Chapter 5

England woke up to a biting headache, swirling walls and drool on his pillow. Ah, the all too familiar hangover. At least his many, many years of overindulgence meant he would be back to normal before lunchtime.

He closed his eyes and wiped away the drool, noticing for the first time a heavy weight over his waist. A sort of arm shaped weight that probably connected to the naked body pressed up against his back. His naked back and naked backside.

Fuck.

England tried to muster up indignant anger at the nation spooning him, tried to make his body move so he could jump to his feet and kick out whoever had dared to snuggle him, but the best he managed was a half-hearted flop of his arm.

Sure he was pissed off but he was also very sleepy and maybe a little comfortable and England had the suspicion that it was America hugging him, which wasn't the worst thing in the world. It was actually kind of nice- in a completely platonic and I-raised-you-as-a-colony sort of way and absolutely nothing more.

England tried to piece together his memory of the previous night to take his mind off the warm, naked America wrapped around own his naked self. He was pretty sure he had passed out at some point but he must have come around later because he remembered a long, poignant discussion with Canada's polar bear before Prussia's bird had rudely interrupted them without so much as an apology. He also recalled almost making out with a amorous and wasted Finland before Seychelles had saved him from Sweden's wrath and made him drink a bottle of water (where he was egged on by Denmark until he realised England wasn't chugging down a litre of vodka).

After that everything was a jumbled mess, except that it was either America or Canada that had helped him into the tent (it definitely wasn't France who had been tied to a tree after the girls had caught him sneaking into their tent wearing a skirt and pretending to be Poland). England recalled strong arms and the aroma of greasy foods and decided it was America that had helped him. Which would fit with his memory of Canada ripping off his shirt at the time, calling Russia a hoser and challenging him to a game of hockey.

So that meant it was America with an arm slung casually over England's waist. And a naked America at that.

Wait, why was America naked?

England's eyes shot open. He regretted it instantly as his vision doubled and the room swam around him. It settled after a moment but the question still remained: why was America naked?

He hadn't been last night; in fact he'd been one of the few nations that had remained fully clothed, despite France's begging - actually it was probably because France had been begging. So that meant America had gotten naked in the tent.

Butterflies fluttered in England's stomach, which did not help with the sickness and nausea one bit.

Had he- had they had sex?

No, they couldn't have. This was America, his little colony who he had raised from a child into a tall, muscular, hot nation... not that he had noticed.

But it didn't matter what America looked like because they hadn't had sex.

Probably.

Maybe.

...Oh God.

This was bad. Not the actual sex part (he presumed) but the morning after the sex part. It would be awkward and they'd avoid eye contact and the other nations would somehow know (if they already didn't since the walls of a tent weren't exactly soundproof and America had no sense of volume control) and then there would be gossip and quizzing and Christ, why had he agreed to this stupid camping trip in the first place? He didn't even like camping. Far too commercialised since his youth when he'd fought for survival in the wild armed with only bow and arrows.

Then England heard voices coming his way and tensed up.

"...already have enough as it is." Canada's voice floated through the far too thin fabric of the tent as he passed them by. England remained frozen despite the fact he knew Canada could not see them.

"It isn't about food dude, it's about the art of hunting. And showing off my brand new shotgun," said a voice that was quite clearly America. An America that was not in the tent with him.

England turned his head, expecting the worse. And found it.

"Morning, mon amour."

#

A loud shout woke Germany up with a start. He stretched out a hand and checked his watch, becoming instantly irritated at himself for sleeping in far later than usual. He blamed it on staying up until the early hours to keep an eye on his brother and to keep Italy from doing something stupid, neither of which had been easy or earned any reprieve from Romano.

Germany shifted and a leg that did not belong to him found its way over his hip. Unsure whether it was Prussia, whose sense of personal boundaries had found a new low, or Italy, who had no sense of personal boundaries.

It was Italy.

Germany expressed no shock of this revelation, or of Italy's lack of clothing. Both were familiar. Far, far too familiar.

