A/N: The fandom has brought me back from the grave to give you this fanfic! It's really been too long, and I apologize that instead of USUK, I find myself on a totally different ship and not wanting to jump off it anytime soon. FinSu (in that order) is such a rare and precious thing to find and so I decided to try my hand at it as well. It truly has been a long time, however, so I apologize for the writing itself (not that any of it was good at any point anyway).

Although there will be love, Berwald's and Tino's relationship is going to move at a dead snail's pace and so I humbly ask for your patience on that matter simply because of the circumstances of the story.

I also just wanted to make it clear that although the description mentioned "ghost pirates," everyone in this fic is actually alive and human...they'll just have ghostly pirate names is all. Their outfits and appearance was based on and inspired by the 2011 Halloween designs and that's the only reason why it was called Nordic Ghost Pirates. Honestly I thought I would never write something pirate-related but here I am and I'm sure at some points there will be jokes, puns, and nautical-nonsense of all kinds here so if you're okay with that I'll be glad. ^^

Because of my lack of originality, each chapter will be titled after a song that relates to the chapter...maybe. It sure did help me when I was writing it so perhaps you'll enjoy it more if you listened to it while reading?

Warnings: Swearing, violence, extravagant fights, blood, nautical-nonsense, pirates and all things pirate-related, mature-themes, AU, human names used, Berwald the one suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, top!Tino and bottom!Berwald (hey that alliterates :D) 100% all the time everytime, and my bad writing as usual.

Song Title: (Don't Fear) The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, the song title the chapters are associated with, or the songs themselves. Please excuse any errors and inaccuracies of any kind should you come across them and I do apologize for them in advance.

Despite all that I hope you will enjoy! It's going to be a whale of a tale but all the same are ya ready, kids? -shot- Weigh anchor and let's get this ship sailing!

"Hey Ber, move yer ass and hurry it up with the cargo!" An irate man bellowed at the other. "We haven't got all day, we set sail tonight!"

"Mm." Berwald Oxenstierna simply grunted as he lifted the heavy wooden crate full of supplies into his arms and on board their ship. One after the next, he went to and fro on the boardwalk to load the remaining cargo while his boss merely stood there with his arms crossed, starched dress shirt drenched with sweat and a scowl on his face - wet, fat lips just ready to bark more orders or reprimand him.

The portly man was in a poor mood, more so than usual.

The seagulls hovered above the dock they stood on, their cries mocking as they saw the blond laboring away below them.

This was Berwald's life and all it chalked up to be. Abandoned as a baby, he was dropped off in front of an orphanage one winter's night and raised there for most of his life. It was there that he learned the basic norms and skills needed in order to assimilate into society and become contributing citizens – how to talk, read, cook, sew, and other trade skills.

None of them helped.

Upon coming-of-age, Berwald had no choice but to leave the orphanage, the only place he considered home, and set out to establish a life for himself. The blond didn't know where to start – they didn't prepare him for the world beyond the walls of the orphanage. His speech was awkward at best, as he discovered he was someone of few words. But then again, none of the other children ever really approached him and engaged him in a conversation before. Finding a job became difficult because of his social ineptitude, and he found the door slammed in front of his face before he even got a word out at times.

Was it perhaps the way he looked?

Berwald never knew who his parents were; the only remembrance of them were set in his features – blue-green eyes, blond hair, a square jaw, tall stature, broad shoulders, and a strong back. All of these traits he didn't know from which parent he got them from. There was also his name, the only link to his heritage that might as well end with him. Before when he was younger, Berwald sought after his parents, desperately wanting to be reunited with his family whom he believed simply lost him and loved him. But as the years dragged on and he became wiser, Berwald figured along the way that the reason he even ended up in the orphanage was because his parents didn't want anything to do with him and so gave up the search for them when he was sixteen years old.

With not much to offer, an employer finally took a chance on him, probably desperate himself for someone who would work in this line of business. Just glad to finally be offered his first job, Berwald unsuspectingly took a position working for a brothel. Valued for his size, strength, and apparently intimidating gaze, he became the backstage worker of his boss' operation. He didn't know what he was getting into until he was introduced to his other coworkers – scantily clad females and a few other men on hand for their muscle. The blond had the task of doing various grunt work and watching over the customers in case some of them got out of hand with their "merchandise."

