Warning: Bad fic, bad Prussia, bad language, bad ending. Dedicated to the Livejournal Hetalia Hetaween chat thread. Inspired and co-dedicated to friigili on LJ. Not edited.

Ha! He'd fucking teach America! He was too damn awesome to be excluded from these parties – 'real country' or not. Who the hell did America think he was, anyway? Pretentious prick…thing. Whatever.

Prussia (the awesome REAL country that he was) was currently perched high in the rafters, beer in hand. It was one of those nasty American beers but it had been the only thing he could get his hands on at the bar. (Sorry excuse of a bar, too.) His costume was most spectacular as well, so damn spectacular that it was too awesome to be described.

"Pah. Look at those idiots in their silly little costumes." He causally tossed his now empty beer bottle towards the corner. It was so loud in here that one more crash was completely overlooked. Carefully (and quite stealthily, he thought) he moved further into the party. If he got far enough in, America wouldn't dare try to throw him out. He was too damn awesome to not be the life of the party!

He tied one end of the rope he had brought along around a brace with one awesome knot. He considered himself to be in a rather inconspicuous location. No one would see him propelling from the rafters from here. Ha ha! He stood, rope in hand, gave a (silent) battle cry, and swept down from his perch…

And promptly landed face first on the ground. Hm. He blamed the (crappy American) alcohol. Maybe he had a little too much to drink. (If such a thing were actually possible.) "Dammit," he groaned and pushed himself up. That could have ruined his awesome costume! The rope swung teasingly above him and his hands felt like they were on fire.

Even worst, there were two burly men in suits looming over him. (Why the hell were they wearing sunglasses…? They were indoors.) "You'll have to come with us," they said. Yes. At the same time.

"Wait a damn minute! I'm on the damn invite list! Check it! Aaargh, let go!" That bluff failed horribly and they merely continued to drag him through the party. So, Prussia did the only thing he could do.

"WEEEEEEEEEST!" When in mortal peril, it was good to have Germany as a sibling.

Germany arrived as prompted but then his face did this funny sort of…blanch and he immediately faded back into the crowd. "I don't know him," he heard him say.

"What the hell! West, get over here!" he raged but then he was tossed down in front of America. Fucking America.

He took his time slurping on a drink and then looked at him quizzically. "Dudes, who is this?"

One of the goons whispered something in his ear and then America's eyes widened. "RUSSIA? Holy shit, man, you've -!" The other goon was frantically whispering in his other ear. "Oooh, Prussia."

There was a pause.

"Prussia? What the hell is that?"

America was lucky that he had those two brutes to protect him. They wrestled him back to the ground and America was laughing like a maniac. "I like him! Dudes, let him up," he said and then Prussia stood and dusted off his costume. America settled his arm around his shoulder.

"Look, Pra…Prus…whoever you are, you can stay. There's just one problem."

"Eh?" He resisted the urge to grab that arm and throw America over his head.

"This is a costume party."

"Get your glasses checked, four eyes. I am wearing a costume," he said, gesturing down.

"No dude. You aren't."

"It's just so fucking awesome and cool that you can't see it."

Hell yeah. It was good to be (naked) Prussia. Felt pretty good on the jewels, too.

And so, Prussia was allowed into the party. There was much merry making and nakedness and bad puns from France.

The End