The day that Hetalia becomes mine is the day that Belarus stops chasing Russia. That ain't happenin', folks.

Cigarette buds crushed in ashtrays or on the floor. Used beer mugs and wineglasses lined on the bar. Weak light bulbs that cast flickering illumination to give the room a dim and eery appearance. The strong smell of burnt nicotine, collective human musk, and fresh beer lingered in the remaining bits of breathable air.

There were many things that Sweden hated about coming to the bar. He hated how the air was more toxic and damaging to the human lung than the air in Chernobyl, how the buzz of chatter seemed to be about husbands unhappy with their wives and jobs, wives unhappy with their husbands and mothers-in-law, bouts of slurred arguments and occasional fistfights over the silliest disagreement, and the embarrassment they all displayed. As horrible as all of these are, they don't come close to what Sweden hated about the bar.

The thing that Sweden hated the most about the bar was the reason why he was reluctant- yet again- to go to it to make his daily rounds of picking up his older brother whom was more likely than not (completely, undeniably) drunk out of his wit.

There were parts in Sweden that screamed at him to just leave his brother in the bar and make him find his own way home, to make him see that his little "relaxing lifestyle" is just plain stupid, but he couldn't do that; he couldn't leave his brother to fend for himself when his mind is so mentally weakened by alcohol that even a little kid could hurt him without much effort (Sweden laughed inwardly at that memory). Sweden couldn't think how much guilt he would feel if his brother ended up in serious danger or dead (even if he were more likely to start the trouble than to stumble into it) just because he was sick of being the designated driver for a drinking party he wasn't even invited to. So this sentiment is what brought Sweden to the entrance of the bar, The Kings Well (the apostrophe that was after "Kings" fell off a long time ago and hasn't been replaced since), staring at the intricate carvings of crowns and olive branches on the black lacquered double doors of the bar. Taking in as much fresh air as possible, Sweden pushed through the double doors and stepped inside.

The usual bar scene greeted him: people chattering and arguing, cigarette smoke floating to the ceiling while cigarette ash coated the hardwood floor, clinking of glasses as either the bartender collected them or patrons toasted to something ridiculous, and the relative darkness from the poor lighting. It was almost hard to find his charge among the large group of people, but when his ears picked up a drunk round of familiar lyrics, and his eyes followed the sound to a nest of gravity-defying hair, his search was short-lived. He scrolled casually across the wide expanse of hardwood floor to the spot where Denmark was, giving the bartender a greeting nod as he passed.

"-lands to be conquered to add jewels to thy crown! Take on the bitter enemies, go on, take 'em down! Take on the triumph as you win yet one more duel! God hath surely blessed you to rule! Oh, great King, how high thou has risen! Oh, great Emperor, how thou shine! Oh, good Lord, bless his many generations! For surely, his rulership is divine!"

Sweden stood behind Denmark with crossed arms, waiting for his older brother to quit his drinking song long enough to notice his presence. Of course, Denmark never did detect Sweden's presence, even in sobriety, but it was a fun way to pass the time. After Denmark and his random drinking buddies chugged down half their mugs of beer, Sweden slapped the back of his head.

"Agh! Wh- Oh, heeeey, Sve!" Denmark slurred as he rubbed the injured spot. "Whatcha doin' here, bro?"

Sweden rolled his eyes. "I'm here to pick you up...again."

"Aw, sherioushly, Berry?" Denmark whined. "I dun wanna go juss yet; we were juss geddin' to the good pard of the song!" He raised an arm to signal to his friends to sing again. "Oh, dear King, there are lands to be-"

"Denmark, it's time to go," Sweden said firmly. "It is getting colder and colder outside and I want to go home." He began to pull at Denmark's arm, which Denmark yanked away quickly.

"Sweden, c'mon, dun be that stuck-up buzzkill, dude!" He held up his mug of beer to Sweden's nose. "Take a drink!"

"No."

"Take a drink, Sve~!"

"Denmark, no."

"Take a driiiiiiiiiiiink!"

"Denmark, do not push me."

"Take a driiiii-"

"No!" Sweden snatched the mug away and slammed it onto the table, spilling some of the beer out onto the table's surface and nearly breaking the glass itself. Many of the drinkers stopped drinking to look at him, warily watching out for a possible fight. He was aware of their eyes, and he took a deep, calming breath. "Denmark, we are going home. I'm not waiting any longer.' With that, he grabbed the crook of Denmark's arm and pulled him out of his seat, leading the drunkard towards the door.

"Why do I hafta go, Sweden?" Denmark asked in his annoying, whiny tone. He pouted as if the back of Sweden's head could see his protruding bottom lip.

"Because you're drunk, it's late, I don't feel like picking you up past twelve, and I can't let you get home by yourself."

Denmark scoffed and rolled his eyes, again unaware that Sweden could see him. "I am perfectly fine and capable of going home by myself, dude."

"Denmark, the last time you attempted to go home alone, you were beaten up by an eight-year-old." Sweden laughed inwardly at the memory again.

"That was juss one time, you douche!" Denmark tried to yank his arm away, causing Sweden to tighten his grip rather painfully. "A-and besides, I can juss walk home with my buddies ova there!" He looked back.

