Kestrad's Hetalia Fics (New stories, comments welcome)

[Kestrad]

Gloves
............................

Iceland's cover the pockmarks and sheets of scars, from the days when hunger obscured his world and his body fought his empty stomach. The rashes are gone now but some days he still remembers and he bites before he can help it, tasting the coppery red blood through stringy disgusting cloth.

(And his brothers wonder why he goes through gloves so quickly.)

*

Denmark makes sure his cover his wrists.

(His sleeves are always nice and long, just in case.)

*

Sweden takes care not to look at his too often, because if he does he fancies he can see blood leaking out of them.

(It's still better than seeing his bare hands, where he knows he'll see blood all the time, even if the others reassure him they're quite clean.)

*

Norway's are almost always ragged and worn, as he keeps his hands occupied so that he himself never will be again.

(No matter how ragged they are, they're a barrier between his fingers and other nations he touches, and that's all that matters.)

*

Finland needs none.

(His hands grew back nice and clean.)
--
I am quite proud of this fic. It's always intrigued me that all the Nordics are always drawn with gloves, except for Finland, and then this idea came to me one day at work.

So, lots of notes for this one:

-Iceland's section refers to the famines he had historically. Apparently he had quite a few, though I'm having a bit of trouble confirming this. If anyone wants to confirm/deny this, please comment!

-Denmark once tried to hand itself over to Prussia. Interpreted here as--well, you should be able to tell what he's trying to hide.

-Sweden's section doesn't refer to a specific event, but his actions certainly weren't all saintly when he was an empire. And he seems like the type of character whose conscience would never let his actions go.

-Norway was de facto part of Denmark for several centuries, then forced into a personal union with Sweden just as they were so close to getting independence. Only a few decades after they finally became their own country, they were occupied by Nazi Germany. Currently Norway wants to maintain its sovereignty and refuses to join the EU.

-Finland was forced to cede several territories to Russia during/after the Winter War, including its "left arm" (so called because Finland's shape looks a bit like a lady wearing a dress, and the strip taken looked like one of the arms). Here I stretch it a bit so that Finland loses both hands after the war, but due to the fact that he is a nation and immortal and such, he eventually regrows them.

[Kestrad]

Sweden and Finland vs. Hat Guy
.............................................................

“Continue driving on I-95—”

“But that sign says we should get off at the next exit!”

“GPS’s prob’ly more accurate.”

“Are you kidding? It told us to drive the wrong direction on a one-way street earlier! Just follow the sign, won’t you Sve?”

“Hm.”

“Come on, are you going to listen to me, or to her?”

Well, put that way, Sweden really doesn’t have much of a choice. So he sighs and merges into the rightmost lane and gets off at the exit. Which he admits, is pretty convincingly marked “495 South to D.C. and Bethesda.” It’s just that he’s almost certain they haven’t driven as far as the map said they should yet.

Finland leans back and yawns. "Five hours. Five hours to drive between New York and D.C, and that's just a part of the stretch down the coast. America's so big," he says, and there's just a hint of jealousy in his voice.

Sweden doesn’t answer, as he’s too busy frowning at the road. It’s rather narrow, and rather poorly lit. There are lots of trees all around. “Thought 495 was s’posed t’be big,” he mutters, before scowling again as if trying to scare the road into turning into the right one. Or at least into spontaneously generating a few street lamps. “Maybe we should’ve—”

He’s cut off when suddenly the tires burst. First both the ones in front, then both the ones in the back follow suit. “The hell is that?!” Finland screams as the car keels erratically, knocking them both violently against the sides and each other. Sweden nearly smashes the brake with his foot; his knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel. Somehow he manages to bring the vehicle to a stop without flipping or crashing into anything.

For a moment, the two nations simply sit in silence, panting from adrenaline. Finally, Finland laughs shakily and turns to Sweden. “Well, at least we’re alive.”

As if on cue, a bullet smashes into a window right after he speaks, and both nations instinctively dive to the floor of the car. Another bullet follows, and then another, leaving three jagged holes and fine spider web patterns of cracks in the glass.

“Fin…”

“No, Sve, I did not modify this car.” Sweden lifts his eyebrow, and Finland groans. “No, I didn’t get Estonia to modify it either. The bullets are from someone shooting at us, not from a broken defense contraption.”

“Good.” A pause. “…skit.”

“Indeed.”

Another pause, punctuated by another bullet hitting the window.

" 'M sensing 'nly one person. You?"

"Yeah, one of America's."

They fall silent again for a moment to exchange a Meaningful Glance. And then, Finland breaks out into a wide grin. A moment later as Sweden’s face likewise arranges itself into a gleeful expression. (Across the Atlantic at that precise moment, England feels a sudden wave of terror he hasn’t experienced since the time of the Vikings, and the universe itself stops for a parsec to marvel that Sweden is, in fact, capable of changing his expression.)

