wrong. We-" he couldn't lie to him, "I want ya here, 'nd knowin' him, he'll want ya after a week or so, too. Give him time to warm up." His insistence was answered with a tiny sniffle. "How 'bout we get settled into yer room? Start unpackin' 'nd I'll make ya somethin' to eat. Been a long day."

"I'm not hungry. I want to go home."

"Ya gotta eat somethin'. How 'bout some toast 'nd marmalade? Stay one night. If yer still wantin' to go home, we figure out what to do in the mornin'."

He almost thought Peter would ignore him, but after a tense stretch of silence interrupted only by sniffles and hiccups, the smaller blond relented. "...One piece of toast."

"Atta boy."


The rest of the night went somewhat smoothly, all things considered. A quick shower and change of clothes, a bit of food, a nap, some proper dinner. Through it all, Nils stayed in his computer. That was fine - not great, but fine. If he needed space, Berwald would give that to him. It was his own fault for trying to surprise him without better understanding the boys' relationship. Worst case scenario, he could get online and message him directly.

He tapped on the door to Peter's room, and when a little voice welcomed him to come in, he obliged. It was a bit plain for now - blue walls, some IKEA furniture, a few toys - but that was purposeful. Over time, they could decorate together to make Peter's room all his own. Custom wooden furniture, maybe a mural on the wall, some crafts for decoration… Of course, that was assuming he chose to stay.

"Time for bed."

"Yep. Goodnight."

"Ah." The moment Berwald said it was lights out, Peter climbed into bed and pulled the covers up over himself, nestling into his pillow. Right. He wasn't used to having a parent around, so maybe he didn't understand his options. "Did ya… want me to tuck ya in?"

"What do you mean? I can move the covers on my own. I'm not totally inept."

"Not implyin' ya are. It's more like… a bondin' thing."

"Oh."

The two stared at each other for a long while, neither quite knowing where to go from there. If he tucked him in now, it would feel a bit forced, wouldn't it? But not doing so after mentioning it would seem like they were avoiding a chance at having a 'moment.'

"I… I guess I wouldn't mind that, if it's no trouble."

"None at all." Peter laid stock still as Berwald stepped forward, large hands gripping the edges of the blankets and lightly adjusting them. The baffled look on Peter's face wasn't lost on him. "That's it, then."

"That's all?"

"Usually, the kid leaves the covers down 'nd the parent pulls 'em up, but ya pulled 'em up already, so…"

"So… that's it."

"Mh."

"Riveting."

"Family's not all about big gestures. It's the little things to show ya care. They add up. Build memories."

"Memories of blankets moving."

"Exactly." His answer earned a little snort of amusement, at least, and a twinge of a smile. "Ya know where my room is. If ya need anythin', come get me. No trouble at all. Sov så sött, Peter."

"And a 'Soff sow set' to you, too, Mr. O."

Berwald clicked off the bedside lamp and walked out of the room, taking one last look at the newest member of the family before closing the door.