"Denmark, those are just strangers. They are likely to jump you and rob you. Or worse. So, no."

Well, geeeeeez, I never knew you cared so much about me, Sweden." Denmark muttered.

"Of course, you idiot. You're my brother."

"...That didn't stop you from leaving."

Sweden stopped in his tracks just as he reached the door, hand up to push it open and lead them out. He dropped his hand and his gaze and sighed. Not this, again... He turned to his brother, whom was looking away to avoid Sweden's eyes. "Denmark, don't bring this up, please..."

"Why can't I bring it up, huh?" Denmark asked as his eyes snapped up to meet Sweden's. "I mean, if I can't have a little bit o' fun with a bunch of cool guys or go down a little trip down our precious memory lane, then what can I do? Are ya gonna stop me from sleeping under a rock next? Stop me from beating 'nother tree down in anger? What's next, bro?"

"Denmark, you're blowing this out of proportion-"

"Like the same way you blew our agreement- and our brotherhood- outta yer ass?!"

"What the hell did you expect, Denmark?!" Sweden hissed loudly. He didn't want to go into this mess again, and he didn't want them to attract the fearful eyes of the other patrons again, but Denmark just pushes him so much, and in so little time, too. "What do you expect me to do while you're letting corruption and greed plague you so much? I mean, you were so damn power-hungry that you were willing to destroy everything and everyone to get land after land after land. You were ruining my economy and you failed to noticed how ill you were making me because of it! I was practically going to die just so that you'd make a name for your damn self, and all you ever cared about as the size of your king's crown!"

Sweden paused, glaring down at Denmark who gaped at him. "...In all honesty, I don't even know why I bother to do even the smallest shit for you, but...but I do, so come on and stop fighting like a little kid." He tugged at Denmark's arm, but he wouldn't budge. "Denmark..." He said in a calm, warning tone.

"Leave me alone."

"Denmark, stop doing this-"

"I wanna stay here."

He tugged at the arm again. "Denmark, we're leaving now-"

"I ain't leavin'!"

"Oh, so what the fuck are you going to do, then? You're going to just drown yourself in beer mug after mug until you're brain dead?"

Denmark chuckled humorlessly. "...It's the only thing I'm good at, right?"

"Denmark, please..." Sweden pleaded tiredly.

"Please what, Sve? Please dun act like this? Please dun throw a friggin' self-hating tantrum about how I'm a horrible king who let power get to his head? Please dun bitch about how I was such a horrible king that I would lead my men into battle after ugly battle to shut up those that were only trying to stop my harsh tyranny?

"Please dun start whining about how I was even worse as a brother who only saw his flesh and blood as a commodity for more land and servitude and didn't give a damn about how sick I was makin' him? Please dun cry about how I'm such a fucking moron who can't even face trouble and enemies without whinin' to my boss or downing a pint or two?" Denmark chuckled darkly. "Please what, my precious little bro?"

Sweden stared at him, taken aback. He knew that Denmark was holding some sort of resentment and some regret, but never did he hear it like this. And he would've never thought- in the way Denmark would blame the end of the Kalmar Union on Sweden and bully him relentlessly on a whim- that the resentment was actually self-loathe and the regrets were about not caring for his family.

Seeing the shock on Sweden's face, Denmark wrenched his arm free. "Juss go home, Sve; I wanna hang out here for a while longer. I'm gonna be fine." He crossed his arms defiantly, as if challenging Sweden to stop him.

Sweden sighed and pushed up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "...Fine," he agreed hesitantly. "Go on and just drink your problems away."

And he did; Denmark gave Sweden a small smirk before turning to the direction of his table, wearing a cheerful smile and pumping a fist in the air. His "friends" at the table started to cheer at Denmark's return as if the whole argument that rose loudly between the brothers didn't happen or made them uncomfortable. Sweden sighed and leaned against a wall next to the entrance. He watched as Denmark settled back into his seat and picked up his beer to continue their drinking song. This is what he hated most about bars: the melancholic atmosphere that seemed to lure those filled with hopelessness and fear with false promises of comfort when really, it just pulls them into a deep, dark hole that only gets deeper the longer they are unwilling to face their issues until they can no longer get out.

Please don't do that to yourself, Sweden pleaded silently. He involuntarily listened as his brother's drinking group picked up where they left off on the drinking song.

"My King, do you know they plan to reclaim their lands? Thy enemies arrive to clasp the chains on thy hands! Here you sit, pride gone, as they plunder thy kingdom! You weep, yes weep, as they revive the tragic scene Sodom! Oh, Servant, how low thou have fallen! Oh, Outcast, how harshly they shame thy name! Dear me, thou lost God's favor. Thy crown was taken in this game."

I'm sorry for the way I wrote this chapter; it wasn't supposed to be this long (in fact, it was supposed to be a short bar scene) and it feels like it was rushed and inconsistent. Oh, well, I'm too tired to go back and change it (sacrificing sleep for a fanfic, that's not healthy.) Anyway, I was referencing to the Kalmar Union with the best of my abilities, but I didn't understand it all too well, so I just worked with whatever I could understand of it. I hope this was a little good. :/