Chapter Text
Sweden's eyes were dry and tired as he peered out into the darkness, driving slowly along roads black and glittering, radio turned down low as the heater worked overtime against the winter cold. He was at this moment no more than a man exhausted by a day of endless meetings and negotiations, ready to be back in the quiet familiarity of home. He rubbed at his face and chanced a quick look at the cell phone perched on the dash, wondering why neither Finland nor Sealand had responded to his “heads-up, I'm on my way home,” text from twenty minutes before.
He knew that Finland must be anxious to get back to his own house, to be relieved of the babysitting duties he had so unexpectedly and generously volunteered for when Sweden had mentioned his reluctance to leave Sealand alone for so long to attend the series of unmissable meetings in Stockholm. It wasn't that he didn't trust in Finland's kind nature, nor did he doubt Finland's genuine enjoyment of children and gentle affection for Sealand and his antics, but it was rare that Finland offered to spend much personal time with him these days.
Oh, they were on good enough terms, smiles at “family” events, diplomatic ties reinstated and reaffirmed, cordiality all around. But no closeness, no comfort, and certainly no sign of the togetherness he had once had and then lost and now wanted more than anything to regain again. But it would seem that hundreds of years of history was more than he could overcome and so Finland stayed at arms length, casual kindness cloaking a hidden heart.
Well, he supposed with a sigh, it was Sealand he was so willing to be with and not him. And his kid was pretty adorable, so who could blame the man for wanting to get to know his little principality better?
His thoughts bounced between affectionate exasperation for Sealand, agitated longing for Finland, and nervous worry as to why no one was answering his messages.
Was Finland annoyed with him for being late? Had something happened? Had Sealand pulled some prank on his unsuspecting and often tootrusting babysitter? Was Finland currently trapped in the closet in need of his rescue while Sealand wreaked merry havoc in the house?
Sweden let the thoughts play out at haphazardly, spilling across his mind and distracting him from the tedium of the last moments of his drive, blending in with the innocuous hum of the radio, until he found himself shaking his head in his driveway, staring at the comforting light pouring forth from the living room window. He killed the engine and sat in the warmth of his Volvo for a moment longer, letting his feelings settle with the silence of the night, wanting to betray none of his chaotic feelings, school his face into apologetic passivity, ready to plead Finland's forbearance for his lateness.
He stepped out of the car, the sound of his boots crunching in the snow breaking the quiet around his house, his breath steaming out in front of him as he approached the door, trying to peer through the sheer curtains for any sign of disappearance or destruction. Unable to make anything out, Sweden gave up and slid his key into the door, pushing it open softly and shedding his boots and coat in the hallway, before moving quietly towards the light of the living room, suspicious of the utter stillness of his home.
Expecting to be assaulted by one of Sealand's booby traps or some sort of preteen idea of of fun, Sweden stepped into the living room with trepidation, only to have his eyes go wide and his heart soften at the sight waiting for his surprised gaze.
There they were, his two favorite people (even if only one returned that sentiment), fast asleep and dreaming. Sealand was in his pajamas, sprawled on the floor with his head on a pillow, one hand still holding down the page of a book; while Finland rested on the couch, propped on the armrest, dress shirt unbuttoned to reveal the white t-shirt below, mouth hanging open as his chest rose and fell with his gentle breathing.
Sweden paused, leaning against the doorjamb, memorizing the peace and perfection of the scene, a wistful smile gracing his face as he stood unmoving in their shared silence, listening to the clock tick in time with the beating of his heart.
After a moment of indulgence and wishful thinking, he shuffled across the floor, bending down to Sealand, holding back a snort at the drool pooling gracelessly on one of his favorite throw pillows. Sweden knelt, slowly pulling Sealand's hand away from the book, startled to find that it was his historical atlas of Scandinavia, the page turned to a very early picture of how they all looked even before the times of the Kalmar Union. He traced his finger over the lines that marked this older version of himself, trying to place it in his mind, too bemused to think clearly.
Gently, but with effort, (because, really, Sealand was getting too big for this), Sweden gathered Sealand into his arms, trying not to jostle him as he swept them both towards Sealand's bedroom. He placed the boy in his bed without him waking, thankful for the amazing ability of teenagers to sleep like the dead, as unaware of the world around them as in their waking hours. He tucked him in with fondness, wondering what was going on in that head of his, why exactly he'd been curled at Finland's side, clinging to a book of ancient history.
