This one's a little longer than the other chapters, but since the chapters are kinda short, I'm sure you won't mind. I haven't been to many wedding in my time. Does it show? Also, apologies to anyone who speaks German.

The Wedding

Although calmer, Germany was clearly still nervous the next morning. It was actually kind of cute seeing him flustered, pink cheeked and darting about, trying to remember the million and one things he thought he needed to remember, most of which had been taken care of by his family. Despite feeling quite useless, both England and France were up at the crack of dawn with the rest of the wedding party, milling around and getting themselves ready.

"France, you git, you are not wearing a thong to a wedding!"

"But mon ami, have you forgotten the age-old tradition of the wooing of the bridesmaids?"

"The closest thing to a bridesmaid there's going to be are Lichtenstein and Seychelles, the flower girls – one's your 'daughter', and the other will get you shot by Switzerland!"

"…You may have a point."

"May?"

"Ah, what about Romano?" France said hopefully.

"Well, I admire your determination, but you really need to stop beating that dead horse." Britain said earnestly "And put some damn boxers on!"

"Ja, Franny, there's plenty of time to get naked at the reception!" Prussia piped in as he walked past their open door before cackling his way down the hallway.

France joined in the cackling, and Britain threw a pair of boxers at his face before heading down to the kitchen. He offered to help make some breakfast, but was promptly kicked out by an irate Hungary – turns out she's not much of a morning person either. He wandered about a bit before he found Germany smoothing his hair back in the hallway mirror, tie hanging loose around his muscular neck.

"Looking spiffy, old chap." Britain complimented "You always did look sharp in a good suit."

"Britain, guten morgan." He greeted, a little awkwardly "Sorry again about last night."

"Oh, don't worry about that, all water under the bridge. You feeling better?"

"Ja, actually, I-NOT AGAIN!"

A clump of hair sprung out defiantly from his head. With a groan of aggravation, he turned back to the mirror, but the same clump of hair continued to refuse to do what it was told, no matter how many times he combed it.

"Every day for hundreds of years I have been able to do this without incident, but today, of all days, it does this!" he declared.

England couldn't help but laugh. He grabbed the comb and led Germany to the nearest bathroom, running it under the tap for a minute and beckoning him to sit on the side of the bath while he smoothed down his hair. The large man blushed, feeling infantilized by his actions.

"Don't be embarrassed!" England urged, reading the mood "This is an ancient technique used by the British for centuries to control their fly-away tufts of hair. Why, without this technique, my very own hair would be an absolute birds nest!"

Germany thought about his answer carefully.

"Is that so?" he settled on.

"There, all done! A good job, if I do say so myself."

Hair tamed, Germany stood and inspected his reflection, adjusting his shirt. Both men jumped when Prussia slammed his palm theatrically on the bathroom door.

"West, stop cheating on your fiancé and get in the car, we're leaving!"

The venue for the event was oddly romantic, considering how awkward and conservative Germany was. Perhaps it was Italy's choice? The ceremony was going to take place in the ruins of a burnt out church, which long since had its thick stone walls overgrown with moss and wild flowers, the remnants of the slate floor cleared of weeds and grass, revealing faded tile mosaics here and there. The aisle and seating area had been roped off with gentle strings of fairy lights and paper roses, and each mismatched seat was labelled with exactly who would be sitting where (no doubt that was Germany's doing), with small silk flags tied to them. In the large field beside the ruin, the grass had been cut short, a gazebo erected for the caterers to cook in, and a dance floor laid with 2 dozen round tables and chairs nestling in the grass, waiting to be put out. Strangely, there was also a random wooden box labelled 'tomatoes'...

"What if it started raining?" Britain wondered as he admired the setting, hands in his pockets as the grooms party loitered about.

"We are not in your cockamamie country." France pointed out "Here on the continent, the weather doesn't change from one minute to the next like God is schizophrenic."

"Really? Surely it can't be that bad?" Prussia wondered.

"Non, it's worse! Last year when I was there, in a single day we had rain, sunshine, gale force winds, more rain, snow and thick fog, in that order, in the space of an hour!"

"You're exaggerating." Britain accused.

"I most certainly am not." France insisted "The day we left, it was foggy when we got in the car, rained all the way to Heathrow, and was sunny when we took off."

"So?"

"So, that weather is normal in your country! It is not so anywhere else!"

