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Northern Waters	By : Domina_Ecca Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 1538 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia - Axis Powers and I'm not making profit off of this story.

Chapter List
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Ludwig lied in bed, staring up at the ceiling in shock.
So, just like that, he was going to stay. Without anything being asked in return except for his silence. He had never had any intention of trying to turn anyone in, certainly not the man who had saved him and had taken care of him for no reason other than for the sake of kindness, but he guessed they couldn’t trust that. The other two had been the ones who had attacked him on the road. Maybe Sweden wasn’t as big of a place as he thought.
He rolled over in an attempt to make his leg more comfortable, and sighed. Then, he heard the one with the wild hair’s words in his mind. Cute, you named the puppy. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but taken even as a literal meaning, Berwald had just sort of taken him in, like a dog.
He frowned. He wasn’t a dog.
The door opened and Berwald entered with a mug of something. Ludwig had to roll back over in order to sit up, and when he did, the large Swede carefully gave him the cup. He couldn’t help the questioning look he gave him.
“Tea,” he said with a slight shrug, almost as if he was embarrassed. “It’ll help,”
Ludwig blinked. “Oh. Uh, thanks.”
He nodded, and Ludwig feared another staring contest, but when he sipped at the drink and swallowed it without a fuss, Berwald simply walked over to the chair and sat down again, reaching for his book. Ludwig wasn’t sure he could rest properly with someone watching him, but, the tall man began to read, and he relaxed.
He drank at the tea gingerly; it was warm and it tasted as pleasant as it smelt. Slowly, he felt the tense, sore muscles in his back and shoulders beginning to loosen and his breathing steadily grew deeper. By the time he had finished the tea, his eyelids were feeling heavy, despite how much he had slept in the past day and a half.
Berwald looked up over the rims of his glasses before he stood, setting the book down, and walked over to the bed. Ludwig let him take the cup, and then settled down deeper into the blankets. The man above him gently, if not awkwardly, helped him get situated, and then settled the covers over his shoulder, as if he was tucking him in. It surprised him a bit, but he realized that it must have been purely an act of kindness…like everything else he had done for him.
“Thank you, Berwald,” he muttered, surprising himself with how sleepy he sounded.
He just grunted with a nod, and then left the room almost silently.
As the door clicked shut, Ludwig let a few absent thoughts flow through his mind before drifting off to sleep. One of them was that Berwald smelt kind of nice.
That night, he dreamed darkly. Visions of past battles, of building on fire with people still in them, of screams from people of every age in all directions. It was utterly horrific, but it was him, standing there gun-in-hand, who was harming people, not helping them. In a bizarre way, he felt he almost knew he was dreaming; he just couldn’t figure out how to get out of his dream. He scrambled down alleyway and through broken houses, but no matter how fast he went, he always could hear the screams surrounding him. The fire wasn’t far, either.
Ludwig couldn’t escape, not alone anyway. It wasn’t until he felt the hand of another that he was able to pull himself up from unconsciousness, and awoke. It took a few minutes of breathing irregularly and looking around in panic before his heart began to slow, and remembered where he was. As he began to register things faster, he sensed a bit of warmth flowing into his shoulder, and when he turned his head, he found himself staring directly into a pair of blue eyes through a pair of clear glasses.
“Berwald?” he managed to choke out in a whisper after a moment.
“Ya okay?” he asked.
A tremble went through his body and his injured leg seized terribly. For a moment, there was nothing but sheer pain flooding through him, but then he managed to grit his teeth and suck in a breath.
“Leg,” he choked out.
Berwald moved swiftly from his side down the bed to his leg where he threw the covers off in a single, smooth motion. He saw that the bandage over the actual injury was fine, but that the muscle was twisting sickly as it cramped severely. He shut his eyes tightly as the muscle coiled tighter around itself, forcing his foot to twist awkwardly, but then he felt Berwald’s strong fingers carefully disentangling the muscle. His leg seemed to want to fight him to stay twisted, but he sternly massaged it out, rolling his warm fingers and palms over his calf, though still being careful of the bullet wound.
