A/N: I promised a few months ago that someday I would write a SwedenxFinland-centric fic with actual plot, now here it is! I hope you enjoy it! And just because I know someone will mention it or ask why I did this, I'm sticking with country names even though it's AU because I don't care for the human names. A matter of personal taste, I suppose.

Also, thank you very much to my new beta, onlyforhetalia on LiveJournal, for helping polish this up. And now, on with the story.

Over the course of his not-so-long life, Finland had imagined on at least a few occasions what his death might be like. He hadn't done it in an "oh god, I wish I was dead" kind of way so much as an "it'll happen to everyone someday. I wonder how I'll go. I hope it's with a bow in my hand and a noble cause in my heart," kind of way. But though he had pictured the end of his life on several occasions, none of the ways had been as painful or unglamorous as this (except for that one time when he had heard about that old man in his town who had died while on the toilet and he had immediately prayed that such a thing would never happen to him).

Every breath of bitterly cold air stung his throat and lungs, and his legs were disconcertingly numb from the knees down except when he forced his foot to puncture the deep snow and support his weight, at which time he would receive a jolt of pain. His mouth was so dry that the already dehydrated air caused it to burn when he inhaled. He could only tell by looking at them directly that his arms were still attached since they were so numb that he could no longer feel them. Even his eyelashes seemed to be on the verge of freezing together so that he could no longer even make out the large, wet snowflakes falling thick, heavy, and rapidly from the sky around him.

Finland tried to moan in his misery as his thoroughly empty stomach growled in protest at the demands he was placing on his frozen and exhausted body, but even that small satisfaction was denied to him. Either his mouth and throat were so dry that he could no longer produce the sound, or the wind of the blizzard whipping around him was so loud that his pitiful noise was drowned out completely.

His futile attempt to use his voice sent him into a painful coughing fit. Finland tripped headlong into the snow, his aching body wracked with coughs. He peered through the gap in his scarf, which he had wrapped around his face for protection and his partially frozen eyelashes again, hoping desperately for any sign of civilization on the horizon. All he could see was endless white against a drab gray backdrop. Perhaps he really would die here. At this point, it would almost be a relief.

Finland flopped his heavy, throbbing head face-down into the snow, listlessly taking in a mouthful in an attempt to ease some of his suffering with the closest thing to water that he had available to him. It didn't do much good. I have to get up or I really am done for, he warned himself even as he drew his stiff legs toward his chest. And above all, I mustn't fall asleep.

Oh, but didn't the prospect of a nap sound wonderful right now? Granted, this wasn't exactly his ideal location, but he hardly had a choice. Every inch of him was so cold and exhausted; perhaps a little rest would make him feel better. If he stretched his imagination, he could almost call the icy snow soft and warm. Finland's eyelids fluttered feebly and he coughed again helplessly.

He was just about to surrender to the dark bliss of unconsciousness, when he noticed something hooked on the toe of his boot. His feet were so numb and his condition so miserable that he hadn't even noticed it before. Was this what he had tripped over? Finland reached for it slowly, his limbs stiff and difficult to maneuver, and managed to clumsily unhook it from his boot and draw it closer to him.

With his swimming vision and foggy head, it took Finland a few seconds to discern what it might be. It appeared to be a teapot of some sort, presumably made of metal. The surface was dark and not particularly shiny, but he could make out some impressively ornate impressions in the metal. Perhaps there was something useful inside. I'd do anything for some hot soup… Finland thought faintly as he fumbled with the lid. He was unable to gain enough control over his fingers to clutch the lid between them, so he ended up knocking it aside with a graceless swipe.

What happened next was lost on Finland at the time, though he was later able to piece together what must have occurred after hearing the story told to him. The tea pot-looking contraption began to gush thick, navy-colored smoke from its spout. But instead of being whisked away in the roaring wind of the storm, it gathered into a towering, imposing figure, seemingly completely unperturbed by the elements trying to sweep it off into oblivion.

