Cheer
Title: Cheer
Rating: PG
Warnings: AU, sort of bittersweet, heavy on the bitter
Summary: A young boy learns an unexpected lesson about Christmas
Notes: Hoping this is anything near what you wanted
Norway--Kristopher
Iceland--Reynir
Denmark--Dan
For thistle_blue for the nordic5_xmas
Around Christmas, the air would change everywhere. Kristopher could feel the difference at school; the atmosphere buzzed with the excitement of all the children who stared out the window at the snow, waiting for the end of the week when vacation finally came. In the town center and up and down every street, cheer and joy were the emotions of choice as shop windows were filled with candy canes and lights and snowmen adorned the front lawns of almost every home. But when Kristopher came home with his little brother, Reynir, in tow, the air in their house was the same as it always was: stale, cold, and smelling slightly of whatever alcohol their father had been drinking.
It was long after dark before their father came home. Dan Dalum, or Drunkard Dan as he was referred to by the gossipy neighborhood, kicked in the door with beer on his breath. "Hey boys!" He shouted (unnecessarily as the kitchen was only about twenty feet away from the front door) "C'mere and check out what I got!" The boys exchanged a look over the half eaten dinner of scrambled eggs Kristopher had made before walking slowly out into the hall to see their father standing proud, holding a pine tree that had about as many needles as Kristopher had friends. "So?" Dan boomed, gesturing to the tree, "Whadya think?"
"That's a sad tree," Kristopher said quietly. The smile on Dan's face slowly melted into a scowl.
"Whadya mean?" he barked looking at the tree from arm's length.
"It's a skeleton," Reynir murmured from his brother's side. Their father remained still until he turned around and stormed out, letting the tree fall across the doorway, shouting about ungrateful bastards. Later, Kristopher negotiated the tree back outside and propped it up against the house before going to bed.
The next morning, the boys gingerly stepped around their father who had fallen asleep in the entrance hall when he had come back home.
Kristopher would barely have even noticed that Christmas Eve had come a couple days later if Reynir hadn't asked if they could bake cookies for Santa. Rather than tell his brother that Santa was a drunken deadbeat who wouldn't be bringing them presents this year at all, he agreed.
Soon, the house smelled of gingerbread, and Kristopher sat at the kitchen table watching Reynir put icing faces on the men, stars, and angels. Neither of them said anything as Dan entered the room. He looked at the cookies before picking up a warm gingerbread man (not hearing Reynir say 'don't.') and bit his head off.
"Those are for Santa," The little brother protested, trying to grab the remainder of the cookie from his father's hand, "Put it back!"
"Santa?" Crumbs fell from Dan's mouth as he spoke, "You ain't gettin' any presents this year."
"Why?" Reynir asked; he'd been a good boy all year. How could he not get something in return? Dan bit on an arm and most of the torso of his cookie man and mumbled something as he went over to the fridge to get a beer.
"Because Santa spends all his money on beer and needle-less trees, Rey." Kristopher finally spoke up, "That's why."
"Oh you're clever," Dan barked. "Santa's supposed to be me?"
"Yes, that's what a father does." Reynir put his hands over his years and rushed out of the kitchen.
"You don't like the way I do things," Dan shouted, striding up to loom over his son, "then you can go get out of here." He gestured sloppily to the door. Kristopher glared up at his father, who gave him a cocky grin back. "Go on!" He jostled Kristopher's shoulder. The son broke eye contact and swiftly left the kitchen. Out in the hall, he got his coat and headed for the door, passing his brother who was sitting on the stairs with his hands over his ears and his eyes closed.
Reynir lifted his head, "Where are you going?"
"Away," he replied simply, pulling his boots on.
"But what about Christmas?" Reynir insisted, tripping up to him.
"There is no Christmas," Kristopher mumbled, not looking at his brother.
Dan finished off his beer, proud of his 'parenting' until he heard the door open and slam. He rushed into the hall and shoved his crying second son to the side. "Hey!' he shouted to Kristopher's back as he opened the door, "You get back here." The boy didn't turn around, but Dan continued to bark and threaten for as long as Kristopher was still in his sight. Kristopher kept walking until he couldn't hear his father anymore.
He took a left, a right, another left until he saw someone standing on the sidewalk. It was a tall boy with a thick scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, glasses, and blond hair sticking out from under a stocking cap. Kristopher kept walking hoping to just go past the guy until he mumbled something that sounded like 'hello.'
"Hi," Kristopher sighed and took a couple more steps.
"'M Berwald," the boy said.
"Kristopher," he replied without turning around.
"What're y'doin' out? I's Christmas." Kristopher looked over his shoulder, but what he could see of Berwald's face showed no emotion.
"Just walking," he replied coldly, "Why are you out?"
"'M a lookout." Berwald said quietly. Kristopher looked around, wonder what he was watching for. "F'r m'dad."
