Hey everyone, I put in a lot of foreign languages, so if you want to know what they mean, go ahead to the bottom of the page. And again, please tell me of any mistakes you find.
Once a month, the nations decided to put aside their differences and hold some sort of fun get-together. It had been America's idea originally; a way to keep up a feeling of kinship and camaraderie between the nations. A clever, heroic proposition, he'd thought. And so once a month, or twice if the first one didn't break any bones (which somehow seemed to happen every time), a nation's name would be drawn from a hat and they would decide what the nations would be doing.
A few days ago, they'd pulled the name Gilbert Beilschmidt from the hat. Not that anyone knew how Prussia's name had even gotten there, since he wasn't allowed at the meetings (it was like a ghost had slipped it in…), but when a name was pulled, it was pulled. So it'd been Prussia's choice. And Prussia, of course, chose drinking.
America had arrived two hours late to the bar due to traffic. So now he was sitting on a bar stool, terrified out of his mind.
"No not terrified," America quickly corrected himself, fixing his bomber jacket. "Heroes don't get terrified." There was a loud crash and suddenly a terrified Latvia slid across the bar, knocking over drinks as he sped past, and then there was loud Russian cheering from nearby. "Heroes get mildly nervous," he finished, wide-eyed.
He turned in his barstool, looking out across the chaos. The drunken nations had already destroyed half the bar, and Latvia's left ankle. They'd driven out the other customers by now, so it was just nations. Just a bunch of crazed, drunken, violent, intoxicated nations. America silently prayed this wasn't going to turn into WWIII.
"Ok," he said to himself, "just stay calm." He needed to do the heroic thing and stop the nations from destroying everything. Which was by far easier said than done. "Come on, I can't the only sober one in here," he murmured, looking around the room.
Ok, um, who's still sober? He began listing nations in his head. Ok… Spain. Where is Spain? He scanned the room for Spain, finding him in the corner under a pile of Bloody Maries (they're made from tomatoes) and sexually violating Romano's hair.
"Ya sabes R-R'mano," he mumbled, his speech slurred, "yo siempre pienso que tu pelo es bellísimo." He gave Romano's hair curl another drunken tug.
Romano gave him a half hearted glare and swatted at Spain's hand, being just as drunk as Spain was. "Chiudi quella (censor) di bocca, bastardo," he mumbled, shoving Spain onto the floor.
America swore under his breath. Damn it. Come on, anyone else? Um…what about Japan? America grinned to himself. Yeah, Japan is a responsible person! He wouldn't—"
"Chotto, bartender-san! Me and my Girisha no yūjin need more sake!" Japan shouted loudly from nearby, trying to speak English but mixing in some Japanese, oblivious to the fact that his friend, Greece, had passed out almost an hour ago.
America smacked his forehead. Ok, not Japan. He took a deep, calming breath. Maybe Germany is still somewhat normal, he thought, a small seed of hope growing in his heart. That seed was uprooted and set on fire when he saw Italy and Germany having a violent tickle fight on the floor. Yup. He was hammered. America set his head on the bar and closed his eyes. Damn it.
His eyes shot open. Oh for the love of god, please tell me Belarus is sober! He sat up and quickly scanned the room, finally finding Belarus unconscious on the other side of the room, a large knife protruding from the table she was sprawled over. Oh thank god. He let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding. Alright, wonder how Russia—
"Hallo, comrade!" A large gloved hand smacked America's back, knocking the wind out of him. "You are enjoying the party too, da?"
America looked warily up at Russia. "Um, y-you're not drunk are you?" He asked, trying to keep his eyes from straying to Russia's pipe, which was clenched in his hand like it usually was.
Russia laughed. "I hold my liquor better than anyone in here," he said, taking another long swig of his vodka. "Come on, why don't you drink a little?" He asked, holding out another bottle of vodka.
America shook his head. "Are you insane?" He asked. Russia just smiled back at him. Oh, right, America thought. "Well, I'm the hero! And if I start drinking, I won't be able to be heroic. I'll just look like that!" He motioned to Switzerland, laying on the floor and hugging his gun.
Russia shrugged. "But every else is having a great time!" He insisted, setting a small bottle of vodka on the bar near America's arm. "Right Latvia?" He called.
"…mâmiò…" came the weak response from the floor nearby.
Russia just laughed again. "See?" He smiled at America. "Everyone is enjoying the party. Belarus is unconscious. And look, I finally convinced China to become one with Mother Russia!"
"Xióngmāo!" China shouted loudly, beating Estonia with a large wok.
America watched China for a moment then said, "I don't think—" but then he realized that Russia was long gone. "Damn communists," America muttered, pushing away the half empty vodka bottle Russia had set down by his arm.
Suddenly a small Englishman landed with a thud on America's back. "H-Hey! Hey look! Hey look what I found! I found America~!" He shouted, obviously drunk. "I was" *hic* "wonderin' if you would be here" *hic* "America." *hic*
America sighed. "Damn, England, just how much did you—what the…?" He stared at England for a second. "W…Why exactly are you wearing that tutu?" He managed to ask, wanting to claw his eyes out.
"What tutu?" England asked, somehow not realizing he was wearing a pink sparkling tutu.
America blinked. Then he shouted, "Damn it, France, stop taking advantage of England while he's drunk!"
"But it is so fun, mon ami," France replied, sitting down next to the two of them, a glass of red wine in his hand. It wasn't that surprising that he was naked. He wasn't drunk, but America doubted that he was going to be helping fix the mess.
