[FIC] Better Than Counting Sheep
Title: Better Than Counting Sheep
Rating: G
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Iceland, Norway
Word Count: 577
Warning/s: total brotherly sappiness? o.O
Summary: Iceland has trouble sleeping and Norway tries to help.
A/N: I have such a THING for the bro-ness in Hetalia + I still hadn’t written Iceland = this. *shrug* xD Blame it on being an older sibling.
...I always forget to post my fics on LJ until much later. Oops.
Iceland huffs as he turns in bed for what feels like the hundredth time. He grabs a pillow and presses it over his face, hoping that maybe this will help him fall asleep. When he starts to run out of air instead, he tosses the pillow aside and glares blearily at the bedside clock. 2:06 am.
A violent snowstorm has been going on all day and night and the window long since frosted over, making the room seem even darker. Iceland curls further into his blankets as a particularly strong gust rattles the frame. He tells himself that he is perfectly safe inside and the storm will die down soon. Only babies get scared of the dark and cold and howling wind and he is an adult. (He’s not scared anyway, he just can’t sleep, thank you very much)
The sounds of the wind picking up again make him sit up a bit and look towards the clock again. 2:17. Damn- at this rate, he’ll never get to sleep. Iceland looks around the empty room, holding no immediate relief, and decides it’s time for desperate measures. He wraps the covers firmly over his head (not to block out the sound of the wind of course, he’s just cold) and reaches for the phone.
He’s biting his lip by the fifth ring and is about to hang up when-
“...Ice? Wha- It’s...4. Did something happen?” Norway’s voice is low and thick with sleep.
“No... I-”
Norway waits patiently on the line. “...I can’t sleep.” Iceland’s voice sounds tiny, even to his own ears.
“It’s that storm, right? Saw the news reports.” His brother’s voice is gentle. Iceland hums his agreement, hunched over the phone. Neither of them speak for several moments.
There’s some rustling on the other side and then Norway speaks up again, his tone fond. “I remember something that used to help you fall asleep. Or are you too old for that?”
Iceland frowns at the question and doesn’t respond. He is too old for this. He’s pretty sure that he’ll regret calling in the morning when he’s reminded how insufferable Norway can get if something Iceland does reminds him of the past. But he also remembers being much smaller, when thunderstorms would chase him into Norway’s chambers and nothing other than his brother’s presence could soothe him. He stays quiet on the line, and can practically feel the smile on Norway’s face as his brother’s voice comes through the phone.
“I don’t hear any objections...”
Iceland stalls a bit longer, until he realizes the clinking on the window means it’s started to hail. A chill comes rushing up his back and he caves in.
“....fine.”
Norway’s voice is low as he begins to hum the simple tune, an old lullaby every child would have heard at some point. It brings back memories to Iceland, of resting his head on Norway’s lap after a cup of warm milk and drifting to sleep, a protective arm over him. It meant being warm and safe, knowing his big brother was nearby.
"Sofðu unga ástin mín,
- úti regnið grætur.
Mamma geymir gullin þín,
gamla leggi og völuskrín.
Við skulum ekki vaka um dimmar nætur.
Það er margt, sem myrkrið veit,
- minn er hugur þungur.
Oft ég svartan sandinn leit
svíða grænan engireit.
Í jöklinum búa dauða djupar sprungur.
Sofðu lengi, sofðu rótt,
- seint mun best að vakna.
Mæðan kenna mun þér fljótt,
meðan hallar degi skjótt.
Að mennirnir elska, missa, gráta og sakna."
By the time Norway finishes the final notes of the song there’s no sound over the line. He can only just make out the sound of Iceland’s slow, steady breathing. Norway smiles a bit as he hangs up the phone.
“Night little brother....”
******
Damn, every Icelandic lullaby I found was super morbid. y so angsty, Iceland? D:
Rough translation:
"Sleep my young love.... Outside the rain cries
Mommy keeps your gold... old leg bones and chest of stones*“
We shall not be awake on dark nights...
The darkness knows so plenty...
-My mind is heavy
Often black sands I gazed at
Hurting green fields
In the glacier lives dead deep cracks...
Sleep well, sleep tight
-Better to wake up later
Mother will teach you sooner
'til the sun reaches the horizon
That men love, lose, cry and long for.