After a few more seconds of pain, the muscle finally resigned and allowed itself to be pushed back into its proper place and Ludwig groaned a bit. Berwald gently pulled his hands back, aware that the muscle was now very tender.
“Ya okay?” Berwald asked again after a minute.
Ludwig nodded, but then remembered that it was still dark and sighed. “Yeah,”
After another moment Berwald grunted and then stood, and began walking back to the door.
“Wait,” he said in realization.
The Swede’s blond hair was shining even in the impossibly dim light from the window, and when he turned, he saw his glasses glint a little.
“Hm?” he asked.
“Are you sleeping on the couch?” he asked.
Now that he thought about it, from what he recalled of his trip out of the bedroom, he remembered the couch in question as seeming rather short.
He grunted in affirmation.
“Oh,” Ludwig said lamely, and then awkwardly cleared his throat. “Would you rather sleep here? I can go to the couch,”
Berwald’s eyebrows lowered a bit and he seemed confused. “It’s alright. Yer hurt,”
Feeling guilty that Berwald would condemn himself to the couch for the sake of a total stranger, he wiggled over a bit in the large bed.
“Well, then, why don’t we just share the bed? Then no one has to be on the couch.” he said, his determination to do what he felt was proper outweighing his awkward social skills.
He was visibly surprised. “…Ya sure?”
“Yeah,” he nodded.
Berwald glanced away, seeming to have a conversation with himself, but then nodded and slowly made his way over to the bed. Ludwig scooted over more for him, feeling the cool part of the sheets brushing against his exposed skin. He wondered if Berwald felt more awkward than he did, since being a soldier he was familiar with sleeping close to several men at once even on normal occasions. Yet, Berwald’s only concern seemed to be making sure he didn’t bump his injured leg as he slid beneath the covers next to him.
They lied there for a moment in such utter silence that Ludwig swore he could hear their hearts pumping out of sync.
“Hey,” he coughed as the words stuck in his throat. “Why did you help me?”
Berwald turned and looked at him with those penetrating eyes. “Hm?”
“You didn’t have to. The one who shot me said that you could get in a lot of trouble for it. So, why?” he asked.
He knew about not looking a gift horse in the mouth, but he felt this was important; sometimes motive meant everything.
Berwald stared at him silently, and it took a moment before he realized he was simply holding eye contact while thinking, whereas most people looked away. Suddenly, those awkward staring contests made sense.
“Was the right thing.” he shrugged a little.
Ludwig looked down. Did he mean that? That he honestly overlooked borders and nations and wars to help him just because…it would have been wrong to leave him?
“The war wasn’t always there. Won’t be, either.” he continued after a moment. “Can’t base everythin’ off somethin’ temporary.”
Their eyes met again, and he dared to try going into deep thought while they looked at each other. Sometimes it definitely felt like the war had always been there. There had always been tension back home. There was always fighting and rules and ideas. It was hard to know what wasn’t temporary, honestly.
“How did you know?” Ludwig whispered. “That it was right?”
Berwald might have almost smiled. “…My heart.”
If it had been anyone else other than the strange Swede he would have been annoyed to hear something that cheesy. But maybe, just maybe he meant it. And maybe, it was the truth. Hell, anything seemed possible at this point.
After that he was able to relax a bit more, sinking deeper into the bed than before with Berwald’s added weight, and with his heat next to him he felt just comfortable enough to fall back asleep. And to stay there.
In fact, he had slept so well that night that he woke up at his regular hour. It annoyed Berwald, but the Swede was stubborn enough to remain asleep. Ludwig realized he didn’t mind after a bit though, because even if he was asleep, he felt strangely close to him. Closer to anyone than he had felt in a long time.
