"Ber?" Lukas called quietly into the dark house.

He was here. He knew he was. Yet, there was no answer.

"Berwald?" he asked again, a bit louder.

Panic threatened to overtake him until he spotted a tiny bit of light stretching down the hallway. Walking closer, he could see the faint light of what must have been a single candle behind the closed door to the washroom. He stood a bit straighter and walked more heavily down the hallway. He was heard. A light, muffled sound of scrambling reached his ears, putting him even more on edge. Still, when he reached the door he didn't hesitate before turning the knob and pushing it opened. Hesitating wasn't in his nature.

"Ber?" he repeated as the door swung opened.

The sight made his heart wrench in his chest hard enough to suck the air from his lungs. The tall Swede was crouched over on himself, the dark red rivulets of dried and wet blood contrasting his pale features. His arm looked nothing short of mangled, and various other open cuts littered the skin of his face and arms, complimented by dark bruises of purple and blue too fresh to be tinged with yellow.

"Don't look, Luke. Please, don't look." his voice was deep, but, it was broken.

The stupid man. He was too proud.

"Shut up." Lukas snapped at him, lighting the other candles in the room with the single one.

Once the room was properly lit, he looked again to Berwald. It was even worse that what it had seemed. And his arm…

"Can you feel your fingers?" Lukas asked as he swallowed and approached him, taking over where Berwald was trying to wrap it.

Through the cracked lenses of his glasses he studied him, and then nodded once.

"Fuck, Ber," he swore quietly, wrapping it tightly to stop the blood.

The job had been simple, honestly. They were to bring the guns to the house that would serve as the meeting place and enter through the back. They had dealt with this same group before and it had been quick and clean. Lukas hadn't expected anything different. Everything had gone as planned, and at 2:30am on the dot he and Mathias were heading away from the house, following their own tracks back through the snow, when they heard the first gunshot. Berwald wasn't waiting for them above the hill. Lukas knew better than to wait to see what had happened, but still Mathias had to grab him and shake him before he could get himself to run away.

It had been easier since they weren't carrying the guns they had been intending to sell anymore, but as two more shots rang out behind them it was hard to think optimistically. He wasn't sure who could have been shooting who, but he knew that he couldn't have been good. Not for anyone. Mathias had led them through a small forest, which help to hide their tracks if anyone decided to follow them later, and by the time they exited on the northern-most side, they already neared their the small cabin they called their safe-house. It would still be hours before dawn broke as they waited anxiously by the phone, but no one called.

When Lukas could no longer stand to simply sit and feel the sickness in his stomach consume him, he stood, and Mathias knew what he was doing without him having to say it. It was one of only a few times and they didn't look at each other as Lukas put his coat and boots back on and left. The distance between their safe-house and Berwald's home was far enough to take Lukas nearly two hours normally, but he made it there in one and a half, sweating and panting heavily.

As he had approached his door, he had seen the footprints.

"Fuck," he Lukas swore again, and looked up at the broken glasses. "What the hell happened?"

He didn't look as though he wanted to speak, but Lukas heard the story through his bloody lips

He wasn't sure if they had been tipped off, or if the stars were in alignment against him that night, but there were people there, waiting for him.

"Who?" Lukas demanded, making Berwald wince when he yanked the bandage too tight.

"Don't know." he shook his head. "Not theirs,"

Not the group they had been dealing with. Lukas wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse, but now as he thought about it, they would probably never do business with them again. Not after something like this. There was no trust these days; everyone had to be cautious.

"I killed them," the bleeding man before him confessed after swallowing in a manner that looked like he was choking. "Killed them all,"

Lukas swallowed, too; his throat felt dry as he began to feebly help him shrug off his heavy jacket and began to patch up some of the large injuries that seemed to have been made by a rather dull blade. A bayonet, maybe?

"How many?"

"Five." he told him with a cold certainty.