“Did ya bring—”

“Of course,” Finland says as one window shatters under the force of yet another bullet. “And you—”

“ ‘Course I did. Let’s get out.” Sweden throws his door open and runs out, gracefully avoiding the caltrops strewn about. Finland dives over the shift and follows. They sprint for a few minutes before they hear the clopping sound of a galloping horse approaching.

Finland pulls Sweden to slight depression on the side of the road as the sound gets closer. "He has a horse. A freakin' horse," Finland growls.

Sweden's grin only gets wider and scarier, as he pulls his quarterstaff out of thin air and gives the top a twist so that a blade springs out. "Just like th' good old days 'gainst Poland," he says.

There's a glimmer of madness in Finland's eyes as he replies. "Of course. I was just thinking how terrible it would be if we hurt the poor horse, though."

Sweden pouts a little, but he retracts the blade. Finland retrieves a shotgun from inside his jacket. "Not my rifle," he sighs. "But you'll do just fine, won't you, Nut Blue Swan?" Finland coos and lovingly strokes the firearm.

"...wouldn't th' shotgun harm th' horse?"

"Not if you aim well enough!"

Sweden rolls his eyes, but then the horse and its rider comes into sight. Sweden puts off making a snarky reply in favor of charging. The rider (who, Sweden notes, is wearing an odd black hat) shoots, but by then Sweden has rolled aside.

"Pistols are for pansies," Finland calls, and fires a round in retaliation. One of the pieces of shot takes the guy's hat off his head. A second later Sweden bursts from the side and gives him a firm wallop with the quarterstaff. The rider falls off, quite unconscious. The horse attempts to bolt, but thinks better of it after a quick glare from Sweden.

"That was anticlimactic," Finland says, emerging to take his place by Sweden's side. He whips out a handkerchief and starts to wipe down Nut Blue Swan.

"Hm," Sweden agrees. "When ya finish cleaning, help me tie'm up?"

"Sure! ...hey, where'd he go?"

Sweden swears and turns to look where the guy the hat was lying a moment ago. Sure enough, he's disappeared, and so has his hat for that matter. Sweden bends over and scans the ground, then turns to his wife. "Say, Fin, wanna go hunting?"

"Let's." Finland gives his shotgun one final wipe. He inspects the ground, much the same way as Sweden did a moment ago. "I'm thinking he went north?"

Sweden nods, and begins moving in that direction. "Wait," Finland calls, and fires a round at the ground just in front of Sweden. The ground answers with spectacular twin explosions. "The guy planned ahead just in case, didn't he? Clever, planting mines. This is going to be the most fun we've had in years!"

Sweden cracks yet another maniacal grin and grabs Finland for a quick kiss. "I love ya, ya know."

Finland smiles smugly. "I know. Now let's go!"

*

The next morning, America is getting his daily fix of caffeine in his hotel room and browsing the news on his laptop. He's just taken a nice big sip when he happens to look up and out the window. The next moment, the window is covered with coffee.

"Hey, America!" Finland calls brightly as he waves a GPS-holding hand from the back of a horse. Behind him Sweden fiddles with what looks suspiciously like a landmine, while glaring every few moments at a bound figure slung on the horse behind him. "You know that scary story you told last meeting? About that guy with a black hat who likes terrorizing people in the woods? We took care of that for you!"

America opens and closes his mouth many times before he finds his voice. "Thanks," he finally manages. "Uh. I, uh, I believe Russia wanted a word with him. Something about a nuclear submarine."

"We'll drop him off with Russia, then," Finland calls. "See you at the meeting! Let us know if you have any other troublesome people to deal with."

America winces with sympathy for hat guy before looking for a cloth to clean the window with.

[Kestrad]

Seven Loves
..................................

1. Platonic

The loot is plentiful and the harvests are good; Freya smiles on Sweden's people this year. They don't need him for the time being, so he follows his men east in the longboats as they follow the currents to the land across the sun-kissed sea.

The people there call him Ruotsi, the one who comes by boat, and they trade his people furs for the gold and the swords he brings. Among the traders is a boy, purple-eyed and smiling, and the people call him Suomi—Land. Sweden is drawn to the boy, as the tide is drawn towards shore, but when Suomi sees Sweden approach he turns tail and flees.

Sweden smiles anyway, because in his heart an empty feeling—one he has heard called "loneliness"—has been growing, but suddenly it doesn't feel so empty anymore.


2. First

Whenever Sweden sees Suomi—now Österland, East Land, his eastern land—his heart beats faster and his stomach feels as though birds threaten to burst forth. He doesn’t understand—has Suomi cast a spell over him?—but he can say quite certainly it’s not an unpleasant feeling.


