Peter shrieks when Denmark lands on his back beside him. He can hear the breath whoosh straight out of him when Alfred tackles him and the leather clad American lands right on top of him, arms clamped around him and shaking him back and forth, kicking up leaves and ash around all three of them in the frantic motions. At first, he's dead certain that Alfred is trying to maul Denmark into submission, especially given the choked spluttering coming from Denmark, and he nearly launches himself into his midsection to knock him off. But after a moment of stunned staring, he realizes that America is laughing. Not even laughing; it's even less threatening than that. He's giggling. Giggling like this is the most hilarious thing he's ever seen and swinging Denmark around in the dirt in a crushing bear hug.
"Alfred...!" Denmark flails from below him and smacks at his back, squirming and twisting and trying to slip out of his arms. "You're crushing me, fuck, get off!" He cranes his neck to stare, helpless, at Peter. "Get him off me!"
Sealand manages to snap himself out of his astonishment and leaps to grab the back of Alfred's coat and haul him backwards, groaning with the effort, and stumbles back when America abruptly releases Denmark and spins around to grab him instead.
"Peter!" He hops to his feet and twirls him around, bouncing and laughing still. "You're okay! Oh my gosh, you're okay!"
Peter coughs and tries to push himself off of America's chest. "Hi, America," he wheezes. "Good to see you t-" the rest of the air in his lungs is promptly squeezed out by Alfred's cheek smushing against his own in some kind of cruel, corporal cuddle. "Getoffgetoffgetoff...!"
Another pair of arms circle around his waist and yank him backward and he finds himself, much to his relief, in the liberating, much less constricting grasp of Denmark. Both of them are panting and trembling with exertion by this point and Denmark's stare is somewhere between exasperated and horrified when Alfred starts toward them again, smiling like a mad man with his arms spread wide open for a second round.
"Whoa, okay, stop, stop!" Denmark sets Peter down and holds a hand out in front of himself. "We got it, we got it!"
"You guys are okay!" Alfred stops in front of them, still bouncing and grinning, and just starts touching them; pawing and patting and prodding, making sure that they are really there. "Oh my God, you're totally fine!" He launches forward and sweeps Denmark up in another hug, one that lifts him clear off of his feet.
Denmark coughs and pounds on his back. "Yes, fine, now put me down!" He huffs and smoothes invisible wrinkles out of his coat when Alfred places him back on solid ground. "I see you're doing just fine."
"Yeah, I'm okay!" He crouches down and pinches Peter's cheeks. "Aah, I can't believe it! Look at you, you're like a tiny Arthur!" He squishes his face between his palms. "This is so awesome!"
Peter swats at him and manages to wiggle free. "I am not!"
America straightens back up and turns back to Denmark. "So, if he's here, that means we're in England, right? He's like, half English or something, so that's right, right?"
Denmark tilts his head and just stares at him. "Wait, what? You don't know where we are?"
"Huh? No, why? Don't you?" He snaps his fingers. "Ooh, okay, I get it, you don't know either. That's okay! We can figure it out together 'cause you're here now!"
Denmark opens and closes his mouth several times before he actually manages to make any sound come out. "No, I know exactly where we are... I'm kind of wondering how you don't."
"Well, my map burned up when we landed and nobody here will talk to me. Well, okay, some of them do, but they all keep talking in like, weird English." He balls his hands up and shakes them excitedly. "So, I'm right, right? We're in England?"
