Lithuania froze, dropping the shopping bag he had clutched in his hand. Poland waved a hand in front of his face, saying something that the Baltic Nation couldn't quite hear. It's happening again. That thing that happens so rarely that it might as well be considered a myth or legend.

"Toris? Toooris!"

The Lithuania shook himself back into reality. "S-sorry, Feliks. I've to go."

"Wha-?"

But he was already gone, leaving an incredibly confused Poland alone on the street.

'I have to get there, first!'

Prussia shook himself out of a fitful doze, and smiled.

But of course. This usually happens around autumn, doesn't it?

He looked around his brother's empty house, and then at the beer in his hand.

'So how do I get to it, first?'

He wasn't sure how he knew. A whiff of cinnamon on a southern breeze? Intuition? A supernatural connection that can't be fully understood by modern science?

Well, whatever the reason, Canada knew. He doubted that he was the only one. He never was. He could only hope that this sudden clairvoyance came soon enough for him to get there before his rivals.

"What are you making?"

America jumped and spun around to see three Nations peeking past the doorframe, staring at him intently.

"Er…" 'When the Hell did they get here?' "Apple pie…?"

Prussia began to salivate, and Lithuania seemed dangerously close to pouncing. Canada looked like he was suffering from withdrawal.

The oven dinged pleasantly throughout the kitchen, and all three of them sucked in a collective breath of anticipation.

The western Nation offered an uncomfortable smile before turning back to the task at hand. Two pies came out of the oven. The air was fresher, the birdsongs sweeter, and the world brighter as they were set by the window to cool.

The visiting Nations' eyes were trained on the innocent pastries. Prussia licked his lips eagerly. "I call first slice.

Canada pulled his hockey stick out of freakin' nowhere. "Just try it."

America laughed nervously, and cursed inwardly. "Hey guys, can we please not do this again? The damage to my house last time was…"

They weren't listening. They were too busy glaring between each other and the pie. The American groaned. 'This is why I only do this twice a year.'

Surprisingly enough, Lithuania was the one to make the first move. He dove into the kitchen, hands outstretched to steal one of the pies. Prussia loosed a battle cry worthy of his knights of old and latched himself onto the Baltic Nation's back, dragging him down. Canada sidestepped the tangle of Europeans, taking advantage of their distraction, but he was grabbed by the ankle and pulled heavily to the ground.

America watched the three of them fight and throw foreign curses at each other with no small amount of chagrin, and winced when his coffee mug was used as an improvised club for the back of Prussia's head.

'Every. Fucking. Time. I bake.'

With an exasperated sigh befitting of his former mentor, America plunged his hands into the fray. He ended up grabbing Lithuania by the collar and his brother by the wrist, separating them and stepping lightly on Prussia's chest to prevent him from moving.

"If you break anything else over my pie," he said slowly, "I'll never make it again."

Lithuania whimpered and Canada gasped as though physically struck. America rolled his eyes. "Besides, I always get the first slice."