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Sam had been pacing around nervously when Sven stumbled back into the alley with bruises forming on his wrist and a bloody nose.
They would never forget the terror they felt, even though later in life they would see Sven in much worse conditions than this.
Sven looked surprised to see them, usually they came home later in the evening, and seemed to instinctively want to run back out of the alley, but stopped himself.
"Jag är okej, jag är okej," he tried to reassure Sam as they picked him up and looked him over. (I'm okay, I'm okay,)
"Nej det är du inte." They replied simply, using their sleeve to dab at the blood dribbling down his face, they sat cross-legged on the ground, settling Sven on their lap. (No you're not.)
He tried to smack their arm away. "Sluta! Den kommer att bli smutsig!" He whined, pulling their arm down and trying to scrub the little blood stains off their sleeve. (Stop! It is going to get dirty!)
"Det kommer att blekna. Vad hände?" They slipped their arm out of his grip, examining the bruises on his arm. (It will fade. What happened?)
Sven said nothing, simply looking away. He used his other arm to remove his old tattered sling bag, digging through it and dropping some fruits onto his lap.
There was a silence. Sam knew that Sven had done it because they were running out of food, but…
"Jag sa till dig att inte göra det där längr—" (I told you not to do that anymor—)
"Jag vet, jag vet! Men du vägrar alltid att äta när våra ransoner tar slut. Så jag—så jag—Jag är ledsen, var inte arg." (I know, I know! But you never eat when our rations run out. So I—so I—I'm sorry, don't be angry.)
The last time they got angry…Sven had been really scared.
They hadn't been angry at him, they had been fighting with someone who'd taken their stuff, then had an anxiety attack later. Sven always got nervous when they were having attacks, though he knew how to calm them down.
"Jag är ledsen, jag är ledsen…"
"Det är okej. Gör det bara inte igen," they pulled Sven into a hug, patting his hair. (It's okay. Just don't do it again.)
They were picked up by the authorities a couple of years later and dumped into a group home. But at least they could go to school.
Sven hadn't liked it there. He wasn't able to grasp English as fast as he would have liked and got made fun of for struggling.
Sam had better luck with English, but with both of them being orphans and Sven being rather inept at making friends, they were an easy target for harassment.
To try and integrate himself with his schoolmates, Sven had joined quite a few extracurricular activities, the American Sign Language Club, Astronomy Club and the D&D Club.
"Vad? Det såg kul ut." he had said defensively as Sam giggled while helping him design his character, "Hen kommer att bli en magiker!" (What? It looked fun. They are going to be a mage!)
This meant that Sam would return back home before Sven. They really didn't like to do that, they have seen him come back with bruises more than once, but Sven insisted they do so for whatever reason.
Then one day a policeman had gone to the group home and asked for them.
Apparently Sven had taken a pipe and beaten the shit out of a bunch of kids, and one of them ran to call the police.
"You didn't… sköt—sk—sh-shoot him, gjorde you?" Sam fidgeted nervously in the back of the police car, playing with the hem of their sweater.
"No, he had already put down his weapon and was throwing up when we found him." The policeman was using a softer tone with them, and seemed to be quite amicable, so Sam decided to ask more questions.
"Kan you, uh, g-ge—give me more detaljer?"
"Not really, they're all injured but they'll be okay. You're brother won't talk and refuses to let us examine him for internal injuries, so that's why we decided to bring you over."
"A-ah, okej."
The rest of the trip was silent.
"You better go in alone first, I don't think he likes us very much." They nodded nervously.
When they stepped into the cell, they immediately focused on Sven, who was curled up in a corner.
He didn't look very happy to see them at all.
"Jag gjorde inget fel eller något som jag ångrar." (I did nothing wrong or that I regret.)
He was staring at them suspiciously and tiredly. Sam didn't know when he started to look so weary.
"Slog de dig?" They used Swedish, because they knew he was still uncomfortable with English, tapping their stomach and kneeling down next to Sven. (Did they hit you?)
"...Ja. Det är bara ett blåmärke, det kommer att läka." He looked around in case anyone was watching, then pulled up his shirt to let Sam see. (Yeah. It's just a bruise, it will heal.)
Sure enough, there was a bruise forming, and it looked to be rather large too. Sam hissed through their teeth at the sight, clenching and unclenching their fists.
Their brother sighed, pulling his shirt back down and getting up, glaring at the door.