Finland blinked at the figured dazedly, only partially seeing it, but not really processing it. It occurred to him dimly that the towering shape before him might be the final darkness gathering in his vision. No… a person…? He guessed. Suddenly, the figure began to speak to him in a deep, rumbling voice, one that sounded as though it hadn't been used in quite some time. Somehow though, he could hear it clearly over the storm.

"What's yer d'sire?"

His desire? Finland coughed weakly. This was probably a hallucination, but ideas trickled sluggishly into his head all the same. Heat… safety… food… a bed… he thought, his thoughts flowing about as quickly as chilled molasses. Not dying would be nice… Even if the thing before him was just a figment of his imagination, he held on to a tiny sliver of hope that this could really be happening. Now if only he could make his parched vocal chords form words. He hardly noticed the large figure bending down at his side, resting a strangely solid-looking smoky hand on his back and rustling him gently.

"Can y' hear me?" the giant asked. "Y' still 'live?"

"P-please…" Finland rasped, not even able to hear himself over the howl of the blizzard, "a warm… s-s-safe place… where I can… heal."

The attempt at speech left him coughing again. He was sure the smoky thing hadn't heard him. How could it have when he could barely produce a sound? Finland could feel his already weak awareness slipping further away from him. The dark shape spoke again, but Finland couldn't make out its words this time. His freezing eyelids finally drooped shut and he knew no more.

Sweden had to admit that he was startled when the top of his lamp was suddenly ripped off. He had been lounging in his lamp, enjoying a beer and the newspaper (just because he had to stay inside his lamp whenever he was without a master, didn't mean he had to be completely cut off from the rest of the world!), imagining a heated debate he'd like to have with the author of the article he was currently reading, when suddenly his ceiling vanished with a harsh clanging sound. No matter how many times it had happened, he never got used to the abruptness with which his solitude was interrupted.

Sweden's jaw clenched as he set aside his beer and paper. Though it had been awhile since anything like this had happened, but he hadn't forgotten what it signified. If his lamp had been opened, it meant a new master had picked him up; only human hands could remove the lid. Sweden often yearned to be free from his lamp, something that was forbidden to beings like him when they were between owners, but he always rose to greet his new keeper with dread in his heart.

Rules were rules, though; Sweden had no choice but to present himself to the person who had discovered his lamp. Squaring his shoulders resignedly, Sweden began to filter out through the spout. Although he didn't relish the idea of having someone to serve again, he couldn't help being curious as to what sort of person might be awaiting him outside. After he had fulfilled his duty to his last master, he had dropped himself in a very secluded area, hoping to avoid falling into service again for a while. Who would be wandering around in these wastelands in such a formidable storm?

Even after Sweden had fully materialized, it took him a moment to locate the person who had opened his lamp. It wasn't until a series of pitiful coughs reached his ears that his eyes fell on an utterly miserable-looking figure half curled up on the ground in a partial fetal position. Unless he was misjudging the situation, his new master was in dire peril. No matter how he disliked being bound to a human, he didn't like to see anyone suffer, and he liked to see them die even less. He'd better pose his offer quickly.

"What's yer d'sire?" he asked.

He surveyed the man on the ground curiously, as he awaited his answer. Well, Sweden guessed that it was a man. The person before him was thoroughly bundled up and lying facedown, and not much was visible that wasn't part of the heavy winter clothing. Judging by the height, it was possible that this person was not even fully-grown. It could be a teen, or even a rather tall child, though he couldn't imagine what a child would be doing wandering the wastes alone in a storm like this.

To tell the truth, the only real evidence Sweden had to suspect that it was a man was the sound of the cough, which his new master did again presently instead of answering his question. Perhaps it was already too late for this person. Sweden crouched at his side concernedly, reaching out to give him a little shake.

"Can y' hear me?" he asked. "Y' still 'live?"

The man on the ground stirred weakly, and attempted to lift his head. His face was mostly obscured by a thick, woolen scarf, so even this did not afford Sweden a very good view of him.

"P-please…" his new master choked at last, "a warm… s-s-safe place… where I can… heal."

A rather modest request, especially given the circumstances.

"Yer wish 's my c'mmand."

