[Fanfic] - Place to Be
Title: Place to Be
Rating: R
Pairings: Norway/Sweden, Denmark <--> Sweden
Warnings: excessive lolhistoryness, language, smoking, drinking, fighting, implied sexual situations, angst, WWII, touchy subjects in general.
Summary: It’s the second World War, and Sweden tries to keep the balance.
Notes: Nordic Secret Santa fic for whatisnarva! Also I wrote something serious, nutty, right?
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- 31 December 1939, Strömstad, Sweden -
The year is dying in the night.
Sweden thought of that line, over and over - looked out window of their shared room of the inn, the darkened streets of Strömstad covered in snow, wind howling against the windows. Norway continued to play the Hardingfele, engrossed in its sound at the corner table. Its mourning filled the room; fit the mood. They’d had dinner, gotten some beer for the holiday, were halfway through -
The windowpanes rattled again. It was a bad winter, this year.
Sweden wondered if the weather was like this a thousand kilometers east. He glanced over to Norway, who was paused in retuning the instrument, and wondered aloud.
“Y’think Finland’s out’n this?”
“Probably.”
Not what he wanted to hear.
Norway didn’t even look up, just took a drink and started playing a new song.
At least the two of them were safe, inside. Though the entire reason they were here - discussing the situation up north - it left a bad taste in his mouth. Sweden finished off his beer, tried to wash it away, and let his mind meander with Norway’s music. Though Norway had probably brought the instrument to keep their minds elsewhere, as he was prone to do when stressed (though he would never admit it outright), the song he had chosen didn’t help.
Sweden thought of the war in Europe and what the next year would bring.
“Y’think he’ll be okay?”
Norway stopped playing and looked at him. “Finland.”
Sweden nodded.
Norway shrugged. Waited. Raised an eyebrow for Sweden to continue. The last century had brought them closer than either were willing to admit.
“An’ Danmark?”
“No. He’s an idiot.” Norway sat down the Hardingfele and picked up his beer instead.
Sweden’s eyes flicked to Norway’s reflection in the window, then traced the gusts of snow blowing by. He shifted, tempted to place a hand against the cold, warped windowpane. Finally he did, cold seeping through until he could feel every creak of his bones.
Norway cleared his throat and answered his unasked question - and damned if this wasn’t one of the times Sweden hated that they could read one another so well. “Said he didn’t wanna spend his New Year’s with two grumps.”
“Prob’ly didn’t wanna be around me.” Not like they’d spent a New Year’s together in - he didn’t even know, now. Why should this year be different?
Norway’s glass hit the table with a clack that voiced all the frustration Norway kept bottled. “Y’two are stupid. Haven’t even talked properly in centuries.”
“We’ve talked.”
“Hmph. An’ I married my troll.”
Sweden pulled his stinging hand away and turned to Norway’s deadpan stare, raising an eyebrow. “Yer in a good mood.”
Norway lifted his beer in acknowledgment. “Got nice beer for the first time in ages and I getta make fun a'you two idiots. Sounds good t’me. Y'got any objections?”
Silence as the window rattled and Norway’s words fell flat.
Eventually, Sweden shrugged, feeling guilty for bringing Norway’s mood down.
The church bells rang midnight, barely discernible over the howling wind. Sweden grimaced. Ring out, wild bells, huh? He wondered if he should bother reciting it.
“That’d be midnight.”
Sweden tried to see if there was any activity on the side street below. Too cold, too isolated. Deserted. “Yep,” he finally answered, after the bells had silenced themselves.
Norway rolled his eyes, sat down his beer, and strode across the room to Sweden.
“S’New Year’s. Y’aint no fun at all.”
Sweden looked up at him, questioning.
“Let’s forget about it fer a few hours.”
Sweden grunted and kept his face upturned; Norway met him halfway.
---
The next morning he was roused by Norway rolling off the bed and searching the floor for something to wear.
He could pretend he could see Norway in the morning sunlight. His mind made out the contours of his lithe form as he pulled on a shirt, filled in the details his eyesight missed.
Sweden let out a long breath and curled into the covers a little more. Norway never did have any interest in cuddling.
Norway turned around and Sweden heard his annoyed sigh. The bed sunk and Norway sat himself against the headboard, one hand idly stroking Sweden’s hair.
“You an’ Danmark, big babies,” he muttered.
Sweden closed his eyes and turned his head in further. He’d rather concentrate on the fingers in his hair, brushing against his scalp, than on the twinge in his chest.
Norway’s soothing strokes didn’t lessen it. “How’s he doin’?” Sweden finally asked.
“Ask him yerself.”
“Mm.”
More silence as bright morning sun spilled in upon the backs of Sweden’s eyes. Norway continued his motions. Sweden sighed.
“Still snowin’?”
“Nah.”
“S’good.”
Quiet once more, only interrupted by the drip of ice outside and the sound of Norway’s fingers threading through his hair. Sweden wrapped his arms around Norway’s thigh and ignored the twitch that always came with it.
“Wish I could help ‘im,” he murmured.
“Mm. Bein’ a country ain’t no good sometimes.”
Sweden nodded into Norway’s thigh. There wasn’t anything else to be said, really.
Norway laughed, the only way he ever laughed while sober - once, quiet, derisive - Sweden could only assume there was humor behind it. He’d never heard it.
“On occasion s’turned out alright.”
Without asking, Sweden knew what Norway was talking about, and what they were now both thinking about. Their union. It wasn’t Sweden’s idea, exactly, but he also didn’t argue with it. They got over it. They grew comfortable with it. So odd that they hardly ever spoke, but were still...
Sweden moved closer; Norway huffed. Sweden could imagine him rolling his eyes, though he didn’t have to have his glasses to see it. Some things didn’t need to be seen to be known.
“Mm, ‘kay.” Sweden drew himself up to sit beside Norway against the headboard, shoulder to shoulder. Heat seeped through thin cloth.
“What is it.”
Sweden looked over, trying to make out Norway’s expression. He couldn’t discern the small details, and those were what gave Norway away. Not his voice. Never his voice.
“What’s what?”
“Yer worried.”
“Mm,” Sweden nodded.
“Good. Be stupid if ya weren’t.”
Sweden thought to dinner last night. England and France wanted to send troops to the northern parts of both of their countries. Neither he nor Norway wanted to be involved.
“Think we can keep outta it?”
Norway snorted. “You’re a fool if you think we can for long.”
Sweden sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. It was just a matter of time before the war reached them - they were surrounded, and everyone wanted control of the Baltic, a stake in the iron trade.
Norway’s musing cut off his thoughts.
“Fools’ve been right before, though.”
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- Three months earlier - October 1939, Stockholm -
The phone rang and Sweden jumped in his seat and dropped his pen. "'lo?"
"Sweden - " Germany's curt voice.
"Mm."
"I'm calling about the iron. You'll continue to ship it?"
Sweden frowned. They had established that already - this phone call seemed pointless. Germany didn't do pointless things. "Yes. Said that b'fore."
"Yes...I'm just …making sure. We get a lot of our iron from you."
Sweden knew that. In fact, everyone knew that. He still didn't understand the point of this conversation.
"It's important to us that the shipments don't stop. So,” Germany cleared his throat, “my boss wanted me to check."
"'e did."
"Yes. He's very thorough. He keeps me busy...keeps an eye on things," a pause. "He's good at planning, too."
"A’right..." Sweden wondered why Germany was saying this, as well as the hesitance in his tone.
"Ah. Yes. He likes plans...he makes sure I'm working hard," Germany stated.
Sweden tapped his pen on the desk, irritated. Yes, Germany was certainly working hard. "'ve heard."
"We've got a lot of things to accomplish."
Sweden chewed on his lip and finally decided to speak his mind. "Dunno how wise that is."
"Excuse me?"
"Mm." Germany was young, he probably didn't - "s'not wise t'blindly follow yer leader." Sweden knew how terribly that could go. "Getcha into trouble."
Sweden heard Germany's frustrated noise on the other end. "I'm afraid I can't continue this conversation."
The pen paused in its tapping. "'m jus -"
"I don't see how it's any different for you," Germany's clipped voice cut in.
A silent pause as Sweden frowned. Germany was usually much more polite than this.
Germany's sigh carried across the line. "I have to continue my work. Thank you for reaffirming our agreement."
"Mm." It wasn't as if he could say no, since Germany would probably invade if he did. So, yes, the situation was different for him - he wasn't in a position to fight.
Germany coughed. "Yes - well - goodbye."
"G'bye."
Sweden spent the next hour trying to concentrate on work, but his mind kept trying to figure out what was going on in that phone call. If only he was as sharp as Norway. The pen started up its tapping again; eventually he broke down and sent Norway a letter.
---
Sverige -
Between you and Danmark I'm never going to have time to work on my own problems.
Sounds to me like he was telling you to watch out. And probably that that boss of his has him on a tight leash.
- Norge
Oh. That made sense. Sweden thought back over the phone call; he wasn't sure whether or not to tell Germany thanks. It could have just as easily been a threat as a warning.
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- 10 April 1940 - Stockholm -
Sweden had heard the news, but it was still nice to see Norway’s telegram on his desk that morning, cryptic as it was.
VISITORS ARRIVED TODAY. BUSY ENTERTAINING. WATCH THE SUNSET.
Norway’s bird, Sweden presumed.
He was right. About the time he was turning down his covers for the night there was a rapping at his western window.
Annoying as this creature is, she’s trustworthy. Currently heading north. Probably won’t hear much from me for a while. These visitors are very demanding.
Don’t do anything stupid, you sentimental fool.
Sweden grabbed a pen, made his way back to his bedroom, and looked up when the bird landed on his nightstand lamp. Its gaze always unsettled him - far too sharp, too similar to Norway’s.
“M’no good at this,” he muttered. The bird fluffed itself. Probably laughing at him.