Germany rolled Italy onto his back and covered him with a blanket. Immediately Italy turned back onto his side and curled into Germany, scrunching Germany's vest in tight fists.

"Italy," Germany whispered as he pushed against Italy's shoulder, which only made Italy grip tighter and shimmy closer.

Germany called his name again. This time came a soft moan and Italy nuzzling his cheek against the bare skin of Germany's chest.

It was... embarrassing.

An embarrassment made worse by the blush spreading across Germany's face. And the blanket falling off Italy. And Spain and Romano popping their heads into the tent at that moment.

The latter being especially embarrassing.

Romano turned red and spluttered.

Spain smiled and waved.

Germany couldn't decide which was worse. But then Italy moaned Germany's name rather loudly and happily and won hands down.

"What the hell are you doing to my brother, you pervert!" Romano shouted and lunged across the tent to rip Italy from Germany's grip.

"That's not nice, Roma," Spain said as he came into the tent nonchalantly. "Italy looked cute like that."

"Shut up bastard."

"Romano? What are you doing?" Italy asked sleepily as Romano struggled to wrap him in a blanket.

"I'm preserving your modesty, idiota. Now keep still."

"Modesty?" he mumbled in a surprised voice and Germany wondered whether Italy was surprised that Romano thought Italy had modesty, or if Italy was surprised that such a thing existed.

"Yes your modesty. Now get away from this bastard before he tries anything," Romano said and began dragging Italy backwards.

"I'm not going to try anything," Germany said annoyed. It wasn't like he was one of the nations with a reputation for wandering hands and he'd certainly never done anything to warrant such suspicion from Romano.

"Let go of me, fratello!" Italy cried and wriggled like an eel in Romano's grasp until the blanket fell away and revealed everything.

Germany blushed and pointedly looked away as if he'd never seen Italy naked a day in his life.

Spain made no such attempt. "You two really are brothers," he said with a bright oblivious smile.

Germany tried very hard not to picture Romano naked. He failed.

"Shut up!" Romano shouted and released Italy to push Spain away.

"Germany!" Italy yelled and dove into Germany, knocking them both to the ground.

"Ow, Roma," Spain said and dodged Romano's attack. "Why are you being so mean? I meant it as a compliment."

"I said shut up, bastard!"

"Erm, Italy," Germany said and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Could you maybe, er, get off me."

Italy made a vague noise and shuffled his body closer to Germany, which was awkward considering Italy was lying on top of him and also because only the fabric of Germany's boxers lay between his and Italy's naked crotch.

#

"Forget them," Belgium whispered to Hungary. "You need to get your camera over here now."

Hungary left England and France arguing about the definition of sex and joined Belgium at Germany and Prussia's tent.

She slowly peeled back the entrance and glanced inside. Her eyes widened.

Behind Spain trying to calm a red-faced Romano, Italy and Germany appeared to be engaged in some light dry humping. In a moment she had her camera in hand and was snapping shot after shot, unable to believe her luck.

For years she had been pursuing evidence of Germany and Italy's relationship to win her bet with Japan but he'd dismissed all of her previous photos and recordings as coincidence and bad timing (and that one shot as Prussia and Hungary in wigs and costume – which she would neither confirm nor deny), but this time she had proof. How else could Japan explain a blushing Germany lying on the ground with a naked Italy grinding on top of him? As an accident? An innocent moment caught at a suggestive angle. Hah! Hungary had her proof and Japan would be paying up.

Hungary backed out of the tent before she was spotted.

"Did you get it?" Belgium asked.

Hungary showed Belgium her camera.

"Wow," Belgium said as she flicked through the images. "No wonder Romano was going nuts."

"I can't believe they were still going at it with Romano and Spain in there," Hungary said with a dreamy smile. "Who knew they were so frisky."

Belgium clicked to the next image. "Ooh, that's a good one for your collection."

"I think I might make it the album cover."

Belgium nodded in agreement and both nations took a moment to appreciate Spain's ass.

#

"Where are my glasses?" Austria asked as he felt around the tent.