Sweden got to work straight away. This man, and Sweden was sure now that he was a young man, or at least a boy in his late teens, did not appear to have much time left. He just hoped it wasn't too late already. With a wave of his hand, Sweden conjured up a small and simple, but cozy and charming little house, complete with a fireplace. Being an appreciator of fine architecture and tasteful home furnishings, Sweden would normally have given a little more thought to its appearance, but time was of the essence.

Sweden scooped the seemingly unconscious man into his arms and carried him carefully inside. He was just musing that his master was strangely light in his arms when he heard his stomach growl hungrily. Sweden frowned, what could drive a man to attempt to travel in such a deserted area when he was in such rough condition? He had a pack hanging from his shoulders, but as it was pressed against Sweden's arm, he could feel that it was nearly empty. Was this man driven to such reckless action by desperate need or merely by stupidity?

In any case, Sweden knew that what he needed to do was to get his new master into a warm bath. This man probably had frostbite and the best cure for that was not warming the victim by a fire, which could not be felt on frostbitten skin and therefore often led to burns, but by soaking the afflicted areas in body temperature water. He just hoped that his master had gotten lucky and was not going to lose any limbs because of it.

Sweden sighed. If only the man had asked to be healed, then Sweden could do so quickly and painlessly with magic. Admittedly, the man appeared to be on the brink of death, which probably made it considerably more difficult to be rational about his wish-making.

Sweden carried the man into the bathroom and laid him gently on the floor. First things first: Sweden would need to assess the severity of the suspected frostbite. He began to remove his master's winter clothing quickly but carefully, layer by layer. The gloves were the first things to be removed, then the boots. There were numerous layers beneath both of these articles; at least this man had had the sense to cover his body well. Perhaps the damage would not be as bad as he had initially expected.

After removing the extra layers under the man's gloves and boots, Sweden found his gaze drawn to the scarf around his head. He was a bit curious as to what his master's face looked like. He pulled down his master's hood, mindful of his bright red ears, revealing a mop of short, smooth, light golden hair. It was damp with melted snow or sweat, or possibly both, but looked otherwise clean and well-cared for.

Though the man's hair was fairly nice-looking, Sweden's interest wasn't really piqued until he began to remove his scarf. Slender brows, smooth skin (though it was an unhealthy-looking splotchy red color from his venture in the snow), what would probably have been wide, innocent-looking eyes had they been open, a cute little button nose, and even his lips, which were slightly blue and very chapped from the wind, managed to be attractive. While Sweden admitted that he had seen some good-looking humans in his day, the wishes that some of his human masters had made him grant had caused him to become somewhat disillusioned with them as a species so that he normally wasn't attracted to them based on physical appearance alone. But this man was different. Sweden could feel the color rising in his cheeks.

His master coughed again painfully, reminding Sweden that he had a duty to do which needed to be performed with haste. Feeling flustered, Sweden began to fumble with the clasps on the man's coat. Although he knew that it was silly to let himself be taken with this man so quickly simply because he was cute, Sweden couldn't help himself. It was lonely being trapped inside his lamp for literally years at a time with no company. Although he couldn't be sure just by looking, there was a kind, honest quality to this man's features that made Sweden imagine him to possess not only a pleasant face, but a pleasant personality as well.

He genuinely wanted to get his adorable new master back on his feet. Perhaps there was some ambiguity in the way the man had worded his request that would allow him to be more lenient with the way he granted it. Sweden's hands continued to strip away the layers and layers of extra clothing as he recalled the precise words that his master had used.

"Please, a warm, safe place where I can heal."

A place where he could heal… Sweden didn't see a whole lot of wiggle room in that wording. If he had said "where I can be healed," Sweden could have worked with it more easily. It looked like using magic to directly heal him was out of the question. After all, the limitations on his powers were that he could do only what his master requested from him; it was physically impossible for him to use his magic to grant more than what had been wished for out of generosity.

Then again, perhaps there was a little room for a looser interpretation there. If left to his own devices, this man would certainly die. He needed some help. Even if Sweden couldn't immediately magic away all his ailments, he could at least use his powers to assist the natural process. The corners of Sweden's lips twitched upwards wryly. When was the last time he had attempted to be more generous with the interpretation of a wish, rather than more restrictive? He honestly couldn't remember.