Prussia found the whole thing hilarious, swearing to take his next holiday in UK so he could see its 'awesome' weather for himself. Austria gave them all annoyed looks and asked them to be serious, perhaps expecting too much from his excitable relative. The guests started to arrive soon enough, most of them nations, but not all, and milled about the site, chatting happily with their complimentary glasses of champagne. The brides party arrived in due course, hiding behind the gazebo until everything was ready, as per the tradition of the bride and groom (groom and groom?) not seeing each other before the ceremony. Britain and France, having nothing else to do at the moment, went to say hello. While Romano and France engaged in their usual cat-and-mouse routine (complete with the Italian's hair standing on end), Britain spoke with Japan: perhaps 'spoke' is the wrong word, as the poor man wore the look of being completely overwhelmed, and his brown eyes pleaded for help as he saw his old friend. He jumped at the chance to grab a cup of tea before the ceremony, practically pulling Britain away by the hand.

The ceremony itself was the usual affair. Everyone sat in their allocated seats, a revering hush falling upon the congregation as the music started to play. Lichtenstein and Seychelles, wearing matching blue and pink dresses, scattered petals across the aisle as they walked down in time to the music. It was Austria that accompanied Italy down the aisle, back strait and perfectly poised, rather than Romano, who might have been likely to pick his little brother up and run away. Italy himself was oddly composed, not his usual fidgety self, and smiled calmly, eyes fixed on Germany. He wore a pure white tuxedo, ironed, expertly tailored and spotless (Britain supposed wearing a dress would have been a little much, even for Italy). Both men blushed as Austria gave Germany Italy's hand, with the blond seeming considerably calmer than he had at 2.30 that morning. Holding hands, with steady voices, they exchanged their vows, and there was nary a dry eye in the crowd.

With a seemingly never-ending round of applause, the party moved to the waiting field. Britain hung back while the more excitable nations rushed to congratulate the couple, watching the fuss and bother. He couldn't help but chuckle as he saw Switzerland hovering around his little sister, casting his usual glares at any boys who got too friendly. On her part, Lichtenstein either didn't notice or didn't mind, chatting happily and trying to include her brother in the conversation. France was equally fussing over Seychelles, who managed to look both happy and slightly freaked out, as she usually did when talking to him. With a sudden thud, America lent against the tree England was stood under.

"S'up?" he greeted.

"Ok, where the hell did you get a burger?"

America didn't reply, concentrating on his food. He chomped away at it a moment before hitting on a thought.

"Want some?" he offered, holding it out to him.

"No. Even if I did, half of its already been in your mouth. Take smaller bites, you idiot."

"Uh, okay…sure."

He went back to his burger. He was being kind of quiet, which was concerning. Where was his usual happy-go-lucky energy? Jet-lag?

"Nice ceremony, wasn't it?" England tried to get him talking.

"Yeah, but I kinda at two minds about it." America admitted "Gay marriage is still a big issue at my place, so I'm not sure how to feel about it. On the one hand, they're my buddies, and I'm happy for them, but on the other it's kinda gross."

England laughed.

"Just try not to think about it too much, or your brain might melt."

America didn't laugh. He had an odd look on his face, and was watching England closely.

"I say, are you alright?" Britain asked "You're looking positively green! You're not choking on all that beef, are you?"

"No, I'm fine." he assured "What about you? Are you…okay?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason." America said a little too quickly, eyes still locked on Britain "Just…uh…asking. Y'know!" he laughed awkwardly "We are in Germany, so I thought it might bring back some bad memories for you, or…something."

"No reason it should. I've had far more positive experiences in Germany over the years than negative ones." He laughed through his nose "I suppose to you, the world wars felt like they were only yesterday. Us older nations don't dwell on things like that."

"Ha ha, is that so?"

What? No argument? No criticizing him for being old or calling Germany a Nazi? Was he ill?

"Excuse me~" an airy voice called.

"Hey, Canada, dude, what's up!" America cheered, spirits seemingly lifting immediately.

Canada had apparated, as was his way, from the ether, and was stood next to them under the tree. Somehow, he had gotten his polar bear into a suit as well, and it was kind of adorable.

"Japan is taking pictures, and he'd really like it if we could all pose for him, if that isn't too much trouble, I mean." he relayed, smiling in that cute was of his "You know, if you aren't busy, that is."