However, just because he was on the sideline keeping watch didn't mean he was safe. Berwald was just as equally on the market as any of the dames displayed in the front. Customers could ask for him as well, and if he knew what was good for him and his career, he would comply. This was exactly what he did, every single time. Just to have a roof over his head, food in his stomach, and a little bit more money in his pockets.

The blond had thought about simply leaving the brothel and shame behind several times, but his keeper made sure that didn't happen. The man put a price on his head – that in order to repay him for all that he has offered the young Swede, Berwald would have to continue working until his debt was paid. Or else, he would report the blond to officials for theft and burglary. So there he stayed and worked, too naïve to know any better, and too afraid to do otherwise. He just gave up at one point and accepted his fate.

However, if there was one thing Berwald always told himself, on days when it was particularly hopeless and he had more than a couple of customers asking for his services, when his muscles ached and he was sore, that he would never let his profession define who he was. Sometimes he would imagine that he could carve out his own future soon enough once he paid off his debt to his employer. He was old enough now. However, until that day came, this was his life and all it has been – all that he could recall in his twenty-six miserable years on this earth.

The blond loaded the last of the packaged items onto their ragged ship, wiping the sweat off his furrowed brows with his forearm. It was midday now, the sun beating down harder on his heated neck and back. He was making good time. Perhaps he could even take a stroll into his hometown one last time before departing from it for gods-knew-how-long.

Recently, the local police have been cracking down on businesses such as his current employer's and are arresting the accomplices. Fearful of such punishments, the brothel keeper hastily bought a ship from a questionable source late one night and ordered everyone to get ready – they were going to be moving their business elsewhere. Exactly where Berwald didn't know; his boss never did like to divulge information to him.

"Is that everything? All right then, we're heading out!" Berwald's employer hollered on the dock.

"What?" The sun didn't even set yet, why were they leaving so soon? Berwald was about to protest when the hefty man continued.

"The sooner we get outta here, the better, so let's go! Or I'll leave yer ass behind!"

Many of the workers herded onto the small boat hurriedly, the women with their long, bright dresses swishing across the wooden plank as the men's boots clomped heavily behind them. The last of them, strangers to Berwald because he has never seen any of them around before until now, took their time walking up to the ship. They were armed with swords and pistols, their disposition cocky and crude – mercenaries his boss probably hired in order to ensure safe travels away from the police.

Berwald was conflicted. This was the perfect time to abandon this life and start anew! Yet, this was the only life he knew…what else could he do with his skill set? Additionally, if the police were to find out what his profession was, he would be worse off! This line of thinking, in addition to the pressure from his keeper in the form of abusive yelling and threats, made his decision clear. His feet led the way onto the battered ship before Berwald knew it.

The sails unfurled, revealing a red-painted mascot of a skull on a beige background. The strangers who boarded along with them took the steering wheel, hoisting the anchor and taking them away from the port and into deeper water.

So they're more than just guards…Berwald noted.

They were their escorts as well, experienced seamen and perhaps even former pirates. As the ship groaned and creaked along the small waves, slowly cruising along the smooth waters, the sun continued to shine down on them.

The blond decided that he grew tired of the heat, retreating from the deck he was standing on and into the lower compartments and quarters downstairs. Some of the sunlight continued to shine incessantly through slivers of the cracked wooden boards, Berwald still feeling the rocking motion of the boat as they made it out further away from the town and eventually into open water. He heard his boss yelling at some of the crewmen above, his voice shrill as ever, followed by gruff, lazy responses from the mercenaries.

The lower compartment was cramped and smelled of mold and mildew. It crept alongside the corners and edges of the ship, extending its black and green tendrils to the floor in some areas. The air was stifling with too many bodies and from the lack of windows. The space was small, Berwald's head nearly touching the ceiling of the lower deck as he tried to find a spot to seat himself. All around him, female coworkers and mercenaries flirted with each other, their bodies close despite the smoldering heat. The women were whispering sweet nothings into the gruff men's ears, playfully swaying their hips, their dresses flowing this way and that to the motion.

"Ya know, they say it's bad luck to bring women on board a ship," One of the older men teased, eyeing a brunette who was sitting close to Berwald on one of the wooden supply crates.

