**Who said I can't type things like this either? I can to! Actually, just an impulse if you please. Flames will be burned with green fire – no scratch that, I need some source of heat for the winter anyway :)**
"It's cold..." Peter whispered to himself, "...too cold."
Yet no one else in the house stirred. Well, maybe if there was anyone in the house to stir.
Peter sat up, "Dad?" he called, "Dad?"
Outside, with snow fresh on the ground and a stump being used to keep wood away from it, Berwald slung the axe down on a chunk of wood – which would be today's fire.
Berwald was soon accompanied by Peter, outside in a huge coat and boots, "Dad?"
"Why didn't you just take care of that last night?"
A shrug, "J'st need'd s'methin' t' do th's m'rnin'"
"Aw, c'mon Dad! Workaholic..." Peter mumbled.
Easy for you to say. Berwald bit his lip, "P'ter."
"G' g't the emb'rs st'rred."
"Yessir!" Peter ran back inside.
Berwald threw the axe down one last time before picking up the small bundle of wood with no problem. And when inside Peter had already caused the embers from last night's fire to glow.
Without talking, Peter left the room while Berwald started a fire. On his way, the boy stopped and glanced at a picture that always sat on the shelf.
It was a blonde haired man, eyes that seemed to show that he was caring and sweet, in this photo he was wearing what was possibly one of his plenty of nice outfits along with a white hat that Peter could never remember the name of. He held a dog that was really fluffy and small, which stared at the camera with a wide mouth. And – if you looked at it for a long time – you could see the tiny reflection of the photographer in the man's eyes.
Twice Peter asked who the man was, only to receive a deadly stare both times.
The boy pulled down the bread loaf that was in the cabinet ("Dad always puts this in a different place everytime.") before searching for the butter. "Hey Dad! Where's the butter at!"
Berwald tried not to slam the block of wood into the fireplace – he knew he forgot something last time he was grocery shopping. Maybe if he did make a list he would look less like he hardly knew how to navigate a store and more like a parent with a hungry boy at home.
"J'st use j'lly."
"But I had that yesterday!"
"We don't h've b'tter."
That literally stung Berwald, remembering that Peter liked this and that – with only one parent to try to remember it and fail.
"So." Peter entered the room, holding a slice of bread with jelly about to fall off, "Are you going anywhere today?"
"Cool. Does that mean I get to hang out at the park?"
"As l'ng as ya kn'w how t' def'nd y'self."
"I do. When am I gonna be able to carry around a bat or something like that?"
"I will!" Peter ran over to another boy on the playground, "Hey! What's your name?"
Berwald heard the quiet response, "R-Raivis."
Berwald trudged away from the park, making like he was going to the grocery store before turning on his heel and heading someplace he knew he'd never drag Peter.
It'd make him ask questions.
It'd make him think about things that Berwald didn't want him to think about.
It'd make him ask that damn question again.
He held his head down, shrugging away any odd looks he was getting from passerby and not looking where he was going – especially with slippery streets like they had today.
He knew where he was going, and if he slipped, fell, and died, so be it. Peter would take the money he had, along with the house.
Thinking about that, Berwald had to sigh – it was so tough being a single parent.
The creaking of a door opening came to his ears; he didn't even know he had entered the place.
It was just as cold in here as it was out there, maybe colder. He made his way past people sitting around, not even bothering to notice that the Swede even entered and was now walking like he knew and owned the place. Which, honestly, he didn't.
Places like this definitelyweren't for Peter. The eyes that Berwald did catch were too scary for the boy with how dark they were – no matter what the time or weather.
There was a lot of bustling activity to, people busy with their lives in this place – but not moving from their spots.
And besides that, it was quiet. Berwald finally came to the familiar spot with someone he knew sitting there, and always would be unless the place burned or got bombed.
He sighed before reaching into the inside of his coat, pulling out a bunch of flowers, "G't ya th'se." he murmured, setting them down.
There was a bit of silence that showed appreciation.
"Th'ngs ain't the s'me, y'kn'w."
Silence provided a good answer.
Berwald's mouth became a thin line as he stared down at where the man was living, now. "Th't j'ckass..."
A silent agreement.
The eyes of the angel that stood next to him seemed to look at the place Berwald was staring at now. The Swede looked at it before coughing, "The house 's v'ry c'ld lately."
A silent question.
"P'ter c'n't seem t' s'ttle d'wn."
A silent relation.
Berwald looked up at the grey ceiling before glancing back down, "M'ss ya."
A silent reply of the same words before Berwald made his way out. He still needed to visit the grocery store.
That night, Peter came home talking about his new friend, and how funny it was whenever he attempted to stab him with a flower.