He made his way back to the living room, to the only person who might have the answers to his musings, but found himself unwilling and uninterested in interrupting Finland's slumber, quashing the urge to repeat his earlier actions and take Finland in his arms and place him in his bed. Sweden leaned over the couch, taking advantage of this rare opportunity to stare with impunity, gazing with hooded eyes at Finland's slack and happy face.
Sweden sighed and permitted himself to brush the hair from Finland's forehead before he collected his sentimental thoughts and shoved them back where they belonged. He shook Finland's shoulder softly, berating his lack of mental preparation for the all too tempting sight of Finland blinking slowly awake, mussed and confused, as he smiled blearily into Sweden's face.
Finland's voice was thick and sleep-heavy, as endearing now as it ever was, as he rubbed at his eyes and murmured, “Sweden, hi. Wow, guess I fell asleep. Sorry.”
Awkwardly, Sweden patted his arm, helping him sit up as he mumbled, casting his eyes away from the pinkness of Finland's cheeks, “Don't be. Sorry I was late.”
Finland stretched his arms over his head and yawned, looking at the clock before he turned back to Sweden, knowing sympathy in eyes as he said, “Meeting run long?”
Sweden nodded and Finland smiled, “They always do!”
“Hope Sealand was no trouble,” Sweden said as Finland continued to roll his neck back and forth, doubtless trying to work out the kinks in his neck. Long ago he would have placed his hands on Finland's warm skin, trying to ignore how still and tense the man went at his touch, trying to show his rough and unvarnished affection.
Now, he put his hands behind his back, deliberately looking away.
“Not at all! We had a lot of fun!” Finland responded warmly, much to Sweden's pleasure.
Sweden crossed in front of the couch, grabbing the abandoned book from the floor and arching a wry eyebrow at Finland as he asked, “Looking at our baby pictures?”
Finland snorted in amusement and waved him off, “Very funny. Sealand asked me to tell him about what you were like when you were his age, asked all sorts of questions about how all us Nordics came to know one another, and whether or not I knew any cool stories involving you and fighting. So I got this off the shelf and started showing him our old maps. We must have fallen asleep right around the Viking era!”
Sweden was baffled, sitting down next to Finland with book in hand, wondering aloud, “Why would he want to know all that?”
Finland hummed thoughtfully for a moment before he answered, Sweden watching out of the corner of his eye as he tapped his finger against his lips, “Sealand doesn't have much history of his own and God knows that England's not exactly eager to share his, so I think he wants to feel a part of yours.”
Touched and taken aback, Sweden's eyes widened, pulse fluttering when Finland winked at him and said, “You are his Papa, after all!”
He smiled and patted Sweden's leg, gesturing at the book, “I think you should tell him. After all, you do have some pretty cool fighting stories that should impress a micro-nation with the interests of a twelve year old boy. I would know!”
Sweden nodded dumbly, unsure what bewildered him more: Sealand's curiosity about his past or Finland's tiny acknowledgment that they had shared any past, let alone one that could be considered “cool.”
Finland stood from the couch, groaning and yawning again. Sweden bit back on the urge to ask him to stay, wary of breaking this moment of unexpected friendship and sweetness. Instead he offered tea or coffee, willing to stay up as late as Finland wanted to remain in his house, even if his own eyes were starting to feel gritty with exhaustion.
Finland declined as he buttoned up his shirt, sleepy hands fumbling and Sweden had to turn away to keep himself from reaching out and helping. At the front door, Sweden murmured his thanks.
“It was no trouble,” Finland whispered as he slid on his shoes and took his keys out his pocket, “really, I'd be happy to do it again. Any time.”
Sweden let a small smile grace his stoic and staid face as he watched Finland hurry out towards his care, racing against the evening chill, warmed despite the frigid breeze blowing on his bare feet by the memory of Finland and Sealand at rest in his home like they belonged there and the affection in Finland's voice as they said their farewells.
As the headlights of Finland's car flashed in the night and rounded the bend to take him back to his own lands, Sweden shut the door and made his way towards his bed, still holding his atlas at his side.