"Oh dear me, whatever will I do?" She batted her thick eyelashes. "Is there something you can do? Can you protect me from this hex?"

Berwald did not understand the point of this seduction, unless his coworkers were trying to squeeze some extra coins out from these mercenaries along with their service. The humidity and atmosphere became unbearable, and the tall blond got up with a silent sigh just as his brunette coworker was straddling the shaggy man's hips, grinding playfully and lips kissing his stubby chin.

It was back to the deck for him. Resigning to bake under the sun, Berwald did his best to stay within the pillar of shadow provided by the large mast in the center of the ship.

The air outside was not that much better. It was rather still, the beige sails hardly catching any of it as it drifted slowly across the ocean's waters.

The town Berwald called home was nothing but a thin crust lying on top of the ocean's horizon behind them. The seagulls have gone and left him alone now. He didn't know how to feel about this whole departure…not that it mattered in the slightest. His life was not his own. The Swede spent the majority of the trip leaning against the wooden and termite-eaten mast, his own thoughts keeping him company, dreaming of a different life that could have been if he had stayed behind and ran away. The possibilities seemed endless as the cloudless blue sky above him. But it was too late for that now. A feeling almost like regret weaved its way into Berwald's heart just then, festering until he was snapped out of his reverie by that sharp, shrill voice.

"What the hell is that?!" The brothel keeper demanded of the man behind the steering wheel, pointing a pudgy finger toward something breaking through the horizon ahead of them. "Is it the marines after me?"

"Aw quit yer bitchin'!" The lanky man quipped. "We ain't the only ones sailin' these seas, ya know? Probably just another ship passin' by,"

Another mercenary got to work and pulled a small telescope from his pocket to inspect the incoming party. They were sailing at a racing pace right towards their ship. Even with his experience, it was hard to discern exactly if this vessel was a threat or not. The ship was much too grand for a pirate ship, but the way in which it carried itself on the sea begged to differ.

"Well?!"

"Hmm,"

"Give me that!" A quirky, nervous man ran up to them, ripping the telescope from the other mercenary's hand and taking a look for himself. "Pirates…" he growled.

Berwald jolted from his spot at this. He was already near the edge of the boat, trying to see for himself what the commotion was all about. But with his limited vision, all he could see was a large, blurry mass with white sails.

"What? How do you know?" The one steering asked.

The other man's voice then went shrill and he dropped the thin brass telescope from his gaunt hands as he shrieked "It's them! The Draugen!"

"What?!" The other two mercenaries and Berwald's boss said at the same time.

"Ah don't be jokin' about that at a time like this!" The mercenary who got his telescope stolen chastised.

"Who are these pirates exactly?" Berwald's boss was as clueless as he was about the identity of these marauders.

"It's them all right! Quick, we better surrender quietly while we still can," the nervous wreck of a mercenary pleaded.

"Whaat?!" The one steering the ship sneered at the cowering man. "Ya can't possibly tell me to do that now! Besides, they could just be impersonators; we'll look like fools if we turn tail and run,"

"I didn't pay you imbeciles to surrender; I paid you to escort me! Now tell me exactly who these pirates are!"

"No, no, no! It's the one," His one good eye wild, the scrawny mercenary came up to Berwald, clasping him by the shoulders with those skeletal fingers as if the blond was the only reasonable one left on the ship. The smaller man shook him, trying to make him understand as he yelled hysterically "They're coming! The Reaper is coming! He'll kill us, he'll kill us all!"

"Keep it together!" One of them barked. "And you call yourself a former pirate, how embarrassing!"

"That's why! I recognize that figurehead anywhere! Ya gotta believe me when I say we don't stand a chance against them!" He continued to clutch onto Berwald for dear life. "Against him,"

But despite his ravings, the others only grimaced and readied themselves for battle. Drawing his pistol from the sash around his waist, the mercenary behind the steering wheel approached Berwald's employer and said "Get the other men up here. You and your workers stay down in the lower deck."

"You'd better take care of this properly! Or none of you will get a cent out of me," The stout man had the gall to shout before doing as he was told and disappearing down the stairs connecting the two levels of the ship.

"Right…"

The other workers did the same and went after their boss.