3. One sided

Sweden chooses the sixth of June as his birthday.

Like any other nation, he wouldn’t be able to say when exactly he was born, when he came into being—but June sixth was when he left Denmark, became his own nation once more, and that is close enough for him.

Birthdays should be celebrated so Sweden bakes himself some kanelbulle and decorates the table with flowers and candles and a few tiny Swedish flags. Finland enters just as he finishes. “What’s the occasion?” the smaller nation asks, reaching out. For a moment Sweden’s stomach flutters wildly as he imagines Finland is about to take his hand. That perhaps finally, finally the hints he’s been dropping will be acknowledged. The moment passes and Finland grabs a cake instead.

“ ‘s my—our—birthday,” Sweden replies.

He is surprised when the gleam of Finland’s eyes grows dull instead of brighter, the cake stopping even though it’s more than halfway to Finland’s mouth. Instead of wishing him a happy birthday the smaller nation drops the sweet back onto the plate and leaves without a word.

Or almost without a word. Sweden fancies he hears something as Finland exits, something that sounds rather like “I don’t have a birthday.”

Sweden picks up the bun that Finland dropped, but it tastes like paper in his mouth and suddenly he doesn’t feel like celebrating anymore.


4. Romantic

Sweden spends the entire afternoon in the kitchen, ensuring everything is cooked to perfection, not a single bit wanting. His hands itch as he longs to make everything by himself, but with servants the delicacies are prepared with speed and efficiency he could never accomplish alone.

Being an empire has its perks.

Sweden personally sets the table for two, lighting fragrant candles mounted on ornate candlesticks, decking the place with artful arrangements of roses and lily-of-the-valley.

Conquering a swath of Europe didn’t win Finland’s heart (even if the smaller nation is unbelievably fond of battle), but perhaps a softer approach will. So when all is arranged and done, Sweden sits holding one more bouquet and waits for Finland to come to dinner.


5. Intense

He’s lost. Sweden’s lost it all. The work of the past few centuries. A full empire squandered, all traded away for the ashes of battle.

Then Finland’s lips crash against his, and for a moment Sweden forgets his wounds, forgets the scorched, stripped, corpse-ridden land they stand upon as they celebrate simply being alive.


6. Doomed

Gods, the pain, it feels like fire in his veins—giving up Finland hurts physically. Feels like he’s being split in half. Sweden supposes it only makes sense, for Finland was once called Österland and Finland is his eastern half. Finland is half of him physically and so much more than half in every other way, and he can’t even figure out anymore where the physical pain ends and the mental anguish begins.

The first and second time it happened he stopped the pain by throwing Estonia and Latvia to the wolves—no, not to the wolves, to Russia, and there’s a difference because Russia is a bear, not a wolf—but this time there’s nothing left for him to exchange, so Sweden lies in the snow writhing and crying and trying not to think of how this time Finland himself chose to ride off with Russia without even a backwards glance.


7. True (but not necessarily perfect)

The wars are over. The great one. The second one. Even the silent one between Russia and America. The world spins forward, the world spins on, and sweeps Sweden along in its inexorable currents of change.

And one quiet spring morning it sweeps him once more to Finland’s door.

Finland opens up and the two regard each other for long, silent moments. For a second the current stops. The wind lies still; even the birds are quiet.

“Are you sorry?” Finland finally asks.

Sweden opens his mouth, but he doesn’t know how to answer. Of course he’s sorry. He’s sorry for the wars. He’s sorry for their history. He’s sorry for all the pain he’s caused the one he loved.

He’s sorry for loving Finland.

And he’s not sorry at all.

“Always,” he says. “And never.”

It speaks of the centuries they’ve lived together, the way Finland understands him at once. The way Finland smiles, not quite a happy smile, not the carefree expression that marked their days in an era that’s forever slipped away, but a genuine one tempered by age and sorrow.

Finland takes Sweden’s hand into his own, for the first time in far too many years. “Then let us start over,” he says.

Sweden bows his head. Looks at their clasped hands. “You forgive me, then?”

Finland reaches up to place his fingers on Sweden’s chin, tilts Sweden’s face up so they look each other in the eye. “Never,” Finland replies, then stands on tip toes to kiss the Swede. “And always.”

[Kestrad]

A SuFin Sundae
......................................

“What’s this?”

“Well, you see…” Finland trails off, because he’s not quite sure either.

“Mm, I see, but…” Sweden trails off too, and they both stare at the ice cream sundae that has mysteriously shown up on their kitchen counter. It’s a glorious creation, with pretty, perfectly round scoops of vanilla ice cream, rich dark chocolate sauce dripping down the white mounds. A generous dollop of whipped cream sits on top of it all, topped by a bright red cherry.

