Summary: AU Most people would run away if they found out they were being chosen as the Prince of Hell's bride. Most people wouldn't give up their dreams and try to love the Devil. But most people aren't like Tino Väinämöinen. SuFin.
Recommended Listening: "How to Save a Life" by The Fray
Tino sat in his dark apartment, light violet eyes downcast, and blonde hair still wet form his earlier bath. The night streamed in through the ratty windows and so did the cold. But he didn't mind. He was used to the cold, back in his homeland of Finland, the cold was something common.
His hand found the small silver chain hanging at his breast. His fingers caught the tail end of it, tips brushing against the deep-blue sapphire there. It was always warm, ever since he had left Finland for Britain, in search of a better life.
He liked to think it was warm from all of the hope he knew he still held in his heart despite how everyone else was losing their way in the age of darkness, known as the Modern Age. When everyone would look bitter and say that they were all going to Hell, Tino would smile and say, "Then, shouldn't we smile and live life as best we can while we've still got time on Earth?"
Tino had always been the optimistic of his family, being away from home changed nothing for his personality.
But he was in Britain, now, but still trying to find the better life he had always imagined. The blonde huddled closer in his bed, holding the only thing he still held dear since those dark times of murder and misery, of tears and blood, of just endless cycle of pain.
The bundle's blue eyes fluttered open and the baby boy whimpered. Tino smiled sadly, remembering that cold winter day well. Tired from working and coming across a discarded baby among the trash, he hadn't been able to walk by and just leave it.
Instead he had taken it from the trash, knowing either his mother was dead or had been so desperate or unable to care for him that she had abandoned him. He hoped she was dead. Knowing as a mother, that you had to give up your child and risk it dying in the middle of winter must have been excruciating. He hoped he never had to go through that.
"It's alright, Peter," he whispered, bringing the child into his warm embrace when the wind blew against the thin windows. The room was somewhat chilly, despite how Tino had prepared the best fire he could in the stove. It was winter, too, and early at that. It was already going down to the low teens, and only going to get worse.
Tino hid his shiver when the wind blew again, rattling the wind greatly. He smiled, the image putting the small boy in his arms at ease, and wrapped his arms around him. He hugged the child for warmth and comfort. Warmth to survive the night and be able to wake up and go to his factory job, and comfort so he knew the other didn't hate him for not leaving him to die in the cold those three years ago.
Tino smiled bitterly, as he thought of his condition then compared to his life back in Finland. There was nothing that could make him go back. All of those years of untold amounts of lies, pain, and blood. Years of unspoken abuse, fear and broken hearts, those years of misery and the dark memory of thinking death was soon on its way every time he fell on the ground.
Nothing, he thought, is ever going to make me go back. I'd rather be dead than go back. Tino looked down at Peter's small blonde head. His blue eyes closed in sleep and rosy-pale face smooth. His soft blonde hair was nuzzling the skin at Tino's collar.
Tino smiled again, as he thought of a brighter future. He finally rose up in the career ladder in his factory job and was able to get him and Peter a more livable home like, the Bourgeoisie he had seen, in the propaganda posters. He would have extra money to give Peter, when he was older, to get candy and play things. He could afford all of the things he never had in Finland.
A decent library, versus the one he had once nearly saw himself burned alive in. An adequate supply of food, so he and Peter would never go hungry, versus the days Tino had to lie to Peter and say he had eaten earlier so Peter could have the last piece of bread. Versus the days when Tino had to give Peter half of his plate when the boy was still hungry.
He would have more furniture versus the poor excuse he had to call an apartment with its single window and black, crooked wood stove. The scratched-up hardwood flooring and thin, bland, white plaster walls.
His tiny wooden table, something he was glad to have over a wooden box, and his tiny metal-wire bed. It wasn't the most comfortable bed he had ever slept in, but then again, once upon a time, he had had to sleep on the ground— in the dead of Finnish winter. He was perfectly content with his ratty mattress and homemade quilts.
The sink was barely above a porcelain bowl to hold water in, it just had a drain. At least, he had a toilet. Well, when it was working, it was a toilet, when it wasn't—then, it was Peter's plaything and magical waterfall and added work for Tino to take care of.