Berwald followed suit, but not before catching one last glimpse at their impending danger. The massive ship was nearly upon them, and from where he was standing he could see a couple of the pirates with their weapons flashing in the sunlight, growing rowdy. Frantic yelling was heard behind him as the manic ex-pirate, seeing as there was no hope left for them, threw himself overboard the decrepit ship and fell into the blue water, disappearing from his view. It perturbed him how dramatically the other reacted. Was this threat really that great? Did they really stand no chance against this band of pirates? The Swede didn't know any better, however, as he never traveled anywhere beyond the town's borders in order to fulfill his duties.

When he was descending the wooden stairs, clamor roared within the lower deck, mercenaries stomping out in the opposite direction from deep within the boat and pushing the Swede aside in the process. They were raring to go, craving the excitement that only arose from battle, their weapons drawn. Some wore crazed smiles while others a more morbid expression.

Some of Berwald's male coworkers felt compelled to join in as well, grabbing a makeshift weapon and heading on out to the deck. The blond himself didn't feel combative, choosing to stay with the others should something happen. He didn't want to get involved in any of this. They all made a disapproving face at him as they passed him by, who, despite his stature and nature of his primary job, refused to go out with them, finding refuge next to a crate full of clothing. He didn't pay them too much mind as he joined his female coworkers, now shivering from fear. Their hooded eyes were now wide with terror and trepidation as they could only crane their necks up to the ceiling, hearing the barking and cursing of the mercenaries through the floorboards. His employer was even further back from where he was sitting, a shiny pistol in his stubby hand.

It all felt so surreal to Berwald, and he found himself unusually calm despite the fact that in just a few minutes, a battle would be raging above him. His very life could be in danger. The exciting feeling was foreign to him, and his mind just couldn't register it all at the moment. This was only supposed to happen in tales that seafarers at the brothel told when they came to visit. The romanticism was what they emphasized in these stories of fighting valiantly against the savage pirates, easily slaying them with a single slash of their sword and returning to shore with a girl in their arms. In many cases, it was one of Berwald's coworkers…or Berwald himself depending on what the patron fancied. He couldn't tell sometimes.

"We're being boarded!"

The wood surrounding them suddenly groaned and splintered. A great force and crash threw Berwald and the other passengers on the ship back as the old vessel was rammed from the front by the much larger ship. Battle cries rose from above followed by heavy footsteps and the sounds of swords being unsheathed. It all sounded like it was coming from the mercenaries.

What about the pirates?

The other party was uncharacteristically quiet.

But the battle was far from romantic and very one-sided as Berwald soon found out.

Bang!

A blood-curdling scream tore through the air followed by several more and the heavy thuds of bodies hitting the floor right above them - bodies of the mercenaries who were supposed to escort them. Their blood was beginning to seep through the thin wooden planks of the ceiling, collecting and dripping onto some of the cargo and passengers' faces.

Many of the females and Berwald's boss began screaming as well.

"You bastard gaahhh-!" Another one fell dead, his blood slipping through a crack that once filtered sunlight and onto the shoulder of the Swede's cotton shirt.

Cannon fire was soon heard, the huge explosion making impact against the hull and sides of the ship, drilling holes into the walls.

The smell of gunpowder, blood, sweat, and guts was making Berwald sick. The ship continued to groan as it grazed against the other, the two vessels nearly parallel to each other now. They vigorously rocked against each other, tossing the blond back and forth, the stacked cargo toppling over and spilling its contents onto the floor.

"Where do think you're all going? Get back here this instant!" The boss barked.

Many of the women could no longer stand the abuse and began rushing out of the lower deck, yelling for help. Their pretty dresses were soon splattered with blood of the fallen and spilt wine. None of the mercenaries paid them any mind, preoccupied with the forces invading the ship. Feeling like it was his responsibility to watch over them, Berwald suddenly sprang to his feet, following their lead and heading up the stairs to the deck where only carnage greeted him. The mercenaries seemed focused on the front of the ship, crowding around the area where the battle was at its thickest. Bodies of the deceased littered the small deck, some on top of each other, their eyes wide and clouded over, staring at the sunny sky above. His own cyan eyes caught sight of a small fishing boat attached alongside the main ship.

"This way!" He grunted, motioning for his coworkers to board the small vessel.

Already cowed from what was going on around them, the women quietly followed Berwald's orders, getting onto the boat still suspended by ropes.