A couple of tries later, Sweden had a finished letter ready to go. He looked for some string; the bird held its leg out. Way too smart for an ordinary bird. Way too old, for that matter.
She’s intimidating, you mean. Thanks for sending her, nice to know you’re safe. How long are they staying?
You know I can’t.
A response came with the next sunset - sloppily scrawled, for something of Norway’s - and blunt.
Unwelcome guests seem to stick around the longest.
You say that, but you’ve done stupider things before.
He sent a letter back, but didn’t get a response the rest of the week. He hoped that it meant Norway was okay. Reading the papers...probably not.
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- May 1940, Stockholm -
The last thing to do for the day, and the time difference wasn’t the only reason Sweden had been putting it off.
Sweden held the phone to his ear - one ring, two rings -
“Hello!” America’s voice was loud, he’d forgotten that - he held the phone away from his ear somewhat. “And who’s this?!”
“s’Sweden.”
“Uh, hey! Kind of strange to get a call from you - not that I don’t want to talk, but - yeah. What’s going on?”
Sweden played with the phone cord in one hand and tried to decide how to phrase it. He should’ve written down what he wanted to say.
“Ooooh, is this about the planes?”
“Mmm.”
“Well, I’d love to send you the rest - the economy really sucks right now - but I guess your boss told you everything! We’re trying to stay neutral! I can’t really get into it.”
“But ’m neutral,” he tried. He didn’t expect the conversation to go anywhere, but his boss had insisted.
“Okay, yeah, I know that - but to get the things to you I gotta get approval from, uh, everyone. It’s totally fucked over there, right?”
Sweden grunted. That was one way to put it.
“Mmm-hmm! And, c’mon, if you were me, would you really wanna get into it?”
Well. No - Sweden had to wonder if anyone wanted to get into it.
America laughed. “I’ll take that silence as a no. Even though you’re a quiet guy all the time - you should talk more, really, I feel like I’m talking to myself here.” He paused to take a breath. “But yeah, it’s awful! I’m sure you think so too! I mean you’re probably like me, right - everyone I know is in this thing, and on the one hand it’s terrible not to help, but, jeez, like I wanna get my people in it, y’know? They don’t want to!”
“...yeah.” He knew. He was more likely than America to get embroiled, and felt a surge of jealousy for a moment.
“Oh yeah! So where were we? I can understand why you’d want to have my aircraft - they’re the best! And if I were you I would definitely get more planes, and more boats, and - do you have an army?”
“Yes,” Sweden sighed.
“You should probably be training those guys or something, Germany’s gotta be breathing down your neck!” Sweden wanted to correct him, on both counts; America went on.
“But, uh -” America sighed into the phone so loudly it sounded like static - “I’ve got to look out for myself first. Things...aren’t so great, y’know?”
“Mm.”
America laughed and Sweden had to move the phone away even further. “Great! Glad we’re - oh, uh, I think - yeah there’s someone knocking, I’ve - “
“S’okay.”
“Uh, Sweden - one last thing,” America muttered, voice suddenly serious. “You be careful, okay?” He laughed again. “I’m glad someone’s staying neutral with me! And - Switzerland, gosh, how does that guy even - oh, sorry! C’mon in! I have to go.”
“Mm. G’bye.”
“Bye!”
Click.
Sweden slowly sat the phone back down. Well. He didn’t actually think he’d get anything accomplished...so it wasn’t that much of a loss.
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- 7 June 1940 - Stockholm -
Sweden hadn’t seen Norway’s bird in nearly a week; finally he broke down and sent a telegram to Narvik, hoping that someone got it and knew what to do with it.
ARE YOU STAYING?
He got one back not one hour later.
ARE YOU STUPID?
Sweden looked down at the telegraph, so tiny in his large hands. Well. That would be a yes.
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- Autumn 1940, Stockholm -
“I was told to give this to you, sir.”
Sweden opened the paper to see a scrawled note - Danish resistance is meeting at the British embassy. One of their messengers is simply going by “Danmark”.
“Hm.” Sweden nodded; the messenger left his office. He sorted his paperwork into a few neat piles and went out into the streets of Stockholm.
---
He barely had to go through a security check - he’d been here enough in the past few years, though usually about iron ore, or trade in the Baltic, or both at once - the employees already knew he was important, if not who we has. Sweden entered the main hall of the embassy to find it nearly empty. With the first lonely corridor he turned down, he found just what he was looking for. Denmark, leaning against a wall, looking over a paper of some sort.
Sweden’s boots were loud against the tile.
Denmark saw him coming and snorted, shoving the paper into the pocket of his waistcoat. “Why’re you here?”
“Wonderin’ the same thing, m’self.”
“C’mon, Sve! A guy can’t travel a little? Been feeling kinda cooped up lately.” A frown flitted across his face for just a moment. “Surprised you’re here, though, really! It’s not like you’re normally any help.” Denmark stepped closer. “So. Are you tryin’ to fuck things up for me?”
Sweden felt Denmark’s breath flit across his face and mirrored the action, moving closer despite himself. “What makes y’think I’d do that?”
“Oh, you know,” Denmark waved, arm nearly brushing Sweden’s chest, “y’sure do like your neutrality.”
“I do.”
They stared down one another, eyes narrowed, though Denmark was still smiling. It changed, just a little, slid into the smile that set off warning bells in Sweden’s head - that smile.
“An’ I can just see you comin’ here to tell me to get lost. Afraid Germany might notice, if, say, I cause too much of a ruckus.”
Sweden shifted closer, made it easier to look down at Denmark, and frowned. “Yer good at that.”
They were nearly touching, and Sweden could see every detail of Denmark’s teeth, lips, smile. It always reminded Sweden of blades - nice to look at, but dangerous all the same. “You know what, Sve,” Denmark murmured, and those teeth were awfully close to his jaw now, “I think you’ve said that before.”
Sweden stiffened. “Prob’ly.”
“Nah, pretty sure you have. Plenty of times. I’m thinkin’,” Denmark dragged a gloved fingertip up between them, finally placing it to his lips. Flicked his eyes to Sweden’s and looked up, pretending to muse -
“Danmark,” Sweden growled. He was too tired for Denmark’s jibes, too near a blush to admit, too close to Denmark’s sharp smile and sharp scent. He stepped back. “‘m goin’. Don’t need t’be here.”
He’d turned on his heel and was in mid-step when Denmark barked a bitter laugh that stopped him in his tracks. Had he heard that tone from him before?
He suppressed a sigh and turned. “What.”
“You know,” Denmark drawled, arms behind his back, rocking on his heels, “you’re good at that - abandoning people.”
Sweden swallowed and narrowed his eyes. “S’cuse me?”
“Abandoning people.” Denmark smirked and crossed his arms over his chest instead, cocking his head up now that he had Sweden’s attention.
Sweden sucked in a breath and glared, full-out, at Denmark.
“Don’t see you arguing,” Denmark winked.
Winked, and with the grin that Sweden had always seen when he was on the cusp of losing so many times in their past, the grin he always wanted to wipe right off Denmark’s face - Sweden’s pulse flared to life. “Yer not mine to abandon,” he gritted out, then turned to go with a sharp flap of his coat.
He heard Denmark’s snort over his bootfalls before a yell of “Wasn’t talkin’ about me, Sve. Sure did leave Finland in the cold - and here I thought you liked the guy!”
Sweden stopped dead in his tracks. How dare he even - next thing he knew he was chest-to-chest with Denmark - how, he had no idea, he couldn’t even see straight - “You - ” he spluttered, face hot, chest heaving.
“Me,” Denmark grinned.
That damn grin, it made him rage hot, cold, and hot all over again. He spat out the first barb that came to mind - “An’ how is it bein’ a model protect’rate?”
And there was an expression Sweden knew. Unadulterated anger. Good. It thrilled him to see it. “Fuck you,” Denmark spat, right up into his face. “Y’really think I stood a chance against the German army?! Yeah, well, maybe if I’d had some help -” he shoved Sweden away. “But no, you’ve gotta just sit over here, all nice an’ comfortable, and take advantage of the situation!”
Sweden stiffened, eyes wide, then reeled back and punched Denmark right in the jaw.
A single, loud laugh, and Denmark rubbed his jaw and grinned, eyes glimmering under knitted brows. “Ooooh, guess I gotcha there, hu- fuck!”
That particular punch sent Denmark stumbling, bright blood trickling down his chin. A snarled laugh and Denmark whirled around, fist-first, catching Sweden in the ear. The world spun; he heard his glasses skitter across the floor.
“I mean, what the hell, Sve?” Denmark laughed, and it was acrid and bitter, grated upon Sweden’s senses. Just as Sweden’s vision started meshing together, finally, he was pulled forward by his coat, right into Denmark’s face. “Pretty cowardly, if ya as -”
Denmark’s head made a loud crack as they both hit the floor in a heap of snarls and unleashed heat. Sweden ignored Denmark’s loud swear and pulled back only enough to punch his stupid face once more.
“M’not takin’ advantage, Danmark.”
“Yeah, you - ugh -”
“Jus’ tryin’ -” a punch that cut off whatever Denmark was going to say - “t’keep m’people -” Sweden’s jaw closed with a clack while Denmark burst into more of that poisonous laughter under him. And if that didn’t infuriate him.
The sound of Denmark’s wild mirth over the dull thuds of his fist was horrible. Frustrating. He didn’t want to hear it. Sweden punched harder; Denmark bled, spat, bucked, punched back, added loaded insults. But most of all, Denmark polluted the air with his cackling.
It barely lasted a minute before it was simply Sweden bashing Denmark’s face bloody while Denmark just laughed. Denmark...wasn’t even trying. As soon as that thought entered Sweden’s mind, confusion raced through him and tempered his fury - in fact, Denmark wasn’t resisting at all, not really. Hadn’t been the entire time.
