One day, when America was house-sitting for his Uncle Scotland, he was bored, so he decided to invite Iceland and Norway over.

However, when he called Norway, Norway reminded him that they were supposed to find props for Germany's play.

"We'll do it here!" America exclaimed. "I'll find everything; I'm the hero!"

"Okay then."

A few minutes later, Norway and Iceland (and Mr. Puffin) showed up.

Come on in!" America said, inviting them into the house.

Norway, the quiet and semi-responsible one, had brought a bag of art supplies with him.

"Where'd you get those!?" America exclaimed. "I didn't know you did art!"

"I don't," Norway replied, somewhat impatiently. "Denmark, the idiot, gave them to me."

Meanwhile, Iceland had gone to the living room. This became evident a moment later when he came back into the hallway and asked, "America, why are there secret compartments in your uncle's living room?"

"Oh! An adventure! I can be just like Indiana Jones!"

Norway sighed, clearly exasperated at America's exuberance. "Look, America, can we just get on with this?"

"Of course, Norge."

"Only Denmark is allowed to call me 'Norge', and that's just because he spoke Danish first."

"Fine, Norge."

Norway sighed again (he had promised England that he wouldn't strangle anyone while he was on the Isles) and followed America to the living room, where Iceland was seated on the floor, holding several bottles of whiskey.

When America saw the whiskey, he asked, "Iceland, where'd you find those?"

"The secret compartment, of course."

Norway started to say something, but America interrupted. "Don't we need bottles for Germany's play…thing?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"We can use these bottles!"

"America, we need brown-glass bottles."

"We can paint the inside brown."

"We would have to empty those bottles first-"

"No problem! Iceland, help me drink this whiskey!"

"America, you're not even old enough to drink in your own house."

"But this is Uncle Scotland's house. He lets me drink all the time."

"Fine, whatever, America. It's clear that we will get no work done, Come along, Iceland." Norway started to leave.

"Norway, I bet I can drink you under the table."

Norway stopped and turned around.

"America, I regularly go drinking with Denmark and I used to be a Viking. Do you really think you can out-drink me?"

"I'm the hero! I can out-drink anyone."

Norway raised an eyebrow. "Whatever, America." He handed America a bottle. "Last one conscious wins."

"Bottoms up."

Half an hour (and several bottles of whiskey later), Iceland was passed out on the couch, a near-empty bottle still in his hand. America, partially through his second bottle, was still awake- much to Norway's annoyance.

"You see, Norge, aliens eat hamburgers, and you know, Tony's like a bro to me, but that's just not cool, bro! The hamburgers are mine!"

"Don't call me 'Norge', and don't call me 'bro'. Aliens don't exist."

"Of course they do! It's fairies that are a conspiracy!"

Norway sighed and reached for a third bottle. At this rate, he was going to need it. "We should probably start working on the props for Germany's play."

"What does he need? Because he can't have my hamburgers!"

"I assure you, nobody wants your hamburgers, America."

America giggled, then hiccupped. "Norge, I'm really *hic* drunk."

"I suppose you are not used to drinking whiskey."

"Psht, I drink all the *hic* time."

"Beer and whiskey are two very different things."

"No freaking *hic* duh."

Norway stood up and went to the bag of supplies, looking for the brown paint.

When he came back, America was slumped over, snoring slightly.

Norway smiled slightly- an expression he rarely used. Finally, it would be quiet and peaceful, just like his beloved fjords.

At that exact moment, very loud and insistent knocking came from the front hall, along with some annoying shouting. "Scotland! Scotland! Open the door! Scotland?"

Norway sighed and opened the door. Sure enough, it was Denmark, that irresponsible drunkard.

When Denmark saw Norway, he said, "Hey Norge, what are you doing here? Did Scotland invite you drinking too?"

"Um, no. America invited me."

"That's so not like you, Norge. You must be growing up! I'm so proud of you, going to parties without me!"

"Since when do I go to parties at all? Besides, this isn't a party; I'm working on props for Germany's play."

Denmark's face became somber for a moment.

Norway frowned. "Danmark. You are not happy."

Denmark burst out laughing. "Oh Norge, you didn't actually think that Germany would actually put on a play, did you?"

"You lied to me?"

"Well, when you put it like that, Norge…"

"That's inexcusable, Danmark. I'm leaving."

