THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE O.O

One rainy day in the middle of summer, England announced to his brothers that he was leaving for London to meet with the Prime Minister and the Queen and discuss the affairs of the United Kingdom. He would be gone for one night, there was money on the counter for a takeaway and no, they were not coming with him. He was a little surprised by Scotland's lack of resistance as he closed the front door behind him - his brother always put up a fight to represent his country separately - but he wasn't complaining. It was, he decided, a good omen.

The moment England's car pulled out of the driveway, Scotland turned to the other two with a smile that would've frightened Jack the Ripper. "Noo that he's oot o' the way, hoo aboot we throw a party?"

"A party?" Wales asked excitedly, clapping his hands together. "I love parties! Especially musical statues. I'm really good at-"

"Nae that kind o' party," said Scotland, "a proper party. We can invite everyone and stay oop all night, get completely bloostered and still hae everythin' cleaned oop by the time England gets hame!"

His two brothers looked at him like he'd just suggested they cut their arms off and eat them. "Why would we want to do that?" asked Ireland.

"Because it'll be fun," explained Scotland slowly. "And besides, we never get tae meet anyone! We're always stuck here while England gaes oot and gets all the friends. Come on guys, what dae ye say?"

They looked at each other, then back at Scotland. "We'll definitely be able to clean up in time?" asked Ireland.

"'Course we will!"

"Do we get to play musical statues?" asked Wales.

"Nae. Trust me, there'll be better things ter dae than musical statues."

Ireland sighed. "Fine."

It took them only a few hours to prepare. Wales put together a playlist, Scotland sent out a notice to all the countries he could think of and Ireland took care of getting his hands on the best Irish beer. Wales was also in charge of the decorations, and while Scotland thought that balloons were okay - popping them and making people jump never ceased to amuse him - he drew the line at coloured streamers. The sun had begun to set when the first guests arrived.

At first it was alright. America came, of course, dragging Canada behind him. Then Poland, Lithuania in tow, and France and Spain and the Italy brothers and Prussia and Denmark with the rest of Scandinavia, then Hungary dragging Austria and too many more to count until the entire house was overflowing with people.

"How many invites did you send out?" asked Ireland, shouting to be heard above the music. He was watching people stream in through the doorway with a slightly worried look in his eyes.

"Not that many! But then, they did say tae bring friends..."

Ireland sighed. "Scotland... you can't just- oh my God, you invited South."

The Republic of Ireland was stepping in through the doorway, her eyes darting around the room as if half-expecting England to drop from the ceiling and ambush her.

"She's our sister, isnae she? I couldnae just leave her oot."

"England's going to kill us..."

"Hey, Northern Ireland!" Belgium was pushing her way through the crowds towards them, the coloured lights reflecting off the glittery ribbon in her hair and the shiny material of her distractingly short dress. "We're setting up a drinking contest over in the kitchen and the Netherlands says you're the one to beat. Want to come and defend your title?"

Ireland stared pointedly at his feet. "Um... well, I don't really have a title, it's more of a reputation, but-"

"Come on!" she laughed, grabbing his arm and pulling him away through the crowd.

And so Scotland was left alone. He didn't know where Wales had got to, but he did know that he was the host of this party and shouldn't be left to fend for himself like this. So he lifted his chin, ran his fingers through his hair (which only served to make it look even messier) and went in search of company.

Five minutes later, he had found that company in a certain white-haired Prussian and was pretty sure he'd found his new best friend.

"And Germany keeps trying to stop me from coming to world meetings!" he said, banging his glass on the table in outrage. "It's so un-awesome!"

"I knoo!" Scotland felt his pain, he really did. "England keeps insisting on going tae everything by himself! It's like he dunnae even recognise me as a country!"

Prussia opened his mouth to say something else, but it was cut off by a broad accent shouting from the other side of the room.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KNOW ANY KYLIE?"

Prussia squinted to get a good look through the crowd, then threw back his head and laughed. "Looks like someone's giving that sissy over there what he deserves. Come on, this'll be too awesome to miss."

They pushed their way towards the back of the room, where Austria had commandeered Wales's electric keyboard and was now arguing loudly with an outraged Australia. "Who on Earth is Kylie? Is she some kind of Australian composer?"

"She's not a composer, you idiot! She's a singer!"

"Oh. I don't sing."

