I DON'T OWN SHIT
It was a fairly normal day for the Germanic brothers. The world meeting had been annoying as usual and Germany was the only one who had been keeping everyone on track, Prussia had crashed the meeting with an overexcited Sealand in tow and together they had succeeded in soaking the entire meeting with a cocktail of their own making that made everyone smell like dogs. Don't ask.
All in all it had been rather uneventful. By this point something usually blew up courtesy of either Denmark or Hong Kong. How those two kept getting their hands on explosives was beyond fathoming. At this point Germany was just happy that nothing had gone too wrong and was looking forward to getting home so he could wash off the persistent odor that made him resemble a rottweiler. How he knew it was a rottweiler? It's Germany don't question it.
However the peaceful day was apparently not to be for as he reached the home he shared with his brother he noticed that there was a car that was noticeably NOT THEIRS in the driveway and the door was flung wide open.
Ludwig entered his house, scowling at his brother's forgetfulness. He had left the door open. AGAIN. The younger Germanic nation could hear muffled guitar and yelling, but brushed it off. It was probably Italy, who was at their house almost every other second, or the other two members of his brother's self proclaimed 'Bad Touch Trio'. Ludwig sighed at the thought that he would probably have to break up his brother's little party before the Spaniard or Frenchman could get drunk. It was not pleasant having an over-affectionate Francis trying to make out with anything he thought remotely resembled a human, and Antonio was surprisingly scary when intoxicated.
After a terrifying lull in the noise coming from behind his brother's closed door Germany checked the clock and saw that it was well past 10 pm. 'Maybe they fell asleep?' he thought to himself, barely daring to hope that the remainder of his evening would be peaceful.
He cautiously approached the Prussian's room with an armful of blankets, lest one of them try to crawl into bed with him. The door suddenly jolted, nearly ripped off its hinges.
"AU SCHEISSE ZHAT HURT MEIN AWESOME HEAD!" a loud voice laced with a thick accent that Ludwig recognized as his older brother's screeched, a loud laugh echoing through the now hanging loose door. The German opened the door to reveal both his brother and his not identified yet house guest with sheets over their heads, the Prussian lying on the floor clutching his head. "SCHEIßE IT'Z WEST! ACT NATURAL!" Gilbert yelled, both he and the other striking ridiculous poses. A couple seconds passed as Ludwig stared at the guest, trying to figure out who it was. Weren't Francis and Antonio taller? And Feliciano would have been all over Ludwig the second he arrived home. Though then again, Francis sometimes wore heels, so it could be the Frenchman, his assumption further supported by the fact that the stranger was doing a 'draw me like one of your French girls' pose.
"I'm not dealing vith jour scheiße right now, just fix jour door." he growled, closing the door and walking back to his own room, feeling the beginnings of a killer headache starting.
After finally falling into a light sleep at around 11:20 Germany was EXTREMELY displeased to be woken up at midnight by the crash of all of the pans in the house falling to the floor, punctuated by frustrated yells and loud curses in a variety of languages. Since when did they have someone in the house who spoke GAELIC? Wearily rising from bed to go and make sure that his crazy brother and their rowdy houseguest didn't break anything irreplaceable.
Reaching the kitchen, he stepped into the brightly lit room and blinked a little in the sudden transition from shadows to light. For a moment Germany just stood and watched as his brother and France? (He still wasn't sure) ran around the kitchen with sheets still draped over their heads and two eyeholes cut out so that they looked like a second grader's poorly done halloween costume.
They hadn't noticed him yet, so Germany kept quiet as he watched all of the junk food in the house be piled into his brother's arms. Not Prussia did a last sweep over the kitchen and seemed to think they had enough food so they turned and walked out into the dining room. Once in the dining room they froze and slowly turned towards Germany and gave a little wave. They were interrupted by Prussia who, in all of his sheeted glory, came running full pelt towards them shouting,
"I GOT ZHE FOOD LETS BAIL KÄTZCHEN!" The last thought that went through Germany's mind as he watched his brother trip on the threshold and fall, screaming, onto kitten? Really? was 'Why the fuck are they wearing sheets?'
The sheets were pulled away and Ludwig stared, shocked, at their now identified rowdy guest. Arthur Kirkland, also known as England wasn't dressed in the usual 'old man' style that he was known for at the G20 meetings but rather like a punk, a guitar that Ludwig assumed was the source of all the previous commotion strapped to his back, now nearly squashed beneath the weight of the Prussian. "Oi bloody hell you damn isean get the fuck off me!" The Brit screeched, shoving Gilbert off of him and delivering a vicious kick to his side. "Goddamnit you woke him up!" He yelled, bright green eyes glaring at Gilbert as he got up and dusted himself off.
"Hej it vas jou vho vanted snacks." Gilbert wheezed, still on the floor and clutching a chip bag like a teddy bear.