"Look, Norway, Prussia talked me into it."

"I told you that you should NEVER listen to what Prussia says. I suppose America was in on this as well?"

"No, actually. It was just me and Prussia-"

"'Prussia and I', Danmark."

"Fine. Prussia and I. Anyway, it was late, and Prussia was buying-"

"You'll do anything for free beer, won't you?"

"No!"

Norway raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"You want me to explain, don't you?"

Norway just stared at Denmark.

"Well, Prussia doesn't like you very much and he wanted to play a mean joke on you. I didn't think it would be that mean, so…I agreed."

"Why?"

"Does it matter? Look, I'll make it up to you, whatever you want-"

"Why, Denmark?"

A sudden commotion came from the living room. Norway turned to see Iceland finish falling off the couch.

The rather short boy had clearly been awakened by his fall off the couch, as evidenced by him sitting up and exclaiming, "What the hell?"

Norway went over to help his younger brother. "Are you alright, Lillebror?"

"What happened?"

"You fell off the couch."

"I see that. Why was I asleep on the couch?"

Norway held up the near-empty bottle of whiskey. "You can't hold your liquor."

"You should come drinking with me and Prussia more often," Denmark interjected. "Or me and Scotland."

"'Prussia and I' and 'Scotland and I', Danmark. And also, shut up."

"I think I'm going home. My head hurts," Iceland said, holding his head in both hands.

"That's what happens when you drink too much, Little Brother. It's called a hangover." Norway pulled out a cup of coffee (out of nowhere, apparently, but then, he is rather magical) and handed it to Iceland.

"Holy fjords, Norway's sharing coffee!"

America chose that moment to become conscious again. "What?"

He tried to sit up, but it seemed that his head pained him too much, for he laid back and put his hands over his eyes.

"Are you going to give any of your coffee to America?" Denmark asked.

"Of course not, Den."

Clearly, Norway was distracted; he only referred to Denmark as "Den" when he had something on his mind. It also seemed that America was not familiar with the moods of Norway.

"Oh, that's so cute! Norway called Denmark 'Den'!"

Vey calmly, as he did everything, Norway stood up, walked over to America, pulled off his glove, and used it to slap America.

"Ow! My face!"

"Be lucky you're not wearing a tie," Denmark murmured to the unfortunate American. To Norway ,he asked, "So, Scotland's not here?"

"No, America's house-sitting."

"And you drank Scotty's whiskey?"

"America challenged me. It would go against my honor- and yours -to ignore him. Besides," he said, glancing over at America and soundly smug, "I'm not the one with a colossal headache."

"What's my honor got to do with this?"

"He said he could out-drink anyone."

Shock registered on Denmark's face. "He said that?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Good job, Norge."

"Thank you, Danmark."

"So, what are you going to do now?"

Norway raised an eyebrow.

"Well, Norge, I don't think that Iceland's up to much, and you can't just leave opened whiskey out."

Norway handed him the bottle. "Here. You take it. I don't want anymore."

"Aww. Poor Norge. Not used to whiskey, are you?"

Norway reached for Denmark's tie and pulled it tight (screw England's rules). Not wanting to kill Denmark (at least, not at the moment), he let go when the Dane's face had turned a satisfying shade of red.

"Fine, fine," Denmark gasped, loosening the tie. "I'll stop using such an insulting tone."

Yet another unexpected commotion came from the couch. Turning around, Norway saw that Iceland had fallen off the couch again, this time form laughing so hard.

"Little Brother, what is so funny?"

"Denmark's face."

"Gee, thanks, Little Bro," Denmark muttered, ruffling Iceland's hair. "It's nice to have someone who appreciates me."

Norway, shaking his head, stood and began to clean up. "Oh, Danmark? Don't forget that you owe me."

Denmark sighed. Norway could be a handful sometimes.

A/N: I don't really have an excuse for this. Except to say that it was (very) loosely based off the events in my drama class one day, and this is the first Hetalia Fan-fic I ever wrote. SomethingAuldSomethingNew probably remembers this.

Also, Scotland was probably away for an extended stay in Paris. And while technically, this was before I accepted the DenNor ship as part of the fandom, this ended up being rather shippy. I'm going to leave it up to you, the reader, to decide. As my English teacher would say, it's rather ambiguous.

And I still don't own Hetalia.