"I told you, if you play the music then I'll do the lyrics! It's not that difficult!"

"But I don't know any Kylie!"

This was too much for Australia. "Oh, fine then! Fine, Mr I'm-Better-Than-Australia-Because-I'm-All-Cultured-And-Stuff! Don't play any Kylie! First you take my name, then you-"

"What are you talking about? I didn't take your name!"

"Austria? Australia? A bit coincidental, don't you think?"

"I was called Austria long before you started calling yourself-"

"What is going on here?" A new figure emerged from the crowd, wearing a green dress with a pink flower in her long brown hair. Scotland recognised her from one of the world meetings England had let him come to - Hungary. Wielding a frying pan like a sword (I dinnae ken where she got that from, it isnae one of ours), she stepped between Austria and Australia and gave the latter a dangerous look.

"Aw, come on sweetheart," said Prussia, folding his arms and pouting at her. "Things were just starting to get awesome!"

"Go away, Prussia," she said, not even looking at him. "You'll make everything worse."

He clapped his hands to his chest as if he'd just been shot. "Ouch! She's so mean to me, Scotland."

"I said go away!" This time she did turn towards them, and the look on her face was dangerous. It was also surprisingly hot. Scotland didn't know why he said it - maybe it was the atmosphere of the party going to his head, maybe it was to impress his new friend, maybe it was both - but the words were out of his mouth before he realised he'd done anything wrong.

"Dinnae be such a killjoy, hot stuff!"

And then the frying pan connected with his head and everything went black.

Ireland, meanwhile, was on his fifteenth shot. Belgium, the Netherlands and most of the Nordics were cheering him and his enthusiastic opponent, Denmark. Bending to the peer pressure like a reed in the wind, he neatly poured himself a sixteenth and downed it. Denmark, his eyes blazing with determination, spilt the vodka all over the table before managing to hit the glass.

"Guys, I'm telling you, I don't get drunk," he said, looking around at them with pleading eyes. "I don't know what it is, but my sister's the same. It's just a quirk. Let me stop before Denmark kills himself!"

"Nuh-uh!" Denmark raised a finger to point at him accusingly, tracing wobbly circles in the air. "No excushes! You aren't backing out thish eashily!"

Ireland sighed, letting his eyes wander around the room and wondering idly how long it would take him to clean this mess up in the morning. Then the cheering started again - he didn't even look back at the table as he poured himself another shot without spilling a drop.

And then South caught his eye. She was slipping through the crowd towards the corridor, her green eyes darting from side to side as though checking to make sure no-one was following her. What's she up to? I'd better go and check before she does any damage.

He excused himself - the spectators shouted their disappointment and Denmark began to do a strange sort of flailing victory dance, declaring himself the winner before passing out on the table. Ireland made his way carefully through the seething mass of people and tapped her on the shoulder just before she reached the door.

"Oh! Hey North!" she chirped, flashing him a warm smile. "What's up?"

"What are you doing?" he asked, careful not to sound too suspicious.

"Nothing! Why would you think I was doing anything? I'm just enjoying the party, that's what I'm doing!"

"What's that?" The bottle in her hand was different to any of the paper cups other people were holding.

"It's just a little cocktail," she said evasively.

And that was precisely when Russia brushed past them, looked down at the bottle and smiled. "Ah! I recognise that! It was named after man from my country, da? What was his name... oh yes, Vyacheslav Molotov." Then he was gone, and Ireland stood rooted to the spot as the meaning of this dawned on him.

South spun on her heel and raced away down the corridor, her twin brother in hot pursuit.

Meanwhile, Wales was feeling awkward. No-one seemed interested in playing musical statues, pass the parcel or any of the games he'd prepared for this occasion. The music was too loud - Scotland had approved his choices, but now insisted on playing them at eardrum-bursting volumes. All in all, it wasn't his favourite party ever.

He cast his eyes around the room, looking for someone to talk to. They latched onto a girl sitting in the corner and looking just as awkward as he was. He didn't recognise her; she was a small country with blue eyes and a ribbon tied in her short blonde hair. A potential friend! Wales ducked through the crowd, muttering 'excuse me's and 'sorry's as he went, and sat down next to her.

"Nice to meet you," he said, offering his hand. "I'm Wales."

She took his hand and shook it. "I'm Liechtenstein."

"Really? That's a pretty name. I've never heard of you before."

