This drabble follows on from the last one, but it can also stand alone. I hope you enjoyed drunk!Merlin as much as me! I was originally intending to take this word prompt in another direction but then I loved drunk!Merlin so much I thought I'd try to write hungover!Merlin.

Hope you like it!

implode

Merlin slunk back into consciousness slowly and painfully, head throbbing. He could hear a deafening banging and he groaned, flailing at nothing, eyes still tightly shut. He could feel something unpleasantly sticky in his hair, and his left hand was resting in a puddle of what he sincerely hoped was a beverage.

The banging grew louder, and now he could hear a voice too. It sounded angry. He groaned again. "Stop," he said weakly.

There was a niggling thought at the back of his brain, jumping up and down and trying to get his attention. He ignored it. He had more pressing concerns.

What on earth had happened last night? It was coming back to him in sickening bursts of memory. He remembered going to the tavern and agreeing to one drink. He remembered one drink turning into two, and three, and five, and ten... He remembered singing on a table and hurting himself jumping off the table... But he didn't remember going home. He couldn't still be in the tavern, could he?

He reluctantly opened his eyes, wincing at the bright sunlight. Wait. Sunlight? Oh no. The niggling thought he had ignored was yelling at him.

Morning.

Arthur.

Breakfast.

"Oh no," he moaned. "Oh no oh no oh no!" He surveyed his surroundings, his horror growing every second. He was indeed in the tavern, to his dismay- lying awkwardly on a table. His hand was in a spilled pool of lukewarm beer, to his slight relief. Gwaine was sprawled across a chair on the other side of the room- at least he hadn't been abandoned...

The infernal banging got louder, as did the shouting, and Merlin was simultaneously aware of four things.

First, the banging was coming from the door. As in, someone was trying, fairly hard but without much success, to get into the tavern.

Second, he had an absolutely pounding headache and the noise was not helping.

Third, the raised voice was most definitely Arthur.

Fourth, he was screwed.

Across the room, Gwaine stirred, stretching and yawning as he clambered to his feet, looking none the worse for wear after a night spent drinking and then sleeping in a tavern.

He wandered over to wear Merlin had sunk to the floor, head in hands. "What's up, Merlin?" he asked cheerily. "You look a little worried."

Merlin let out a hollow laugh. "A little worried?" He looked up at Gwaine with a face drawn with pain. "Arthur's practically banging down the door, when he gets in he's going to kill me, and I think my head's going to implode."

"Implode?" asked Gwaine curiously. "Why not explode?"

"Because if my head were to explode, I'd have to clean it up."

Gwaine laughed, placing a comforting hand on Merlin's head then quickly removing it as his hand touched the sticky, congealed alcohol residue there.

"Does this mean you don't want to... what did you say... 'come out drinking with me again because it's so much fun'?" laughed Gwaine.

Merlin shook his head. "Never again," he whispered emphatically. "Never again."