Sweden paused, sitting atop Denmark, fist awkwardly suspended in midair. Since when had Denmark backed down from any opportunity to fight him? Any opportunity to fight...anyone? Since when was Denmark so willing to give up?
“Mmm?” Denmark blinked up - Sweden could only tell because that bright blue kept flickering. Sweden didn’t move and was suddenly keenly aware of their positioning, their proximity, vibrations of Denmark’s chuckles running up his thighs. “Y’done already?” Denmark slurred out - even half-blind, Sweden could see the trickle of blood that issued as a result.
“Ah...”
“Huh? Answer me, ya dick.”
“...are...are y’okay?”
Sweden felt Denmark’s flinch shoot up his own body, electric from his knees to the nape of his neck, and the blue Sweden hadn’t stopped focusing on became more pronounced than ever.
One second. Two seconds. Thirty seconds. Their panting echoed through the corridor.
“The hell, Sverige,” Denmark muttered, then abruptly sat up and shoved Sweden over at the same time. “Y’don’t pound a guy’s face in and then turn around and ask him if he’s okay.”
Sweden squinted, trying to discern Denmark’s expression - impossible. “But...y’weren’t doin’...”
Denmark’s laugh was hollow. “Not really fair to hit a guy who can’t see, huh?” Sweden heard him move, tried to track the movements.
“S’not stopped ya before.”
“Well maybe -” Denmark finished it, but it was too slurred and quiet for Sweden to hear.
“What’d ya say?”
Sweden’s arm was wrenched over and his glasses pressed into his hand.
“Nothin’,” Denmark snapped. Sweden put his glasses on in time to see Denmark’s back as he stood up and started down the hallway. “Gonna clean up, see you around!” he called, voice and posture instantly jaunty again. He lifted an arm in dismissal but didn’t bother to turn around.
Sweden stayed on the floor and watched Denmark go, frowning.
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Nor -
There was a resistance meeting in Stockholm last week. Why didn't you tell me he was coming?
- Sve
---
It's easier for the two of us to talk than for me and him. We've both got company.
He’s gonna get caught doing that. Stupid bastard never did have his head set on straight. He won’t listen to me, though.
Speaking of stupid, don't be so obvious, you. I said my bird's trustworthy, not perfect.
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- Summer 1941 -
It had been an incredibly busy, incredibly stressful few weeks, and Sweden came home late to find the bird waiting at his window. He frowned; he wasn’t looking forward to this one.
Didn’t know neutrality meant foreign troops could march all over your country. Right foolish of me, to trust that you’ve simply been looking out for your own interests this whole time.
I certainly don’t see how catering to his every whim is in keeping with your own values.
You want me to call you stupid or a coward?
Sweden bit his lip and looked at the letter, mood sinking. He should’ve expected something like that. He didn’t even have the heart to be upset with Norway’s harsh tirade. Then again, Norway seemed to have enough rage for the two of them - that Norway would forego correctness (Germany’s troops were traveling by rail) in order to get his point across said that clearly enough.
Sweden couldn’t think of anything to say, but he sent the last bit of coffee he’d been saving.
---
You’d best not be giving any of that coffee to those troops. You owe me that, at least. And coffee for the rest of our lives once this thing is over. I’m never paying for another cup of coffee again around the likes of you.
Sweden wanted to send a train full of coffee to Norway, if it made him that happy.
---
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- Winter 1943 -
Norway’s bird arrived in the middle of a snowstorm.
Ain't looking as good for Germany as it used to.
---
Sweden could only assume there was a question in those words.
Still don't think I can do much.
---
I don't know about that. Got some policemen who need to be trained, we don't have the facilities.
Maybe they could learn themselves a few other things. The visitors won't let them have any fun.
---
I talked to your people from London, the last letter makes more sense now.
Not promising anything, but I'll see what I can do.
---
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- Summer 1943 -
I hear a storm's a-brewing in Danmark.
---
Sweden chuckled at the absurdity of Norway sending him a seemingly pointless message. Why tell him that? He'd already changed some policies, but if Norway meant he should back Denmark, officially...he was staying neutral. What happened to Denmark happened to Denmark; he'd survived worse, he'd be fine. Absolutely fine. Things would work out.
He thought of Danes and Swedes and Brits, all working together in his country -
Things would work out. Things had to work out. It was Denmark. Every time he had been beaten down, things swung his way again sooner or later. Sweden rubbed his neck and frowned - he knew that well enough.
Heaven will direct it.
He thought it was a good joke. Norway always did like irony.
---
Apparently Norway wasn't as amused as he was.
I trust that idiot more than the likes of the heavens. He don't seem to care much for fate, either. Though I reckon his physicists would disagree.
Speaking of idiots. Those scientists say opposites attract. Sometimes I’m inclined to believe otherwise. Expect your like charge.
Sweden had no idea what Norway was telling him under all of those cryptic words, but he knew better than to ask for elaboration.
---
The next letter was from Denmark.
Hey, a good-looking guy is coming through your town soon! He’d better see you there.
Oh. Sweden guessed that was what Norway meant.
---
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- 2 October 1943, Malmö -
19:00 and Sweden was already contemplating settling down for bed in his tiny apartment. He was hardly ever here; he didn’t have enough to make a proper dinner, but ate what little was stashed in the cabinets, regardless. It took no time at all, gave him little energy. He thought he may as well sleep, especially considering how grueling the past few days had been.
He was putting up dishes when a series of bangs issued from the front door - he nearly broke the plate in his hands in two in surprise.
Before he’d even finished twisting the door handle, Denmark had pushed it the rest of the way open. “Hey man,” Denmark waved, and shoved himself through the door without waiting for Sweden to get out of the way, calling “Got any moonshine? Betcha do!” over his shoulder.
Sweden started and closed the door, looking into the next room, at Denmark poking around his kitchen already. A thousand questions - why are you here - shouldn’t you be sleeping - shouldn’t you be in Copenhagen - you knew where my - isn’t Germany - why are you here - and all Sweden could get out was “How’d you know?”
Denmark shrugged, moving to the cabinet under the sink. “It’s you. Don’t think you’re gonna wait a month for another stamp.”
Sweden leaned against the kitchen doorframe and stared as Denmark found the bottle with a loud exclamation. Some things never changed. Denmark bursting in, assuming everyone wanted to do what he did, for instance. Denmark plunking two cups down and sloshing moonshine into them, not caring if any spilled. Finally, Denmark flopping into a chair and kicking out a seat for Sweden - Sweden fought down the smile that last one brought.
Sometimes he was glad some things never changed.
Denmark downed half his drink in the time it took Sweden to cross the room. Sweden scowled. “S’seven in the evenin’ and you’ve been up fer a day straight. Not tired?”
“Well...yeah,” Denmark rolled his shoulder and frowned, then snapped back to enthusiasm. “But hell, can’t a guy celebrate a little!?” he laughed. He raised his eyebrows and hit Sweden’s arm as he passed by. “Not like there’s been much to celebrate lately, Sve.”
Sweden sat down and grabbed his cup, eyeing it. “An’ ya wanna...with me.”
“Okay, you just did me a huge fuckin’ favor,” Denmark pointed, then took another large gulp and grimaced. “Shit’s gross, Sverige. But anyway, guess you’re not as much of a dick as I thought, huh?”
Sweden scowled, but held his tongue over Denmark’s laughter. At least it was genuine this time.
---
By the time the church bells rang through the window, announcing the next hour’s arrival, Denmark was smashed. “Y’know wha...what I miss?” he asked, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a candle nearby. “Coffee...fuck.” He took a drag, closing his eyes. He turned to Sweden, almost falling in his chair. “An’ smokes,” he gestured, lit end out and dangerously close to Sweden. “Damn hard t’come by.”
Denmark rambled about cigarettes and Sweden sipped his water. He thought he should get another glass for Denmark, at this rate. Denmark sunk into the chair, blissfully tonguing the stick in his mouth - he looked thinner than Sweden remembered.
“Yer skinny.”
“Mm? Oh,” Denmark shrugged, stabbing the butt into the ashtray in front of him, then immediately lit a new one.
“Wouldja stop that?”
Denmark raised an eyebrow over his cupped hands, looking a bit dazed.
“Yeh’ve almost smoked th’ whole pack.”
Denmark drunkenly looked at the pack, and slumped on one elbow onto the rickety kitchen table. “Oh shuttup. S’my last pack, ‘nyway.” He drug an arm across the table to ash, then looked at Sweden again. “Wan’ one?”
Sweden sighed. “Sure.” If he didn’t take it now, Denmark would probably pester him until he gave in. And it really had been a long time since he’d had a cigarette.
He smoked and tuned Denmark out for the most part - it was slurred and didn’t make much sense anyway - tuned back in when he heard Denmark mutter “S’yeah, thanks.”
“Mm?”
“Damn, don’ listen t’me at all, d’ya?”
Sweden grunted and looked at the table.
“Yeah, yeah, thinkin’, I know.”
“Hm?”
“You...” Sweden looked over as he put out his cigarette to find that Denmark had sunk to the table, “spend t’much time thinkin’.”
“I do?”
“Mmm,” Denmark nodded and slid further. “Guess s’why I annoy y’so much,” he chuckled. “No good at thinkin’.”
Sweden knitted his brows together in confusion. Denmark must have been drunker than he sounded, to even say something like that. He tried to remember if he’d ever heard anything similar from him before...
“An’ yeah...not good at...s’not like ‘m any good at protectin’ anyone anyway,” he snorted. “Or anythin’ fer that matter. Whole world can tell y’that...glad y’got my back this time...”
Sweden frowned outright at that. Was this Denmark? It definitely was not the Denmark he remembered.
“Damn fire,” Denmark grumbled, oblivious to Sweden’s confusion. “Y’know, I used t’like fire...”
A deeper frown.
Denmark cracked his eyes open blearily. “Why y’lookin at m’ like that?”
