Have you ever written something that you just love so much and there's really no rational reason for it? Well…this is that for me! I do not own Hetalia. And I suggest looking up Jimmy Buffet's "Surfing in a Hurricane" as background music. I also do not own that song in any way, shape, or form.
ooOOoo
It was three in the morning. Three in the morning on a Friday night. America had been happily fast asleep when a loud pounding shocked him out of bed. He grabbed Old Reliable and fingered the safety. He probably wouldn't need the thing but the pounding was growing and America had no idea who would feel possessed to wake someone up at three in the morning.
"Who is it?" he yelled through the door.
"It's about damn time!" Prussia laughed. "Open the door!"
America relaxed and let him in. "What are you doing here Prussia?"
"I want to go surfing in a hurricane," Prussia told him as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
America stared at him blankly. "Why?"
"Why not? I ain't afraid of dying. The impact zone is calling out my name. We could punch some sharks and prove our manliness. It'll be awesome!" Prussia yelled, slamming his surfboard—America blinked; he hadn't seen that before—against the ground.
"Prussia," America started, leading him in. "It's three in the morning and there isn't a hurricane going on anywhere right now. Why don't we just go get some sleep and—"
"I didn't realize I'd raised a pussy," Prussia snapped.
America sighed and shut the door. "You didn't raise me. England—"
"I taught you how to fight! And I didn't teach you to be afraid of some silly rain!" Prussia stumbled a bit as he moved further into the room, accidentally knocking a picture off the wall with the surfboard.
"Prussia, have you been drinking?" America asked, frowning when another picture went crashing to the ground.
"No!" Prussia yelled, cackling. "Well, not like England. He fucking passed out. Wimp."
"…Did you leave him at the bar?" America felt a headache coming on. Vaguely he wondered if this was how Canada felt when he got stuck playing the designated driver.
"Pffffft," Prussia laughed.
"That didn't answer my question," America said as he quickly saved a collectable Coca-Cola bottle from sure destruction. "Is he still at the bar?"
"No, no," Prussia told him, waving his hand. "Someone came and got him. He looked a lot like you but I knew it wasn't you because he said he didn't normally get hurricanes and I was like, well, America gets hurricanes so you must be an imposter and I don't want to fuck you in the pouring rain because you're not America!" Prussia trailed off, looking almost thoughtful before going back to laughing. "He got all offended and then told me how to get to your house and said that you'd take me! Now come on! I want to go curse out some sharks!"
Canada. This was just like him. Get revenge via indirect means. Shove Prussia off on him. Though, Prussia America could deal with. If Canada had really wanted to get revenge, he would have sent England as well—there was more pounding on the door. Groaning, America stumbled over, knowing just who was going to be there.
"You fucking traitor!" England snarled upon the door opening.
America silently cursed Canada. His brother was good.