Britain swore he was fading into the ether even as they spoke.

"Sure, why not." He agreed, as if anyone was going to take pictures at a wedding, it was going to be Japan "Where does he want us?"

"Over here."

He led them to a flower covered wall at the back of the ruin, where quite a few nations were already gathering in preparation. Britain pretended not to notice as Canada shot America an angry look. Japan was in his element, equipped with his fanciest camera, ordering people into the typical wedding poses: the grooms; the grooms with their families; groomsmen and bridesmaids; groomsmen, bridesmaids and their dates; any children that happened to be about, whether they were in the wedding party of not; any other families that happened to be about; and finally the G8, with Germany and Italy at the centre. Posed with France, Canada and America, England tried not to punch France in the face, knowing he was making kissy-faces behind him. Japan finally stopped when China got so exasperated that he threatened to start a war.

Milling about in an ambling group as Japan's pictures were admired, Britain spotted Russia and Canada talking, with Russia petting Kumojiro's head. He hadn't realised how similar in height and build the two were. Was America built like that too? Russia just laughed as Kumojiro clapped his jaws over his hand.

"What is it with polar bears and chewing on me?" he wondered "Do I really taste that good?"

"Mr. Kumakichi, that's really mean!" Canada scolded, squeezing his little belly "You let him go!"

"Hold on, I'll handle this." Britain offered.

He started tickling the plushy white bear, who wriggled uncontrollably before letting go of Russia's hand and going for Britain's.

"Many thanks, Britain." Russia said as he rubbed his sore hand "Although I don't know how you thought of such a thing. You have a way with animals."

"Well, if you've tickled one bear, you've tickled them all."

"Speaking of which."

Without warning, Russia threw his arms around Britain, surprising him immensely, with what was best described as a bear-hug. He smelled strongly of soap and cologne, which wasn't unpleasant on it's on, but the man was so big that he felt like he was drowning in it. The hug went on for far longer than Britain was comfortable with before Russia let him go, patting him heartily on the shoulders and looking him in the eye.

"I don't really understand what's wrong with you." He admitted "But I wish you 'get better soon' anyway, my friend!"

"Oh…um…thank you…?"

"Da, you get better soon, and maybe to stop casting so many spells will help?"

"Russia!" Canada hissed, going red on his ears "It doesn't work that way!"

"Canada is right." China chimed in "Britain has been crazy for years, now it's just official."

"Gee, China, thank you for your support, as always." Britain retorted.

"You are welcome." Was his strait reply.

Apparently he had left his sarcasm detector at home today. Russia just laughed.

"Britain is funny, like normal" he concluded "That makes me happy."

"Excuse me~" Hungary sung as she danced over, grabbing Britain's arm "I need to borrow this one!"

"You can keep him." China told her "I feel my ability to cook delicious food being drained from me just by his presence."

She pulled Britain over to the happy grooms. Italy was holding a large silver tray piled with envelopes, but England faintly recalled was some Italian custom (bother, he didn't bring one, would that count against him?). Upon seeing Britain, Italy immediately froze.

"Ah, hello, Britain." Germany greeted as he noticed him approach "Did you enjoy the ceremony?"

"Oui, it was tres romantique!" France answered for him, slipping his arms around Britain's shoulders and leaning heavily against him "Mon Angleterre, were you not moved?"

Raising his arm quickly, he struck France in the face with the back of his fist. The taller man stumbled, clutching his nose and swearing. Everyone else started laughing, especially Prussia and Spain, who added insult to injury by pulling his hair and poking him all over.

"The ceremony was lovely." Britain answered "Congratulations, both of you."

"Thank you. It means a lot to us that you could make it. Right, Italy?"

Italy noticeably twitched as his name was called.

"Yes, that's right!" he agreed loudly "Because you know that whole world war thing was a very long time ago and even though we're all friends nowitsnotlikei'mscaredofyouanymoreoranythingsoi'mreallyhappyyoucouldbeatmyweddingeventhoughi'mnotentirelysureyu'rementallystable-"

"Italy!" Germany barked.

"Yes, very happy, thank you!" he shrieked.

"Italy, what's wrong with you?" Germany scolded "You're being rude to our guest!"

"I'm sorry." Italy answered earnestly, looking Britain in the eye "I just don't know how to talk to you now. Before, we were enemies, then we were friends, but then things happened and now I don't know where I stand anymore…"

If nothing else, Britain could appreciate his honesty.