He was only met with Sweden’s hard stare.
“Think...s’funny?”
Sweden shifted in his chair. “...no.” He took a drink. It was...very unsettling, actually. Obnoxious, overhappy, overconfident Denmark, always willing to go headfirst into anything and damn the consequences - where had that Denmark gone? The Denmark he’d spent his teenage years with was not this Denmark, and it made his head spin far more than the terrible booze in his glass.
“Hm. Prob’ly do,” Denmark muttered. “With your neutrality an’ shit. Fuck. Real funny...” he sank further on the table, buried his head in his arms and let his forgotten smoke dwindle. “Yer lucky, y’know...”
“M’not lucky.”
“Yeah, y’kinda are,” Denmark groused, the heat muffled by his arms.
Silence. The last of Denmark’s cigarette ashes fell on the table, and Sweden mused about what others were saying about the both of them. Nothing good, he assumed.
He wasn’t sure if it was the strange comfort he found in the hazy room, the old familiarity of blunt jabs they were trading, once more, or maybe the booze that made that him say it - “Th’ say ‘m playin’ both sides.”
Denmark made a noise into his arms before he stated “Least y’can.”
Sweden bottled up his rage at the statement, at the sentiment, at that fight three years ago that still irked him from time to time. “S’not what I’m tryin’ t’do,” he returned, more gruff than he intended.
Denmark sighed, moved, and looked up at him from the table, then closed his eyes and smiled. This time it was a new one for Sweden - skewed, and sad, but very drunk. “Yeah, I know.”
“...what?”
Denmark shoved his head back into his arms and dropped the dead cigarette. “Yer not...y’know...ma...mani-pu-la-t’ve,” he replied, waving a hand vaguely toward Sweden.
“Not whatcha said a couple-a years ago,” Sweden snapped. Even to him it sounded sulky, harsh.
“Jus’ bein’ a dick.”
“What?”
“Jus’ bein’ a dick. Toldja that then too.” Denmark sighed and buried his head further. “Sorry.”
Sweden stared at Denmark for what felt like the billionth time that evening; Denmark made no movement. It was hard to tell if he was even breathing. “You - y’okay?”
“You piss me off,” Denmark growled.
Sweden nodded and looked at the ceiling. Well, at least they were back to normal.
“Mmm...but...still love ya, Sver.”
That sent a jolt through him. He was probably taking this - entirely - “What?”
Denmark shifted and sighed, breath evening out. Sweden jabbed him in the middle. “What’d ya say?”
“Stop it. M’sleepy.”
Sweden wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it again. Who knew what he even meant. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Bed?”
“Mmph.”
“Get up.”
Denmark attempted to wave his hand, though it was more of a useless flop against the table.
“C’mon.”
“Table’s fine, s’not a problem.”
Sweden sent over a flat stare, even though Denmark couldn’t see. “Table’s not fine. S’get to bed.”
“Like old times, huh? Sounds nice,” Denmark replied in a sleepy murmur.
The room was filled with the sound of Sweden’s swift inhale - yeah, he’d thought about...sleeping out in the open...and...sharing a bed, long ago, really long ago... he adjusted his glasses, stood up, and sighed.
“Yeah.”
---
And it was just like those centuries before, for as soon as Denmark’s head hit the pillow he was out. And again, Sweden thought, some things never changed - once Denmark was passed out and snoring, he clung to Sweden.
It kept Sweden up for a long time, alone and wanting.
---
-
---
- Spring 1944, Stockholm -
"Hey Sweden!"
America. Sweden jerked the phone away from his ear before his hearing was damaged.
"'merica?"
"Got an idea to throw at ya!"
Sweden waited, and sure enough, America continued without any prompting.
"Sooo, how would you like to see those planes you like so much, up close and personal?! Because my boss has this idea - y'know I really think we're gonna win this thing, things are looking good - but, your pal Norway. I guess you'd like to see the Germans gone from there, right?"
"Mm-hmm." Sweden knitted his brows together over his glasses, pen already tapping away.
"O-kay! My boss's idea was to fly out of your place when we free him up - because we're definitely going to free him up! And then we can keep going from there."
The pen stopped. "Danmark?"
"Huh?"
"Y'mean," Sweden cleared his throat, "keep goin' t'Danmark."
"Ooooh, Denmark, right! He's under Norway or something?"
Sweden barely refrained from sighing. "Mm."
"Well sure! Gotta get Germany out of everyone's places!"
"Yer people talked t'my people?"
America laughed. "Uh, I don't know - gosh that sounds silly, huh? I've been really, really busy. Really! Even flying some of those planes - and I love - oh. Mmm, they might've. But you should still ask your boss about it."
Sweden sighed; asking couldn't hurt, could it? "I will."
---
-
---
Looks like you'll be getting help from across the ocean.
---
Wonder if that upstart is more useful than his friends were.
Remind me to wear earplugs.
Sweden's lips twitched up. If Norway was making jokes, maybe things were looking up.
---
-
---
- 18 June 1944, Stockholm -
Sweden woke to a tapping at his window at - he looked around in the moonlight, blearily put his glasses on - it was still too dark to make out the clock. Late, regardless.
He hastily opened the window and just as hastily snatched his letter, ignoring the indigant squawk that resulted. Norway never wrote this late, he hoped -
Sve the "e" was scrawled a few centimeters across the page, and the next line almost touched. This letter was not from Norway.
Nor's gonnabe pissed when h finds out I used his bird for - a bunch of scribbles Sweden couldn't make out - instead of him.
Ice declare in wellyou probably know papers at your placeaare...by the way thought that tiger poster was funny.
Kindof thought he would no good at protec didnt need me anyw - America's over there so hes safe for now thats good.
So was Idecided since iceissafe should celeb uh drink, but I dont havemu ch left. remember said I wasa dick but really glad you're out of this and you not believe me when i said it but I really was -
why am i writing - more scratched out letters, and Sweden realized he was about to rip the paper in two, he was holding it so tightly. He tried to relax.
Really wantto drink with you again after the war, you think it's ending soon i think its - the whole dday thing we heard aboutit, wanna know hat you think.
but's easier to talk than nor well I don't know, don't really get him sometimes.
- helll youknow who
ps we don'talk enough"
He really hoped that Denmark was okay, despite the evidence in his shaky hands.
He swallowed; the bird looked at him expectantly. He read the last line again - he should - he couldn't -
He kept the letter in his nightstand. The bird he sent to Norway.
---
Another sleepless night, filled with thoughts of Denmark and regret.
---
-
---
The war ended; Sweden stayed in, waiting for a tap at his window.
---
-
---
- 31 December 1945, Stockholm -
Sweden blearily looked at his bedroom clock - almost midnight - and sat his book down beside the nightstand lamp, done for the night. He changed into pajamas and paced the empty house, padding through strips of snow-bright moonlight and shadowed domestic dark. Peered out of the windows, restless.
All of them - Norway, Denmark, Finland, Iceland - they were all celebrating the first new year of peace with the people of their respective countries. Sweden couldn’t begrudge them that.
It was very cold in the house.
The clocks struck midnight; Sweden could have turned on the radio for the entire thing, he was sure, but he only murmured one line as he turned down the covers.
“Ring in th’ thousan’ years o’peace.”
And the lights were put out.
---
-
---
Firstly, this is the poem Sweden’s thinking of.
---
SO. SUPER-OVERSIMPLIFIED and WAY TOO RAMBLE-Y history background needed for this fic:
In the beginning of the war, Germany and England and France really, really wanted control of Sweden’s iron ore trade. Germany got a lot of its wartime iron from Sweden...but in the winter the harbors froze over and it had to be shipped via Norwegian rail. Hmm. HMMM.
Germany actually wanted Sweden to stay neutral, so long as they kept trading. There was already a lot on Germany’s plate - why drag in Sweden if it didn’t have to?
Sweden ordered err a couple hundred planes from America, and had gotten about sixty of them...and then Germany invaded Norway and Denmark and took over the Baltic and America was like “errr sorry dude not gonna touch that.”
Denmark got steamrolled by Germany’s surprise invasion and gave up in less than a day. German occupation didn’t really change much, so initially Denmark played nice, and the Allies saw them as kinda in-league with Germany. Mostly. Some Danes helped out Allied intelligence in Stockholm in the beginning, and resistance grew once Germany started becoming more controlling.
Norway was able to put up more of a fight, and the Allies helped for a bit - and then they sent their troops elsewhere, so Norway surrendered (and snuck its King and a chunk of its navy off to England to hang out) on June 7th.
And then in 1943 a bunch of stuff happens! Things weren’t looking as bright for Germany, Sweden decided Germany wasn’t allowed to use its rail lines any more, also decided Norway and Denmark could train their troops, police, and resistance folk in Swedish facilities, and Denmark -
Well, Denmark. Danes began to refuse to repair German boats, Germany tried to take over Denmark’s armed forces so Denmark blew up and/or torched most of its vessels, some more rebellion went down, Germany demanded the deportation of Jews from Denmark. Danish citizens and resistance folk snuck almost all of them across the Øresund (Sweden says it’s Öresund) to Malmö, Sweden, after Sweden agreed to take them in.
German officers in Copenhagen were like :l and decided they had better things to do. Like stop those Danes from blowing up buildings and rail lines, broadcasting underground radio, and doing other non-model-protectorate sorts of things.
Iceland declared its independence from Denmark in 1944, even though it was kind of doing its own thing before that, had its own government and such. Also, Iceland was overrun with Allied troops stationed there for nearly the entire war - first British, then American. Denmark was in absolutely no position to protest, let alone help.
---
And last-but-not-least, thanks a billion to glassamilk for beta-ing and dealing with my spazzing and ardis89 for making sure I didn’t derp up my Swedish history too hard.