"I'm not your maid," Switzerland snapped as he dressed. "Find them yourself."

"That's easy to say when you can see more than one blurry foot in front of you."

Switzerland exhaled. "Haven't I already come to your rescue enough?"

"Finding my glasses within the confines of a small tent is not the same as coming to my aid after being beaten once or twice in battle."

"Once or twice?" Switzerland yelled.

"Do you want to find my glasses or rehash the past?"

"I don't want to do either."

"Well I wouldn't normally ask but Lithuania and Poland aren't here and Hungary might get the wrong idea if I invite her in."

"Fine, I'll look. Just be quiet so I can get this over with." Switzerland scoured the tent but was unable to find them.

"They're not here," he said with a huff.

"They didn't just get up and walk out on their own. Are you sure you've looked properly?"

"Yes I have and before you go complaining maybe you should act grateful that I looked in the first place."

Austria mumbled a thank you but it only made the situation more uncomfortable.

"We should ask if Poland or Lithuania have seen them," Switzerland said and left the tent, Austria stumbling after him.

Austria blinked in the bright sunshine and peered at the vague shapes around him. Seeing a brunette Austria waved Hungary over.

"I can't find my glasses," he told her.

"So?" China asked. "We all have our problems, aru. Russia's stalking me and I'm sure Panda is in on it but I don't come running to you asking for help."

"My apologies. I thought you were Hungary."

"What? Are you saying I look like a woman?"

"Da, my China has pleasing feminine qualities but I know for fact he is a man," Russia said from where he seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

"Stop scaring me, aru!" China yelled with a jump. Then he eyed Russia suspiciously. "Why do you say you know for a fact? You can't know for sure."

Russia smiled. "Oh I know for sure."

China stared at him for a moment longer before diving into his tent and zipping it up.

"My China is so funny," Russia said and Austria could only presume he was smiling because he still couldn't see.

"Can you point me towards Hungary?" Austria asked Russia, glad to have a reason to get away from the scary nation without raising suspicion.

"Da." Russia turned Austria around with cold hands and indicated a person shaped blob.

Austria slowly made his way over when he heard a muffled 'kesesese'. He paused. "Prussia?"

The noise came again.

"Prussia I know it's you."

His weird laugh returned louder and sent a cold shiver down Austria's back.

He sighed. "You've got my glasses, haven't you Prussia?"

"No," sounded Prussia's unmistakable voice.

"Give me back my glasses."

"Finders keepers."

"You didn't find my glasses, you stole them out of my tent."

"Pssh, semantics." A dark figure with a white top stole up on Austria.

"Hand them over now."

"Or what? You'll set Hungary on me because you're too much of a wimp to take me on yourself? Maybe you should beg Switzerland for help while you're at it."

Austria glared at what he presumed was Prussia's face. "Stop acting like a child."

"Only if you act like a man!"

"Ooh, you, like, totally got his nostrils flaring," Poland said from somewhere to his right.

"Poland? How long have you been there?"

"I'm, like, just passing by. BTW, Spain and Romano were totally caught having an orgy with Germany and Italy, which is, like, icky because Italy and Romano are brothers but, like, also kind of hot too, you know?"

"No I don't!" Austria snapped.

"And like, England gave France a handjob, or France gave England a blowjob; I can't remember which," Poland said, his tone suggesting he was deep in thought as he tried to recall details. "But then there was totally some mention of America so maybe he went down on someone too? I'll totally have to ask Hungary."

"No way," Prussia said. "The awesome me would know if my friends were getting laid."

Poland shrugged. "Maybe they, like, didn't want to hurt your feelings? You should totally screw Austria to catch up."

"That will not be happening," Austria said right as Prussia made a strangled noise.

"Shame, because, like, Hungary would be totally up for it."

"I don't care. I just want my glasses back."

"Never, they're mine now. You'll have to kill me for them."

And it was at this point that a gunshot sounded and in that moment Austria wondered whether God had heard his prayers and struck Prussia down, though he was unsure why God would chose to do so with a shotgun.