"We're still friends." He assured him.

"Eh? Really?" Italy seemed immediately cheered "Fantastico!"

Handing Germany the plate, he threw his arms around Britain and struck him with the Italian double-kiss (which always made Britain extremely uncomfortable), before trailing off into his usual nonsensical rant that leapt about topics like a flea on a dog that was on fire – the wedding; the weather; what he had for breakfast; his shoes; the weather again; the food; what the pretty girls were wearing; the presents; the food again. Britain just smiled and nodded, pretending he was keeping up with the million words a minute. Germany also smiled, putting his hand on his new husbands shoulder as he talked. Britain's heart was a little touched as he noticed Italy lean into him automatically.

"Eh? What's wrong, England?" Italy asked, looking a little concerned "You have a funny look on your face?"

"I'm just thinking how good you two look together." He said honestly.

Italy was surprised a moment before he blushed, smiling sheepishly.

"Si. I'm very happy."

"Alright, alright, all this public displaying of affection is making me feel barfy." Romano interrupted, shooing Britain away "Bad enough that my brother is the 'bride', go and get drunk with your idiot friends, you warm beer drinking bastard."

Well, some people never changed. France and his friends had disappeared somewhere into the crowd, so Britain wandered back into the crowd. Everyone had formed a little champagne drinking clique, and he felt that interrupting one would be too awkward. It was difficult being an island nation at these gatherings, as everyone hung around with their friends and neighbours, often leaving him alone. Everyone seemed so happy with each other, drinking and laughing, they would probably resent his intrusion. Instead, he walked away from the crowd, leaning against the same tree as before. It was quieter here, anyway. The noise and fuss seemed a million miles away. His head got a little fuzzy, like he was dreaming, and he got a strange hot sensation at the base of his neck. No-one knew he wasn't there with them. No-one cared. They were having fun without him. They didn't miss him. They didn't even notice. They didn't want him around. They never did.

His throat grew painful, and his eyes started to sting. He willed the tears away, but they refused to listen, welling up forcefully. He covered his mouth with his hand so no-one could hear the sob escape. He was being pathetic. He didn't want anyone to see him cry. He turned away from the crowd, determined to head into the woods until he had calmed down, when someone grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"What?! What are you doing?! Austria?!"

Austria said nothing to him at first, giving him that stern disapproving look he always did.

"Going off on your own isn't going to help you." He finally said matter-of-factly "You're just going to feel more alone, because you are alone, and it will be worse than before."

Without another word, he hauled Britain back into the crowd, locating France and his friends at one of the tables and practically throwing the man at them, sauntering off immediately.

"Hey, where were you?" Spain asked in his usual air-head manner as he rocked back on his seat "You disappeared on us, amigo."

"I most certainly did not!" Britain countered, hoping his earlier upset wasn't clear on his face "You're the ones who-"

"Oh, shut up and drink some beer, you girls!" Prussia shrieked as he appeared, slamming a tray of drinks down on the table "Except the kill-joy France, who is drinking totally un-awesome wine!"

"Mon dieu, you Germans know nothing about fine wine!" France scolded as he took his wine glass away from the 3 pints on the tray "Wine is all about l'amore, about finesse, about-"

"LAME!" Spain and Prussia sung together.

France groaned in exasperation, waving his wine theatrically.

"Ugh, you uncultured swine! Britain, back me up here!"

He didn't reply.

"Britain?"

There had been four glasses on the tray. They had got him a drink. They had expected him. They had wanted him. His throat started to sting again. He felt stupid. Why had he gotten to upset? Why couldn't he stop himself being so emotional?

"You see!" Prussia suddenly shrieked loudly, slamming both hands on the table to bring all attention to him "Your gross disgusting wine is so un-awesome, just the thought of it brings un-awesome tears to the eyes of the former British Empire!"

"That's some pretty bad wine, man."

"It is up to I, the AWESOME PRUSSIA, to fix this mess with the awesome addition of the awesome sweet amber liquid that is BEER!"

He slammed the pint glass down on the table before Britain, wearing his usual manic grin as he stood back proudly.

"There! Are you not immediately soothed?! Is your soul not lifted just by just the near presence of it?"