---
I'll probably go over this a few more times before I post it to any comms, but hey, here ya go /o/
Rating: R
Pairings: Norway/Sweden, Denmark <--> Sweden
Warnings: excessive lolhistoryness, language, smoking, drinking, fighting, implied sexual situations, angst, WWII, touchy subjects in general.
Summary: It’s the second World War, and Sweden tries to keep the balance.
Notes: Nordic Secret Santa fic for whatisnarva! Also I wrote something serious, nutty, right?
---
---
-
---
- 31 December 1939, Strömstad, Sweden -
The year is dying in the night.
Sweden thought of that line, over and over - looked out window of their shared room of the inn, the darkened streets of Strömstad covered in snow, wind howling against the windows. Norway continued to play the Hardingfele, engrossed in its sound at the corner table. Its mourning filled the room; fit the mood. They’d had dinner, gotten some beer for the holiday, were halfway through -
The windowpanes rattled again. It was a bad winter, this year.
Sweden wondered if the weather was like this a thousand kilometers east. He glanced over to Norway, who was paused in retuning the instrument, and wondered aloud.
“Y’think Finland’s out’n this?”
“Probably.”
Not what he wanted to hear.
Norway didn’t even look up, just took a drink and started playing a new song.
At least the two of them were safe, inside. Though the entire reason they were here - discussing the situation up north - it left a bad taste in his mouth. Sweden finished off his beer, tried to wash it away, and let his mind meander with Norway’s music. Though Norway had probably brought the instrument to keep their minds elsewhere, as he was prone to do when stressed (though he would never admit it outright), the song he had chosen didn’t help.
Sweden thought of the war in Europe and what the next year would bring.
“Y’think he’ll be okay?”
Norway stopped playing and looked at him. “Finland.”
Sweden nodded.
Norway shrugged. Waited. Raised an eyebrow for Sweden to continue. The last century had brought them closer than either were willing to admit.
“An’ Danmark?”
“No. He’s an idiot.” Norway sat down the Hardingfele and picked up his beer instead.
Sweden’s eyes flicked to Norway’s reflection in the window, then traced the gusts of snow blowing by. He shifted, tempted to place a hand against the cold, warped windowpane. Finally he did, cold seeping through until he could feel every creak of his bones.
Norway cleared his throat and answered his unasked question - and damned if this wasn’t one of the times Sweden hated that they could read one another so well. “Said he didn’t wanna spend his New Year’s with two grumps.”
“Prob’ly didn’t wanna be around me.” Not like they’d spent a New Year’s together in - he didn’t even know, now. Why should this year be different?
Norway’s glass hit the table with a clack that voiced all the frustration Norway kept bottled. “Y’two are stupid. Haven’t even talked properly in centuries.”
“We’ve talked.”
“Hmph. An’ I married my troll.”
Sweden pulled his stinging hand away and turned to Norway’s deadpan stare, raising an eyebrow. “Yer in a good mood.”
Norway lifted his beer in acknowledgment. “Got nice beer for the first time in ages and I getta make fun a'you two idiots. Sounds good t’me. Y'got any objections?”
Silence as the window rattled and Norway’s words fell flat.
Eventually, Sweden shrugged, feeling guilty for bringing Norway’s mood down.
The church bells rang midnight, barely discernible over the howling wind. Sweden grimaced. Ring out, wild bells, huh? He wondered if he should bother reciting it.
“That’d be midnight.”
Sweden tried to see if there was any activity on the side street below. Too cold, too isolated. Deserted. “Yep,” he finally answered, after the bells had silenced themselves.
Norway rolled his eyes, sat down his beer, and strode across the room to Sweden.
“S’New Year’s. Y’aint no fun at all.”
Sweden looked up at him, questioning.
“Let’s forget about it fer a few hours.”
Sweden grunted and kept his face upturned; Norway met him halfway.
---
The next morning he was roused by Norway rolling off the bed and searching the floor for something to wear.
He could pretend he could see Norway in the morning sunlight. His mind made out the contours of his lithe form as he pulled on a shirt, filled in the details his eyesight missed.
Sweden let out a long breath and curled into the covers a little more. Norway never did have any interest in cuddling.
Norway turned around and Sweden heard his annoyed sigh. The bed sunk and Norway sat himself against the headboard, one hand idly stroking Sweden’s hair.
“You an’ Danmark, big babies,” he muttered.
Sweden closed his eyes and turned his head in further. He’d rather concentrate on the fingers in his hair, brushing against his scalp, than on the twinge in his chest.
Norway’s soothing strokes didn’t lessen it. “How’s he doin’?” Sweden finally asked.
“Ask him yerself.”
“Mm.”
More silence as bright morning sun spilled in upon the backs of Sweden’s eyes. Norway continued his motions. Sweden sighed.
“Still snowin’?”
“Nah.”
“S’good.”
Quiet once more, only interrupted by the drip of ice outside and the sound of Norway’s fingers threading through his hair. Sweden wrapped his arms around Norway’s thigh and ignored the twitch that always came with it.
“Wish I could help ‘im,” he murmured.
“Mm. Bein’ a country ain’t no good sometimes.”
Sweden nodded into Norway’s thigh. There wasn’t anything else to be said, really.
Norway laughed, the only way he ever laughed while sober - once, quiet, derisive - Sweden could only assume there was humor behind it. He’d never heard it.
“On occasion s’turned out alright.”
Without asking, Sweden knew what Norway was talking about, and what they were now both thinking about. Their union. It wasn’t Sweden’s idea, exactly, but he also didn’t argue with it. They got over it. They grew comfortable with it. So odd that they hardly ever spoke, but were still...
Sweden moved closer; Norway huffed. Sweden could imagine him rolling his eyes, though he didn’t have to have his glasses to see it. Some things didn’t need to be seen to be known.
“Mm, ‘kay.” Sweden drew himself up to sit beside Norway against the headboard, shoulder to shoulder. Heat seeped through thin cloth.
“What is it.”
Sweden looked over, trying to make out Norway’s expression. He couldn’t discern the small details, and those were what gave Norway away. Not his voice. Never his voice.
“What’s what?”
“Yer worried.”
“Mm,” Sweden nodded.
“Good. Be stupid if ya weren’t.”
Sweden thought to dinner last night. England and France wanted to send troops to the northern parts of both of their countries. Neither he nor Norway wanted to be involved.
“Think we can keep outta it?”
Norway snorted. “You’re a fool if you think we can for long.”
Sweden sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. It was just a matter of time before the war reached them - they were surrounded, and everyone wanted control of the Baltic, a stake in the iron trade.
Norway’s musing cut off his thoughts.
“Fools’ve been right before, though.”
---
-
---
- Three months earlier - October 1939, Stockholm -
The phone rang and Sweden jumped in his seat and dropped his pen. "'lo?"
"Sweden - " Germany's curt voice.
"Mm."
"I'm calling about the iron. You'll continue to ship it?"
Sweden frowned. They had established that already - this phone call seemed pointless. Germany didn't do pointless things. "Yes. Said that b'fore."
"Yes...I'm just …making sure. We get a lot of our iron from you."
Sweden knew that. In fact, everyone knew that. He still didn't understand the point of this conversation.
"It's important to us that the shipments don't stop. So,” Germany cleared his throat, “my boss wanted me to check."
"'e did."
"Yes. He's very thorough. He keeps me busy...keeps an eye on things," a pause. "He's good at planning, too."
"A’right..." Sweden wondered why Germany was saying this, as well as the hesitance in his tone.
"Ah. Yes. He likes plans...he makes sure I'm working hard," Germany stated.
Sweden tapped his pen on the desk, irritated. Yes, Germany was certainly working hard. "'ve heard."
"We've got a lot of things to accomplish."
Sweden chewed on his lip and finally decided to speak his mind. "Dunno how wise that is."
"Excuse me?"
"Mm." Germany was young, he probably didn't - "s'not wise t'blindly follow yer leader." Sweden knew how terribly that could go. "Getcha into trouble."
Sweden heard Germany's frustrated noise on the other end. "I'm afraid I can't continue this conversation."
The pen paused in its tapping. "'m jus -"
"I don't see how it's any different for you," Germany's clipped voice cut in.
A silent pause as Sweden frowned. Germany was usually much more polite than this.
Germany's sigh carried across the line. "I have to continue my work. Thank you for reaffirming our agreement."
"Mm." It wasn't as if he could say no, since Germany would probably invade if he did. So, yes, the situation was different for him - he wasn't in a position to fight.
Germany coughed. "Yes - well - goodbye."
"G'bye."
Sweden spent the next hour trying to concentrate on work, but his mind kept trying to figure out what was going on in that phone call. If only he was as sharp as Norway. The pen started up its tapping again; eventually he broke down and sent Norway a letter.
---
Sverige -
Between you and Danmark I'm never going to have time to work on my own problems.
Sounds to me like he was telling you to watch out. And probably that that boss of his has him on a tight leash.
- Norge
Oh. That made sense. Sweden thought back over the phone call; he wasn't sure whether or not to tell Germany thanks. It could have just as easily been a threat as a warning.
---
-
---
- 10 April 1940 - Stockholm -
Sweden had heard the news, but it was still nice to see Norway’s telegram on his desk that morning, cryptic as it was.
VISITORS ARRIVED TODAY. BUSY ENTERTAINING. WATCH THE SUNSET.
Norway’s bird, Sweden presumed.
He was right. About the time he was turning down his covers for the night there was a rapping at his western window.
Annoying as this creature is, she’s trustworthy. Currently heading north. Probably won’t hear much from me for a while. These visitors are very demanding.
Don’t do anything stupid, you sentimental fool.
Sweden grabbed a pen, made his way back to his bedroom, and looked up when the bird landed on his nightstand lamp. Its gaze always unsettled him - far too sharp, too similar to Norway’s.
“M’no good at this,” he muttered. The bird fluffed itself. Probably laughing at him.
