Warnings: Discussion of injury, death, child neglection.
(two weeks after funeral)
"Dad?"
How is his voice still so light-hearted, happy sounding, and childish? After all of this... all of this and he can still smile.
I don't remember the last time I smiled.
"Ja..." I mutter in return, barely glancing up to where the micronation sat opposite across the table from me
"Do you want me to make you something to eat?" he asks, so politely that it's easy to tell he is related to England.
"Mm..."
Silence.
Why is it so quiet?
Oh yes.
The silence was always filled by him.
"...Dad?"
Please don't, Peter.
"Where's Ladonia?"
My other child. Our other child. These aren't my children. They were ours.
"'n bed."
"Oh... he said he was hungry..."
"Make'm s'me food th'n."
"Can I use the kitchen?"
Just go away.
"Mm." I nod slightly, and he skips off to the kitchen, humming quietly.
Surely Peter understands? He must understand; he cried, at the hospital, at the funeral, sometimes just at night. At first, I held him, comforting myself and him at the same time. Now he brings back memories that I'd rather forget.
I do forget sometimes.
I'll wake up in the morning, expecting to find him snuggled into my chest, rubbing the sleep groggily from his chestnut eyes and mumbling a sleepy 'good morning' in his native language.
Then I realise that he isn't here with me anymore. And the bed suddenly feels empty, and the whole house turns freezing cold.
I hear a clattering of pots and plates from the kitchen, coming from Peter making whatever food he is making. It will probably taste terrible; I mean, he is related to England
Why is this house so silent nowadays?
Knock knock.
It must be them. They come to visit so I don't get lonely.
I am lonely.
I don't want to see them. It will be the same as always:
Denmark will give me beer that I don't want, and try and be funny, but he'll end up realising that trying to cheer us up is useless, and then he'll stay in the garden smoking until it's time to leave.
Iceland will be awkward, and quiet, because he is scared to upset me, so he'll just sit in a corner listening to his depressing music sadly.
And Norway will be too understanding, and he'll stare curiously at me with his big all seeing eyes. Norway is the only one smart enough to not ask me how I am.
He knows that I am not ok.
Knock knock.
No, go away. I can't speak to you. You all remind me of him.
I cover my ears to block out the sound, but I can still hear Peter in the kitchen, clattering and banging.
The knocking stops, and I begin to calm down. I remove my hands from my ears.
But then suddenly, from the kitchen I hear-
A bang.
A scream.
Metal hitting the floor.
Crying.
Voices.
"Peter!" that's Iceland. So they decided to come through the back door, into the kitchen.
"God dammit, Peter, are you ok!?" and there's Denmark. That means that Norway is here to.
"N- no... my arm..." sobs Peter.
Then it clicks.
Peter is hurt.
My son is hurt.
Our son is hurt.
His son is hurt.
I spring up, thudding heavily towards the door on my feet that throb with pins and needles, about to burst out of the room when the door opens before me.
"Berwald?"
He always whispers. Even when he's shouting it sounds like he's singing a lullaby. Yet somehow his words hit me louder than a megaphone.
"Yo, Svi, what the heck are you doing?"
He never whispers. Everything about him is obnoxious. Even his hair. He crashes through the door, mouth wide in shock, cyan eyes flaring.
"Svi, it's Peter! He cut himself on a knife!" he says loudly, almost tripping over Ladonia as he comes through the door.
"Papa..? What's going on?" the ginger haired boy yawns, rubbing his eyes and glancing up at Norway and Denmark, confused. "Is Peter hurt?"
Denmark reaches down and picks Ladonia up, resting him against his chest. Norway stares unfathomably at me, before shortly blinking and looking away.
"Do you have a first aid kit?" he asks quietly.
"J-ja... it's in the cupboard in the kitchen..."
Neatly and quickly, he slips behind Denmark and out of the door, through the hall and presumably in into the kitchen.
Denmark puts down Ladonia and wales towards me, leaning in closer so that the younger micronation can't hear.
"Svi, what the fuck are you doing?" he hisses angrily.
"U-uh..."
"Why the fuck aren't you helping Peter?"
"Oh..."
Slowly, I lumber through the door and into the kitchen, my body feeling slow and heavy. In the kitchen, Iceland is kneeling on the dusty floor with Sealand on his lap, trying to stop the blood streaming from his wound and the tears streaming from his eyes. I watch from a distance as Norway returns with a bandage and a soft, wet towel to clean his cut. I watch as Iceland hugs Peter tighter, Norway gently bandaging the thin cut on the younger nation's right forearm.
Once it is all done, Norway gives Peter a small, rare smile before turning to me, a blank look on his pretty face. Peter sniffs away the last of his tears and stands up, however he doesn't let go of Iceland's hand, and I can feel the teen giving me disapproving stares behind my back.
"Perhaps we should discuss this?" suggests Norway, beckoning us all to the living room. I walk slowly after the Norwegian into the room, feeling somewhat like I just lost the little faith that my family had in me.
((two days before the incident, around thee months earlier))
"Berwald?"
I look up to see Finland staring at me, face bathed in the unnatural bright white light that glared out of his tablet screen in the dimness of our bedroom.
"Mm?" I grunt in reply, quietly examining the dark bags under his chocolate eyes. He stayed up all night yesterday with paperwork... and the day before that, Peter was ill with a cold and kept waking us up. Come to think of it, Tino barely seemed to sleep at all.
"Are you tired?" he asks, pressing the off button on his device and putting it gently on the bedside table.
I shake my head, closing my book and lying down next to him.
"Insomnia?" he snuggles quietly into my chest, soft but cold hands pressed against me.
"Ja." ever since I can remember, small cases of insomnia have randomly occurred within me, appearing at the most random times and triggered by the most useless things.
"Me too." he whispers, small body calm and warm against mine, apart from his cold little hands that I take in my own to heat them up.
I've always known that he had insomnia too, although his seems to come through over work and stress. Whenever he can't sleep, he usually stays up all night in front of the television, Hanatamago on his lap, and (occasionally) a bottle of vodka in his hand. And every time, he will what's insist that I go to bed, not wanting to be a trouble to me.
Can't he see that he's the only thing I have?
My hands trail away from his icy fingers and up towards his head, stroking the smooth platinum strands of hair as gently as my big digits will let me. I bury my nose in his scalp, inhaling the scent of his hair, that was washed only this morning.
"Swe?" his voice is muffled in my shirt, but I can always here what he's saying. Ever since I first met him, he's been the only thing that matters. Perfect, fluffy, light spirited, smiling, wonderful Tino. With his bad dress sense and his constant aura of brightness and his Christmas obsession.
Nothing, nothing in this beautiful world, can make me happier.
"I love you, Sweden." he mutters, blush forming on his soft smooth cheeks.
Perfection is this moment.
"I love you too."
The only words I can say without hesitation or stutter.
((the day after the incident))
Please.
"Sir... I'm afraid... he's gone."
No.
"Oh my god..." Iceland gasps.
"Ah... no, that's not..." Is Denmark crying already?
"Oh." Go home Norway.
"Mr. Oxenstierna?" All of you, go away.
Go away.
Go away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away
Leave me alone.
Alone.
Lone.
Now I am all alone.
Tino.
Tino!
Tino.
A/N: Sorry that this chapter is kind of short. I've been really busy lately (I wrote half if this in rehearsal for the performance of Alice in Wonderland that I'm doing.)
Just a few things: As you've probably guessed, Finland is, um, no longer with us. In the time skips, when it says 'the incident' it means the accident that killed him. Ok?
Sorry for all the time skips. That's just the way I want the story to work. Thanks for reading :)