He had always been socially awkward. Too uptight. His brother was a life-of-the-party kind of guy, and he was always in the background. Or the one they called to drive them home. He never had any friends, in all honesty. He knew the people his brother ran with, but anyone he talked with outside of that was strictly under business circumstance. Even the soldiers in his troop didn’t recognize him as anyone but the bastard that got them up on time. He was a leader, but he led soldiers, and sometimes he felt like that was all he was in the world.
Berwald hummed a bit as droplets of sunlight slipped through the curtains and splashed on his face. Ludwig moved to block them and watched the crease in his brow smooth out. He had a strange feeling that this man, Berwald, didn’t think of him as a soldier and nothing more. He wasn’t sure what exactly he thought of him as, but in a secret way, he thought that he might even get up the nerve to ask him eventually.
“How long ya gonna stare at me?” the deep voice suddenly grumbled into the pillow.
“Until you get up.” he answered without missing a beat.
He heaved a heavy sigh, and Ludwig expected him to reach for his glasses, but instead he rolled over a little more. “Ya can stare for a bit longer.”
Ludwig smiled a bit with faint amusement. At least he knew what he thought of Berwald; he liked him.
That evening, after dinner, Berwald sat with him while he cleaned his gun, which he did in a manner that suggested it was something he did as part of a routine. They talked a little about his gun and about guns in general, since it was something they were both familiar with, but even when they were silent for long periods of time, it was comfortable. He liked the company, and it beat just sitting there and trying to see if he could watch the skin on his leg and his feet healing in real time. Berwald’s hands were smooth and fluent as they worked. They weren’t what he’d call nimble, exactly, and sometimes he fumbled with the smaller pieces, but Ludwig absently thought that he could set music to most of his movements. Beethoven might work.
After he finished and the sun had set, Ludwig found himself waiting to see if the Swede had the intention of repeating the previous night’s sleeping arrangement. After a few minutes of waiting, the tall man reappeared in the doorway, in his pajamas. He didn’t approach, however, and instead opted to shift awkwardly on his feet. Ludwig, in a desperate attempt not to botch this situation like he had every other social situation he had come across, waited a moment before deciding that simply scooting over would be the best indication of what he wanted. As he did so, the Swede didn’t respond as quickly as he had hoped, but after a minute of strained silence, he approached the bed, and got in again.
After that, it became a sort of unspoken tradition that they would eat dinner, chat a bit through the evening, and then Berwald would stand in the doorway until Ludwig moved over so he could share the bed with him. They days continued like that, still fairly long for winter, but shortening a little more with each passing night. Slowly, Ludwig’s feet were useable again, and he was able to move around with a wooden crutch that Berwald had made for him. He encouraged him to get up every day, starting with simply moving around the room to venturing out to the kitchen, and after a week, they sat outside on the porch together. It was still cold, but it wasn’t as bitter as what he had thought. True, the northern winter had yet to show its true power, but the beautiful view of the Swedish countryside and fresh, crisp air was enough to please him for the entire day.
Later that week, Berwald got a call from the other two, whom he learned were called Mathias and Lukas, informing him that they had made it to their safe place. Berwald informed them that Ludwig was healing well, but that he would probably be with him for a while. Ludwig might have just been imagining it, but he felt as though Berwald was dramatizing his condition. It made him want to laugh. But then, he realized that it meant he would have to leave.
He almost slapped himself. Of course he would. He was a danger. He almost slapped himself again. No, he had to leave because these were some kind of rebels, people fighting even without their homeland backing them, two of which had tried to kill him upon meeting him. The more he saw of Berwald the more he was beginning to see it, he couldn’t deny that. He realized that he cleaned and oiled a new gun every week. He saw a strange manner of tools scattered around the drawers. He even spotted dynamite in one of the back rooms. Although Berwald didn’t seemed to be, active, like Lukas and Mathias apparently were, old habits died hard. His brother had told him that.
There was a strange aching in his chest. It was the same feeling as when he had decided to escape the train. It was the feeling of having to run.
That night, he wasn’t able to sleep so easily.
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Northern Waters