Tino curled tighter; Peter nestled more safely and warmly in his arms. The Finn's face was on the verge of tears. He could feel the slight pinching at his eyes. He was going to cry. But then again, he had a reason to cry.
This was not the life the posters had promised him. He had no new labor-saving devices. He was barely affording the price of firewood. He couldn't switch to coal, though it was cheaper, because of Peter, the little boy had asthma worse than a chronic smoker.
He had been promised a better life than the one he had in Finland. What did he have? It was something nearly equally worse. His house was close to shit, versus only slightly better than not having a house at all.
He barely had any food, he, himself, was nearly starving every day. But it was versus those days he vividly remembered where he had to nearly kill someone, tourist or local, otherwise, just to get money to buy food or to steal food.
He was working two jobs, a long twelve hour job at the factory, most of the week, and then as a maid and nanny for a rich family upstate.
The only reason, Tino had taken the nanny/maid job was because the tutor of the family had been convinced, albeit begrudgingly, to teach Peter while he was away at work during the week. He had been grateful for that. It gave him one less thing to worry about.
Tino sighed, loosening his hold on Peter and then changed to simply hold the other while slowly rocked them together in unison. A soft Finnish lullaby made it past his lips, the words coming from an old memory of when he was little and his sister would sing so he wouldn't hear his parents yelling in the other rooms.
He had heard, but he never told her that. He didn't want to burden her anymore than she already was. It didn't help that she felt she was the source of their anger. She had been pregnant at the time, and her lover had denied it as his and left her, thus making her a single mother and stretching her family's low income even more.
It didn't help that she had died in child birth, and the baby had been stillborn. It didn't help that after the death of his sister; his mother had gone crazy and tried to kill him so they could die together. That's where the library incident came in.
Tino will never forget the look of his mother's face, those insane brown eyes as she laughed and threw herself at him, a knife ready in her hand. His shoulder throbbed in the memory of the long scar that he knew ran across it. The wound his mother had inflicted on him.
But unfortunately, when she had crashed into him, his hand had knocked over the oil lamp. The glass shattered on the ground, the full lamp of oil spilling out— and unleashing the fire within to consume whatever it could get its fiery hands on.
Tino's eyes darkened as he tried to banish that memory away. He didn't want to remember the day he was the only one who escaped that fire. How his mother had smiled at him from the burning window of the library, the bloody knife in his hand, as she waved while the house burned down.
She had allowed herself to perish in that house and had left Tino to survive on his own…at only sixteen.
Tino's eyes started to flutter closed in sleep, as the lullaby continued in his mind.
Nuku, nuku, nurmilintu
Väsy, väsy västäräkki
Peter seemed to smile in his sleep as his subconscious mind heard the lullaby and he snuggled closer to the warm body that he believed to be his mother.
Nuku, kun minä nukutan
Väsy, kun mie väsytän
Tino thought of the happier days of spring. When Peter had discovered at age two and had ran down the street and slid through a mud puddle. How Tino had run down the street, catching more than a few eyes as he tore down the street and then had to carry a muddy and giggling Peter home. How Tino had had to ignore the roving gazes he knew he was getting.
Kuro kiisan silmät kiinni
Anna unta aamuun asti
A small smile graced his lips as he remembered them getting back to the house, drinking that hot cocoa as the little boy spoke in broken Finnish about his day. How Tino had just listened, didn't wince or correct the other on his broken sentences, he was just proud the other had even attempted to speak in his language despite how Finnish wasn't even that popular a language in England.
Kuro kiisan silmät kiinni
Anna unta aamuun asti
Tino placed his head on top of Peter's as he tried to tune out the sound of the wind howling outside, the rain flooding any unlucky enough to be caught in it. The wind almost reminded him of sobs. Tino wanted to laugh. The damn sky was crying for him.
The world pitied him.
"Thank you again, Mr. Bragniski," Tino said, politely as he did a small nod in respect as he buttoned up his coat and bent down to assist Peter with his own.
Said Russian man smiled down from the top of the stairwell. "Once more, it is not a problem, Mr. Väinämöinen." Ivan said, "My son, Ravis, adores your son's company. Mr. Edelstein tells me that Ravis is a good pupil and needs to be put in more advanced classes." The great man smiled
A little blonde boy, Ivan's youngest son, Ravis, poked his head around his father's build to wave at the pair downstairs. "Bye, Tino! Bye Peter, we can play Navy-Pirates next time, right?"