"Shit," he hissed, his hand slipping again and making the tall Swede wince. "Sorry,"

He just grunted.

There was a long stretch of silence, the middle-of-the-night kind of silence, with both of them utterly on edge. If any creature moved within half of a mile of the house, they heard it. All Lukas could picture was soldiers coming to the house, breaking down the door, and tearing Berwald out of his arms. They wouldn't take him to prison then, they wouldn't show him any mercy. A loud shot by the side of the house, and that would be it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Berwald suddenly reached forward with his less-injured arm and brushed his cheek which only then he realized was wet. "Don't cry,"

He angrily wiped his eyes with his sleeve, pulling away from his hand.

"This it," he told him.

"What?" Lukas asked, looking up at him.

He frowned the way he did when words became harder for him. "This is it. No more. No more fightin'."

Lukas looked down as he resumed cleaning and dressing the wounds. Would Berwald really do it? Would he really stop fighting?

"Just, don't cry," he muttered, cupping his face with his large hand and tilting his head back up so they were looking at each other again.

"Ber," he whimpered and bowed his head forcefully, allowing the Swede to wrap himself around him, grunting in pain, but not letting go.

He tried to fight the embrace, to tell himself he had no intention of actually crying, but he was couldn't stop. Sobs began to wrack his body as he pressed himself into that broad chest, clutching tightly to him as the image of him being taken and thrown down against the side of his own house, hardly having time to look up and meet their eyes before the gun was brought down, aimed at his defined brow. Lukas let out a shrill shriek as he heard the pistol go off in his mind, feeling as though he were trapped in a waking nightmare; he knew the images were false, but he couldn't stop them. There was no escape. There was no way out. There was so much blood.

Then, he became aware of something other than his sobbing and the image of blood flecked against the snow. Berwald was singing to him. In Norwegian. It was an old lullaby his grandmother had sung to him a few times. He almost wanted to hit Berwald for doing such a stupid thing, but instead he only drew deeper breaths, and allowed himself to be rocked slightly.

When the sobbing had subsided to less than pathetic hiccups, he pulled back, aware that Berwald's wounds were not fully treated. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lukas covered it quickly.

"Don't say anything. Not a word until I've finished." he commanded.

Berwald closed his eyes in a silent nod and Lukas removed his hand. He finished cleansing the wounds and dressing them in silence. There were many, and a few were deep, but most of them were simple cuts that might even be healed up before the end of the week. There was nothing to be done about the bruises, but as he helped him pull his shirt off, he sighed in relief to see that his ribs looked mostly unharmed. Once he was patched up, they looked at each other.

"Where's Mat?" he asked, his voice strained and cracking.

"At the safe house. It's—" his voice failed and he coughed. "It's better for us to be spread out anyway,"

He nodded once, a dark and sinister feeling behind those deep blue eyes.

"I should call him," he said and then stepped back. "Can you get to the bedroom?"

Berwald nodded, but took a minute standing. He could only imagine the pain in his legs from having to run so far after a fight. This whole damn country was uphill. He allowed himself to be used as a crutch, although if anyone had seen them they both would have denied it. That's how they were. Mathias, too. They were all just too goddamn proud.

Lukas pushed open the door to the bedroom, helping him to the large bed that Berwald had built for himself, since he didn't fit on any others. He helped him over to it and tried to set him down carefully, despite his apparent want to flop down carelessly. Then he began to yank off his boots and socks, absently realizing that he had very nicely shaped feet. They were cute, even.

"Luke?" he called suddenly.

"Yeah, Ber?"

"Stay with me tonight?" he asked almost timidly.

His heart did something strange, but he tried to ignore it. "Of course I am, you idiot."

"Here?" he emphasized, putting his large hand palm-down on the bed.

Lukas began to blush but then just arched his eyebrow slightly instead. "Do you see another bed in here?"

