Sarcastically speaking, jet lag was a nation's best friend. Both nation and jet lag were very well acquainted due to the constant flights to other countries for almost any reason under the rainbow, therefore, all nations appreciated the extra day they get between their flying day and the start of the meeting week.

During this day, many nations embraced sleep like fluffy warm blankets around their cold, weary bodies. Some may snooze until late morning, others wouldn't budge until dinnertime, therefore most, if not all, nations had a mutual agreement of not disturbing one another during this day of rest. No text messages or phone calls, no room visits unless previously planned, no boisterous mini parties (not that there would be any given the exhaustion everyone felt), not even alarm clocks or anything that would emit any sort of loud noise. Yes, the "Day of Rest" was almost like a peace treaty that the whole world agreed with and (figuratively) signed.

Unfortunately, on this dreary Sunday morning, every single soul on the floor was abruptly awoken by a horribly loud and absolutely ear-bleeding shriek. Even the heaviest of sleepers were stirred and forced out of bed when the painful scream repeated again, this time with more agony. Doors were opened and heads poked out as grumbles and questions were exchanged between neighbors, and some even scowled and flexed their fingers with the need to strangle whoever was the source of the horrid noise.

All movement ceased, though, when one of the doors towards the middle of the hall slammed violently open and a certain albino ex-nation, very pissed and very much ready to kill a bitch, stomped out to send death glares to every nation who dared to look at him.

"WHO DID IT?!" he bellowed, causing a good majority of the onlookers to flinch. "Who in the hell is fucking with me?!"

The sight of an angry Prussia resulted in a mixture of reactions. Some frightened nations (Italy, Romano, Latvia) jumped back into their rooms and bolted their doors, some brave ones (Germany) took a few steps forward and prepared themselves to ask what was wrong, and the rest just stood to watch the scene unfold in front of them.

His nostrils flared like a bull's, Prussia stomped down the hall, nations shrinking into their rooms when he passed them. His red eyes – they looked about ready to shoot death lasers at someone by the way they sparked – flicked at everyone he passed until they finally landed on the small figure of England. England jumped at the fire that was aimed at his direction, but he kept his posture straight.

"May I help you?" he asked, his arms crossing and thick eyebrows furrowing as the Prussian planted himself in front of the Englishman. His strong stature was easily broken and a very unmanly "Eep!" ran through his lips as Prussia grabbed the front of his striped pajama shirt and pulled him close.

"I know it was you, Limey!" he spat, shaking the smaller nation. "What did you do? What did you do to my Junior?"

England stammered. "Wh-What in the blazes are you yammering about?"

"You know what I'm talking about, you fucking Brit!" When Prussia lifted his free hand, he shrunk back and prepared himself for a punch in the face, but instead something sugary and sweet smelling was shoved in front of his face.

A yellow-sprinkled Peep.

England's eyes widened and his caterpillar brows migrated farther down. "Is this some sort of joke? What in bloody hell are you–"

"Don't fuck with me!" If possible, Prussia grew even more pissed. "I know about that dumb hocus-pocus mumbo jumbo that you do!" He waved the Peep in front of England in an exasperated fashion. "I know that you did this to my Junior just to smite me!" Another violent shake. "What kind of prank are you pulling?! I don't even like marshmallows!"

"I did no such thing, you bloody wanker! I didn't get here until two in the morning and the first thing I did was go to bed! I swear it on Her Majesty that I didn't practice any sort of magic!" He paused, his face flushing from anger with a tinge of embarrassment. "I-I never practice witchcraft! I don't know where you got the idea, b-but I don't."

Silence fell in the hall, which was only broken by the quiet squeaking of doors as the nations who hid in their rooms cautiously peeked out again. One moment, two moments ticked by, and finally Prussia loosened his grip on England's collar and pushed him back. He took several deep, harsh breaths and turned sharply, the nations who were at the direction of his room shrinking back. None of them had ever seen him so worked up, not even when he was full-fledged country dealing with problems much worse than a missing beloved pet bird.

His footsteps echoed as he stomped back to his room, and before entering, he gave everyone one last glare and pointed an accusing finger at them. "Just you all wait. I will find out who did this, and once I do, there will be hell to pay." And at that, his door was slammed shut.

Almost instantly, a muted buzz erupted among the nations as they began asking each other about what in the name of Holy Roman Empire just happened. A few returned to their beds, some in relief and others slightly annoyed, and several gave England a quick visit with pats of sympathy. The Briton was shaking with a mixture of emotions, but fury and relief were most prominent on his face.

At the end of the hallway, separate from the quiet circus farther down the corridor, two nations were standing side by side, their faces of disbelief a contrast from the others' confused ones.

Spain licked his lips and leaned toward his friend, his eyes not leaving their fellow nations in front of them. "H-Hey," he whispered, his mouth hovering over the other's ear, "I think you just screwed us all over."

France, whose naked body was partly shielded with a blanket wrapped around his waist, nodded. "...Yea, I think I did."