Cold. Wet. Holy ice water, Batman!
America sat up, frantically shaking water out of his hair and blinking past the drops on his glasses. "What the hell?"
Canada rolled his eyes, bucket still in hand. "Sorry. You're a heavy sleeper, eh? I tried shouting."
America glowered at his twin, "Well shout louder. This shirt is dry-clean only."
Canada felt like pointing out that first, America never listened to him no matter how loud he shouted, and second, they both knew that England was going to be the one that wound up cleaning the shirt, but decided not to say anything.
"Did you need something, bro?" America was still glaring at him like he was debating another attempt at torching Canada's parliament building.*
"The bar called." Canada explained, offering America his bomber jacket and car keys. "I would have gone to get them myself, but you know how they are when they're drunk."
America groaned, leaning back against the couch cushions where he'd fallen asleep. "We can't just leave them there?" He was exhausted after a long meeting arguing over global warming, war and whatever else was going wrong with the world these days. France and Canada had been planning on sleeping in his room and England in the guest room, but evidently that wasn't going to happen.
"America…" Canada sighed, "Last time we didn't go pick France and England up after they got drunk, we had to pay their bail to the FBI."
America smirked, springing to his feet to shrug his jacket on, "I don't know why everyone's so bitter over that. England looked dead sexy in a mini skirt."**
"If you don't help me, I'll tell him you said that, eh?"
America blanched, "Fine, fine. I was going to help anyways; it wouldn't be very heroic of me to let you go it alone."
Canada groaned and made for the door, America on his heels.
Miraculously, the twins managed to get the older nations back to America's house without too many disasters. Canada propelled France through the front door, ignoring the man's attempts to nibble his ear, flinching away from the hand on his ass. It really wasn't fair that Francis could be this sexy, even while wasted. He cleared his throat, pushing the older man back onto the couch and springing back a few feet to keep from running his hand along that strong jaw line…
"Focus, Mattie." His brother's reprimand drew a blush from Canada.
America removed England's arm from his shoulder and dropped him next to his friend/nemesis. Within seconds, the Europeans were unconscious, England's head in France's lap. "I kind of want to take a picture." Canada smirked.
"Revenge isn't the answer, bro."
"Shut up, eh? You have no room to talk. And you spent far too much time as a hippie in the 70's."
"Alright then, if you're going to get back at someone, at least do it thoroughly." America dashed forward, smothering laughter, to undo the buttons of England's shirt. Canada picked up on his brother's idea right away, and began to loosen the buckle on France's pants.
Neither of the sleeping nations so much as stirred. Within seconds, they were in a state of partial undress, England's head still resting on France. Canada slipped France's hand in the pocket of England's jeans, for good measure.
America snapped a picture with his iphone, still snickering. "Dude, why didn't we think of this decades ago?"
Canada shook his head, still blushing. Neither could sleep after that, so they retreated to the kitchen to chuckle with anticipation over a plate of Canada's homemade waffles.
Several hours later, just as America was sure he was about to beat Canada at poker for the third time…
"MON DIEU!"
"BLOODY HELL, FROG! WHAT DID YOU DO?"
"Onhonhon, I do not know, but it doesn't seem as though you minded, does it?"
"GIT!"
The North American nations collapsed into laughter as the sound of shattering glass filled the living room. "We are in so much trouble."
"Only if they find out it was us." Canada smirked, laying down a royal flush.
*A reference to the war of 1812. Google it.
** I can't take credit for that line, but if you catch the reference, you get a cookie!
