Author's Note: NONE OF THE INNUENDOS ARE INTENTIONAL OKAY OKAY BYE.

All locations in this story are semi-fictional. They are based on real places but I took a few liberties and added some features.

And yes, I am attempting to be funny here, so if you find something that feels out of place somehow, laugh.

day 1, 17:24 – in the one tavern of a near-deserted islet, Iceland

It was no secret that Iceland liked isolation but to his family, neither was his favorite place to be isolated in. He showed the exact spot to Norway first when they were both at an age when they believed there was and never will be an occasional need to hide from one another and the rest of the world somewhere, and, one night when he was older and very drunk, he told Denmark about more or less which island it was in, who in turn, years later on a night when he was older and very drunk himself, sent the information to Finland and would have had to every contact name in his beeper had not Sweden chosen the precise moment to look over his shoulder, read what he had written and stop him. On the day Iceland learned they knew, when they surprised him in that place with steaming dinner and the pastries he'd loved as a kid but said nothing the whole evening about him coming around from his then months-long depression, he did nothing to change it.

When Iceland sulks, his volcanoes simmer and smoke for days and his hot springs get hot enough to bubble like soup over a consistent heat. The stations leading to his messier, noisier, more dangerous tantrums are few though far apart, but all the ways in between are dotted with preemptive visits to his island for various numbers of days. It was less than a hundred people strong and small, with a handful of tourists in the summer when the cold lessened enough to be bearable in Arctic terms. His average time-outs were done in the island's town for a weekend or a little more than that, when he would assist the fishermen every time they'd sail for a catch. For more severe periods of gloom, he had an old shack overlooking the crashing ocean placed as far as it could possibly get from the town, where he would brood away the hours that weren't spent stomping back and forth the countryside with the wind in his face. It was this cottage from which a disgruntled, hungry Mr. Puffin would emerge after a few weeks of being ignored by his master to whine about it to his friends – the cue of the three to look to Norway on when to move and the cue for Norway to test the waters and the scent of the wind. The middle Nordic only ever had to play moderator twice before but he was very good at his job.

But even on their own, Denmark, Finland and Sweden had a good sense of when it was alright to pick Iceland up from his island-town-level me times. No other country was supposed to know about the island in general – it was not popular, it was frigid at the best times, it was unimportant to the rest of the world – so the three were a bit surprised to hear semi-familiar voices ringing from near the door of the building they knew they'd find their two other friends in.

"-a chick or a bird, well, I've had him for centuries now and I still don't know what he is exactly-"

"-anywhere near Snarky McFeathers here though, and don't give me that look, pass me the sauce-"

"I'll be… aren't those the two non-crew blokes who hang around during our world meetings but don't have a seat at the table?" Denmark pondered. Sweden grunted. Finland wondered aloud what they might be doing here and did not speak about whether they had anything to do with what the three of them had just seen. Sweden grunted.

He opened the door. The dining hall before them was a several hundred years old and still looked the way it did on its first day, although the relieving presence of several very modern and very hidden heaters could be felt at once. As everybody preferred the two modern restobars that served things like French fries and soda that flanked the wooden structure, it opened only during tourist season, when it would outshine all other establishments, and when Iceland was around, when it would feed the whole town for free until he left the rotating volunteer staff with just enough to retain its good condition for another year. Tonight it was packed – hardly a vacant seat in sight among the tables nearest them, but above the murmuring din of families enjoying dinner, two voices to the right dominated the susurrus:

"-so we just wanted to know-"

"-if you've seen anything like what we've been saying-"

"-around both your places if you've actually been listening this whole time-"

"-and if you could give it to me-"

"-to me-"

"-because it's my lifelong pet-"

"-because I need to drink its blood while it still runs in its veins and swallow its flesh while it's still warm-"

"-because Gilbird is my pet."

Around the table on the corner by the window, there was silence. Even with their backs to them, those at the door could envision the youngest Nordic looking equal parts puzzled and annoyed and the rare crease sure to rest on his brother's brow. Countries have the ability to single out their kind among throngs of people and the three heard what was said next as they took off their coats to hang:

"'Drink,'" Iceland said, shoulders still stiff, arms still crossed, "'its blood while it still runs in its veins and swallow its flesh while it's still warm? '"

"That means still alive," quipped the man facing him.