"Wh't do ya th'nk 'bout 'im?" Berwald asked calmly.
"About Raivis? You want my honest opinion? Well, for starters he's kinda jumpy – claims that this Russian man is always stalking him and his adoptive older brothers. If someone were stalking me, I would've gone and found him and –"
"Oh yeah! Anyway, after he stabbed me with a flower – which I had no idea he even had – we sat on a bench and we talked." Peter looked up, "That's about it."
Berwald shook his head.
"Oh, he also tried to hug me because he was cold."
"N'thin' wr'ng with th't."
Berwald rested the paper down, "Course." He said, "N't l'ke ya got a g'rlfriend th't would g't all ups't ov'r 't."
"Dad!" Peter listened to Berwald chuckle, "Why would I have a girlfriend anyway? They expect too much from boys."
The usual feeling of Berwald giving Peter that glare meant Peter had to add something onto it, which he calmly and honestly did, "I'd rather hang out with Raivis for the rest of my life."
Berwald smiled, "I kn'w it."
"W-what? O-oh... sh-sh-shut up OK?" Peter began to turn red, "I-I didn't even mean it that way!"
"Aw, c'mon." Berwald sounded hyped up, "'t isn't th't b'd!"
"Look, you're getting excited because I just came out and said I had a crush – op!" Peter covered his mouth.
The Swede could do nothing but laugh and push his glasses back up, "'t's alr'ght, P'ter."
"O-OK... d-don't bring this up anymore. What's on TV?"
Berwald's happy mood was gone – he knew exactly what was on TV. All of those shows that had families on them – full families with a dad, mom, children, pets.
"N-n'thin'." Berwald said, "G't out yer g'me syst'm."
"Woo hoo! Games!" Peter ran to his room while Berwald leaned back into the chair; mouth as thin as it was earlier.
The next day came too soon, oh so too soon.
Peter was at the park again, Raivis was where he was yesterday, and Berwald was running down the street.
He pushed open that door he pushed against yesterday, the metal colder then he was used to.
He ran through the amount of people living there, creating a disturbance.
The angel saw him coming and notified the man next to her before Berwald came into view.
He didn't know why, but instead of stopping and making short conversation, he fell onto his knees and slid the rest of the way until he was lying on the ground. The stone tablet above his head and the snow crunching below him as he curled up in front of it and began to – literally – cry.
The stone angel kept its face on, but watched as Berwald's eyes watered and as the tears flowed over beneath his glasses, some of the tears falling onto the snow.
He stroked the stone, whispering the name carved into it a few times before slamming his head down onto the snow, chanting his sorrows and crying.
Something he'd never do in front of Peter.
"Guess what? Raivis asked if he could come over!" Peter sat down in the chair, "Can he Dad?"
Berwald wiggled his mouth before saying, "I dun care."
"Yay!" Peter jumped up, "Thank you!" he ran to his room, "I gotta make sure that Raivis can see my awesome sailboat rugs!"
The Swede laughed, reading the paper with no interest. His son was where he wanted him to be, having a friend that would want to come over to visit Peter. Speaking of a friend...
"H'w old is R'ivis?"
Maybe Berwald could coax Raivis into watching Peter for a while?
Twenty bucks wasn't that much to pay for Raivis to hang out and watch Peter for a while – including the fact that Raivis should chop at least six blocks of wood and keep the fire going, cook Peter's supper, and make sure Peter was in bed by the time Berwald came home.
Where was he going to spend all that time?
Berwald glared down at where he had his sobbing fest yesterday. Now, what sat there was another batch of flowers and a little drawing that Peter had drawn last night after "cleaning" up his room.
The Swede himself thought it was cute enough to share with someone who probably wasn't going to look at it.
He sighed, "F'ce it B'rwald." He told himself, "He's dead." The last two words came out so clearly Berwald didn't even think he said them.
The shaking began, "T'no..." he whispered, before falling to his knees to try and control the pain. "...T'no..." he choked before letting one tear slide down his face.
He swore he heard someone say, "Su-San?" but it was very echo-like.
"Huh?" Berwald frantically looked around.
Berwald turned to see Peter and Raivis walking over to him, "Dad... where have you been? I tried calling you because Raivis was... Dad?"
"I-I-I t-told y-you I-I'd t-try i-it a-again l-later!" Raivis stuttered.
"No, I don't want you getting an injury." Peter replied.
Berwald sighed, hearing the care and... a little bit of love in Peter's voice?
"I-I g-got it –"
"Ya w'nna try c'ttin' wood?"
Peter's eyes lit up, "Can I Dad? Can I?"