Britain grabbed the glass, downed it, and slammed in down the table. The other three stared at him in disbelief, partly out of surprise, partly because drinking an entire glass of beer at once was an impressively disgusting feat.

"Yeah." Britain finally said, wiping an errant drop from his lips "I do feel better."

"AWESOME!" Prussia shrieked again, grabbing his own glass and doing the same "Drink up, girly-boys, this is supposed to be a wedding!"

Britain didn't have another second to himself the entire reception, but whether that was by accident or design was impossible to know. After a few rounds at the bar, the boys took to the dance floor. Austria, true to his word, had expunged the europop from the list, but for those who didn't like classic (although he didn't want to admit such people existed), he had unearthed 'popular music of quality' (but, Britain noted, no Queen), and even those who hadn't had a skinfull were cutting a rug. Since most of the nations were men, they were used to dancing with each other, but it took a few months and photographic evidence before Britain would admit he had drunkenly ended up grinding with Poland. After the sit-down meal, the drinking recommenced, as did the dancing, and Britain ended up dancing with some unexpected characters, including Turkey, Lichtenstein (keeping his hands respectable – he was drunk, not stupid), Sealand (with the boy standing on his feet - Prussia really had invited the entire world) and the Italy, with whom he waltzed atrociously.

None of the four drinking buddies remembered how they got back home that night, or why they were all sprawled around the living room the next morning, naked as the day they were born, or whether or not Prussia had that tattoo yesterday, but that was pretty normal for a wedding. Or a really, really good world conference. Britain's offer to soothe their raging hangovers with a cooked breakfast got him dog-piled by the (thankfully at least somewhat clothed at this point) Prussia and Spain, while France dashed into the kitchen ahead of him.

"Hey, you remember the last wedding we went to?" Spain asked, usual airy voice even quieter than usual under the circumstances.

"Sure I do! I woke up butt-ass naked with pink hair on a merchant vessel headed for South America! Ah, good times." Prussia laughed, his ability to both yell and whisper at the same time truly amazing.

"Feel free to get off me any time." Britain groaned, pinned to the floor by their weight "You bastards are fucking heavy."

"No way. If we let you up, you'll try and cook."

"I like to cook!"

"I like turtles, amigo, that doesn't mean I'm going to grow a shell on my back."

"I hate you." Britain grumbled, startling when he heard a familiar noise "Wait. Wait, that's my phone! Get off me, I need to get that! Where the fuck is it?"

"First to find his phone gets to look though his pictures for last nights blackmail!" Prussia shrieked, the two of them jumping off and starting to tear the room apart.

From his vantage on the floor, Britain managed to find his phone under the couch, but it stopped ringing by the time he fished it out. It was weirdly clean under the couch...

"What is this?!" France shrieked as he came back into the room, arms laden with the breakfast plates "This is a worse mess than when I left!"

"Aw, too bad." Spain cooed, turning to France "Hey, is there-"

"Yes, there are tomatoes!" he snapped back "Don't be so predictable!"

"Who's calling you so ungodly early the morning after a party?!" Prussia demanded, picking anything off the floor he dogs might choke on "He clearly doesn't know how to party properly! We should take him out and teach him how to do it right!"

"It's America." Britain reported, clicking though his texts.

"Called it." Prussia sung.

"So, what does he want?" France asked, not even looking as he kicked Spain until he put the table back the right way up.

"He wants to meet up, that's all. He's got a little time before his plane."

France seemed concerned, brow furrowing.

"How about we all go shopping?" he suggested after a moments thought "Its been a while since I went shopping in Germany, and it shouldn't be too much to handle after last night."

"That's an awesome idea! There's this awesome market in the next town…"

Thus, plans were quickly made, related via the miracle of technology, and after breakfast, the four hung-over shambles got themselves dressed and left. Upon returning to the house (Austria had had the sense to book a hotel near the venue for the two of them), Hungary was furious.

"I am NOT cleaning this!" she shrieked, steam practically shooting from her ears.

"Ja…" he agreed entirely "Can we go home now?"

OMG, character interaction! England and France can only play off each other for so long... Also a peak into the 'dark thoughts' that can sneak up on you when you're suffering from depression. (Not pulling it out of my arse, btw. I have had these thoughts myself at least once). Also, fuck you Spell-check, I will NOT use Americanisms! For those of you enjoying thus far, please continue to enjoy onto the next chapter!

Also, I love feedback. Just saying.