Norway was a man of few words no matter what, most especially so with strangers: "Why?"

"Long story," shrugged the previous speaker, "but let's just say he's a bastard's why."

"Roma-chen!" the spikier of the two silver heads on the table gasped, "Roma-chen, how could you?"

"You three joining in on the great debate or what?"

Three perplexed faces looked down. A puffin-like bird looked back at them. "Boss won't let me up on the table," he conversed. "or tell me what's on the menu. I don't eat meat, but I bet it smells like heaven in here for you people."

Three stomachs grumbled on noticing this fact. They looked back to the table where no one's noticed them yet.

"I guess we should go and grab a bite…"

"That's the original plan; have you forgotten, Finny?"

"…with them?"

They all exchanged looks. Sweden shrugged. He liked debates but not taking part in them. "Doesn't look like we can make things worse."

They took their time in edging forward, Mr. Puffin a few paces ahead. The two outsiders had begun talking together again:

"-not going so far as asking you to help us beyond your lands-"

"-though we'd be grateful – but not too grateful, you chigis-"

"-nything, the Ore-sama and Roma-chen'd be really indebted to you."

"-chigis," the other guy finished. Denmark had a faint idea what that undoubtedly foreign word meant but he didn't think now was a nice time to discuss his theory. "Yo Norgie, Ice! Mind introducing us to your new friends?"

He received two bordering on crazed looks – purple eyes shrieked, They're not our friends!; indigo begged, Save us, Anko.

"Hello," Finland began politely, slipping into an easy smile. "You're Italy-san and Germany-san's brothers right? Romano-kun and Prussia-kun if I remember correctly? We've met before in some world meetings."

"Oh yeah!" The taller of the two strangers grinned and stretched an arm to shake hands. "Yer Estonia's friend, Finland – he's told me lots about you when we lived in the same house – yar Denmark – I've seen some o' your YouTube vids and I must say I'm a fan; we should totally get together and jam sometime! – and you're-" Recognition flashed in red circles that turned to fear and mortification; the speaker took a long swig of his beer to look away and showed no signs of stopping. Four pairs of eyes snuck glances at Sweden, who shrugged. "We've met before."

"Hi," the shorter stranger greeted from next to his still drinking companion. He met eyes with no one and frowned shyly at his plate. "Nice to meet you. Have you seen a yellow bird-chick thing around your places?"

"'A yellow bird-chick thing?'" repeated Finland.

"They said it flew in this direction from Germany's house," reported Iceland. His arms were still crossed and he looked this close to crying in frustration in the candle light. (Does he already know? Of course he does, this is part of his territory! But if he doesn't…)

"So," observed Norway out of the blue as Sweden inhaled to ask something, "you're asking for help in finding his bird so you could eat it and make him cry."

"Yeah," was the expressionless reply. His companion, who'd been drinking from his mug on finishing the contents of his own, choked and coughed.

"Is that all?"

"Why don't we discuss this over dinner?" Finland suggested cheerfully, hurriedly. Something had been and still was brewing behind their sorcerer's eyes the whole time during introductions as they stared at the two and only those closest to him knew what that looked like. "Su-san, Ta-san and I actually haven't eaten yet – would you two, er four – have you-? Okay, Ice-kun – would you two like dessert?"

A waitress appeared and they ordered. Denmark, keen on making new friends but aware something was amiss had taken the seat next to Norway and now lightly touched the stubborn fist on his best friend's lap as they waited: What's going on, Norgie? I'm guessing you know, but do they have anything to do with it? And then You know something we don't.

"His being a bastard 'specially towards me is a really severe thing," the pursuer continued matter-of-factly. "so he needs to be taught a lesson. He's with me so he could save it in time but really, like him it doesn't deserve to live." He paused as if waiting for a violent reaction from the other thick-clothed tourist but there was none – Finland correctly guessed this probably won't be the case if Sweden wasn't looking so intently at him and his friend. "And by the way," he straightened and looked the faintest bit of businesslike for the first time all evening. "I guess I should say that this has nothing to do with us being c- ex-countries. There's nothing political to this whatsoever. This is just, er, asking a f-favor, if you've got the time. Oh, and our stup- our younger brothers aren't involved, nor are they, uh, supposed to know we've left, actually. Also if they ask-"

"Surely," Sweden interrupted so suddenly that everybody at the table shut up without question, "surely, they'd know if you crashed their private jets on Iceland's private shack?"

