Health check-ups are a part of the gig of being a national representative at this point and Denmark's used to it.

Although everyone is well-aware that nations can't succumb to illnesses or injuries as they'll just regenerate afterwards, their bodies still grow, develop and go through similar bumps as humans do. Traffic jams causing ghastly constipation is one of the most frequent cases for them. And human medication can help with that!

Their examinations are also a quick way to see that their countries are doing okay.

All in all, Denmark doesn't consider it a waste of time. He actually quite enjoys his check-ups. Especially since his health for the last half of a century has remained the epitome of 'everything looks perfectly fine' with a big smiley face on top. He almost looks forward to hearing the same jargon year after year. After all, it's something to brag about! He didn't expect it to be any different this year either.

But it was.

"That should be everything." the nurse said, eyeing the examination results she'd compiled in a clipboard. Denmark smiled in response and leaned back in his seat.

"Yes… your eyes and ears are just fine, blood pressure is very good as well... You've put on a bit of weight since last year, however," the woman pointed out the numbers on her sheet.

Denmark chuckled, "I expected that. I've cut back on smoking. It went from cigarettes to cinnamon rolls real quick."

"Which is perfectly natural," the nurse nodded, stifling a laugh herself. "And I wouldn't worry about it too much since you exercise well, and as you said, are developing healthier habits. Try to fight the urge on those cinnamon rolls though."

"Will do," Denmark assured, his brilliant smile growing as he knew they were moving towards the final verdict, the mediocre, all-okay, smiley face verdict. A verdict he'd congratulate himself with by eating a cinnamon roll. It was so close, he could almost taste it. The verdict, that is. But the cinnamon roll as well.

"All in all, everything looks perfectly fine," the nurse began. Yes! There it was, thought Denmark, elated. He nodded, giving himself mental pats on the back.

"…Indeed, in our mortal terms, Mr Denmark, you'd be an example of a perfectly healthy 30-year-old."

The mental pats halted. Denmark blinked.

"…A what now?" he asked after a pause, wondering if his hearing was as good as the nurse had claimed it to be moments earlier.

"Oh, I said, a perfectly healthy 30-year-old," she repeated casually.

Denmark knew he had heard it right this time. His wide grin betrayed the mortification he felt right then and there. It was as if someone had burst a bubble he had been proudly blowing and it exploded all over his face. His body. His heart. Leaving behind an echo of those last few words, taunting, mocking him. The corner of his mouth twitched in rhythm to that small, poisonous statement.

30-year-old. 30-year-old. 30-year-old. Thiiiiiirty-yeaaaaar-oooooooold.

"Ah," Denmark intelligently uttered.

"Yes then, that should be all. Inquiries, concerns?"

"Oh, no. I think this is it, yeah. Thank you, Miss."

"Then I'll see you next year. Have a nice day, Mr Denmark."

"You too." Denmark got up from his seat a bit too fast after saying that.

There was a bit of a wobble in the tall nation's step as he exited the office. It didn't halt until he made it to the bathroom across the hall. Denmark immediately made his way to the sink, slamming his hands down to grip its edges to ground himself after the absolute shock he had endured.

30-year-old? 30?! No way. That couldn't be right.

Obviously, Denmark had existed for more than a thousand years by now, which made his actual age roll in four digits. But his physical age was a different story. For him, for each and every personification for that matter, the age which they appeared to be was a reflection of... everything. And 30? Fricking 30? By human standards, that was... that was ancient!

And Denmark was not an ancient. He was cool and youthful and not at all behind the times. He was relevant! Progressive! Hot! And as such, he had been deemed 20-something for a couple of centuries right now. Everyone knew that the nations' age of prime was a comfortable 20 and then some. When they were at their best! Energetic, strong, attractive. He didn't feel any older than that! He didn't look older than that either, did he?

Denmark looked at himself through the mirror. His light hair, his bright blue eyes and freckled face. Those slight wrinkles around his eyes showing a life full of many smiles and laughs. Maybe they weren't slight after all. No, they were huge. Were there lines developing around his mouth as well? And his forehead, wrinkled with worry, wrinkles over there too. And those freckles, he hadn't put much thought into it before, but had he had that many freckles a hundred years ago? He couldn't have, could he? Did they multiply with ageing as well? Was it the lighting or did his hair look a touch... grey?