Sweden flicked his hand at the bathtub, which immediately filled itself with water of the perfect temperature. His master was now clad only in his undergarments, his skin exposed so that Sweden could see the extent of his frostbite. Sweden grimaced at the painful-looking raw, red areas on his skin. He hoped there wouldn't be lasting damage. All things considered though, it wasn't nearly as bad as Sweden had expected. He wasn't sure how his master had managed it, but it looked as though he'd gotten off with a relatively mild case.

Trying to touch him only in areas that would protect the young man's modesty as much as possible, Sweden gathered him into his arms again carefully. He felt his face flush as bare skin pressed against him, but ordered himself to ignore it. He lowered his master's still partially clothed body carefully into the warm, shallow water.

Now that his master was in the proper environment, he needed to rest there for an hour or two so that his body could readjust itself to the proper temperature. Unfortunately it was clear to him that the man's problems extended beyond frostbite and hypothermia. Judging by the raspy quality of his coughing and the rumbling of his stomach, he was in need of food and water as well. Sweden rolled up his sleeves, knowing that he had some work ahead of him.

Sweden had initially been relieved when his master's temperature began to rise from its hypothermic state towards a healthy temperature, but to his dismay it continued to climb. The man developed a high fever and a chill which caused him to shiver almost ceaselessly, no matter how Sweden covered him with blankets or filled his stomach with warm stew and tea. His cough persisted stubbornly even after he had been properly hydrated, producing a harsh, deep-chested sound that aroused pity in Sweden every time he heard it.

Caring for his master was nearly a twenty-four-hour job. Sweden was sure that if he had been subject to the physical limitations of a human being, he couldn't have managed it on his own. It was a whole two days before the man even opened his eyes. They fluttered open dazedly as Sweden wiped the fever-induced sweat from his face with a damp cloth.

Sweden felt his something in his chest stutter as those breathtaking violet eyes attempted to focus on his face. His master cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes groggily. Even after he had done this, the expression in his gaze was rather hazy, as if he still wasn't really awake.

Sweden realized that the hand holding the damp cloth had been resting on the man's forehead for an awkwardly long time and he jerked away, feeling embarrassed. In general, Sweden didn't find the solitude of the time he spent in his lamp completely tortuous, but he noticed that it had an adverse effect on his skill and comfort in dealing with people, a fact that he was being painfully reminded of at the moment. It occurred to him that his giant, smoky form may not be the best appearance for greeting someone who had just woken up and he hastened to take on a more human visage.

"Wh…where…?" the man began hoarsely. He seemed to be having difficulty grasping the words he wanted from his fever-stricken brain, but Sweden was pretty sure he knew what his master wanted to ask.

"A warm, safe place," Sweden replied, using his master's own words.

The silence that followed this answer was long enough to become slightly uncomfortable.

"Are you the one who saved me?" his master mumbled finally. "…Thank you…"

He shrugged self-consciously.

"'M a genie, 'n' yer m' master. 'S m' job t' help ya."

Sweden regretted his phrasing as soon as these words came out of his mouth. Yes, he was a genie, this man was his master, and he was obligated to help him, but this man was also incredibly cute. Perhaps he could have worded that explanation a bit differently to color himself more positively in this man's mind. If his master was at all offended by this, however, he gave no indication as such; he merely coughed and shivered again. He didn't even react to Sweden's claim that he was a genie. Sweden supposed he really must still be half-asleep.

"How d'ya feel?" he asked.

His master sniffled miserably, his eyes slipping closed again. "…Cold…and sore…"

Sweden approached the fireplace, tossing a few more logs into the already moderate flames to stoke it even further before producing a mug of tea.

"Can y' drink?" Sweden asked as he crouched at the man's side.

His master made a few feeble attempts to sit up before Sweden took pity on him, slipping an arm behind his back to help him into a sitting position, and letting him support himself by leaning against him. The man sipped the tea carefully and sighed, his breath caressing Sweden's neck, and Sweden felt his face growing very warm again. In desperate attempt to distract himself from his own acute discomfort, Sweden tried to voice the question that had been burning in his mind since he had first removed the man's scarf from around his face.