Everybody in the whole tavern also shut up without question. Nobody looked at them. Iceland made an embarrassing noise then muttered something about going to the bathroom, his heavy steps crashing through the silence. Norway glared at Sweden and tried not to turn his head to the two intruders as he took off after Iceland.

The paler stranger chuckled hesitantly. "Riiight. You've seen it already, huh?" What happened loosened his tongue. "About that… Um, we'll- Well, we've already promised to build Ice-san a mansion as soon as we can-"

"Have our brothers build him a mansion as soon as we can, we don't have cash," his seat mate muttered. He had enough tact to look annoyed but remorseful. "We'll fix things the moment we find the bird." He looked at the three remaining Nordics a little less confidently than before. "Well… have you seen it? A yellow bird-chick thing?"

Denmark, to relatively cheer things up, asked if they had a picture of it; after Prussia sent it to him through Bluetooth, he asked if there was anything to distinguish it apart from looking like a deformed canary and a chick that could fly as that wasn't immediately obvious. When the one thing its owner could supply him with was that it was squishy to anatomically impossible degrees and gave off an unmistakable aura of awesomeness, Denmark said he'd never encountered it before but he'll have the birdwatchers and ornithologists of his place on full patrol and let them know if they find anything. Finland promised the same thing and added that he'll ask the zookeepers, animal enthusiasts, pet-owners and everyone in general back home to keep an eye out and send them a word. Sweden was about to speak when their meals arrived, savory smoke turning into spit as it reached their tongues from within their noses.

Finland placed Mr. Puffin's plate of fish Iceland had ordered for him on the floor. He whispered, "Thanks. But what're you eating?"

"Sorry, Mr. Puffin," said Denmark leaning over behind Finland. "You know you're not supposed to know 'till Ice says your ready."

"I'm well over one and a half millennia," he spat softly so the foreigners wouldn't hear. "And I still don't what people mean by 'the usual' in my boss's own house."

The foreigners… he looked up at them, trying to determine which would be more likely to be more gullible, more of a jackass. He made his decision and waited till everyone was rightfully focused on Denmark talking. "Psst. Hey bud. What are they eating up there? It's the same thing you and your friend ordered earlier, right?"

"Hmm? You could talk?" Mr. Puffin's new acquaintance far-off look faded as he swallowed down his sweet rice pudding and muttered back. "Somehow I'm not surprised, Snarky McFeathers. Ermm…" Romano looked to Finland and remembered how he and his brother would occasionally give him their old clothes. He reddened slightly. "It's… smoked puffin, right? Yeah," he turned back to the…penguin? Black and white bird? Whatever. "Smoked puffin and cloudberries and Artic char and boiled potatoes. Say," he added, realizing that was the answer: "ain't you a puffin yourself?"

Forks and knives dropped.

Norway arrived from the bathroom. "Iceland's alright now. He said he'll be back with us in a moment-" He took one look at his little brother's pet.

"Who. Told. Him."

"Roma-chen," the one called Prussia squeaked, "Roma-chen, I think we better leave now."

"The last ferry of the week's left two hours ago," Norway said softly. "There are no airports in this place." They stared at each other with very different expressions.

A long and painful silence. Sweden cleared his throat. "I- er- there are fishing boats. Down by the docks. I- I'll let you know if I see your bird," he called out as the doors slammed close.

"Well, gentlemen," announced Denmark. "I believe it is safe to assume that we are, put as simply as could be, utterly fucked. The question now is this: may I have the pleasure of having you four join me in running for our asses?"

"We need to get the civilians off the island!" cried Finland, rising from his seat and dancing a jig of panic. "For all we know it's capping a dormant volcano or something, or, or, or maybe we should hide M-Mr. Puffin, er, quickly, as in, right now, you know, before Ice-kun sees, finds out-"

"Before I find out what?" asked Iceland.

exactly a day ago - Germany's sitting room, Germany

"Roma-chen, what if the Ore-sama told you he found a way for us to be nations again?"