"I've never seen you around before," Kristopher noted, changing the odd subject, "What school do you go to?"
The boy shook his head, "D'n't go t'school, n'v'er have." Kristopher tilted his head to one side; Berwald was maybe a year older than him, how did he not go to school? His mind was distracted as he saw someone running toward them from the house behind Berwald. The man wore a red suit and lugged a lumpy sack about as big as himself over his shoulder.
"Okay, let's go, let's go." he hissed through a big white false beard. Berwald and the man began jogging down the street. Kristopher looked at the house, before running after them. The pair turned the corner, and he almost lost them until a flash of red going into the park caught his eye. Kristopher found them on the swings. Berwald rocked back and forth listlessly to keep warm while "Santa" looked over a map of the neighborhood. Without the beard obscuring most of his face, Kristopher could see he was a thin, drawn man with bright eyes.
"What are you two doing?" he gasped. The man in the red suit jumped at the sound of an unfamiliar voice and almost fell out of his swing; he stared at Kristopher with wide eyes and glanced at Berwald who mumbled something.
"I'm Santa," the man replied, "I'm bringing gifts to the--"
"Don't give me any of that." Kristopher deadpanned. "You guys are thieves or murderers or something."
"Mmm, mmm," Berwald shook his head, "I's true. H's got pres'nts." He gestured to the gray sack between the two of them. Kristopher was briefly more interested in the fact that the boy spoke the same way without a scarf over his face.
"We have to get going," Santa said, looking at his watch before reaching over and heaving the sack over his shoulder. His face was serious as he said, "I'm Tino, this is my son, Berwald, do you want to come with us so I can prove we're not criminals?" Kristopher pondered for a moment; it was this or go back home. He nodded. "Okay," Tino grinned, "Do you know where Modoc Court is?" Kristopher pointed in the right direction, and they headed off.
Out in front of 22 Modoc Court, Berwald and Kristopher waited. Eventually, Berwald said, "Y'r n't just out walkin'. Wh't happ'n'd?"
He remained quiet for a while, watching the clouds of his breath rise into the air. I suppose I could tell him, he thought, I've known him for ninety minute; he's the closest thing I have to a friend. He sighed deeply before beginning the story, back at the beginning when his mother had left the house that passed spring.
"And he told me to leave, so I did" Tino had come back shortly before this, and they had started walking again.
"Wh't about y'r brother?"
"He's fine," Kristopher brushed the question off without really knowing. Berwald cocked an concerned eyebrow. "Well, so, why do you and your dad do this?" he changed the subject to avoid thinking about Reynir left alone with his father.
"W'r spredin' Christmas cheer," Berwald answered, admiring the Victorian style house into which his father was now sneaking. "M'dad s'ys people d'n't have enough 'n' i's n't Christmas w'thout cheer, s'we're helpin'."
"That's ridiculous," Kristopher muttered. Berwald raised his eyebrows again. "Christmas is gonna happen no matter what; who cares if anyone is cheerful?"
"I do." Berwald said clearly. Kristopher paused. "Cheer's wh't makes it Christmas 'nstead've just 'nother day.
Tino came back, looking over a list of homes. "Ready?" he looked at them.
"I..think I should go home," Kristopher said quietly. He looked at Berwald, "It's Christmas after all."
"Lemme give you something then," Tino smiled under his beard and began digging through his bag before finding a flat, square present, "Here," he said, "I don't remember what that is, but I hope you like it." Berwald leaned down and whispered something in his father's ear. "Oh!" after a little more digging, Kristopher was also handed another present. "That's for your brother." Kristopher looked at the presents and felt tears swell up in his eyes but blinked rapidly, hoping they'd go away. "Ho, ho, ho," Tino laughed forcefully, "Merry Christmas!" He began trotting down the street.
Kristopher looked up at Berwald, "Thank you," he sighed.
Berwald nodded once before leaning down and giving Kristopher a chaste kiss on the cheek; "M'rry Christmas," he said lowly.
Kristopher came back to the house shortly after 3 in the morning. Dan was asleep with the TV blaring, and Reynir had dozed off sitting on the stairs, watching the door. Kristopher carefully lifted his brother's arm and tucked the present under it before tiptoeing upstairs to bed.
In the last days of the year, while asking his neighbor if he could borrow ten dollars to buy groceries, Kristopher overheard a conversation about how the police had caught 'some weirdo' who had been going around, breaking into houses while dressed at Santa.
"I heard he's been doing it every Christmas for eleven years, all across the state, spends the rest of the year researching where to go." One person said.
"That's not even the worst part," Another replied, "he had his son with him. Poor kid never had a normal life, a normal home. The guy's gotta be going away for a long time for putting his son through that."
"Oh, that's terrible."
Once his kind neighbor gave him the money, Kristopher had to go, but he could help wondering what was so terrible about that life.