"Got a name?"

Wonderful, Sweden; really eloquent. His master probably thought he sounded like a caveman.

"Finland," his master replied vaguely. "And you?"

"Sweden," he mumbled.

"Sweden…" Finland repeated. "…You're nice and warm…"

Sweden went scarlet as his master squirmed closer, trying to share some of Sweden's warmth. Still, even as uneasy as he was with this adorable stranger snuggling up to him, he would be lying if he said he disliked it. He sat stock still, allowing Finland to bask in his body heat, not wanting to push him away, yet unable to gather the nerve to draw him closer.

After a moment or two, which seemed to Sweden, an immortal being, to last hours, he chanced another downward glance and found Finland fast asleep against him. He took the tea that was resting precariously in Finland's lap and set it aside before laying him back down gently, covering him with the blankets, and hurriedly excusing himself to regain his composure.

All throughout the rest of the day, Sweden couldn't take his eyes off of Finland. He knew that he needed to get a grip on himself, that it was ridiculous to be so enamored with someone just because they had a cute face and the two of them had held a civil conversation. But then he would recall how Finland had thanked him so sweetly for his help, and how pleasant his feverishly warm body had felt snuggled up against him, and he would feel himself start to blush again. Besides, when had he last given or received a friendly touch? When had he last even spoken to anyone else?

Sweden sat at Finland's bedside that night, unable to focus on his newspaper over the desire to watch his master's adorable sleeping face, longing to reach out and stroke his hair, but not daring to do so. He maintained his more human form from before so that he wouldn't terrify Finland if he opened his eyes again.

The blizzard that had put Finland in this pitiable state continued to rage outside, rattling the windows of their secure shelter sullenly. This made it even more difficult to concentrate on his newspaper. He was just considering trying to do some whittling to pass the time when Finland stirred. Sweden's intense gaze locked onto him again, the simultaneously excited and nervous tension building in his chest as he waited for Finland's eyes to open.

Finland's eyes remained closed, but he continued to squirm fitfully beneath his pile of blankets. He gave a strangled moan, his previously peaceful expression becoming one of increasing terror. Finland must be having a nightmare. He thrashed, his breathing growing fast and harsh, sweat standing out from his face as he moaned again.

There were tears gathering in the corners of Finland's eyes. Sweden hesitated uncertainly, then shook his master gently by the shoulder. Finland sat up so suddenly that he almost whacked their foreheads together. Tears ran down his cheeks as he looked around wildly, his breathing still harsh. Sweden sighed, calming himself from the start that Finland's sudden awakening had given him. He patted his master on the shoulder awkwardly.

"'S ok," he said. "J'st a dream."

Finland shook his head, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "It wasn't… It was real… You weren't there… you didn't see…"

Sweden didn't know what to do. Finland seemed extremely distraught and disoriented, and even adjusting to being awake didn't seem to be dispelling his fear and grief. Sweden patted his shoulder again, feeling silly and useless. Finland sagged against him again, his trembling fingers gripping at Sweden's shirt, his blazing forehead resting wearily against Sweden's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Sweden wasn't sure if Finland was talking to him or someone from his dream, but he blushingly allowed the contact, letting Finland pour out his apologies until he drifted off again.

It was a whole week before Finland regained extended and stable consciousness. Over all, Sweden thought he was looking much better. He had stopped shivering and his fever was almost gone. Sweden had predicted that Finland would wake any day now, so he wasn't terribly surprised when he came back from stoking the fire that morning to find him sitting up in bed, and examining his surroundings curiously. He seemed much more alert than he had the last time Sweden had seen him with his eyes open.

Feeling relieved to see that his master was on the mend, Sweden cleared his throat to announce his presence. Finland turned his head towards him, then let out a shout of alarm and fear. Sweden watched blankly as Finland cowered under his blankets. He frowned. It was nothing new to have someone be intimidated by him, but usually he was only met with this kind of fear when he first emerged from his lamp in his giant, smoky form. His human form was usually received a bit more calmly, though some of his masters had still seemed edgy around him when he looked like a human.

