America was staying with England for awhile. "Hey, America, wanna go out to drink?"

"Sure, England!" America said happily. He wasn't allowed to drink anymore, and it had been quite a long time since he'd had any sort of alcohol.

While America never drank much anyway, England was seemingly going to town.

"Damnit, America!" He slammed the glass down. America frowned. "Fucking shit!"

America sighed. "What is it, England?" He asked.

"Why'd you have to leave?"

"Why'd you have to tax me so damn much?" America replied.

England looked like he was about to start crying. "I'm sorry!" He cried out suddenly.

"Um... I forgive you?" America tried.

England instantly smiled again. "Oh, joy!"

England eventually drank enough to almost fall off his seat. He'd ranted plenty, and asked America about politics and his opinion on France. He even asked what America had thought of World War One and Two, and what would cause World War Three ("Nothing will," America had assured a rather worried England).

"Okay, Arthur, let's go home now." America sighed, taking out money from his wallet to pay. Thankfully, he'd stopped at a money conversion place* earlier.

"No! I don't want to go!"

America picked him up and they left.

America had hardly drank at all— he'd had a beer— and so he drove, even though he wasn't used to England's stupid way of driving.

(I don't know how to do transitions, so here you go. I'm sorry.)

By the time they got back to England's house, England looked like he was about to start crying again. "Iggy? Dude, what's wrong?"

"I-I'm not quite sure." And then he launched into a rant, or more of a desperate plea for help, about how all of the world hated him and how he'd pushed everyone away.

"I—," England sniffled. "I don't want... everyone to hate me... But it's too late, i-isn't it?"

Well, it'd be fucked to tell him anything bad when he's drunk, right? "No, of course it's not. And the world doesn't hate you. As a matter of fact, I think everyone... well, most people, like you very much." America gently pushed him down.

"America?"

"Yes, England?"

"I'm so glad I didn't kill you when I had the chance."

"Goodnight, England."

"I had so many chances."

"Goodnight, England."

*Okay, so I go to money-conversion places all the time, but I've forgotten what they're called.

This may not be the best story I've ever written, but I certainly had a lot of fun making it and I'm proud enough of the result.