A couple of tries later, Sweden had a finished letter ready to go. He looked for some string; the bird held its leg out. Way too smart for an ordinary bird. Way too old, for that matter.
She’s intimidating, you mean. Thanks for sending her, nice to know you’re safe. How long are they staying?
You know I can’t.
A response came with the next sunset - sloppily scrawled, for something of Norway’s - and blunt.
Unwelcome guests seem to stick around the longest.
You say that, but you’ve done stupider things before.
He sent a letter back, but didn’t get a response the rest of the week. He hoped that it meant Norway was okay. Reading the papers...probably not.
---
-
---
- May 1940, Stockholm -
The last thing to do for the day, and the time difference wasn’t the only reason Sweden had been putting it off.
Sweden held the phone to his ear - one ring, two rings -
“Hello!” America’s voice was loud, he’d forgotten that - he held the phone away from his ear somewhat. “And who’s this?!”
“s’Sweden.”
“Uh, hey! Kind of strange to get a call from you - not that I don’t want to talk, but - yeah. What’s going on?”
Sweden played with the phone cord in one hand and tried to decide how to phrase it. He should’ve written down what he wanted to say.
“Ooooh, is this about the planes?”
“Mmm.”
“Well, I’d love to send you the rest - the economy really sucks right now - but I guess your boss told you everything! We’re trying to stay neutral! I can’t really get into it.”
“But ’m neutral,” he tried. He didn’t expect the conversation to go anywhere, but his boss had insisted.
“Okay, yeah, I know that - but to get the things to you I gotta get approval from, uh, everyone. It’s totally fucked over there, right?”
Sweden grunted. That was one way to put it.
“Mmm-hmm! And, c’mon, if you were me, would you really wanna get into it?”
Well. No - Sweden had to wonder if anyone wanted to get into it.
America laughed. “I’ll take that silence as a no. Even though you’re a quiet guy all the time - you should talk more, really, I feel like I’m talking to myself here.” He paused to take a breath. “But yeah, it’s awful! I’m sure you think so too! I mean you’re probably like me, right - everyone I know is in this thing, and on the one hand it’s terrible not to help, but, jeez, like I wanna get my people in it, y’know? They don’t want to!”
“...yeah.” He knew. He was more likely than America to get embroiled, and felt a surge of jealousy for a moment.
“Oh yeah! So where were we? I can understand why you’d want to have my aircraft - they’re the best! And if I were you I would definitely get more planes, and more boats, and - do you have an army?”
“Yes,” Sweden sighed.
“You should probably be training those guys or something, Germany’s gotta be breathing down your neck!” Sweden wanted to correct him, on both counts; America went on.
“But, uh -” America sighed into the phone so loudly it sounded like static - “I’ve got to look out for myself first. Things...aren’t so great, y’know?”
“Mm.”
America laughed and Sweden had to move the phone away even further. “Great! Glad we’re - oh, uh, I think - yeah there’s someone knocking, I’ve - “
“S’okay.”
“Uh, Sweden - one last thing,” America muttered, voice suddenly serious. “You be careful, okay?” He laughed again. “I’m glad someone’s staying neutral with me! And - Switzerland, gosh, how does that guy even - oh, sorry! C’mon in! I have to go.”
“Mm. G’bye.”
“Bye!”
Click.
Sweden slowly sat the phone back down. Well. He didn’t actually think he’d get anything accomplished...so it wasn’t that much of a loss.
---
-
---
- 7 June 1940 - Stockholm -
Sweden hadn’t seen Norway’s bird in nearly a week; finally he broke down and sent a telegram to Narvik, hoping that someone got it and knew what to do with it.
ARE YOU STAYING?
He got one back not one hour later.
ARE YOU STUPID?
Sweden looked down at the telegraph, so tiny in his large hands. Well. That would be a yes.
---
-
---
- Autumn 1940, Stockholm -
“I was told to give this to you, sir.”
Sweden opened the paper to see a scrawled note - Danish resistance is meeting at the British embassy. One of their messengers is simply going by “Danmark”.
“Hm.” Sweden nodded; the messenger left his office. He sorted his paperwork into a few neat piles and went out into the streets of Stockholm.
---
He barely had to go through a security check - he’d been here enough in the past few years, though usually about iron ore, or trade in the Baltic, or both at once - the employees already knew he was important, if not who we has. Sweden entered the main hall of the embassy to find it nearly empty. With the first lonely corridor he turned down, he found just what he was looking for. Denmark, leaning against a wall, looking over a paper of some sort.
Sweden’s boots were loud against the tile.
Denmark saw him coming and snorted, shoving the paper into the pocket of his waistcoat. “Why’re you here?”
“Wonderin’ the same thing, m’self.”
“C’mon, Sve! A guy can’t travel a little? Been feeling kinda cooped up lately.” A frown flitted across his face for just a moment. “Surprised you’re here, though, really! It’s not like you’re normally any help.” Denmark stepped closer. “So. Are you tryin’ to fuck things up for me?”
Sweden felt Denmark’s breath flit across his face and mirrored the action, moving closer despite himself. “What makes y’think I’d do that?”
“Oh, you know,” Denmark waved, arm nearly brushing Sweden’s chest, “y’sure do like your neutrality.”
“I do.”
They stared down one another, eyes narrowed, though Denmark was still smiling. It changed, just a little, slid into the smile that set off warning bells in Sweden’s head - that smile.
“An’ I can just see you comin’ here to tell me to get lost. Afraid Germany might notice, if, say, I cause too much of a ruckus.”
Sweden shifted closer, made it easier to look down at Denmark, and frowned. “Yer good at that.”
They were nearly touching, and Sweden could see every detail of Denmark’s teeth, lips, smile. It always reminded Sweden of blades - nice to look at, but dangerous all the same. “You know what, Sve,” Denmark murmured, and those teeth were awfully close to his jaw now, “I think you’ve said that before.”
Sweden stiffened. “Prob’ly.”
“Nah, pretty sure you have. Plenty of times. I’m thinkin’,” Denmark dragged a gloved fingertip up between them, finally placing it to his lips. Flicked his eyes to Sweden’s and looked up, pretending to muse -
“Danmark,” Sweden growled. He was too tired for Denmark’s jibes, too near a blush to admit, too close to Denmark’s sharp smile and sharp scent. He stepped back. “‘m goin’. Don’t need t’be here.”
He’d turned on his heel and was in mid-step when Denmark barked a bitter laugh that stopped him in his tracks. Had he heard that tone from him before?
He suppressed a sigh and turned. “What.”
“You know,” Denmark drawled, arms behind his back, rocking on his heels, “you’re good at that - abandoning people.”
Sweden swallowed and narrowed his eyes. “S’cuse me?”
“Abandoning people.” Denmark smirked and crossed his arms over his chest instead, cocking his head up now that he had Sweden’s attention.
Sweden sucked in a breath and glared, full-out, at Denmark.
“Don’t see you arguing,” Denmark winked.
Winked, and with the grin that Sweden had always seen when he was on the cusp of losing so many times in their past, the grin he always wanted to wipe right off Denmark’s face - Sweden’s pulse flared to life. “Yer not mine to abandon,” he gritted out, then turned to go with a sharp flap of his coat.
He heard Denmark’s snort over his bootfalls before a yell of “Wasn’t talkin’ about me, Sve. Sure did leave Finland in the cold - and here I thought you liked the guy!”
Sweden stopped dead in his tracks. How dare he even - next thing he knew he was chest-to-chest with Denmark - how, he had no idea, he couldn’t even see straight - “You - ” he spluttered, face hot, chest heaving.
“Me,” Denmark grinned.
That damn grin, it made him rage hot, cold, and hot all over again. He spat out the first barb that came to mind - “An’ how is it bein’ a model protect’rate?”
And there was an expression Sweden knew. Unadulterated anger. Good. It thrilled him to see it. “Fuck you,” Denmark spat, right up into his face. “Y’really think I stood a chance against the German army?! Yeah, well, maybe if I’d had some help -” he shoved Sweden away. “But no, you’ve gotta just sit over here, all nice an’ comfortable, and take advantage of the situation!”
Sweden stiffened, eyes wide, then reeled back and punched Denmark right in the jaw.
A single, loud laugh, and Denmark rubbed his jaw and grinned, eyes glimmering under knitted brows. “Ooooh, guess I gotcha there, hu- fuck!”
That particular punch sent Denmark stumbling, bright blood trickling down his chin. A snarled laugh and Denmark whirled around, fist-first, catching Sweden in the ear. The world spun; he heard his glasses skitter across the floor.
“I mean, what the hell, Sve?” Denmark laughed, and it was acrid and bitter, grated upon Sweden’s senses. Just as Sweden’s vision started meshing together, finally, he was pulled forward by his coat, right into Denmark’s face. “Pretty cowardly, if ya as -”
Denmark’s head made a loud crack as they both hit the floor in a heap of snarls and unleashed heat. Sweden ignored Denmark’s loud swear and pulled back only enough to punch his stupid face once more.
“M’not takin’ advantage, Danmark.”
“Yeah, you - ugh -”
“Jus’ tryin’ -” a punch that cut off whatever Denmark was going to say - “t’keep m’people -” Sweden’s jaw closed with a clack while Denmark burst into more of that poisonous laughter under him. And if that didn’t infuriate him.
The sound of Denmark’s wild mirth over the dull thuds of his fist was horrible. Frustrating. He didn’t want to hear it. Sweden punched harder; Denmark bled, spat, bucked, punched back, added loaded insults. But most of all, Denmark polluted the air with his cackling.
It barely lasted a minute before it was simply Sweden bashing Denmark’s face bloody while Denmark just laughed. Denmark...wasn’t even trying. As soon as that thought entered Sweden’s mind, confusion raced through him and tempered his fury - in fact, Denmark wasn’t resisting at all, not really. Hadn’t been the entire time.