Peter beamed up at his friend, "Yeah! I'll have Mama find my sailor suit and everything!" The boy turned to Tino. "I can still wear that, right?" Tino blinked, and then smiled, "Of course, why not? As long as you don't go trying to go running in mud again~"
Peter's face blushed slightly, and Ravis giggled as Ivan smiled as he began to lead the small boy to bed. It was getting late. The sky was nearly pitch-black outside.
Peter mumbled, "I don't play in the mud anymore, Mama. I'm a big kid." Tino smiled as he petted the boy's hair. "I'm glad. It means I don't have to drag you kicking and screaming to a bath." Peter spun n his heel, face flaming red, "That was one time! And it was because you said I wanted to keep the blue in my hair!"
Tino smiled, knowingly. "The blue you made with blueberry jam." Peter's face burned as he shut his mouth, crossing his arms. "It would seem I am right."
Tino put his hand on Peter's shoulder when a voice called Tino back. He stiffened, unnoticed by anyone but himself. The blonde turned his head over his shoulder, violet eyes firm and showing his strong determination to live.
"Tino," Ivan began as he made his way down the stairs, slowly. Violet eyes locked on Tino, and hands folded in front of him. The Russian was taller than him, very much so, and Tino had to look up and Ivan had to look down.
"I was just about to ask," Ivan continued. "Do you need assistance at home? You look unwell." Tino stiffened further, ire rising in him. He was living day-to-day, sure, but it was none of his employer's business. He's such a creeper, he thought, is he spying on me?
But Tino answered, with as much as politeness as he could muster, "I will admit, things at home are not as I had dreamed, but I manage fine."
Ivan's violet eyes narrowed and his face flat. "I shall call your other boss in the morning. You need some time off, specifically some rest and a good meal. I shall treat you to both, should you accept my offer." Tino stared at him with incredulity. He was going to talk to his boss, reserve him time off, and give him a noble meal and a room in the house he cleaned in exchange for Peter's schooling?
It sounded too good to be true.
"I don't believe you," Tino said, curtly. "I apologize for my brashness, but I don't." He made a small step back, easing Peter back with him. The young boy was confused. He didn't understand what was going on.
Ivan smiled, "You are smarter than you lead others to believe." Tino's eye twitched, he thought, did he just say I make people think I'm dumb?
Ivan giggled, "I forgive your fresh words. But my words are truly sincere." He walked closer and Tino found he had no more room to move back on. Damn, he thought. I hope he doesn't pull anything.
Tino's heart nearly seized as the powerful political man took his hand and kissed the back of it in a gentleman gesture. He had had to bend at the waist, since Tino was so much shorter than him, but that just emphasized the feeling of terror in Tino when violet eyes met his from below. "I am a man of my word, Tino. I wish to help, if only, you would let me."
Blood was flooding Tino's face. He felt like a whore, dirty, and he hadn't even done anything. Nonetheless, when the Russian pulled away and stood to his full height, Tino watched carefully as the man took a few steps back. Tino just knew the other knew about his fear and was probably enjoying it.
"I-I'll think about it." Tino began, and then trying for an excuse to get the other to back off, he continued, "I, kind of, need the money right now."
Ivan smiled, "I can help with that as well, da?"
Tino tried to smile; as he inwardly thought, I hope you don't. "Um, that won't be necessary, Mr. Bragniski."
Ivan waved a hand, "Call me Ivan. I've known you and," a nod to Peter who smiled, oblivious, "Your little family for a long time now, Tino. I wish to tone down our formalities as it stands now."
Tino really wished he had left quickly earlier. This was getting awkward for him. "O-okay, alright," he tried to smile, "I-Ivan."
Ivan smiled, and to Tino's surprise, turned on his heel and walked away. "Good night, Tino. I shall see again on young Peter's next visit."
Tino nodded, shakily. "Y-yes, right, right, a good night to you too." The Finn waited a minute to fuss over Peter's last few buttons as an excuse to get his thoughts together and, when he thought he had himself, he made haste getting out of the house and off the manor property.
