"I'm so glad to see you! I'm really really glad to see you!"
Sweden observed how happy Finland seemed to see Estonia.
M' wife seems to like him. We'll take him back and have him be our kid. That short one can come too.
"You...and that little one, I want you both back at my place."
Finland did not react like Sweden anticipated. Why was Finland upset with the idea of Estonia and Latvia, who he seemed very happy to see, coming back with him?
Ah, the threat of Poland. That was why. Well that shouldn't be a problem.

"Dude, you're something else!"
Sweden already knew that.
"...I'll never, ever give them to you!"
Sweden stared at Poland. His calculations told him that it would be more than easy to take the small man by the collar and drop him out the window.
But Finland...
Finland seemed extremely anxious about the whole situation. He didn't want his wife to endure even more stress by watching him engage in physical combat with Poland. Even though Estonia and Latvia living at their house with them as their children might make Finland happy, it didn't seem like it was worth the stress the confrontation with Poland would bring.
"Then I guess it can't be helped..."

Finland hurriedly followed Sweden out the door. What else was his traveling companion going to do today? He had more than half a mind to stay back at Poland's place with Estonia and Latvia, but he was worried that Poland was so ticked off at Sweden that it might get taken out on him.
Oh Sweden...what have you done?
The last smidgen of orange from the sunset was fizzling out of the sky when the silohouette of a cabin emerged on the horizon.
Oh no, was this another house that Sweden intended to attack with uncomfortable inquiries?
"Eh whose cabin is this? Are you sure we should approach it so close to dark? A lot of people don't like others coming onto their property at this hour. Maybe they'll think we're robbers and want to shoot us on spot!"
"'s mine," Sweden replied without stopping or turning around.
"Oh..." Finland relaxed for a second, but just a second, before another disturbing thought crossed his mind.
"As in it's actually yours or you're intending to take it?" After all, it wouldn't be the first time today Sweden had tried to do such a thing.
"'s mine. I built it."
Oh. Finland relaxed again.
But again, not for long.
Oh no...this would be it wouldn't it? If I step into his cabin I'll really belong to him, there'll be no chance of escape. But if I run now I'll be all alone, and besides he might find me again. But I can't live with him, he's scary!
While lost in worry Finland had unknowingly followed Sweden right up to the cabin's porch. There was the moaning of a key cranking open a rusted over lock, then a click was the door shrieked open.
Sweden held the door open and stood to the side.
"Come on in..."
Finland was choking on terror as he unwillingly started to amble through the doorway.
"...M' wife."
And the door clicked shut.

Definitely good that he hadn't decided to fight Poland, Sweden concluded. Finland was wound up enough as is. Post truamatic stress disorder, likely, from the abuses they'd suffered at Mr. Denmark's house.
"'it down," Sweden instructed his wife after dusting off an old wooden chair.
"Ah...okay..." Finland's voice was just as shaky, and weaker now. Not good. He definitely needed some rest.
"Stay 'ere. I'll get the bed ready."

Finland's heart fell out of his rib cage as Sweden turned away and ascended the stairs.
...the bed.
Singular, not plural.
THE bed. Not "your" bed. If it'd been any country else Finland would've assumed that the host would simply have given up the bed and taken the couch.
But after the way Sweden had said "This...is m' wife," with a complete lack of irony that morning, Finland was dreadfully certain that this was not Sweden's intention.
Sweden was getting THE bed ready. THEIR bed. Finland was likely never to have his own again.
Finland would never be his own again. He was Sweden's.
"Finland...I'm extremely worried about your future."
It was past the point of worrying now.
Consumed with dread, Finland passed out on the old wooden chair.