I started this a while ago and finished it tonight. Not that I'm caught up on Hetalia, anywho.

Title: Yellow Lines
Fandom, Characters: Hetalia, Denmark and Sweden
Rating: G
Time: 1940
Necessary Background: In WWII, Denmark saved all of its Jews, mostly by sending them in secret rooms on boats to Sweden. Sweden was technically neutral, but collaborated with the Nazis while hating them. The Nazis conquered both Norway and Denmark, while Finland was fighting Russia.
Note: I haven't written much recently. Let me know what you think, not only in terms of characterization but dialogue, pacing, description, literary devices, etc.



Denmark and Sweden are sitting across a table from each other, and both look tired. The room is white and the two opposite doors are richly wooden, matching the table and two chairs. Sweden probably built them, although neither is sure. There’s a yellow line down the middle of the room, going up both walls; it goes under the table but not above it. Above it no one needs reminding.

With his axe gone, Denmark’s hair is drooping, crumbling. He doesn’t look like much–just smaller. But his eyes have got a kind of burn to them, a kind of smolder without a spark. Outstanding sparks have been quenched. Sweden seems rightly dead. His nails have grown a bit, hair an inch too long. His glasses bent a little at the edges, so that they look worn. There are smudges on the lenses.

Denmark wants to assume it’s from handling Nazi money, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to make that comment.

Denmark starts the conversation. “Look, Sverige.”

“’m neutral. Can’t help.”

Denmark wants to scream. ‘I know you’re neutral’ (he rages), ‘Norway and Finland an’ I know it damn well, ya collaborationist basterd!’ (Instead) he says, “It’s too late for that conversation, and there wouldn’t be a point.

“I need you to do what you’re best at– turn the other cheek for me.” There is a little bit of a smirk where there should have been a leer. Sweden leans back in his chair and doesn’t nod.

Denmark hastens to explain before he’s lost it. “My Jews are my citizens, right? I will do what I must to make them safe, ya know that, and they are at risk. Do not pretend– you know that.” Sweden keeps avoiding his eyes. Denmark sighs and loses a little of the fire.

“That isn’t you, Sveige, c'mon. You went to war to grow great, not to tear down. I know you. I saw you an’ Latvia. Let me send them to you, jus' cross your borders quiet.” (Unsaid: ) ‘We were once great together. Do you remember? Let us finish this competition. (By seeing: ) Who has fallen lower?’

“Denmark,” and Sweden begins, and sits forward. He hangs his head for a moment, brings it up slowly, raising his eyes last of all. “c’n’t deb’te that.” His eyes are the blue again, the color he remembers from the best of days, and they have the unified strength of a sea in attack.

“Really?” Denmark perks up again. (God,) ‘you could be so great, Sverige.’

“Danmark….” Sweden trails off. He meets his eyes very steadily and glances at some spot on the Danish side of the yellow line. “An’ I c’n… f’r the ones who want…” He pushes his glasses up a little and the light glints off of them, and Denmark gets it.

“You’ll send them to fight in Finland.” Hearts and minds, Nazis, try for both. (Our hearts are not our own to give:)

Denmark leaps from his chair before Sweden’s answer is even delivered– “’f they want.” The good fight is the good fight, even when it's not his. He seizes Sweden’s hand and shakes it with a pre-war vigor and an ancient strength;

“Right-o, Sverige, I knew I could count on you!” and

Denmark slams on his hat and is out the door.

After all, he has a resistance to organize,

(you know.)