Berwald nodded, trying not to start crying again whenever he heard "Su-San." Again.
Raivis and Peter ran away after yelling their good-byes. Berwald turned back to the grave and watched as snow fell on top of it. "Su-San..."
It was still... echoing in his ears. Why, why was he hearing things?
Berwald looked at the stone angel, that glared at him.
"Su-San? Are you alright?" the question and the sweet voice kept on echoing around him – the angel looking at him as if this amused it.
It began to look... different the more Berwald stared at it. It began to look... drunk. And its hair began to look crazy. And it began to grow a freakishly familiar smile.
Berwald fell on the ground, cursing in Swedish.
"Su-San? Who's that?" another echo.
The Swede began to lightly sing to himself – a song he knew very well thanks to this Tino...
"Su-San! Look out! Su-San! Su-San!"
"Ah haa hahahahaha~!"
Berwald's eyes welded shut, his glasses fell off his face – and he swore he heard that laugh somewhere before...
"Su-San? What's going on?" the voice he was hearing was echoing so much it gave the Swede a headache, and it got worse whenever he heard the sounds of a car swerving. "Su-San! SU-SAN!"
"Hahahaha!" Berwald looked up, seeing the "angel" laughing as it held a can of beer and a steering wheel, "I'm gonna be fine! I ain't drunk at all!"
Berwald glared at it before yelling, jumping up to grab it and kill it – no matter what.
It laughed before turning back into that damn angel that Berwald had felt glaring at him these past visits to the grave where Tino lay.
Panting, Berwald turned to face the stone with the necessary information written on it to let people know who rested there. He fell back on the ground, realizing he had just hallucinated.
At least, he thought it was until he heard the echoing "Su-San... Su-San, wake up..."
"Th't... damn... D'nish..." Berwald took a deep breath, "FUCKER!" the word seemed to echo throughout the graveyard.
"Su-San...? W-what is it Su-San?" that continual echoing made Berwald fall flat onto his front.
"S-Su-San?" Things began to become normal again. Berwald didn't hear any echoing anymore – as weird as it sounded – and whenever he looked up at the stone angel it was in the same position it always was in – only missing a part of its wing from where Berwald had tried to attack it.
"Dad?" Peter reappeared again, "It's been three hours. Why are you still here?"
Berwald had no answer. He let Peter walk around him and read the gravestone he was laying in front of, "Tino? Is Tino the man in that picture back at home, Dad?"
"Y's." Berwald grunted.
"So... that newspaper that I saw in your room... with the article about a drunken Danish person killing a Finnish person..."
"Su-San..." that damn echoing voice returned, "...Su-San..."
There was crazy tossing and turning, "Su-San?' even more tossing and turning. "Su-San!" Berwald opened his eyes, taking deep breaths and looking up at a fuzzy ceiling.
Then, he felt glasses being slid onto his face before someone appeared above him – eyes kind and loving and hair blonde like it was supposed to be, "Better? I've been trying to wake you up for the past thirty minutes."
Berwald took a deep breath before shooting up and clutching onto Tino, making the Finnish man yelp in shock.
"S-Su-San! W-what – what is –?"
"I l've you." Berwald said, "I l've you, I l've you, I –"
"B-Berwald?" Tino pried himself away, "W-what is –"
"I ch'nged my m'nd 'bout goin' out t'night."
The sound of a baby crying came from a few rooms down.
"P'ter." Berwald said, "He need's b'th 'f us."
Tino stared at the other man before cocking his head and smiling, "Did you have a dream?"
Berwald nodded, sighing before hugging Tino close.
"Hang on a sec, let me go get Peter settled, then we'll discuss it." The Fin left the room.
And not a few minutes later was Berwald discussing the dream, Tino sitting on the adjacent couch bottle-feeding their adopted-from-England baby listening.
When Berwald was done, Tino said, "Well, that surely made you realize things, huh?"
"No." Berwald said, "J'st m'de me see my l'fe 'f I ever l'st ya."
Tino looked down at Peter, "I wouldn't dare make you raise Peter on your own. Now, speaking of a Raivis, Eduard said that he and Toris found a three year old by that name a couple months ago..."
**I don't know if this wrote itself or if I actually had an idea about this. Some things were just like "Hey put me in there!" and others were already thought out. But anyway... hope you enjoyed and PLEASE DON'T HATE ME FOR DOING THIS! This was inspired by reading an angsty SuFin... song fic? Oh well, it was nice looking so this idea popped into my head. And my sister said she wanted to read it so... hope she finds it. And I hope you liked it to. Although I made myself sad making Denmark the drunk bastard that killed Tino.**