But in the next moment he heard a distant yell and realised his prayers had gone unanswered.

#

Canada cried out and America realised he had made a huge mistake.

But rather than dwell on his bad judgement, America swung Canada over his shoulder and carried him all the way back to the camp like the hero America was. In a second they were swarmed by nations who insisted on making a way bigger deal out of Canada's tiny bullet wound than it could possibly warrant.

Ok, sure there was a lot of blood and Canada's shaking wasn't helping but they were nations so it wasn't like it could kill them. At least America didn't think so.

"Mon chou Canada!" France shouted as he flung himself past America. "Qu'est-ce que cette brute t'a fait?"

"America, you moron, what did you do?" England asked as he shoved his way through the crowd.

"What are you blaming me for? I didn't do anything."

"You're holding the gun, you idiot."

America glanced at the shotgun in his hand. "Oh. But I didn't shoot Canada. It was him."

Everyone followed his accusing finger to Sealand trying to hide behind Sweden.

Finland gasped. "You shot Canada?"

"Emmenez ce bâtard loin de Canada!"

"It was an accident!" Sealand shouted, his eyes filling up with tears.

"You said you knew how to handle a gun," America said.

Gazes turned back his way and America wished he hadn't said anything.

"You gave my son a shotgun?" Sweden asked, his expressionless expression somehow much, much scarier than normal.

"He said he used them all the time."

"I do," Sealand said with a sob.

Sweden turned to look at Sealand.

Sealand swallowed. "I mean, they're toy guns but it's like the same thing."

"See, it's not my fault," America said and crossed his arms.

England slapped the back of America's head. "You do not let a child play with guns. How can you not know that."

"Excuse me," Japan said, "but I think Canada-san has passed out."

"Mon bébé Canada!"

"Maybe he's sleeping," Greece said with a yawn. "I know I could go for a nap."

"I'll wake him up," Russia said and lifted a pickaxe above his head.

"Aiyah! I keep telling you that is not a medically approved tool, aru."

"I have the first aid kit," Seychelles said and wound her way through the crowd to Canada's side.

Across the clearing, Denmark lumbered out of his tent. "Morning," he called, paying little mind to the fact that he was naked and oblivious to the words 'pass opp, intelligens mindre enn pikk' scrawled on his back. "What's are you guys doing over there?"

"America gave Sealand his shotgun to shoot Canada," Estonia said without looking up from his typing.

"I didn't give him it to shoot Canada," America said, almost wishing he'd taken the blame for Canada's minuscule injury. "He did that himself."

"It was an accident," Sealand said with a choked sob.

Finland wrapped his arms around Sealand and mumbled soothing words in Finnish. America glared at the ground. Why was Sealand let off the hook? Why didn't he get a hug?

America glanced at England and was met with a thunderous look. Well, he didn't want a hug anyway.

Canada came to and blushed under all the attention he was receiving. "What happened?"

"America gave Sealand his shotgun to shoot you," Estonia said, again without peeling his gaze away from his tablet.

America growled in frustration and decided never to hand a loaded gun over to a minor no matter how much they pleaded.

I think this is my best chapter so far and I had a lot of fun writing it, which is probably why I've finished it earlier than anticipated.

It's also moving along at a slower pace than I had planned but then again there are so many characters doing so many different things at once that it's too hard to write at a fast place. And I realise I didn't get all the characters in this but I tried my best and all characters will have their moments in the spotlight.

The French translations (suggested by my sister and corrected by user Kignon) are:

Mon chou Canada! – My darling Canada!

Qu'est-ce que cette brute t'a fait? – What did that brute do to you?

Mon bébé Canada! - My baby Canada!

Emmenez ce bâtard loin de Canada! – Take that bastard away from Canada!

And the writing on Denmark's back is:

pass opp, intelligens mindre enn pikk – beware, intelligence smaller than dick (which is Norwegian and completely Google translated)

Anyway I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. And again, thank you so much to everyone who has commented, favourited and followed - it honestly means a lot to me!