"Hey America…America…A…America…" England stammered his names a few times. "So…So I was just…I just want you t' know that…that I…that I'd still respect you if you're gay," he finished, patting America's shoulder a few times.
America swatted his hand away. "I'm not gay, you ass."
"Y' know, I 'amember when you was…you were…y' were just a little kid and so tiny!" He patted America's head. "A-And you were such a polite boy too. What happened?" He hugged America's head. "You were so tiny!" He sobbed. "And nowadays you're just as France as obnoxious."
America sighed. "Good to know," he muttered.
Suddenly, England was standing on the bar. "Hey guys! Guys!" *hic* "T-The other day I heard the best song ev'r!" He was shouting loudly, so most of the others had gone quiet, looking up at him expectantly. America sighed and leaned on his hands. Then England began to sing loudly.
"God bless America~!"
America's eyes shot wide open. "Shit, wait England don't—"
"Land that I love~!"
"I swear to god man—"
"Stand beside HER!"
"SON OF A—"
"And guide HER!"
"YOU STUPID F—"
"Through the night with the light from above!"
The room burst into laughter. America began banging his head on the bar, face red. "Son. Of. A. Bitch." America growled unhappily.
"Hee hee. That song called you a girl!" Someone giggled from next to him. "So does that mean you're my sister now?"
America glared up at his twin brother, Canada. "Oh shut up," he muttered, fixing his glasses. Then he blinked, sitting up. "Um, two things, bro. First, are you high…?"
Canada just giggled some more. "Come on, bro, lighten up, eh," he said, hugging America. "You gotta relax~ man! England and France got the hang of it!" He pointed to the two nations currently doing the Cancan on the bar.
"Sure they do," America mumbled. "Second, where is your shirt?"
"Damn it, England," Prussia shouted angrily, wearing a Canadian hoodie backwards, "this isn't an invisibility cloak! You lied to me! Damn you!" He hiccupped and fell to the floor, Gilbird flying drunken circles around his head. "Schweinehund…"
America groaned. "Hell, Prussia, give Canada his shirt back."
"NEIN! It's MINE now! MINE!"
America was starting to get annoyed. "Ok, all of you stop what you're doing!" He shouted loudly, standing. "France, England, stop dancing! Canada, for Christ sake, put your shirt back on! Prussia, stop being an ass! China, stop being a communist! Spain, stop touching Romano! And for god's sake, Poland, just stop! Please, just stop!"
"Like, what was I doing?" Poland asked, quickly hopping off of Lithuania, who was looking extremely dazed.
"America, when did you become so mean?" England whined giving a tight hug.
"Um, guten tag," Germany answered groggily. "America is that way." He rubbed his head and pushed England off of him. "Gott, what happened?" He murmured, starting to sober up.
"Ve~ Germany sure is silly when he's drunk!" Italy giggled, hugging Germany's waist.
"Italy, what the hell happened to your clothes?"
"Yo Germany!" America dragged him to his feet, ignoring the dizzy Italian now trying to remember why he was in his underwear. "Germany, I need your help. Go attack someone or something."
Germany glowered at him. Then he noticed Prussia, who was currently dangling from a light on the ceiling. "Bruder?" He asked, looking slightly confused. "Ach zum, Teufel? Komm her, schwachkopf!"
"Na klar!" Prussia shouted. He let go of the light he was dangling from and landed with a crash on top of Germany's head, immediately knocking both of them unconscious. Gilbird landed on Prussia's head.
America sighed. Why was being a hero so damn hard? America folded his arms, thinking. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tranquilizer gun. Then he thought better of it and slipped it back in. I better save that for later…he decided.
"Hey America."
America turned around. Russia struck his head with a pipe, and he fell down unconscious.
"Um…was there a…a reason that you…did that?" Lithuania asked quietly from next to Russia, staring down in shock at the slightly twitching American.
Russia smiled at him. "Come on, Lithuania, it's a party!" He replied, patting Lithuania on the shoulder.
…
The next day, the nations voted to stop getting together. Ever. They also voted to beat the shit out of Prussia the next time he came within three feet of a meeting. The bar they'd visited closed down forever. Germany and Prussia were in the hospital, recovering from concussions, England had decided to kill France, and, for reasons unknown, China woke up in Russia's house.
And they all lived happily ever after. (What…?)
So here are the translations to the many foreign languages. Hooray. Again, please correct me if any of these are wrong.
Ya sabes, yo siempre pienso que tu pelo es bellísimo ~ you know, I always think that your hair is beautiful (Spanish)
Chiudi quella (censor) di bocca, bastardo ~ Shut the f*** up, bastard (Italien)
Chotto ~ Hey (Japanese transliteration)
Girisha no yūjin ~ Greek friend (Japanese transliteration)
Sake ~ it's an alcoholic Japanese drink
Da ~ yes (Russian transliteration [seriously, did anyone need this translated?])
Mâmiò ~ mommy (Latvian)
Xióngmāo ~ Panda (Chinese transliteration) (in case anyone cares, it's not supposed to make sense in context)
Mon ami ~ my friend (French)
Schweinehund ~ bastard (German)
guten tag ~ good afternoon (German)
Gott ~ God (German)
Bruder? Ach zum, Teufel? Komm her, schwachkopf! ~ Brother? What the hell? Come here, moron! (German)
Na klar ~ Sure thing (German)
Well, that was fun. See you guys eventually.