"Y' feelin' better?" Sweden asked, not sure how else to respond.

Finland peered out from his blankets at him, looking as if he wasn't sure he had heard him properly.

"Eh?"

"Y've been real sick fer a long time," Sweden explained. "'S been 'lmost a week since I foundja."

"Y-you're the one who's been taking care of me all this time?" Finland asked.

Sweden nodded, relieved when Finland lowered his blanket barrier, looking shocked but less frightened.

"Really?" Finland said, looking as if he could scarcely believe it. "Oh, um… th-thank you… I'm sorry for causing so much trouble. I'm feeling much better today."

"'M glad," Sweden said.

"I, um… I'm afraid I don't have much money, but if there's any way I can repay you for your hospitality, please let me know," Finland told him politely.

"Y' don't hafta pay," Sweden assured him. "Yer m' master so I'm bound t' serve ya."

The bewildered and startled look returned to Finland's face. "M-master? …Uh, there seems to be some sort of mistake. I'm not sure who you think I am, but I'm sure this is the first time we've met."

"Y' found m' lamp 'n' opened it," Sweden said. "That means yer m' master 'ntil y've used up all yer wishes."

"Lamp? Wishes?" Finland repeated. "I'm sorry, am I missing something here?"

Sweden retrieved his lamp from the mahogany dresser beside him and brought it to Finland for his inspection. "'M a genie, tha's m' lamp, 'n' yer m' master."

Finland stared at him as if he had just claimed to have come to Earth from Jupiter. He glanced numbly at the metal, teapot looking object Sweden had handed him and opened the lid absentmindedly. With a quiet whoosh, Sweden allowed himself to be sucked back into its depths briefly, before reemerging with a poof of navy smoke. Finland gaped at him.

"A genie? A real, live genie?"

Sweden nodded.

"The kind that grants the master any wish he makes?" There was a hungry look in Finland's eyes, but it was a bit different from the greedy expression his most hated masters had worn. This was a look of deep relief and hope.

"There're some lim'tations, but I c'n grant almost 'ny wish," Sweden replied.

"Can you bring people back from the dead?" Finland asked urgently.

Sweden shook his head. "There're only a few things I can't do, but that's one of 'em."

"Then… can you send me back in time so that I can stop someone from dying?" he asked desperately.

Sweden hesitated, knowing that this answer would probably upset Finland, but finally shook his head again.

"Can't change death," Sweden said. "Can't make people fall 'n love, letcha wish fer more wishes, 'r unmake a wish so y' c'n use it again."

Finland looked heartbroken. His shoulders slumped and he set the lamp back down on his bed. "I see… So it's no use, then. I really can't change it."

Sweden could see that he had upset Finland, though he hadn't meant to. He was pretty powerful, but no genie could interfere with deaths that had already happened. "Other 'n those things, pretty much 'nythin's fine," he said, attempting to cheer him up.

"Anything but that, huh?" Finland sighed, looking gloomy. "I see…"

"'N' y' get ten wishes," Sweden blurted, wanting to wipe that sad look off of Finland's adorable face.

"That many?" Finland asked, looking surprised. "I thought genies usually only granted three."

Sweden shrugged, trying to look nonchalant about it even as his face warmed. Normally he did only give three, but Finland was so cute that he couldn't help wanting to stay with him longer.

"Hmm, ten wishes…" Finland mused.

"Well, nine," Sweden corrected him. "Y' used one t' wish fer this place b'fore."

"Right…" He turned the lamp thoughtfully in his hands, still looking morose. "Would you mind if I had some time to think about it?"

Sweden nodded. "'S much as y' need."

Finland set the lamp down on the bed beside him and laid back on his pillows once more with a sigh, draping his arm over his eyes. Sweden fidgeted uncertainly in the doorway, wondering what he should do. He really wanted to stay and try to have a proper conversation, but Finland seemed like he wanted to be left alone. Sweden decided to honor his wishes and reluctantly excused himself from the room.