Berwald began to smile and reached out gently, touching his face again. That smile, god, how long had it been since he had seen him smile like that? A part of him wanted to pull away, to remind him that whatever they had had was now gone, lost in the past, but another part of him, a stronger, secret part, held him in place. He had never wanted it to fall apart like that, but with Mathias thrown into the mix…no, there had been no other option. Still, he was here, wasn't he? With Berwald. And Mathias was absent, for the time.

Once he had helped him strip down to his underwear he helped him shift beneath the heavy covers and then he turned around. "I'm going to call Mat,"

Berwald might have grunted, but it didn't matter. Lukas went to the kitchen where the phone was and called. The phone barely rung once.

"Lukas?" the Dane was frantic.

"We're safe." he told him, feeling strangely annoyed.

"Thank God." it sounded like he swallowed. "Nothing's happening here,"

"Not here either. Ber…" Lukas bit his lips as his head fell and then he raised it again. "Ber fought them,"

There was a sick pause. "How many got away?"

"None." he confessed quietly and before Mathias could ask, he answered. "He killed them all. There were five."

"Holy shit,"

"Tell 'em to stay there. We'll call him in the mornin' if there's no trouble," Berwald called from the bedroom.

Lukas winced at the noise, but obeyed. "Sleep there tonight. We'll call you in the morning unless something happens."

He could almost see Mathias' obnoxious hair move as he nodded. "Alright,"

There was a testing silence.

"Good night, Luke," he said in something barely above a whisper.

"Good night, Mat." Lukas told him and hung up.

He moved out of the cold, dark kitchen quickly, returning to the bedroom, and to Berwald. The Swede's eyes were open, although his broken glasses had been removed. Still, to him it must have seemed that Lukas was moving towards the bed too quickly, which prompted him to speak.

"Aren't you going to undress for me?" he smirked.

Lukas would have hit him, even in this state, had he been closer. "Shut up, you idiot."

He smiled a bit wider, but as Lukas began to pull of his boots and jacket, his attention was brought to the dark bloodstains. It was sickening to wonder if it was Berwald's blood, the blood of someone he cared for, or if it had previously belonged to someone who was now dead somewhere in the many Swedish forests. Someone Lukas had never known. Someone he had never even seen…

Berwald called to him when he sunk too deeply in thought, and although he cast him his best annoyed look, he was thankful. Sometimes it felt like he was always trying to drown himself with heavy thoughts, but Berwald's deep, wise voice could always bring him back.

Then he climbed into bed beside him after putting out the candle that he had taken with him from the washroom, enclosing them in darkness save for the bluish midnight light that silently fell through the window. He was hardly allowed to shift his weight on the bed before Berwald pulled him close, pressing their bodies together hard. That bastard was going to open up all the wounds he just closed if he kept using his strength like that. Still, he couldn't deny how good the embrace felt. It had been so long since they were able to touch and hold each other. Lukas had never been quite sure what had happened when he brought Mathias to Berwald's home, but whatever feeling the Dane carried, it was strong. Strong enough to silence Lukas and keep Berwald from taking what he desired.

But he wasn't here now.

Slowly, Lukas felt Berwald's lips trailing across his forehead, down to the side of his face.

"Ber, you need to rest, you idiot," he grumbled.

"Am resting," he muttered, continuing to kiss him.

Lukas wiggled just a bit out of his reach. "Sleep."

Those deeply blue eyes echoed with and old kind of knowledge and power, but also something so innocent Lukas almost wanted to coo at him.

"Ya really want me to stop?" he asked, his voice low and serious; he was asking about more than just forehead kisses.

Lukas slowly began to hold his arms to his chest. "For now, Ber. For now."

He was silent but then nodded with a grunt. "Alright."

Still, they cuddled closer as they settled in to sleep, Lukas having to force himself to focus only on Berwald's breathing in order to silence the many painful thoughts in his mind. For now…it was all he could think to say. Something else was coming; he could feel it deep in his bones. He just didn't know what it was.

It came in the form of a Finn named Tino.