Sweden paused, sitting atop Denmark, fist awkwardly suspended in midair. Since when had Denmark backed down from any opportunity to fight him? Any opportunity to fight...anyone? Since when was Denmark so willing to give up?
“Mmm?” Denmark blinked up - Sweden could only tell because that bright blue kept flickering. Sweden didn’t move and was suddenly keenly aware of their positioning, their proximity, vibrations of Denmark’s chuckles running up his thighs. “Y’done already?” Denmark slurred out - even half-blind, Sweden could see the trickle of blood that issued as a result.
“Ah...”
“Huh? Answer me, ya dick.”
“...are...are y’okay?”
Sweden felt Denmark’s flinch shoot up his own body, electric from his knees to the nape of his neck, and the blue Sweden hadn’t stopped focusing on became more pronounced than ever.
One second. Two seconds. Thirty seconds. Their panting echoed through the corridor.
“The hell, Sverige,” Denmark muttered, then abruptly sat up and shoved Sweden over at the same time. “Y’don’t pound a guy’s face in and then turn around and ask him if he’s okay.”
Sweden squinted, trying to discern Denmark’s expression - impossible. “But...y’weren’t doin’...”
Denmark’s laugh was hollow. “Not really fair to hit a guy who can’t see, huh?” Sweden heard him move, tried to track the movements.
“S’not stopped ya before.”
“Well maybe -” Denmark finished it, but it was too slurred and quiet for Sweden to hear.
“What’d ya say?”
Sweden’s arm was wrenched over and his glasses pressed into his hand.
“Nothin’,” Denmark snapped. Sweden put his glasses on in time to see Denmark’s back as he stood up and started down the hallway. “Gonna clean up, see you around!” he called, voice and posture instantly jaunty again. He lifted an arm in dismissal but didn’t bother to turn around.
Sweden stayed on the floor and watched Denmark go, frowning.
---
-
---
Nor -
There was a resistance meeting in Stockholm last week. Why didn't you tell me he was coming?
- Sve
---
It's easier for the two of us to talk than for me and him. We've both got company.
He’s gonna get caught doing that. Stupid bastard never did have his head set on straight. He won’t listen to me, though.
Speaking of stupid, don't be so obvious, you. I said my bird's trustworthy, not perfect.
---
-
---
- Summer 1941 -
It had been an incredibly busy, incredibly stressful few weeks, and Sweden came home late to find the bird waiting at his window. He frowned; he wasn’t looking forward to this one.
Didn’t know neutrality meant foreign troops could march all over your country. Right foolish of me, to trust that you’ve simply been looking out for your own interests this whole time.
I certainly don’t see how catering to his every whim is in keeping with your own values.
You want me to call you stupid or a coward?
Sweden bit his lip and looked at the letter, mood sinking. He should’ve expected something like that. He didn’t even have the heart to be upset with Norway’s harsh tirade. Then again, Norway seemed to have enough rage for the two of them - that Norway would forego correctness (Germany’s troops were traveling by rail) in order to get his point across said that clearly enough.
Sweden couldn’t think of anything to say, but he sent the last bit of coffee he’d been saving.
---
You’d best not be giving any of that coffee to those troops. You owe me that, at least. And coffee for the rest of our lives once this thing is over. I’m never paying for another cup of coffee again around the likes of you.
Sweden wanted to send a train full of coffee to Norway, if it made him that happy.
---
-
---
- Winter 1943 -
Norway’s bird arrived in the middle of a snowstorm.
Ain't looking as good for Germany as it used to.
---
Sweden could only assume there was a question in those words.
Still don't think I can do much.
---
I don't know about that. Got some policemen who need to be trained, we don't have the facilities.
Maybe they could learn themselves a few other things. The visitors won't let them have any fun.
---
I talked to your people from London, the last letter makes more sense now.
Not promising anything, but I'll see what I can do.
---
-
---
- Summer 1943 -
I hear a storm's a-brewing in Danmark.
---
Sweden chuckled at the absurdity of Norway sending him a seemingly pointless message. Why tell him that? He'd already changed some policies, but if Norway meant he should back Denmark, officially...he was staying neutral. What happened to Denmark happened to Denmark; he'd survived worse, he'd be fine. Absolutely fine. Things would work out.
He thought of Danes and Swedes and Brits, all working together in his country -
Things would work out. Things had to work out. It was Denmark. Every time he had been beaten down, things swung his way again sooner or later. Sweden rubbed his neck and frowned - he knew that well enough.
Heaven will direct it.
He thought it was a good joke. Norway always did like irony.
---
Apparently Norway wasn't as amused as he was.
I trust that idiot more than the likes of the heavens. He don't seem to care much for fate, either. Though I reckon his physicists would disagree.
Speaking of idiots. Those scientists say opposites attract. Sometimes I’m inclined to believe otherwise. Expect your like charge.
Sweden had no idea what Norway was telling him under all of those cryptic words, but he knew better than to ask for elaboration.
---
The next letter was from Denmark.
Hey, a good-looking guy is coming through your town soon! He’d better see you there.
Oh. Sweden guessed that was what Norway meant.
---
-
---
- 2 October 1943, Malmö -
19:00 and Sweden was already contemplating settling down for bed in his tiny apartment. He was hardly ever here; he didn’t have enough to make a proper dinner, but ate what little was stashed in the cabinets, regardless. It took no time at all, gave him little energy. He thought he may as well sleep, especially considering how grueling the past few days had been.
He was putting up dishes when a series of bangs issued from the front door - he nearly broke the plate in his hands in two in surprise.
Before he’d even finished twisting the door handle, Denmark had pushed it the rest of the way open. “Hey man,” Denmark waved, and shoved himself through the door without waiting for Sweden to get out of the way, calling “Got any moonshine? Betcha do!” over his shoulder.
Sweden started and closed the door, looking into the next room, at Denmark poking around his kitchen already. A thousand questions - why are you here - shouldn’t you be sleeping - shouldn’t you be in Copenhagen - you knew where my - isn’t Germany - why are you here - and all Sweden could get out was “How’d you know?”
Denmark shrugged, moving to the cabinet under the sink. “It’s you. Don’t think you’re gonna wait a month for another stamp.”
Sweden leaned against the kitchen doorframe and stared as Denmark found the bottle with a loud exclamation. Some things never changed. Denmark bursting in, assuming everyone wanted to do what he did, for instance. Denmark plunking two cups down and sloshing moonshine into them, not caring if any spilled. Finally, Denmark flopping into a chair and kicking out a seat for Sweden - Sweden fought down the smile that last one brought.
Sometimes he was glad some things never changed.
Denmark downed half his drink in the time it took Sweden to cross the room. Sweden scowled. “S’seven in the evenin’ and you’ve been up fer a day straight. Not tired?”
“Well...yeah,” Denmark rolled his shoulder and frowned, then snapped back to enthusiasm. “But hell, can’t a guy celebrate a little!?” he laughed. He raised his eyebrows and hit Sweden’s arm as he passed by. “Not like there’s been much to celebrate lately, Sve.”
Sweden sat down and grabbed his cup, eyeing it. “An’ ya wanna...with me.”
“Okay, you just did me a huge fuckin’ favor,” Denmark pointed, then took another large gulp and grimaced. “Shit’s gross, Sverige. But anyway, guess you’re not as much of a dick as I thought, huh?”
Sweden scowled, but held his tongue over Denmark’s laughter. At least it was genuine this time.
---
By the time the church bells rang through the window, announcing the next hour’s arrival, Denmark was smashed. “Y’know wha...what I miss?” he asked, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a candle nearby. “Coffee...fuck.” He took a drag, closing his eyes. He turned to Sweden, almost falling in his chair. “An’ smokes,” he gestured, lit end out and dangerously close to Sweden. “Damn hard t’come by.”
Denmark rambled about cigarettes and Sweden sipped his water. He thought he should get another glass for Denmark, at this rate. Denmark sunk into the chair, blissfully tonguing the stick in his mouth - he looked thinner than Sweden remembered.
“Yer skinny.”
“Mm? Oh,” Denmark shrugged, stabbing the butt into the ashtray in front of him, then immediately lit a new one.
“Wouldja stop that?”
Denmark raised an eyebrow over his cupped hands, looking a bit dazed.
“Yeh’ve almost smoked th’ whole pack.”
Denmark drunkenly looked at the pack, and slumped on one elbow onto the rickety kitchen table. “Oh shuttup. S’my last pack, ‘nyway.” He drug an arm across the table to ash, then looked at Sweden again. “Wan’ one?”
Sweden sighed. “Sure.” If he didn’t take it now, Denmark would probably pester him until he gave in. And it really had been a long time since he’d had a cigarette.
He smoked and tuned Denmark out for the most part - it was slurred and didn’t make much sense anyway - tuned back in when he heard Denmark mutter “S’yeah, thanks.”
“Mm?”
“Damn, don’ listen t’me at all, d’ya?”
Sweden grunted and looked at the table.
“Yeah, yeah, thinkin’, I know.”
“Hm?”
“You...” Sweden looked over as he put out his cigarette to find that Denmark had sunk to the table, “spend t’much time thinkin’.”
“I do?”
“Mmm,” Denmark nodded and slid further. “Guess s’why I annoy y’so much,” he chuckled. “No good at thinkin’.”
Sweden knitted his brows together in confusion. Denmark must have been drunker than he sounded, to even say something like that. He tried to remember if he’d ever heard anything similar from him before...
“An’ yeah...not good at...s’not like ‘m any good at protectin’ anyone anyway,” he snorted. “Or anythin’ fer that matter. Whole world can tell y’that...glad y’got my back this time...”
Sweden frowned outright at that. Was this Denmark? It definitely was not the Denmark he remembered.
“Damn fire,” Denmark grumbled, oblivious to Sweden’s confusion. “Y’know, I used t’like fire...”
A deeper frown.
Denmark cracked his eyes open blearily. “Why y’lookin at m’ like that?”