Rating: PG
Warnings: AU, sort of bittersweet, heavy on the bitter
Summary: A young boy learns an unexpected lesson about Christmas
Notes: Hoping this is anything near what you wanted
Norway--Kristopher
Iceland--Reynir
Denmark--Dan
For thistle_blue for the nordic5_xmas
Around Christmas, the air would change everywhere. Kristopher could feel the difference at school; the atmosphere buzzed with the excitement of all the children who stared out the window at the snow, waiting for the end of the week when vacation finally came. In the town center and up and down every street, cheer and joy were the emotions of choice as shop windows were filled with candy canes and lights and snowmen adorned the front lawns of almost every home. But when Kristopher came home with his little brother, Reynir, in tow, the air in their house was the same as it always was: stale, cold, and smelling slightly of whatever alcohol their father had been drinking.
It was long after dark before their father came home. Dan Dalum, or Drunkard Dan as he was referred to by the gossipy neighborhood, kicked in the door with beer on his breath. "Hey boys!" He shouted (unnecessarily as the kitchen was only about twenty feet away from the front door) "C'mere and check out what I got!" The boys exchanged a look over the half eaten dinner of scrambled eggs Kristopher had made before walking slowly out into the hall to see their father standing proud, holding a pine tree that had about as many needles as Kristopher had friends. "So?" Dan boomed, gesturing to the tree, "Whadya think?"
"That's a sad tree," Kristopher said quietly. The smile on Dan's face slowly melted into a scowl.
"Whadya mean?" he barked looking at the tree from arm's length.
"It's a skeleton," Reynir murmured from his brother's side. Their father remained still until he turned around and stormed out, letting the tree fall across the doorway, shouting about ungrateful bastards. Later, Kristopher negotiated the tree back outside and propped it up against the house before going to bed.
The next morning, the boys gingerly stepped around their father who had fallen asleep in the entrance hall when he had come back home.
Kristopher would barely have even noticed that Christmas Eve had come a couple days later if Reynir hadn't asked if they could bake cookies for Santa. Rather than tell his brother that Santa was a drunken deadbeat who wouldn't be bringing them presents this year at all, he agreed.
Soon, the house smelled of gingerbread, and Kristopher sat at the kitchen table watching Reynir put icing faces on the men, stars, and angels. Neither of them said anything as Dan entered the room. He looked at the cookies before picking up a warm gingerbread man (not hearing Reynir say 'don't.') and bit his head off.
"Those are for Santa," The little brother protested, trying to grab the remainder of the cookie from his father's hand, "Put it back!"
"Santa?" Crumbs fell from Dan's mouth as he spoke, "You ain't gettin' any presents this year."
"Why?" Reynir asked; he'd been a good boy all year. How could he not get something in return? Dan bit on an arm and most of the torso of his cookie man and mumbled something as he went over to the fridge to get a beer.
"Because Santa spends all his money on beer and needle-less trees, Rey." Kristopher finally spoke up, "That's why."
"Oh you're clever," Dan barked. "Santa's supposed to be me?"
"Yes, that's what a father does." Reynir put his hands over his years and rushed out of the kitchen.
"You don't like the way I do things," Dan shouted, striding up to loom over his son, "then you can go get out of here." He gestured sloppily to the door. Kristopher glared up at his father, who gave him a cocky grin back. "Go on!" He jostled Kristopher's shoulder. The son broke eye contact and swiftly left the kitchen. Out in the hall, he got his coat and headed for the door, passing his brother who was sitting on the stairs with his hands over his ears and his eyes closed.
Reynir lifted his head, "Where are you going?"
"Away," he replied simply, pulling his boots on.
"But what about Christmas?" Reynir insisted, tripping up to him.
"There is no Christmas," Kristopher mumbled, not looking at his brother.
Dan finished off his beer, proud of his 'parenting' until he heard the door open and slam. He rushed into the hall and shoved his crying second son to the side. "Hey!' he shouted to Kristopher's back as he opened the door, "You get back here." The boy didn't turn around, but Dan continued to bark and threaten for as long as Kristopher was still in his sight. Kristopher kept walking until he couldn't hear his father anymore.
He took a left, a right, another left until he saw someone standing on the sidewalk. It was a tall boy with a thick scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, glasses, and blond hair sticking out from under a stocking cap. Kristopher kept walking hoping to just go past the guy until he mumbled something that sounded like 'hello.'
"Hi," Kristopher sighed and took a couple more steps.
"'M Berwald," the boy said.
"Kristopher," he replied without turning around.
"What're y'doin' out? I's Christmas." Kristopher looked over his shoulder, but what he could see of Berwald's face showed no emotion.
"Just walking," he replied coldly, "Why are you out?"
"'M a lookout." Berwald said quietly. Kristopher looked around, wonder what he was watching for. "F'r m'dad."
