Canada woke up wearing Russia's coat. After blinking a few times, he forced the weariness from his eyes enough to take in his surroundings. Hedges. Rows and rows of flowers. An ornamental birdbath. He was in the garden behind Austria's house... but why? Canada sat up and immediately regretted doing so. A throbbing headache overtook him, and the exquisitely manicured garden disappeared into a green blur. He tipped forward and proceeded to puke his guts out. When it was over, he didn't feel all that much better. What's worse, he saw that he had thrown up on a circle of blue fabric that he quickly realized was Norway's hat. At least, it had been Norway's hat the day before. Now it was a trampled mess, although Canada still felt guilty for sealing its doom.

There was movement in Canada's peripheral vision. He shook his head and brought himself to a reasonable level of alertness. It hurt. Just a few metres away, a figure with a cowlick and a bomber jacket strode by. The figure approached the birdbath and began to pee in it. Canada wandered over.

"A-America?" Canada said. "What are you doing?"

America turned to greet his brother. He either didn't notice or didn't care that he was now missing the birdbath and nearly splashing Canada's feet.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" he said.

"Well... I mean..."

"Hey, nice getup!" America said with a laugh. Canada looked down at himself, remembering that he was still wearing Russia's coat for some reason. He began to unbutton it, but buttoned it back up just as quickly when he saw that he had absolutely nothing on underneath. America laughed. He zipped up, spat on his hands, and slicked up his cowlick.

"Some party last night, huh, bro?"

Canada put his hands over his face.

"To be honest, America, I don't really remem- whoa!"

Something large and firm had bumped up against Canada's leg. His glance flew down to see Poland, rolling over in his sleep. The nation was wearing a hot pink cocktail dress, which was not out of the ordinary, but he was also wearing a fake moustache. Poland's skin and dress were both stained from the grass. Well, possibly the grass. He was covered in bright green blotches anyway. His shimmery painted eyelids fluttered as he awoke.

Completely ignoring the two nations standing over him, Poland stretched out and grabbed an item from underneath the leaves of a nearby petunia. The item appeared to be an orange.

"Super cool," said Poland, his voice crackling with tiredness. "I finally found the other one." He peeled the orange and attempted to pop a segment into his mouth. That's when his hand bumped into the moustache. Sighing, he pulled it off and poked at the bits of glue that had held it to his face overnight.

"Aww, France," he whined.

"What the...?" said Canada. "What's happening?"

"Huh?" said Poland, looking up. "Oh, hey, you two. Like, want a snack?" Poland offered the orange around. America helped himself to a piece. Canada was too busy surveying their surroundings.

For some reason, there was a grand piano sitting in the middle of the rose garden. The ground nearby was littered with empty packets of... something. Atop the piano, Austria was passed out. His face was covered with marker scribbles; a spiral around one eye, sunshine rays decorating his mole, and cat whiskers drawn on his cheeks. Most peculiarly, he was wearing frilly bloomers and France's cloak.

Elsewhere in the garden, Russia lay in a kiddie pool in the middle of the grass. China was curled up on top of him. Both were naked. Only Russia's scarf remained on; it was draped around both nations. Although Russia's beefy limbs flopped out over the sides of the pool in all directions, he somehow gave the impression of hugging China. Perhaps it was because he had his head tipped to the side, almost like the two nations were nuzzling in their sleep. Russia stirred, and the bright green liquid that filled the kiddie pool rose and fell.

A short distance away lay a heap of fabric. Canada ventured a little closer, and saw a pile of brown hair and a flower at one end. Memories from the night before flashed through Canada's mind. Hungary was there, and for some reason, she was wearing a ridiculously frilly dress. At the other end of the pile, Canada observed, were two shapely legs that disappeared up into a pair of boxer shorts that bore the Prussian flag. Canada hurried away, not wishing to investigate further.

In his escape, he tripped over another sleeping body. Denmark sat up. He licked his lips a few times, and then looked skyward.

"Is it morning?" he asked.

Canada looked up. The sun was directly overhead.

"I think it's around noon," Canada replied. A wide grin spread across Denmark's face. Shakily, he got to his feet. Before Canada could ask Denmark anything else, Denmark pulled his own coat open. He unbuttoned his pants and looked into his underwear.

"Awesome!" Denmark said.

"I don't think I want to know," said Canada. Denmark punched the air and danced in circles around Canada.

"Norway owes me a beer," said Denmark. Canada sighed. He backed away from Denmark, only to be nearly plowed over by Germany.

"I already told you, Italy," said Germany, "I would never ask such a thing." Gritting his teeth, Germany stomped away. A tearful Italy pursued.

"Ve, ve, Germany, I remember it perfectly."

"No, you don't," Germany shot back. "You were drunk."

"We were all drunk. Even so, I remember."

"Italy! Will you shut up already!"

Some nearby bushes rustled. Out popped Romano, who rolled up his sleeves and showed Germany his fists.

"That's it!" shouted Romano. "I've had enough of you ruining Italy's life, you potato-eating, army-leading, tank-building bastard!"

Romano bounced around Germany, ready for a fight. Instead, Germany just sighed.

"Not that it's any of your business what I do with my personal life," he said, "but there's just no pleasing you, is there?"

Romano stopped in his tracks. He lowered his fists.

"Huh?"

"First you don't like that I'm training Italy. Now you don't like that I'm keeping him at a distance."

"Nooo," said Italy. He fell to his knees and hugged Germany around the legs. "Germany, I don't want you to keep me at a distance."

Italy cried and cried, gurgling something about a diamond and inordinate amounts of pasta.

"See?" said Romano. "You're making my brother cry." He brought up his fists once more and charged toward Germany. Unblinking, Germany stood stock still. Romano froze in his tracks.

"You're just lucky I'm hungover," Romano said in his most menacing tone. "If not, I would fight you here and now. Really, I would."

He slunk away, and was crushed by England, who fell out of a tree. Canada looked around at the once-pristine garden that was now littered with empty beer bottles and solo cups and tangles of discarded clothing. He exchanged glances with whatever nations were conscious.

"Please tell me someone remembers what happened last night."