He was only met with Sweden’s hard stare.
“Think...s’funny?”
Sweden shifted in his chair. “...no.” He took a drink. It was...very unsettling, actually. Obnoxious, overhappy, overconfident Denmark, always willing to go headfirst into anything and damn the consequences - where had that Denmark gone? The Denmark he’d spent his teenage years with was not this Denmark, and it made his head spin far more than the terrible booze in his glass.
“Hm. Prob’ly do,” Denmark muttered. “With your neutrality an’ shit. Fuck. Real funny...” he sank further on the table, buried his head in his arms and let his forgotten smoke dwindle. “Yer lucky, y’know...”
“M’not lucky.”
“Yeah, y’kinda are,” Denmark groused, the heat muffled by his arms.
Silence. The last of Denmark’s cigarette ashes fell on the table, and Sweden mused about what others were saying about the both of them. Nothing good, he assumed.
He wasn’t sure if it was the strange comfort he found in the hazy room, the old familiarity of blunt jabs they were trading, once more, or maybe the booze that made that him say it - “Th’ say ‘m playin’ both sides.”
Denmark made a noise into his arms before he stated “Least y’can.”
Sweden bottled up his rage at the statement, at the sentiment, at that fight three years ago that still irked him from time to time. “S’not what I’m tryin’ t’do,” he returned, more gruff than he intended.
Denmark sighed, moved, and looked up at him from the table, then closed his eyes and smiled. This time it was a new one for Sweden - skewed, and sad, but very drunk. “Yeah, I know.”
“...what?”
Denmark shoved his head back into his arms and dropped the dead cigarette. “Yer not...y’know...ma...mani-pu-la-t’ve,” he replied, waving a hand vaguely toward Sweden.
“Not whatcha said a couple-a years ago,” Sweden snapped. Even to him it sounded sulky, harsh.
“Jus’ bein’ a dick.”
“What?”
“Jus’ bein’ a dick. Toldja that then too.” Denmark sighed and buried his head further. “Sorry.”
Sweden stared at Denmark for what felt like the billionth time that evening; Denmark made no movement. It was hard to tell if he was even breathing. “You - y’okay?”
“You piss me off,” Denmark growled.
Sweden nodded and looked at the ceiling. Well, at least they were back to normal.
“Mmm...but...still love ya, Sver.”
That sent a jolt through him. He was probably taking this - entirely - “What?”
Denmark shifted and sighed, breath evening out. Sweden jabbed him in the middle. “What’d ya say?”
“Stop it. M’sleepy.”
Sweden wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it again. Who knew what he even meant. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Bed?”
“Mmph.”
“Get up.”
Denmark attempted to wave his hand, though it was more of a useless flop against the table.
“C’mon.”
“Table’s fine, s’not a problem.”
Sweden sent over a flat stare, even though Denmark couldn’t see. “Table’s not fine. S’get to bed.”
“Like old times, huh? Sounds nice,” Denmark replied in a sleepy murmur.
The room was filled with the sound of Sweden’s swift inhale - yeah, he’d thought about...sleeping out in the open...and...sharing a bed, long ago, really long ago... he adjusted his glasses, stood up, and sighed.
“Yeah.”
---
And it was just like those centuries before, for as soon as Denmark’s head hit the pillow he was out. And again, Sweden thought, some things never changed - once Denmark was passed out and snoring, he clung to Sweden.
It kept Sweden up for a long time, alone and wanting.
---
-
---
- Spring 1944, Stockholm -
"Hey Sweden!"
America. Sweden jerked the phone away from his ear before his hearing was damaged.
"'merica?"
"Got an idea to throw at ya!"
Sweden waited, and sure enough, America continued without any prompting.
"Sooo, how would you like to see those planes you like so much, up close and personal?! Because my boss has this idea - y'know I really think we're gonna win this thing, things are looking good - but, your pal Norway. I guess you'd like to see the Germans gone from there, right?"
"Mm-hmm." Sweden knitted his brows together over his glasses, pen already tapping away.
"O-kay! My boss's idea was to fly out of your place when we free him up - because we're definitely going to free him up! And then we can keep going from there."
The pen stopped. "Danmark?"
"Huh?"
"Y'mean," Sweden cleared his throat, "keep goin' t'Danmark."
"Ooooh, Denmark, right! He's under Norway or something?"
Sweden barely refrained from sighing. "Mm."
"Well sure! Gotta get Germany out of everyone's places!"
"Yer people talked t'my people?"
America laughed. "Uh, I don't know - gosh that sounds silly, huh? I've been really, really busy. Really! Even flying some of those planes - and I love - oh. Mmm, they might've. But you should still ask your boss about it."
Sweden sighed; asking couldn't hurt, could it? "I will."
---
-
---
Looks like you'll be getting help from across the ocean.
---
Wonder if that upstart is more useful than his friends were.
Remind me to wear earplugs.
Sweden's lips twitched up. If Norway was making jokes, maybe things were looking up.
---
-
---
- 18 June 1944, Stockholm -
Sweden woke to a tapping at his window at - he looked around in the moonlight, blearily put his glasses on - it was still too dark to make out the clock. Late, regardless.
He hastily opened the window and just as hastily snatched his letter, ignoring the indigant squawk that resulted. Norway never wrote this late, he hoped -
Sve the "e" was scrawled a few centimeters across the page, and the next line almost touched. This letter was not from Norway.
Nor's gonnabe pissed when h finds out I used his bird for - a bunch of scribbles Sweden couldn't make out - instead of him.
Ice declare in wellyou probably know papers at your placeaare...by the way thought that tiger poster was funny.
Kindof thought he would no good at protec didnt need me anyw - America's over there so hes safe for now thats good.
So was Idecided since iceissafe should celeb uh drink, but I dont havemu ch left. remember said I wasa dick but really glad you're out of this and you not believe me when i said it but I really was -
why am i writing - more scratched out letters, and Sweden realized he was about to rip the paper in two, he was holding it so tightly. He tried to relax.
Really wantto drink with you again after the war, you think it's ending soon i think its - the whole dday thing we heard aboutit, wanna know hat you think.
but's easier to talk than nor well I don't know, don't really get him sometimes.
- helll youknow who
ps we don'talk enough"
He really hoped that Denmark was okay, despite the evidence in his shaky hands.
He swallowed; the bird looked at him expectantly. He read the last line again - he should - he couldn't -
He kept the letter in his nightstand. The bird he sent to Norway.
---
Another sleepless night, filled with thoughts of Denmark and regret.
---
-
---
The war ended; Sweden stayed in, waiting for a tap at his window.
---
-
---
- 31 December 1945, Stockholm -
Sweden blearily looked at his bedroom clock - almost midnight - and sat his book down beside the nightstand lamp, done for the night. He changed into pajamas and paced the empty house, padding through strips of snow-bright moonlight and shadowed domestic dark. Peered out of the windows, restless.
All of them - Norway, Denmark, Finland, Iceland - they were all celebrating the first new year of peace with the people of their respective countries. Sweden couldn’t begrudge them that.
It was very cold in the house.
The clocks struck midnight; Sweden could have turned on the radio for the entire thing, he was sure, but he only murmured one line as he turned down the covers.
“Ring in th’ thousan’ years o’peace.”
And the lights were put out.
---
-
---
Firstly, this is the poem Sweden’s thinking of.
---
SO. SUPER-OVERSIMPLIFIED and WAY TOO RAMBLE-Y history background needed for this fic:
In the beginning of the war, Germany and England and France really, really wanted control of Sweden’s iron ore trade. Germany got a lot of its wartime iron from Sweden...but in the winter the harbors froze over and it had to be shipped via Norwegian rail. Hmm. HMMM.
Germany actually wanted Sweden to stay neutral, so long as they kept trading. There was already a lot on Germany’s plate - why drag in Sweden if it didn’t have to?
Sweden ordered err a couple hundred planes from America, and had gotten about sixty of them...and then Germany invaded Norway and Denmark and took over the Baltic and America was like “errr sorry dude not gonna touch that.”
Denmark got steamrolled by Germany’s surprise invasion and gave up in less than a day. German occupation didn’t really change much, so initially Denmark played nice, and the Allies saw them as kinda in-league with Germany. Mostly. Some Danes helped out Allied intelligence in Stockholm in the beginning, and resistance grew once Germany started becoming more controlling.
Norway was able to put up more of a fight, and the Allies helped for a bit - and then they sent their troops elsewhere, so Norway surrendered (and snuck its King and a chunk of its navy off to England to hang out) on June 7th.
And then in 1943 a bunch of stuff happens! Things weren’t looking as bright for Germany, Sweden decided Germany wasn’t allowed to use its rail lines any more, also decided Norway and Denmark could train their troops, police, and resistance folk in Swedish facilities, and Denmark -
Well, Denmark. Danes began to refuse to repair German boats, Germany tried to take over Denmark’s armed forces so Denmark blew up and/or torched most of its vessels, some more rebellion went down, Germany demanded the deportation of Jews from Denmark. Danish citizens and resistance folk snuck almost all of them across the Øresund (Sweden says it’s Öresund) to Malmö, Sweden, after Sweden agreed to take them in.
German officers in Copenhagen were like :l and decided they had better things to do. Like stop those Danes from blowing up buildings and rail lines, broadcasting underground radio, and doing other non-model-protectorate sorts of things.
Iceland declared its independence from Denmark in 1944, even though it was kind of doing its own thing before that, had its own government and such. Also, Iceland was overrun with Allied troops stationed there for nearly the entire war - first British, then American. Denmark was in absolutely no position to protest, let alone help.
---
And last-but-not-least, thanks a billion to glassamilk for beta-ing and dealing with my spazzing and ardis89 for making sure I didn’t derp up my Swedish history too hard.
---
I'll probably go over this a few more times before I post it to any comms, but hey, here ya go /o/