XXI: Vacation

Characters/Pairings: France, Spain, Prussia, Denmark, mentions of England and America. Subtly implied US/UK.

Genre: Humour

Rating: T+

Warnings: Prussia and Denmark's potty mouths. Fail French. Las Vegas. Human names used.

DISCLAIMER: Do you really think I own Vegas, The Hangover, or Hetalia? Honestly. I don't.

XXI: Vacation

"Oh, gott, my head," Gilbert moaned, disentangling himself from the sheets on the bed and looking around the hotel room. The room was completely trashed – furniture upended, clothing hanging from the chandelier, beer cans stacked in a high pyramid. Francis was lying in the middle of the floor, completely (and unsurprisingly) naked; Antonio was lying across the couch, wearing what appeared to be a suit of armour and snoring slightly. Søren was under the piano, using an extremely large tiger plushie as a pillow while muttering in his sleep.

Gilbert stood up, head pounding, and stumbled over to the bathroom, carefully stepping over Francis. Upon entering the bathroom, he saw that the floor was slightly flooded due to the overflowing bathtub – partially due to the alligator attempting to swim in it.

At this point, he let out an unearthly, very manly (read: girly) scream."HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" he yelled, running out of the bathroom, tripping over Francis and faceplanting into the floor, which immediately woke everyone else up.

"Gilbert?" Francis groaned, "Quel est erroné?"

"There is a fucking alligator in the fucking bathtub, that's what's wrong!" Gilbert screamed.

At this, Søren sat up, proceeding to whack his head on the underside of the piano. "Bullshit," he protested weakly, rubbing his head where the piano had hit it.

"See for yourself!" Gilbert commanded.

"Fine!" Søren slowly crawled out from under the piano, then shuffled over to the bathroom. He cautiously opened the door, looked inside, and then slammed the door shut again, face pale. "He's not shitting us. There is a motherfucking gator in the tub. Dude, what happened last night?"
They all looked around at one another, shrugging.
"Hell if I know. God, Francis, I fucking told you that this was gonna happen! But no, you just had to decide to take us to Las-Fucking-Vegas. Dude, everyone knows what happens to you in Vegas. Didn't you see The Hangover?" Gilbert ranted.

"It's too early for you to be so loud, Prusse," Francis moaned, clutching his head and rolling up into the fetal position.

Antonio, who had long since started looking around the room, then decided to quietly ask, "Hey, guys? Have any of you seen Arthur?"

Søren blanched once again. "No. Fuck. Alfred's gonna kill us."

A/N: HEY LOOK. THIS ONE ACTUALLY HAS SOME LENGTH TO IT.

And, uh, just in case it wasn't obvious, Søren is Denmark.

I have no explanation, other than that Hetalia has completely ruined my brain. I can't even watch movies without thinking about it.

The Hangover lent itself perfectly to this prompt. I thank the writers of that movie greatly for (unknowingly) letting me play with their toys.

Review, please!