Rating: G
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Iceland, Norway
Word Count: 577
Warning/s: total brotherly sappiness? o.O
Summary: Iceland has trouble sleeping and Norway tries to help.
A/N: I have such a THING for the bro-ness in Hetalia + I still hadn’t written Iceland = this. *shrug* xD Blame it on being an older sibling.
...I always forget to post my fics on LJ until much later. Oops.
Iceland huffs as he turns in bed for what feels like the hundredth time. He grabs a pillow and presses it over his face, hoping that maybe this will help him fall asleep. When he starts to run out of air instead, he tosses the pillow aside and glares blearily at the bedside clock. 2:06 am.
A violent snowstorm has been going on all day and night and the window long since frosted over, making the room seem even darker. Iceland curls further into his blankets as a particularly strong gust rattles the frame. He tells himself that he is perfectly safe inside and the storm will die down soon. Only babies get scared of the dark and cold and howling wind and he is an adult. (He’s not scared anyway, he just can’t sleep, thank you very much)
The sounds of the wind picking up again make him sit up a bit and look towards the clock again. 2:17. Damn- at this rate, he’ll never get to sleep. Iceland looks around the empty room, holding no immediate relief, and decides it’s time for desperate measures. He wraps the covers firmly over his head (not to block out the sound of the wind of course, he’s just cold) and reaches for the phone.
He’s biting his lip by the fifth ring and is about to hang up when-
“...Ice? Wha- It’s...4. Did something happen?” Norway’s voice is low and thick with sleep.
“No... I-”
Norway waits patiently on the line. “...I can’t sleep.” Iceland’s voice sounds tiny, even to his own ears.
“It’s that storm, right? Saw the news reports.” His brother’s voice is gentle. Iceland hums his agreement, hunched over the phone. Neither of them speak for several moments.
There’s some rustling on the other side and then Norway speaks up again, his tone fond. “I remember something that used to help you fall asleep. Or are you too old for that?”
Iceland frowns at the question and doesn’t respond. He is too old for this. He’s pretty sure that he’ll regret calling in the morning when he’s reminded how insufferable Norway can get if something Iceland does reminds him of the past. But he also remembers being much smaller, when thunderstorms would chase him into Norway’s chambers and nothing other than his brother’s presence could soothe him. He stays quiet on the line, and can practically feel the smile on Norway’s face as his brother’s voice comes through the phone.
“I don’t hear any objections...”
Iceland stalls a bit longer, until he realizes the clinking on the window means it’s started to hail. A chill comes rushing up his back and he caves in.
“....fine.”
Norway’s voice is low as he begins to hum the simple tune, an old lullaby every child would have heard at some point. It brings back memories to Iceland, of resting his head on Norway’s lap after a cup of warm milk and drifting to sleep, a protective arm over him. It meant being warm and safe, knowing his big brother was nearby.
"Sofðu unga ástin mín,
- úti regnið grætur.
Mamma geymir gullin þín,
gamla leggi og völuskrín.
Við skulum ekki vaka um dimmar nætur.
Það er margt, sem myrkrið veit,
- minn er hugur þungur.
Oft ég svartan sandinn leit
svíða grænan engireit.
Í jöklinum búa dauða djupar sprungur.
Sofðu lengi, sofðu rótt,
- seint mun best að vakna.
Mæðan kenna mun þér fljótt,
meðan hallar degi skjótt.
Að mennirnir elska, missa, gráta og sakna."
By the time Norway finishes the final notes of the song there’s no sound over the line. He can only just make out the sound of Iceland’s slow, steady breathing. Norway smiles a bit as he hangs up the phone.
“Night little brother....”
******
Damn, every Icelandic lullaby I found was super morbid. y so angsty, Iceland? D:
Rough translation:
"Sleep my young love.... Outside the rain cries
Mommy keeps your gold... old leg bones and chest of stones*“
We shall not be awake on dark nights...
The darkness knows so plenty...
-My mind is heavy
Often black sands I gazed at
Hurting green fields
In the glacier lives dead deep cracks...
Sleep well, sleep tight
-Better to wake up later
Mother will teach you sooner
'til the sun reaches the horizon
That men love, lose, cry and long for.