"It vas jou vho vanted snacks~" Arthur mocked in a high pitched voice, eyes scanning the room until he noticed Ludwig. "Hello there. Do you know the best way to decapitate a Prussian?"
"Ja," Germany answered in a deadpan voice. "Jou need to go for zhe knees first, zhen once he's down jou can use anything jou want. Just don't get zhe kitchen messy." Turning around and resting his forehead on the cabinets, Germany tried to drown out his brother's betrayed cries and decipher what was happening. After a minute of listening to the two bicker behind him Germany decided he was calm enough to deal with the situation. Turning back around he reevaluated his conclusion once greeted with the sight of one of the most uptight nations he knew holding his brother in a half nelson wrestling pin.
With a sigh he brought a hand up to massage his temples before a headache could form. After he was sure that Prussia had stopped resisting. (he didn't know if it was by choice or he was unconscious but honestly he didn't care right now)
"May I ask VHY jou are raiding zhe kitchen in zhe middle of zhe night? I don't even care zhat jou are apparently having a sleepover, I just vant to know vhy jou zhought it vould be a good idea to break EVERY SINGLE PAN IN ZHE HOUSE VHILE DOING SO!"
"Because I need to beat this wanker in guitar hero." Arthur retorted, kicking one of the chip bags towards the fallen nation, scowling. "You play worse than Antonio. And that tosser always tries to play it Spanish style."
"I play better zhan jou, eyebrows!" Gilbert stuck out his tongue at the other nation, and Ludwig marveled how quickly the Englishman turned red with rage. Almost like someone had poured boiling tea on him. Maybe he should try that…
"I'VE TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT BLOODY NICKNAME!" Arthur roared, tackling the Prussian, who screamed like the little girl he secretly is.
"Beruhigen!" (Calm down) Ludwig yelled, grabbing the other nation around his waist and hefting him over his shoulder, pulling him off of his brother. "Jesus Christ, England are jou drunk?"
"Vell let's zhink about it. Iz Britty here naked, moping about zhe revolution, running around in cosplay, making out vith Frenchie, or in a mini apron?" Gilbert asked, sniggering when Arthur tried to kick him.
"Bloody hell that happened once. ONCE!"
"Violent, but not drunk." the Prussian concluded.
Germany sighed and slung the kicking Brit off of his shoulder and onto the counter before stooping to pick his brother and the fallen food off of the floor, placing all the food in a bag and hoisting the bag over his shoulder. Prussia shrieked as he was thrown unceremoniously over Germany's wide shoulders. Germany turned to where England was still perched on the counters snickering at his friend's misfortune. Germany grabbed the giggling Englishman by the collar of his shirt and held him out in front of him like you would an angry cat as he walked back to Prussia's room.
Halfway to the room Germany froze and turned to look over his shoulder at his brother.
"Gilbert. Are jou touching mein butt?"
"Ja I am."
"VHY ARE JOU TOUCHING MEIN ARSCH!? ZHAT IZ VERY UNCOMFORTABLE!" Germany screamed while turning in a circle in an attempt to dislodge his brothers hands from his sculpted behind.
"BECAUSE I VANTED TO SEE IF IT VAS AS NICE AS ITA-CHAN SAID IT VAS!" Prussia screeched as he was flung from side to side by the frantic turning. Confused about what all the shouting was about England slapped at Germany's hand until his collar was released. He fell to the floor with a grunt and stood up before walking behind Germany to see his friend quite frankly fondling his brother's ass.
Grinning and deciding to help his friend with embarrassing his brother he said in as deadpan of a voice as he could, "Oh yeah I've heard Italy bragging about how nice your arse was. Everyone's just dying to see if he's telling the truth. Well Prussia? What would you say the score is?"
Prussia contemplated it for a moment before laughing and looking up at his brother with a shit eating grin on his face. "I'd say West gets about a 8.5 on zhe official BTT ass-scale. Ita-chan sure knows how to pick zhem, huh kätzchen?"
Deciding that he DIDN'T want to find out how exactly the BTT had an "ass-scale" Germany sighed (he was doing that quite a lot this evening wasn't he?) before quickly turning, grabbing England's collar again, and storming to Prussia's room. He opened the door, tossed the two inside and threw the bag of junk food at his brother's face, smiling a little at the irritated yell Prussia gave as it impacted with his nose quite nicely. Making sure the two had everything they needed to survive the night, Germany closed the door and locked it from the outside before walking back to his bedroom to try and get some sleep before they two idiots locked in his brother's room woke him up again.
Just as he fell face-first into his pillow he heard the beginnings of the Guitar Hero game starting up again. Closing his eyes wearily Germany wondered if he could survive this "Bromance" on top of the BTT. Raising an eyebrow at the crashes that had started echoing down the hall Germany decided that no, no he wouldn't survive before he gave up and went to sleep.