“So, I guess this means you didn’t make it?” Finland asks.

Sweden nods in confirmation. “We’re out of whipped cream,” he adds.

Finland sighs and creeps closer to the dessert. “Someone put a lot of effort into this,” he says, eyeing it sadly. “It seems like a shame that we’ll have to throw it out.”

“Mm.” Sweden too looks sad, but he takes the bowl and empties it into the sink. The ice cream sits in a pathetic ruined mess. Sweden sees the way Finland looks at the ruin and sighs a little. “I’ll take ya out for ice cream, how about?”

Finland brightens up immediately at that, grinning in such a way that Sweden would consider spending his entire GDP on ice cream if Finland asked him to. “That would be lovely!”

A few minutes later, when the two Nordics have left the house in their quest for a (trustworthy) sundae, Hungary pokes her head out from behind a conveniently placed door. A dSLR camera hangs from around her neck. She reaches into her pocket for her phone and dials a number.

“Hey Lili, it’s me. Mind taking your brother’s car out to come pick me up? …No, my plan didn’t work. They didn’t eat it. Sorry, I know you really wanted to see them getting it on, but I’ll try again some other time, okay? But I really do need to get out of here before they get back.”

There’s a pause as Liechtenstein says something, and Hungary grins wickedly. “Oh, yes, I did get my hands on a map of their loft. Yes, I’ll definitely try that next week.”

[Kestrad]

Third (is not the charm)
............................................

She is a thing of beauty, is China's first thought when he sees her.

Vietnam is proud, strong, graceful. As a man China wants nothing more than to win her affection; as a nation he longs to possess her. But she remains forever at the edge of his control, dancing just out of his reach.

Years pass; the dance floor shrinks. The entire world weaves complicated steps with each other. Sometimes the dances are deadly.

Fate has thrown him together with her again and again in the past century. China is given the chance to possess her, once. He remembers her as she once was, independent and fierce, and shakes his head. He wants her to choose him willingly.

She dances away from him again after a few years. He strikes her, bitterness boiling in his heart.

He regrets it later, but doesn't let anyone know. It would be weak to be inconsistent.

*

Germany is young and vibrant and polite when he comes calling, and China is old and wracked with too many ailments to count. Germany is one kind word among a sea of harsh demands; China wants to feel young again. Cooperation is only natural.

They have their share of disagreements. Some are small. Some can only be settled with fists and guns. But Germany returns each time, and China never turns him away. At some point he acquires a new uniform. China wonders why a symbol from Indian temples adorns his sleeve and decides not to ask.

Sometimes their fingers brush together as Germany shows China a new plane design; sometimes his touch lingers a moment longer than necessary as he trains China to fight.

All this meant nothing, China thinks later as he stares at the tip of Japan's blade. Germany stands beside Japan. He has the decency to look away.

*

America is so very young, naive and vibrant and fiercely cocky with independence.

China runs calloused fingers over the flowers left on his doorstep before throwing them away.
--
Historical notes:

-At the end of WWII, Chiang Kai-Shek was offered control of Indochina, but he refused. Later, during the Vietnam War, territorial disputes and various other tensions led to a Chinese invasion of Vietnam in the Sino-Vietnamese War.

-Before WWII, Germany and China had trade and military cooperations going on. Once the second Sino-Japanese war broke out, though, Germany withdrew from China, having thrown its faith into its alliance with Japan.

-According to Wikipedia, "The Sino-American relationship has been described by top leaders and academics as the world's most important bilateral relationship of the 21st century."

[Kestrad]

Mirrors
........................

Germany can’t abide mess. He feels his chin, feels the patch of skin between his nose and mouth and the stubble there, and wishes as hard as he can each day for the hair to stop growing.

If only. Facial hair only wastes the time taken to remove it. He could simply not shave, but that would be slovenly, and he is nothing if not impeccable. He lifts his razor each morning before the mirror with trembling hands.

Mirrors are said to reveal the soul.

Germany avoids them as best he can, but he will never be able to escape.

[Kestrad]

On ghosts
............................

America doesn’t like ghosts.

Not the physical kind, the pale flittering creations of tales made to scare children at bedtime. Those, if they do exist, can be killed. Bound, trapped, exorcised, dispelled.

There is no way to kill shame.

America tosses and turns in the darkness, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Vietnam lying in a pool of blood, Korea crouching with murder in his eyes. Too many countries to count glaring at him with righteous fury. It doesn’t help; he sees them anyway. Agent orange and napalm and bullets, conspiracy and shadows and death. Because you’re the hero, the smallest, darkest corner of his soul mocks. And the ends justify the means.

If someone sees him trembling, asks why he’s afraid, he’ll say it’s because of ghosts.

That’s not true, not quite. It’s not the ghosts he fears.

It’s himself.