"Eh look, they're gettin' away!" One of the pirates took note, charging towards the hapless targets. He was able to get ahold of one of them, the brunette from before. "And where d'ya think yer going, my pretty?"

"Ah! Ber!"

True to his job, the tall Swede stood between the pirate and his coworkers. With a left hook, he knocked the pirate out cold. The cutlass held by the other clattered onto the wooden boards while his grip loosened around the woman.

She ran to join her friends on the cramped boat.

Swiftly grabbing the weapon, Berwald proceeded to cut the ropes trapping the fishing boat now at capacity, doing his best to lower it with the remaining ropes as gently as possible onto the water below in order to ensure that the women were able to escape. None of them so much as turned around to thank the blond before they frantically paddled with their arms back to shore. Honestly, Berwald wanted to use this chaos as a chance to escape as well and was about to jump and swim towards the smaller boat when he felt something cold pressed up against the back of his skull.

"You traitorous lout!" His employer spat, gun pointed at the Swede's head and ready to fire if he didn't comply. "Setting my merchandise free like that? Are you out of your mind? Drop the sword!"

Upon command, Berwald did as he was told and released his grip on the cutlass, his hands up in a surrendering manner. The sudden rush he was feeling as he fended off the pirate suddenly left him, leaving him drained and not in the mood to argue. His body ran cold at the realization that his employer turned on him, ready to end his life if necessary.

What was I thinking, doing something like that?!

He wasn't thinking to be honest. His body acted and responded on its own from all the mayhem surrounding the ship. He felt a hand twist his right arm behind him, holding him in front of his boss as the portly man pushed him back down the stairs where the cargo was held.

"Yer comin' with me, Ber! If those savages overrun this damn ship, you'll be my human shield. At least do your job right,"

They arrived as far back on the ship as possible, Berwald held up and gun still pressed to his head as they waited for the fight to come to them. Some mercenaries were still struggling above, the sound of gunshots ringing in their ears, but it was less manic than before. Their numbers were dwindling. They were going to lose. As it raged, Berwald and his boss stood there with bated breath, waiting for when the first pirate would enter through the staircase. They almost missed him.

The man was as silent as a cemetery, his footsteps light as he made his way down the old wooden steps to where the passengers were. The two only knew of his approach because of his figure in the entryway. He was alone, the commotion above them as present as always. His face was hidden behind a mask in the shape of a skull, eye sockets black but boring into the two men's souls as he turned to face them in the back.

"Don't come any closer, you freak!" The brothel keeper threatened, holding the taller blond upright to cover his entire stout body.

The Swede struggled a bit, only to be reminded of the cold metal against his head and what it entailed. He could only twist back to the front where the pirate continued to make his way towards them at an even pace. It didn't matter what he did now, either shot from behind or in front, the situation was hopeless and he knew it. And yet…he didn't want to give up! His breathing quickened as he glared at the approaching figure with livid cyan eyes.

The pirate kept the two flintlock pistols in his hands poised, ready to fire. The man made no verbal reply, unfazed. The skull's expression remained blank, terrifying, and hollowly staring back at them, its jaws partly opened.

"I'll shoot! I'll kill you where you stand, damn pirate!" By now the brothel keeper averted the direction in which he pointed his gun, away from Berwald and toward the marauder instead. He held Berwald securely in front of him by the bent arm. He would be able to shoot and not get hit in return like this. There was nothing to worry about - he had the ultimate defense. The pirate didn't have a chance!

At this the masked man stopped when he was only a few feet away from the two. "…"

No one spoke for the longest time, the screams outside the only sound heard.

Then the pirate raised one of his pistols at the two.

I don't want to die!

Bang!

The sound resonated within the small space of the lower deck.

Berwald's boss clearly wasn't familiar with using the firearm, for when he pulled the trigger and fired, the nose of the gun was deathly close to Berwald's shoulder, the bullet whipping past him and grazing the skin there before making its way to the pirate.

The searing pain caused Berwald to screw his eyes shut for a moment, but he chose to keep them closed when he knew the other would fire back in retaliation. He was bracing for the pain and the bullet that would end his life, but then a sound compelled him to open his eyes.

A small grunt was heard coming from the intruder and he took a step back. He never pulled the trigger on his own white flintlock pistol. The bullet fired by Berwald's boss landed slightly on its target, breaking off a piece of the white mask, revealing a sliver of the face behind it.