"Not many people have," she said. She had a quiet voice; Wales had to lean in to hear it over the music.

"Not many people have heard of me either," he confessed. "They all just think I'm part of England most of the time."

"Me too! Everyone thinks I'm part of Switzerland."

Wales smiled widely at her; here was a kindred spirit. "Do you like musical statues?"

"I love musical statues!"

"Me too! It's the best game ever! I told Scotland people would want to play it!"

She was beaming back at him now, all the awkwardness gone. "I like all dancing, really. And music."

"I love music! Did you know people call me the Land of Song?"

Her mouth formed a little 'o'. "That's so cool!"

"Maybe we could play musical statues by ourselves? It'll be more fun than sitting around. But it's too crowded down here..."

"What is going on over here?"

They both jumped and looked up; Switzerland was looming over them, arms folded.

"This is Wales, big brother," said Liechtestein. "He was just talking to me."

"Just talking?" Switzerland sounded suspicious. "About what?"

"Um..." Wales quailed under his stony glare. "Just... just things that people do at parties, sir."

Switzerland's hand twitched towards his coat; Wales could've sworn he saw a flash of metal under there and felt the colour drain from his face. "What things, Wales? Tell me and I might not shoot you."

"Big brother, no! He wasn't-"

"You don't know what people do at parties, Liechtenstein! I knew I shouldn't have let you come. You're too naive! People take advantage of you!"

"I wasn't taking advantage of her! She wanted to do it as well!" Why is he making such a fuss about musical statues?

Switzerland's hand was a blur as he yanked a pistol from his coat at lightning speed and aimed it directly at Wales. "Do what? Do what? What were you suggesting to my sister?"

"Nothing! I wasn't-" a realisation hit him. He knew the perfect solution to all their musical statues-related problems! "Ooh, Liechtestein! I bet there's loads of room for it in my bedroom!"

And that was when Switzerland shot him three times in the stomach.

Upstairs, Northern Ireland managed to rugby tackle his sister to the floor, prise the bottle from her hands and hurl it through the open window. It hit the ground and exploded violently, taking Wales's daffodil patches with it. Oops. He turned to South, who was glowering at him from the carpet, and was about to ask her to leave when the sound of gunshots rang out through the house. He sighed, spun around and raced downstairs to clean up what was sure to be yet another mess.

Meanwhile, Scotland had regained consciousness and managed to drag himself out onto the front lawn. It was the only place he could be sure there would be no dancing feet stamping on him while he tried to recover from his injuries. That boggin', sleekit dunderheid needs to loosen oop... He stared up at the moon, aching all over and feeling distinctly light-headed. He was actually quite sure he was hallucinating; he remembered seeing a bottle fly out of an upstairs window and explode right in the flowerbeds, then he could've sworn he heard gunshots and saw Northern Ireland carry Wales out to the car and screech off down the driveway. Behind him, he heard glass breaking, people shrieking with laughter and music thumping loudly enough to wake up the whole of Europe if they weren't already all here. There was no way they were getting all this cleaned up before England came home. It was out of control. But then the Loch Ness Monster flew down to lie next to him and he felt alright again.

The next thing he knew, a foot was nudging him in the side. "What the bloody hell is going on here? The meeting finished early and I thought I'd come home to a nice cup of tea and a sit-down but this is what I see? What have you done?"

"England!" Scotland's voice was shaking in relief, not fear, as he rolled over and clutched at his trouser leg. "England, I'm sorry! It's my fault! Just make them leave!"

"Where are Wales and Ireland? Why are the daffodil patches on fire?"

"I dinnae ken aboot the daffodils, but I think Ireland's taking Wales to hospital." He didn't know how he knew that; his brain must've connected the dots without him realising.

"What?"

"He'll be fine!" Scotland was desperate now. He could hear ominous smashing noises from what sounded like his bedroom. It took more than a few bullet wounds to kill a country, anyway. "Just make them all go away!"

England looked up at the house, sighed, and disentangled his leg from Scotland's grasp. "Fine. But you're cleaning up."

And as he walked away towards the house, Scotland felt a sense of relief descend over him. England would probably make his life hell for the next few days, force him to clean up all the mess by himself and, even when it was all over, he doubted he'd ever live it down. But he didn't mind; all that mattered was that everything would be okay now.

If anyone could kill a party before it could kill them, it was his little brother.