Not bearing to look any longer, Denmark turned away from the mirror and bit at his fist. He had no choice but to admit it. The nurse, so certain and casual about her words had been right. He had gotten older. But not just older, he was damn-near elderly. Oh god. At what point had this happened? He wasn't ready to be old! Maybe in another two thousand years, but not yet! He would have collapsed on the floor right then and there if it weren't for the fact that someone just exited the bathroom stall next to him and would have found such a display disturbing. Indeed. He should have a proper mental breakdown at home.

30, Denmark thought. He was done for.

All of the Nordics were visiting Denmark at the time. The two-week-long world conference was being held in Copenhagen and it came as no surprise to anyone that the group of five would be bunking together. At the moment Iceland was out in town and the Finno-Swedish duo, plus Sealand, were walking Kukkamuna somewhere along the forest trails near Denmark's large house. Thus, Norway was the only one present in the house when Denmark returned from his errands.

The mild-mannered nation heard the front door open and close, but for his surprise, not the annoyingly cheery greeting he knew to expect anytime Denmark arrived anywhere. Norway's head peeked from the spacious kitchen he had been cooking in up till that point. He immediately noticed that Denmark looked off. And that was saying something, because Denmark always looked somewhat off but now there was clearly something wrong with him. Especially since he had been his ordinary sunshiny self before leaving that morning.

"Bro," Norway called out in his usual fashion, his blank facial expression hiding the concern he felt.

Denmark didn't answer. It didn't look like he even heard Norway. He mechanically kicked off his shoes, leaving them scattered on the floor. With the speed of a handicapped tortoise, he began walking across the floor towards the lounge, his head down. He looked like a sad violin theme should be playing all around him.

Norway followed the other's descent, quite baffled.

"I've been baking cinnamon rolls?" he tried, still gaining no response from the taller man. This urged him to remove his sugarcoated apron and sheepishly follow Denmark to the living room.

This seemed like a situation that could not be solved by pinching or poking at Denmark, an approach Norway was used to. To be honest, he was a little scared of getting any closer to the other Nordic with the disturbing way he was acting. He could only remain where he was, standing in the doorway and staring at the other nation wallowing in something yet to be determined.

"Denmark, what's the matter?" he asked. "Did your 'Happiest country in the world' ranking go down or something?"

Denmark still didn't respond. He threw himself on the sofa with the dignity and grace of a beached whale, burying his face into the cushion. This gave Norway the needed push to dig out his phone and send an emergency alert to the trusty Nordic group chat. Something told him he wouldn't be able to handle this alone. And something also told him that he didn't want to even try.

He wrote a simple yet effective "Hjelpe" and attached a picture of Denmark down on the couch in the very moment. Norway imagined everyone would return swiftly, the visual was striking and bizarre enough even without the telling message.

"It's bad Norge. It's really bad..." Denmark's muffled speech broke the silence and Norway almost dropped his phone upon hearing it. His blue eyes immediately darted back to the other nation, who had now turned his head to the side, showing his miserable face to his fellow Nordic.

"What do you mean?" Norway insisted, his monotonous voice the same, but with a hint of force now. He stepped closer so he was no beside the distraught Dane.

Denmark finally looked at Norway and cringed.

"It's all over. They gave me a death flag," he damn-near sobbed. Norway's eyebrows perched up, but his voice kept steady; "What?"

"Thirty. Thirty, Norway. They gave me thirty."

"Thirty what? Days to stop smoking?"

"Years, Norway!"

"Thirty years to stop smoking? That doesn't sound too-"

"NEJ!" Denmark cried, startling Norway though this was only visible in the way he blinked. Denmark gathered himself enough to sit back up and peer into Norway's eyes, his face scrunched up in agitation.

"Thirty, as in, I am thirty now."

"Ohh."

To be continued.

AN: Honestly, I've been sitting on the idea for this fic for years now. I don't know what it is that's making me write it now, but I hope you enjoy it.

In the next chapter, the rest of the Nordics will appear. Can they help Denny dig himself back up from the pit?