Disclaimer: If Axis Powers Hetalia were mine, I wouldn't need to write fanfics. If any of these songs were mine, I wouldn't be writing fanfics.

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Minimal fluff 09!

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Bolludagur

Iceland was not one to awaken early. Even before Norway came and plucked his little self off and colonized him, he was never one to rise at the crack of dawn. But today, he had blinked awake as the day's rays edged into his room, trying to maneuver past the thick blinds.

Yawning but stifling the noise with a little hand, Iceland shook the sleep from his mind, rubbing his eyes to get the sandman's dust away. Sitting up and letting his snowy hair flail wild from the pillow, he yawned again, a cute little sound in his room. He felt his eyelids betray him and heavily try to cover his eyes again. Shaking his head fiercely to fling the remaining dregs of fatigue away, he let his hair slap the sides of his cheeks. The motion quickly cured his sleepiness and he sat in his bed, happy for the warmth.

But he couldn't just sit in bed. Not on this morning.

Slowly inching himself out of the comforter, mourning the loss of heat, Iceland slipped out of the covers and jumped on the bed, his feet making the blankets underneath him protest with a small poof sound. The ribbon on the collar of his nightgown had gotten undone overnight, proving Norway's efforts to be naught. Skittering in front of the mirror, he tied it again the best he could. After staring at himself with a dilapidated red ribbon dangling on his chest, Iceland nodded. He had done well.

The floor was cold on his bare feet. Iceland hopped around, trying to avoid the especially cold spots. He was used to frigid mornings, but it didn't mean he liked them. Hopping around, he realized if he flung his clothes on the ground, he could make a pathway for himself. Doing so, he hopped about, on a shirt, then a pair of pants, then a sweater. Tripping on a sock, Iceland twirled in the air and landed with a soft thump.

No, he wouldn't cry. He wouldn't want to wake them up. Rubbing his sore knees, Iceland hopped up again to his feet, wiping his eyes, which had gotten a bit damp from the pain. He made his way to the desk in his room and climbed onto the chair. There it was! Seizing the wand on the desk with both hands, like a sword, he held it above his head like Thor and his hammer.

Yes, it was a work of art, he agreed, as he leapt onto the floor with another small thump. Norway had helped him make it this year, as last year's happened to be a mess of glitter and paper and haphazard ribbon. But this year, big brother Norway had tied all the ribbons so they looked nice and neat and helped him glue everything so it truly looked a beautiful bun wand.

Tiptoeing to his door, Iceland poked his head out of the crack, happily seeing no one in the hall. The house was still silent, the winds outside only softly whiping. He carefully avoided the creaky floorboard and made his way down the corridor.

He paused in front of the basket that held his pet puffin, a still young bird he aptly named Puffin. Today, the black bird poked his head up sleepily to see its owner stop in front of it. It opened his beak in greeting but was quickly silenced when Iceland tapped its beak. Shh, Iceland motioned with his finger. Puffin glanced from him to the bun wand, its ribbons fluttering in a cascade of purple and gold.

Continuing down the hall, Iceland tottered on uneven steps until he reached the room of his destination. Tapping it with his wand, as if the closed door could be opened by such a motion, Iceland stared at the doorknob, willing it to turn. When nothing happened, he reached up, standing on his tiptoes until his fingers skittered the brass knob and he turned it ever so gently so it moved. Puffin appeared at the nick of time, pressing against Iceland so the extra height allowed the boy to open the door. It swung back, granting access.

Clothes were strewn over the floor; Iceland recognized Denmark's coat on the back of the chair and his red shirt dropped on the floor. Similarly, Norway's pants were left at the edge of the bed, as if tossed off at the last minute. Iceland frowned; Norway always told him to pick up his clothes off the floor, and yet he just left his on the floor! And if Denmark could hang his coat on the chair, why did he leave all his clothes on the ground? Oh well. Such mysteries could be solved on another day.