"Kan du fråga dem vad de vill? Jag kan inte förstå vad de säger." He crossed the arms in frustration, tapping his foot impatiently. (Can you ask them what they want? I can't understand what they are saying.)
He sighed again, turning around to offer Sam a hand. "Kom igen. Jag vill gå hem." (Come on. I want to go home.)
"Okej." They took his hand.
Sven was suspended for a week or so, but he didn't really seem to mind. He told Sam that he liked getting the extra sleep.
The thing that bothered him was that his bullies were only suspended for 3 days.
"What do you mean? They can't—They can't kick you out."
"I don't know, they, uh, they told me, t-that I have to be out by 8pm."
Sven was planted at the door, blocking the entrance adamantly.
"Well, I'm going with you then."
"I-I don't think that's a good idea."
He was getting increasingly worked up, starting to pace back and forth agitatedly.
"Well, jag vill inte vara här om du inte är här." He slumped down next to Sam, leaning against them. (I don't want to be here if you're not here.)
"I know—I'm sorry. Men jag föredrar att du är här istället för på gatan." They wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into an awkward side hug. (But I prefer for you to be here than on the streets.)
"Gav de dig några pengar? Var ska du bo?" He trembled in the hold. They felt really anxious, but they didn't want him to deal with that now. (Did they give you any money? Where are you going to live?)
"I—I don't—"
"...Du vet väll att du inte behöver låtsas vara okej med det här?" (You know you don't have to pretend to be okay with it, right?)
When they didn't answer, he wrapped his arms around them and they buried their face into his hair.
Because really, they didn't have anything to their name and they haven't even finished high school yet. They were supposed to have finals in a few months, but now…
They were terrified.
They wanted to throw up.
What were they going to do—Should they have gotten a job earlier? They needed money but who would want to hire a high-school dropout and this was all their fault and they should have prepared better because they had known it was coming after all—
What about Sven? He would be alone here and Sam knew that he hated it here but they couldn't and would never bring him onto the streets again but he hated it here so was it really better for him?
Sven doesn't say anything. They just worked on controlling their breathing.
"D-Du vet att jag inte har något val, eller hur?" After huddling together for a while, Sam finally spoke up. (Y-You know I don't have a choice, right?)
"...Jag vet." (...I know.)
"Du vet a-att jag inte vill lämna dig…eller hur?" (You know t-that I don't want to leave you…right?)
"Ja, jag vet." (Yeah, I know.)
Tightening his hold around them, Sven hummed a little tune quietly, occasionally giving them very quick and light pats on their back.
They appreciated it, calming down a little bit. They closed their eyes.
"Jag är ledsen." (I'm sorry.)
"Det är inte ditt fel. Det finns inget att be om ursäkt för." (It's not your fault. There's nothing to apologise for.)
Follow Sven. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
They didn't know how long they stayed snuggled together, but they must have dozed off because Sven was shaking them awake. He seemed calmer as well.
They check the time. 7:00pm.
"I-uhm, here's a few addresses for homeless shelters that I found. We can check them out together?" He held out a wrinkled piece of paper.
"Thanks. But—It might go past curfew though. You'll get grounded." They took it and smoothed it out, scanning through the messily scribbled addresses.
Sven laughed, "You must know by now that that means nothing to me."
It was true, Sam wouldn't be able to count the number of times he had gotten grounded, mostly due to scuffles with other kids living in the group home.
"I'll help you pack up, then we can go. Okay?"
"Y-yeah, okay."
They ended up picking a relatively nice shelter, it was crowded and the sleeping area was not…good, but it was comfortable enough and the residents seemed quite friendly.
They hugged again, this time neither of them seemed to want to be the first to let go. Sven eventually pushed himself away, giving them a small sad smile.
"Adjö."
Sam said the same, but it felt different. For a long time they wondered why Sven's sounded so final.
He visited a few times while Sam stayed there, and once Sam got a job as a trainee security guard, he vanished from the group home.
The next time they would see his face again was a couple of years later, in a replay of a Toppat Clan raid.
The reporter was talking about a new elite that showed up recently, who was apparently the new third-in-command of the Toppats.
The video footage was unmistakable, even with the static and the blurriness. Blond hair, brown eyes so different from Sam's own blue ones, soft face, barely looking older than a late teenager.
Sven Svensson was officially announced as the third-in-command of the Toppat Clan just a few days after his 17th birthday.