Martians had landed.

Sweden had never really believed in aliens, but in these seconds while waking up, he was very very sure that Martians had landed, shot him with ray guns, dragged him into their spaceship, sedated him and experimented on him, and while he was now waking up, they were shooting his eyes with lasers or something.

He screwed his eyes shut again and the lasers disappeared. Slowly the fogginess was clearing and he was able to take in his surroundings.

First off, he was on something comfortable and warm. Probably a matress. Good. There was something tangled around his left leg and draped across his back, probably a blanket. Also good. Then his cheek was resting against something soft. It felt like a pillow. Very good.

Breathing sounds, low and even, very close. Hmm.

His memory was returning, if still a little hazy. Sweden decided to slowly run through the evening again.

He had been on a party, a Nations party, thrown by America, Prussia and Denmark. It had turned out to be quite normal for their standards, but very noisy and pointless, which was to be expected, but the invitation was hard to decline because basically everybody was there and no one had better things to do, so Sweden had retreated to a corner and somehow, beer had materialized in that corner which he had helped himself to, accompanied by a fuzzy view of blue eyes. Then his memory grew too blurry.

It was probably time for another try. Sweden opened one eye, then the other. Better than the first time. No martians with lazers, just the bright light of a spring day, probably just past midday. It was a bed he was on, in a bedroom, a clean and tidy one, save for the mess that looked pretty recent. Sweden moved his head a little and found out that it didn't really hurt. He experimentally wiggled a hand, which didn't hurt either, he just felt pretty sore. Good sign.

The tall man tried to prop himself up onto his elbows, which worked very well too. Finally, he risked a gaze at the source of the breathing sounds.

On the other half of the king sized bed, tangled in a second blanket and hugging a pillow, was a fast-asleep Germany. His blonde hair, usually gelled back stiffly, was in total disarray, the usual frown was replaced by the relaxed expression of a deep sleeper and he was butt-naked except for his cross. Sweden's memory pieced together a big part of yesterday night, including Germany buying him a drink, then deciding that a drinking contest would be a good idea. Also, he had a vague idea that the red streaks down the German's back might be nail marks.

Sweden decided to look for a bathroom. He supressed a groan as he stood up - his lower half was really, REALLY sore - and grabbed his blanket in case there were people about. Several couples had probably stayed the night at the Germans' house where the party had taken place, but Sweden had been too drunk to notice who. The bedroom only had one door, which was hanging ajar on one hinge. Sweden also noticed that there was a dent in the wardrobe door, that his tie was around the doorknob, that their clothes were scattered over the floor and that his glasses were nowhere to be found.

The hall was deserted as Sweden slowly limped past several empty beer cans, past Germany's jacket on the floor, to the next best door that magically opened to a bathroom with a mirror that clearly showed a whole lot of marks scattered around his throat. When he came out again, having decided that a long drink and a hunt for his clothes were in order, he saw Germany's older brother coming from another room, two doors past where Germany was currently sleeping off his hangover. Prussia was snickering with the content look of a hungover cat and only wearing boxers (and, of course, the cross) when he caught sight of the tall Swede, currently naked save for the blanket. Both men froze for a second, then Prussia's content snicker resumed. Sweden started to make his way towards Germany's room again when Prussia's snickering grew louder. The blonde faced the albino with the scariest I-will-eat-your-soul look he could manage with a headache like that, but Prussia didn't give a shit and continued towards the stairs, adressing Sweden. "Kesesesese~ That's a nice limp you got there! I get three guesses who gave you that, eh? There's food and drinks and stuff in the kitchen. Awesome party, even for my standards." Sweden decided to ignore the obnoxious Prussian, as well as the fact that said Prussian apparently had even more scratch marks than his younger brother and the door that he had left ajar had a beige trenchcoat hanging over it.

When the Nordic Nation reentered the room, Germany stirred, half-asleep. "Schweden? Geh nicht weg..." he muttered.

Sweden hummed, the gruff sound seeming to comfort the German, but he still woke up. "Autsch, mein Kopf... Mach das Licht aus!"

Not understanding what that was supposed to mean, Sweden continued to pick through the stuff scattered on the floor. He found his shirt, with almost all the buttons torn off. His trousers were also there and they were whole, he still couldn't find his glasses. Germany had managed to sit up by now, rubbing his temples.

"Schweden?"

"S'rry 'bo't th' scr'tches."

"Ah, nevermind that. Your glasses are probably in the nightstand drawer. Take some of my clothes, they should fit."

"Th'nk ya... L'dw'g."

Germany managed a smile-grimace. He had a very high alcohol tolerance, but he had managed to drink enough to give him a headache somewhere between stop-hammering-on-my-skull and my-brain-is-exploding, depending on the light.

"You're welcome. Berwald." He stood up, opened a drawers and picked some clothes out for the Sweden and himself. "Be careful, my brother might be up already."

"S'w h'm 'lre'dy. S'tisfi'd 'nd hung'v'r."

Germany pulled his black top over his head. "Aren't we all?"