He could feel Ivan's gaze from the upper floor windows. He was sure the Russian was laughing at him. He's so creepy, Tino thought as he held Peter's hand tightly as they walked down the street. So creepy!
"Mama, it's dark," Peter complained. "I can't see anything. Do you even know where we're going?" Tino snapped himself from his thoughts. "Um," he looked around for anything familiar. "Uh, there's the Hampton Church, um, home is just around the corner, I believe."
Peter let out a loud sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God! I thought we were lost. I was about to run back to Ravis' house." He laughed, "What do you think Mr. B would've said when we came back after I say you got us lost on the way home?"
Tino paled in the dark night. I knew you'd come back, a voice in his mind suggested and then an evil-sounding laugh of the word 'kol' swirled around his head. He shook his head to clear it. That was not good for his sanity. Think of positive things, Tino, positive!
"Hey, Mama! Look, someone's lost like us!" Peter said, pointing and starting to tug Tino forward. Tino froze, there shouldn't have been anyone out this late. "What?"
Peter continued to point, not even hearing the fear and shock in Tino's voice. "Hey, mister! Do you need directions? My mama can help you!"
Tino wished he could clap Peter over the mouth. But it wasn't in his nature to be cruel to children and so he only shushed the boy, pushing him behind him. Violet eyes met dark blue hues as the figure turned in the light of a lamp.
Something thudded to the ground, blue eyes flashing red. Tino's breath hissed in, as his eyes recognized it as a dead body. Peter tried shoving Tino's hands off him, the other simply trying to protect him from the sight as the figure cracked its neck.
Something gleamed in the dark hole that was the figure's mouth. Red rimmed it and Tino knew more would rim it if he didn't run. "Peter, get on my back."
Peter huffed, still unable to see what was going on. Even as Tino saw the figure seemed to stretch to its full height. He gulped silently. It was about the same height of Ivan.
Why does the similarity not surprise me? He thought, sarcastically. The figure blinked, and then the strangest thing happened, it vanished. Tino was near about to let out a, "Huh?" Before he saw a pale face stare back at him.
Peter let out a sound of amazement. "Wow, he's fast…"
Tino was still, violet eyes wide but arms still keeping Peter safely behind him. The figure had deep blue eyes that were near sapphire with an inner depth of emerald green, against white skin. Peter was right, the figure was male. The face was too masculine for it to be female.
"Hm," the figure muttered. "Good, good, yo' will do just nicely." Tino barely had time to think of what the other could possibly mean when he suddenly saw a blindingly bright blue light flash in his eyes. He screamed, as a torrent of pain went through his skull.
He could hear Peter calling his name, calling out to his name, but when he tried to open his eyes, the burning of his skull suddenly start up again. It was a sensation of his skull being ripped open, his own screams resounding off the walls of his skull.
And then it suddenly starts—
And Tino's breath seizes, his muscles tensing in shock, right before his heart gave a lurch and he thought he felt his rips being ripped open and something devouring him from the inside —
Tino jerks upright, huffing in breath after breath, sweat plastering his hair to his head. Violet eyes were wide, his skin pale with fright, as he looked around. Peter was lying beside him, sound asleep, and nestled warmly in the blankets of their apartment. But something was off.
Tino just felt off…
He made his way quickly out of their bed. It wasn't his legs, he noticed because he was walking fine. It was albeit a bit tenderly, as if his legs had fallen asleep and only now were they finally being moved. Tino looked at his arms, and said the first thing to come to mind, "Okay…?" His voice was a bit scratchy and his throat felt somewhat raw, but it was fine, and his arms were pale, but fine.
Then, he walked into his bathroom and screamed—
A brain fart I had…
I have no idea if I want to continue or not…
Um, that's really all I have to say for now. In other news, my story, "Hell's Tango" shall be updated soon. Some of my fans of that story reading this so be expecting that sometime this week. Romano is giving me some issues on cooperating.
Um, if you all want me to finish this story, I will. But keep in mind, that this story will get DARK and very worthy of the M-RATING should it continue. M for lemons(?), gore, violence and just pure Hell and chaos in general.
Give me a break, I'm a German sadist~
Read and REVIEW.