I don't own Hetalia! End/AN/

Norway's plump little cheeks remained as stoically unsmiling as ever as he leaned over the bundle. His blue eyes were examining it closely:

Almost white hair; purple-red eyes; tiny button nose; sucking its curled fist as it breathed rather heavily and stared back at him.

It was a baby, he was sure, but somehow he knew it was one of them as well.

He couldn't determine if it was a boy or girl; there were no clear indicators. So, naturally, he did what any other six year old would do: he rather clumsily unwrapped the baby, until it was down to its diaper. Then, steeling himself for the possibility of baby poo, he opened it up.

Yep, it was a boy. Just like him. He got the vague notion of comparing, but dismissed it, hastily wrapping the baby back up.

The baby gurgled, his fist sticky with spittle. He pushed the fist against Norway, and it barely did anything other than get the baby spit on him.

So, what did one do with a baby? Norway was stumped. He couldn't take a baby back with him, could he? What was he supposed to do with a baby?

He was a big boy, it was true; not as big as Sweden and Denmark, but still, much larger than the infant.

He was still pondering when suddenly, the baby began to whimper, and before he could calm that, it broke into outright squalling.

Norway covered his ears, willing the baby to shut up. When that didn't work, he leaned in close to it, saying, "Baby, no. Bad baby. Bad. Stop. Baby-"

Suddenly, the baby's mouth was on his nose, sucking at it; he'd leaned too close. Norway jerked back, rubbing at his nose furiously with his sleeve. That dastardly baby! He gave the baby a cool stare, the closest he tended to come to a glare.

He didn't need this baby. This baby should find someone else to take care of it.

He started to walk away, ignoring the baby's cries. But then, he felt a strange twisting tug at his heart. The baby needed someone.

The fairies could watch it. He called upon the fairies, watching as their little bodies seemed to shimmer in the misty air. They seemed to know instantly what he wanted, and flew to the baby's side.

There. Now he could leave.

And he did so without much further thought of the baby, until several years later.

/AN/ This is basically a rewrite of a snapshot I did in my series of 'Snapshots in History.' It was fun. It's basically the first discovery of Iceland, which was uninhabited. Basically, a guy found it by accident, named it Garðar's Islet, and then it was left alone for a while.

Also, for those of you who were reading Inhuman and waiting for an update... my computer died, with the 4000+ words partially written update. So, yeah, that's going to take a bit still to do.