Somewhere in Europe, far from the sea, what appeared to be a young boy of twelve years was carrying another boy of the same age on his back. The blond doing all the work was covered in bumps and bruises, a scowl engulfing his features as he trudged along. The brunet on his back was in far worse condition–torn jacket, bloodied boots, bruises across all visible skin, and scratched glasses. A dazed smile graced his lips in a stark contrast from the pain he was in.
When the sounds of war became a distant call, the blond growled, "Austria, you were beaten up again! How many times have I brought you home from a battle like this?"
"Again with this, Switzerland?" A light laugh escaped the brunet's lips. "Seventy-two."
"Seventy-eight times!" the Swiss nation corrected. "You need to train your troops better–you get beat up every time you fight!"
Austria smiled and laughed again. "I still have you and Arcadia looking after me, though. The three of us make a good team."
Switzerland scoffed. "If we're a team, then you don't contribute to the team effort at all. It's always me and Arcadia who have to clean up your mess! You need to actually train, because we won't keep saving you every time you get your butt kicked."
Austria laughed again, irritating his friend even further–though, this didn't stop the blond from carrying him all the way home. He remained silent as his thoughts strayed to you, hoping that you weren't doing anything rash back on the battlefield.
Miles away, you were at the center of the chaos as you fought with another child-sized nation. Your sword clashed with that of your Prussian opponent, yet you had a Cheshire-like grin as you looked up at the nation in front of you.
"Is that all you've got, blondie?" you hollered as the two of you broke apart and squared off again.
He laughed and narrowed his eyes at you. "Not even close, brat!"
Prussia lunged at you, aiming his blade at your neck. You smirked as you parried and began to attack again.