AN: jesus it's been a while – so sorry guys! I've actually managed to find myself a summer internship at readwave (which you should check out if you're in to writing original fiction) and i sort of fell out of the hetalia fandom but i am back now – i spent a weekend reading fics so i'm pretty into it again :D (YAY FOR REUSING ANS)

There's a time gap of a day or so between this chapter and the last lot. So most of the nords have left the conference.

short updates are the way forward.

Emil sits on the unmade bed in Denmark's spare room. He's fuming. They should be punishing Berwald right now, not letting him quietly get on with his life.

It's the right thing to do, Emil tells himself as he slips Denmark's phone out of his pocket and scrolls to find Netherlands' number. People deserve to know.

Mathias' house is a mess and Erik is currently pretending that the horrors he's finding in the fridge are his biggest worry. Tino's hovering in the living room; Erik can hear the soft hum through the walls. He pulls out something black and green and tentacle-y and resists the urge to gag. Slob. He should probably be wearing a radiation suit or something.

He's just disposed of it when Peter crashes through the backdoor brandishing what looks like a rusted piece of pipe, "Uncle Mathias' garden is so cool!"

Erik glances out the window. He thinks jungle might be a better way of describing the tangled mess of grass and weeds. "I don't think Tino will be happy about you playing with that." He says, indicating the rusted metal.

Peter blinks and glances at it, "Oh, okay." He lets it clatter to the recently clean floor and Erik thinks about the consequences of strangling one's nephew. Peter skitters over to the kitchen table and clambers up to sit on it. "Can I see him yet? Is he still sleeping? We haven't seen him in forever."

Erik sighs, diving back into the deep unknowns of the fridge. "Give him a few more hours. Why don't you go walk Hanatamago?"

Peter sighs, "Fine," And trots out calling for the dog. He and Tino are staying here for a few days until Sweden is done with the conference and moves his stuff out of their shared house. Emil's here too (mostly so he and Tino can keep an eye on him) he's sulking in one of the spare bedrooms but at least he's not inciting violence.

Erik doesn't want to think about that right now so instead he starts wondering whether Mathias has a working lawnmower. Probably not he decides. Mathias doesn't seem like one for mowing the lawn - hence the jungle in his back garden.

He's just moved on to the cupboards when Tino wanders in; at least he sits on a chair and doesn't deposit any pieces of rusted metal on the floor. "I've finished the living room," he says hollowly. "Once you're done in here we'll have officially cleaned his whole house. Then what will we do?"

Erik pulls out a box of cereal with an expiry date of 2006 and wrinkles his nose. "I suppose we'll have to actually deal with this situation."

Tino deflates and buries his face in his hands. "I have no idea what we're meant to do, Erik. What am I supposed to tell Peter? I can't keep lying to him. He thinks we left early because Mathias got into a fight but Berwald is meant to be home in a few days and what am I supposed to tell him?"

Erik straightens up and tries to find room in one of the many bin bags for the cereal. He is very much not qualified to be dealing with this situation. Not anymore. Not now that they're civilised and have governments who expect to check in with them. He's not even entirely sure what to tell himself let alone the kid.

Sweden groans when he hears the insistent knocking on his hotel door.

The conference has been tedious, dull and his room feels far too empty without Tino there. He's been trying to rationalise this; things with him and Fin have been going downhill for years, this would have happened eventually.

It's just.

He never thought things between him and Denmark would get this bad.

Most of the other nations are content to ignore him; they're all too wrapped up in their own dramas to be too concerned. He thinks they've bought the story about the fight – it's not like this hasn't happened before. Maybe the other nations are ignoring him because they're scared. Berwald's completely okay with that.

So who the hell is knocking at his door?

If it was room service they would have said something – if it was Germany he probably would have said something too.

He rolls to face the door, "Who is it?"

"Open the door, Sweden," comes the snarled reply.

Shit. Netherlands.

"Wh't d'ya want, Jan?"

"I said: open the fucking door."

There's no way Netherlands knows. Unless Denmark had told him. But he wouldn't – would he? Berwald stands uncertainly.

Netherlands knocks again, "Open the fucking door, Sweden." He repeats, louder this time.

Someone else will hear him. What if he does know? "Alright, alright," he mumbles, crossing the room and unlocking the door. He barely has time to open when he's being spun and shoved back against it. There's an arm across his throat and a pair of cold green eyes boring into his. "Netherlands!" he chokes.

"You fucking animal," Netherlands spits, drawing his fist back.

Berwald's mind goes blank and a fist connects with his nose.

It's only later - when Netherland's fists are bloody and Berwald has black eyes and a bloody nose - that Berwald dares to speak. He's slumped against the bed, Netherlands is leaning heavily against the wall.

"How d'dja know what h'ppned?"

Netherlands doesn't look at him. "Iceland."

Shit. "Ya g'nna tell anyone else?"

Netherlands looks at him for a very long time before shaking his head slowly, "I wouldn't do that to Mathias. He deserves better." He straightens and moves across to the door but before he leaves he looks back to Berwald, an unreadable look in his eyes. "I never thought you'd do something like this." and he sounds so disappointed. "Mathias can be a pain but-" he breaks off and shakes his head, turning and disappearing out of the room.

It wasn't just him, Berwald wants to shout after him. It wasn't just him. It was Finland and the conference and everything...

There's a voice in his head that sounds a lot like Finland that tuts and says, excuses, Berwald. Just excuses.

Mathias is curled on the bed.

He can hear the faint murmur of Erik and Tino's voices drifting up from the kitchen through his open bedroom door. They're talking about Sverige, about what they're meant to do with him. About how to punish him.

And Mathias feels so guilty about it.

Maybe it was his fault.

He had been irritating Berwald, he remembers that. Or, at least, he thinks he does. Berwald was already annoyed that night, wasn't he?

Maybe he'd wanted it.

He'd been sick with loneliness before, hadn't seen anyone for months. Gods, he would have taken anything. He just wanted a connection - just wanted someone to make him feel less alone.

He's fucked up enough when he's sober, he knows he's far worse when he's drunk.

What if Sweden's being punished for something Mathias asked for?

That thought alone has him biting back a wretch.

It should be him being punished, not Ber.

There's a knock on the door and Finland sticks his head in, fiddling nervously with the edge of his jumper. "Denmark? Oh good, you're awake. We uh - me and Norway - we think we need to talk about this. For real. When you're ready."