Hey, I found something that I wrote a really long time ago, and I finally decided to share it. Here ya go!

King of the Catacombs

-Three weeks after Berwald entered the catacombs-

It's been three years. Three years since the fateful day. What day, you might ask?

It was the day France and I argued over milk.

Milk. Yes, the quality of a glass of milk led me to this predicament. It had been three years since I met the Land of Skeletons, three years since I became the skellie's king. I guess Denmark wasn't the only king in Scandinavia anymore.

Skellies, the most intuitive people I've ever come across, are magnificient. When I first met them, I was escaping my French foe for reasons I will not disclose. Seeking refuge on one of the many catacomb tours, I blended in with the group. This was a very diffucult task, you see. Most Parisian tourists are short, dark-haired people with a friendly demeanor. I, being none of these, found this... nearly impossible. I made it under the gaze of my enemy into the safety of Paris' catacombs, and quietly fled from the lit area, where tours were held, to the fenced-off portion.

This was where I found my thoughts being challenged. Here, in a pitch black array of corridors, I began to think about a multitude of things... mostly about that scumbag, Francis. I told him, just be normal and use cow milk, but no. He said that if he used anything but goat's milk, his artistic vision would be ruined forever. It was not milk he used. He used a cup of crap.

That crap landed me in the catacombs, though. He gave me the opportunity to find my countrymen. Hey! I am a country! The country of... something. I sat down on the throne my citizens had granted me. I remember that I was a country. The personification of somewhere very, very... cold, I think. Ja, I think I was one of the northernmost, actually. But which one?

I couldn't remember. I only ended up giving myself a headache, so I began to focus on the residents of my kingdom.

Ah, the skellies. I wish I had my phone so I could take a picture. Wait, where was my phone. I remember leaving it in my front pocket a few weeks after I came here. I recall not being able to find my earbuds. I wanted to listen to ABBA so badly, but there wasn't a way to without startling my would wake them up too quickly.

Old Viking lore had it that there was a colony of people made of bones who slept for thousands of years before they awoke, rising to serve a king that they crowned ruler.

These skellies reminded me of that legend. Too bad it wasn't about them. It would've made a wonderful story to tell to... someone. I couldn't place a name to the face I had in my mind.

It was of a small man, with fluffy blonde hair and purple eyes.

The person was just another thing I couldn't remember.

Just then, a bright light and a loud ringtone cam from my shirt. My eyes widened in fear. 'NOOOOO! YOU'LL WAKE THE SKELLIES YOU FOOL!' I guess when I tried to drop my phone in my pocket, it ended up going down my collar. Now it was ringing at the bottom of my shirt.

I dug it out and saw the caller ID. It was France calling.

"Sweden, where are you?" Came a worried voice.

"Th' L'nd 'f B'n's." I answered back seriously.

"Ueugh... the catacombs?" Asked a confused France.

"Y's."

"I'm not even going to ask," He said, completely done with the conversation. "Bye."

The line went dead. An idea came to me. I scrolled through the contacts list of my iPhone until I came to a picture of a little blonde man who was being licked in the face by an over-enthusiastic white puppy.

My thumb went to the call button.

*Finland's POV*

Where was Sweden? He had been gone for a really long time.

Sometimes, I worried about him.

"BRRING" My phone rang. Oh, hey. It was Berwald.

"Hi!" I answered.

"H'y, T'n'. 'M 'n th' c't'c'mbs."

"Of France?!" How was he getting service down there?!

"Ya, b't Fr'nc's 's br'ng'ng m' b'ck."

"Okay," I managed to stay calm and tried not to think of France getting his hands on- "But how did you get there?"

"M'lk."

"Milk?" Cue the confusedness.

"'Ll 'l'b'r'te l't'r."

"...okay, then."

"S' y' s'n."

"Bye."

I disconnected, throwing my phone to the couch cushions beside me. That was where Berwald had been? Well, at least he hadn't been dealing drugs again.

I'd be more worried, but I was used to dealing with these types of things.

*France's POV*

I had to go find an idiot in the catacombs.

I found the Swede and led him onto an airplane like I would a terrified four year old. The idiot kept saying things about 'skellies.' I believe he had gone insane, but that was Finland's problem now.

I took the liberty of gently shoving him onto a plane and watching it fly off to Finland.

When Berwald departed from the plane, he was immediately embraced by Tino.

Then he was back-handed by Tino.

Sweden winced, a hand going to rub the back of his head. "Wh't w's th't f'r?"

"... Don't act like you don't fucking know already." The Finn glared up at him. Usually, a short guy like him wouldn't be intimidating, but the Swede almost pissed his pants.

"S'rry."

Tino gave him a sympathic face. He really was sorry. "Let's go home, yeah?"

Berwald gave him the tiniest little smile in the world, but it was probably the biggest one Tino had ever seen from him. It made him feel like he was flying. "Ya."

And so the two went home. The topic of France was banned from their house, Berwald never drank goat's milk again, and Finland and Sweden took a second honeymoon to Paris, where Berwald reunited with the skellies and Tino got just a little freaked out.

A/N- Skellies are just inanimate skeletons. Berwald is their king. I love this thing.