Berwald found himself staring into the eye of his marauder. The mask broken on the upper left side revealed porcelain skin and a bit of platinum blond hair, but the feature that captivated the Swede the most was the amethyst eye looking back at him. It reflected tranquility, his brow not even furrowed one bit.

"Please don't move." The pirate requested as he continued to lock eyes with Berwald, standing straight again after the initial shot of the firearm.

Berwald just knew the request was addressed to him and complied. He couldn't stop gazing into that violet orb. Anxiously, he waited for the other's next move.

"Ha! You're one to talk!" The brothel keeper piped up from behind his human shield. He raised the pistol again, taking aim. "What are ya gonna do about it?"

The pirate said nothing as he raised his white pistol in his right hand once more.

In a flurry, Berwald's boss emptied out the last of the pistol's four rounds at the man. But this time, each one of the shots missed.

Like a wraith, the pirate silently moved to and fro, deftly dodging the bullets in small, graceful movements. He kept his distance.

"Why you-!" The portly man started to panic, forcing Berwald to follow him as he shifted his body along the walls of the ship, closer to the stairwell to run outside.

But the Swede stood his ground, his stance wide and planting his feet firmly on the wooden floorboards, stiff as a mountain and unmoving. He continued to stare at the figure in front of him.

The pirate shifted a little bit at an angle, his pistol poised.

Is he going to shoot me anyway?

"What are you doing, Ber?! Move yer-!"

Bang!

It only took one shot.

The Swede immediately felt the grip around his wrist slack, followed by a heavy body slumping against him. He didn't feel anything rip through him.

The wooden pistol fell with a clack from the dead employer's hand.

But…how…?

Berwald fell to the floor on his hands and knees from the weight of his former manager, flabbergasted that nowhere new was bleeding. The bullet should have gone right through him in order to get to his boss! He couldn't help turning around to see the dead man's corpse that laid next to a crate tipped over and filled with fruits.

The bullet struck him behind his neck, right at the base of his skull between the folds of fat there. The collar of his starched dress shirt was beginning to soak up the blood seeping from the wound, spreading out into a huge blotch down his back. Sheer horror etched across his paling, puffy face, his eyes were wide open and clouding over as death took him.

Berwald looked up from the body for a moment and saw the wall behind them. A steel frame embedded within the wooden wall looked bent out of shape, a small dent blemishing its already rusty edges.

The pirate had deliberately missed Berwald and his boss upon initially aiming, instead shooting behind them at a wide angle in order to have the bullet ricochet off the steel frame to hit the stouter man behind his back, completely circumventing Berwald altogether.

Soft footsteps snapped Berwald out of his internal investigation and awe.

He's after me next!

He whipped his head back toward the source of the noise to find the man getting closer. Still on the ground, he glared up and into that violet eye once more, daring the masked man to come closer. Cyan eyes ablaze and teeth bared, he was ready to strike if he had to. He was not going to go down without a fight! Even though the pirate just "saved" him, who's to say that the Swede wasn't his next target?

But the pirate did no such thing.

The platinum blond instead put away his pistols, stepping over some blankets carefully and approached Berwald, offering him a hand when he got close enough to the kneeling man. "You're hurt. You can come with me and we can patch you up; or you can stay here and let death take you." The man eyed Berwald's right shoulder, the wound there still open and blood spiraling down to his forearm. His voice was gruff and hollow behind the mask.

At that moment, Berwald thought he was already staring at death in the face.

Endnotes: Just in case if it still seems confusing, Tino is indeed the masked man they call the "Reaper" and the "Draugen" is the name of the ship. I thought Tino's pirate name was very fitting and may have been watching someone play Overwatch at the time...-shifty eyes-

I also found writing a fic starring Berwald was no easy task because the guy hardly talks...how is anything supposed to be set in motion like that? XO It was a challenge but I made do...maybe...I've never really written anything Nordic related before so I hope I haven't botched anything up yet (probably too late and I already did).

Also, I have an Archive of Our Own account now with the same name (just replace the hyphen in the middle of the name with an underscore) and I should be there. I haven't done anything with it yet or transferred any stories over, but should something happen know that there is another place to find me!

Thank you for reading this far and I hope to see you again in the next chapter!