"I've never seen you around before," Kristopher noted, changing the odd subject, "What school do you go to?"
The boy shook his head, "D'n't go t'school, n'v'er have." Kristopher tilted his head to one side; Berwald was maybe a year older than him, how did he not go to school? His mind was distracted as he saw someone running toward them from the house behind Berwald. The man wore a red suit and lugged a lumpy sack about as big as himself over his shoulder.
"Okay, let's go, let's go." he hissed through a big white false beard. Berwald and the man began jogging down the street. Kristopher looked at the house, before running after them. The pair turned the corner, and he almost lost them until a flash of red going into the park caught his eye. Kristopher found them on the swings. Berwald rocked back and forth listlessly to keep warm while "Santa" looked over a map of the neighborhood. Without the beard obscuring most of his face, Kristopher could see he was a thin, drawn man with bright eyes.
"What are you two doing?" he gasped. The man in the red suit jumped at the sound of an unfamiliar voice and almost fell out of his swing; he stared at Kristopher with wide eyes and glanced at Berwald who mumbled something.
"I'm Santa," the man replied, "I'm bringing gifts to the--"
"Don't give me any of that." Kristopher deadpanned. "You guys are thieves or murderers or something."
"Mmm, mmm," Berwald shook his head, "I's true. H's got pres'nts." He gestured to the gray sack between the two of them. Kristopher was briefly more interested in the fact that the boy spoke the same way without a scarf over his face.
"We have to get going," Santa said, looking at his watch before reaching over and heaving the sack over his shoulder. His face was serious as he said, "I'm Tino, this is my son, Berwald, do you want to come with us so I can prove we're not criminals?" Kristopher pondered for a moment; it was this or go back home. He nodded. "Okay," Tino grinned, "Do you know where Modoc Court is?" Kristopher pointed in the right direction, and they headed off.
Out in front of 22 Modoc Court, Berwald and Kristopher waited. Eventually, Berwald said, "Y'r n't just out walkin'. Wh't happ'n'd?"
He remained quiet for a while, watching the clouds of his breath rise into the air. I suppose I could tell him, he thought, I've known him for ninety minute; he's the closest thing I have to a friend. He sighed deeply before beginning the story, back at the beginning when his mother had left the house that passed spring.
"And he told me to leave, so I did" Tino had come back shortly before this, and they had started walking again.
"Wh't about y'r brother?"
"He's fine," Kristopher brushed the question off without really knowing. Berwald cocked an concerned eyebrow. "Well, so, why do you and your dad do this?" he changed the subject to avoid thinking about Reynir left alone with his father.
"W'r spredin' Christmas cheer," Berwald answered, admiring the Victorian style house into which his father was now sneaking. "M'dad s'ys people d'n't have enough 'n' i's n't Christmas w'thout cheer, s'we're helpin'."
"That's ridiculous," Kristopher muttered. Berwald raised his eyebrows again. "Christmas is gonna happen no matter what; who cares if anyone is cheerful?"
"I do." Berwald said clearly. Kristopher paused. "Cheer's wh't makes it Christmas 'nstead've just 'nother day.
Tino came back, looking over a list of homes. "Ready?" he looked at them.
"I..think I should go home," Kristopher said quietly. He looked at Berwald, "It's Christmas after all."
"Lemme give you something then," Tino smiled under his beard and began digging through his bag before finding a flat, square present, "Here," he said, "I don't remember what that is, but I hope you like it." Berwald leaned down and whispered something in his father's ear. "Oh!" after a little more digging, Kristopher was also handed another present. "That's for your brother." Kristopher looked at the presents and felt tears swell up in his eyes but blinked rapidly, hoping they'd go away. "Ho, ho, ho," Tino laughed forcefully, "Merry Christmas!" He began trotting down the street.
Kristopher looked up at Berwald, "Thank you," he sighed.
Berwald nodded once before leaning down and giving Kristopher a chaste kiss on the cheek; "M'rry Christmas," he said lowly.
Kristopher came back to the house shortly after 3 in the morning. Dan was asleep with the TV blaring, and Reynir had dozed off sitting on the stairs, watching the door. Kristopher carefully lifted his brother's arm and tucked the present under it before tiptoeing upstairs to bed.
In the last days of the year, while asking his neighbor if he could borrow ten dollars to buy groceries, Kristopher overheard a conversation about how the police had caught 'some weirdo' who had been going around, breaking into houses while dressed at Santa.
"I heard he's been doing it every Christmas for eleven years, all across the state, spends the rest of the year researching where to go." One person said.
"That's not even the worst part," Another replied, "he had his son with him. Poor kid never had a normal life, a normal home. The guy's gotta be going away for a long time for putting his son through that."
"Oh, that's terrible."
Once his kind neighbor gave him the money, Kristopher had to go, but he could help wondering what was so terrible about that life.