Norway was sleeping on one side of the bed. Hmm…his big brother also said he had to sleep in his pajamas, and yet he didn't have any on? Iceland peeked over the edge and saw a red mark on his brother's neck. Ah, he hadn't noticed that there! Had he hurt himself in the night?

Right! His mission! Holding up the bun wand with utter importance, Iceland tapped Norway with it. One, two…but on the second count, his brother's violet eyes fluttered open. Turning sleepily, Norway saw Iceland standing there, wand in hand and an expression of utmost authority. His mouth opened to say good morning but Iceland shook his head quickly. Running across the room and avoiding Denmark's pants in the way, Iceland crossed to the other side of the bed, where Denmark was sprawled asleep.

One, two, three…when even five taps didn't work, Iceland started hitting harder. He had satisfactedly reached ten when Denmark started flailing, jolting awake. "Alright, alright, I'm up!"

"Twelve, big brother," Iceland said bluntly as Denmark stared at him, confused. The nation's already normally messy hair was even more so; shaking it loose, his other big brother turned to Norway, who had sat up and had discovered the mark on his neck, covering it with his hand.

"What's the twerp talking about, Nor?"

"Bolludagur," Norway said, keeping a hand on his neck. Iceland skipped contently out of the room, ignoring the hushed conversation between his brothers, although he stopped in the hallway long enough to hear the kiss. Making a face at such adult activities, he went back to his room to get dressed. Puffin followed, looking as satisfied as its owner.

By the time he got downstairs, Denmark and Norway were already dressed; Denmark was already sitting at the table, drinking coffee as Norway was making breakfast. Ignoring Denmark, who admittedly was not his favorite brother, Iceland climbed onto his chair. "Good morning, Norway."

"Good morning, Ice."

"What about me?" Denmark complained, tapping the boy on his head. Iceland stared blankly at him; Puffin copied the movement.

"Norway," Iceland started, ignoring Denmark, who protested quietly into his coffee, "what's that mark on your neck?"

Norway paused quite noticeably and Denmark chuckled, nearly choking on his coffee. Iceland turned from both his brothers, then to Puffin as if the bird could answer.

"Well, Ice, let me tell you a story about your awesome big brother Denmark and your not-so-awesome brother Norway. It began last night after we tucked you in, when we…"

Norway slammed a plate of buns on the table, his glare digging Denmark into silence. "It's nothing to worry about," he explained to Iceland, although his eyes were still pinned into Denmark.

Iceland wordlessly reached for a bun. Twelve! Just like he'd counted. Biting into the first one, he chewed and tasted whipped cream and chocolate. When Denmark reached for one, Iceland reached for the bun wand and hit his hand with it.

"You can't eat all twelve!" Denmark yelped, taking his hand back.

"Just let him eat," Norway said, rolling his eyes and taking a seat next to Denmark. Iceland nodded and took another bun, ignoring the scuffle under the table at his brothers kicked each other, although their upper bodies suggested nothing was amiss.

But he was still little and had finished his third bun when he felt full. Puffin, who was allowed to work on one, gulped down the last piece. Iceland breathed out, before pushing the plate at his older brothers. "You can finish them," he said, and as Denmark happily went for one, he finished, "…Norway."

"You hear that, Denmark? None for you."

"Norge! But you're my favorite!" Iceland tottered out of the kitchen, before ducking into the shadows to watch if Norway really did have mercy on his other older brother. Iceland hadn't realized that the two had intertwined legs; Norway's was curled around Denmark's. Denmark was still pestering as Norway pretended not to hear him, but finally when Denmark was getting louder and louder, Norway stuffed a bun in his mouth.

"So that's how it is," Iceland explained to Puffin, as if he knew what he was talking about. Puffin nodded because he had to, and Iceland left the two in the kitchen to wander outside to find the Norns.

Owari

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Note: Bun Day. A winter festival in Iceland. And mommy Norway doesn't seem to be very motherly, unlike mommy England. And chibi Iceland is an ultimate weakness. Norns – three sisters in Norse history that tell the past, present, and future. That's about all I have to say. What about YOU? Review, please.