"I used to be love drunk, but now I'm hungover."
Love Drunk; Boys Like Girls

-Hetalia-

When Matthew woke up, he had one of the worst headaches of his life. He whimpered, and ended up making just enough noise to send daggers of pain into his temples. He buried his head into the stomach of the bear Gilbert had won him the day of their first gig and wondered, melodramatically, if this was how he was going to die. He didn't dare crack open an eye to see why exactly it was so bright in his bedroom, but a few moments of organizing the mess that was last night in his head told him this was part of his punishment. It was the most merciful part, too, if memory served.

A shrill beeping sliced through the air, blaring out an endless torture. Matthew yelped out in surprise, and agony, dragging himself under the bear in the hopes of muffling the awful sound. It was only partially effective.

After a long minute of clutching the bear tight against his ears in defense against the auditory torture he was subjected to, Matthew dragged himself out from under Kuma...something - he couldn't remember what he'd named the bear at the moment, with much more pressing matters at hand. Peeking into the horribly bright box that was his bedroom, he winced at the pain even a sliver of sight inflicted on him.

It didn't help, he supposed, that his mother was rather angry with him, and also rather passive-aggressive. It was obvious where he'd gotten that trait from. Not only had she taken away his curtains - which, of course, explained why there was so much sunlight in his room at this hour - but she'd hung stark white sheets all around the room. He might as well have been sleeping in an ocean of bleach, or a blizzard at the very least. More realistically he supposed it looked as though the linen closet had thrown up in his room. But his mother hadn't stopped there, oh no. Matthew was not meant to forget the night he stumbled home more than tipsy several hours after curfew.

There were at least three alarm clocks in the room, all blaring at exactly the same time, though the alarms rang out in different rhythms, which created a cacophony that was as disorienting as it was deafening.

All he could really register through the throbbing in his head was that when he slammed the snooze button of the clock on his nightstand, he could still hear the shrill beeping of the clock turned torture device's brethren from other areas in his room. Another painful groan crawled out of his throat as he closed his eyes.

He'd been friends with Gilbert and Arthur long enough to know that he was probably going to throw up in the next ten minutes. The race was on, he thought bitterly as he literally dragged himself out of bed, going so far as to fall to the floor and land with his legs still tangled up in the sheets above. He supposed misery brought out his sarcastic side.

With eight minutes, more or less, left until he'd be emptying his stomach, Matthew had little choice but to force himself to carry on. He kicked at the sheet feebly a few times before acknowledging that he'd have to open his eyes to untangle himself properly.

Turning over enough to try and reach the sheets around his legs was an ordeal that nearly proved too difficult for him even with full vision. In the end there were several painful grunts and a loud thump as his lower half succumbed to gravity and crashed to the floor. By the time he'd finally managed to untangle the red sheet from his legs he was down to five minutes. Maybe four, judging by the lurch in his stomach.

The one good thing about the sheet was that he could use it to shield himself from the burning light forcing it's way into his room. Draping it over his head, Matthew dragged himself miserably to his dresser, barely lifting his eyes to peer through the red tinted room to see where he was going. Bumping into the wood with his shin was enough indication for him that he'd reached his destination.

The pulsing shrill of the alarms had finally gone into snooze mode, giving temporary relief to the poor boy as he tried to find clothing as fast as possible. Another lurch nearly had him spilling his stomach onto the carpet, and so with a forced swallow Matthew grabbed the most comfortable clothes within his reach and hauled himself to the bathroom across the hall. He didn't even turn on the light as he fell to his knees in front of the toilet and waited for the inevitable. His head was spinning.

Once that was handled, Matthew dragged his sheet clad body up into a slouch, deciding he'd stagger down the hall and toss his clothes in the dryer to heat up while he took a shower. He didn't know what to do for a hangover, but there was a certain comfort in dryer-fresh fabric that he was going to rely on now to help him.

-H-

Showers proved difficult when hungover. By the time Matthew had cleaned himself up and struggled into warm clothes, his mother was waiting in the living room. Matthew wrapped his arms around himself, pulling his red sweatshirt closer around him despite the early August heat. His mother held out a glass of foggy water and Matthew assumed she'd dropped some pills into it to help his throbbing headache. He accepted the drink and slowly downed it, watching her and waiting to hear the scolding he knew was coming. When he'd finished he drink she crossed her arms.

"Just what were you doing last night, Matthew?" 'I don't really remember' seemed like a bad answer choice, so Matthew fidgeted with the cup and tried his best to clear the foggy bits of his memory.

"We went-"

"Not you as in vous; you as in tu," she clarified. Matthew quickly backtracked.

"I went with Alfred, Arthur, and Gilbert to Francis's party so we could perform."

"For the band Alfred's been going on about for a month." Matthew nodded. "And Francis is...?"

"A friend of Arthur's, and he used to be Gilbert's best friend before.. what happened with Gilbert and Ludwig..." His mother nodded quickly. Neither of them wanted to remember the tragedy the German brothers had gone through.

"Gil and I hung out while we waited for it to be time to go on. We danced a bit and then we performed for the party." Matthew hesitated, knowing that his mother wouldn't rest until she found out just how he managed to wind up drunk. He didn't want to get either Francis or Gilbert in trouble, but it was pretty much too late for that. His mother frowned at him, clearly waiting. "Gil and I went to the kitchen.. and there were drinks there..."

"So you're saying this is Gilbert's fault?" Matthew flinched.

"Well it's not that he made me drink anything..." he mumbled. His mother nodded.

"You're right. This is your fault, and you need to bear the consequences. Gilbert is an adult and he's responsible for his own actions, not yours." Matthew nodded. "Now, we need to discuss your punishment."

"Aside from the sheets and the alarms?" There was a dangerous hint of sarcasm in his words, and his mother narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're going to have to do work today- " She was interrupted by a crashing sound from the stairs, and soon a messy-haired bleary-eyed Alfred was stumbling into the living room. Matthew raised an eyebrow. Usually Alfred couldn't be bothered to drag himself out of bed until lunch time. Granted they had practice today – a reminder that made Matthew internally groan – but the older teen was hardly punctual enough to get up this early just for the sake of his brainchild. He wasn't even able to care enough about Matthew to drag him home when he left the night before.

"What's that noise down here?" Alfred asked with total disregard for the conversation that had been taking place before his dazed arrival.

"I'm just talking with your brother," Matthew's mother said tersely. Alfred didn't seem to pick up on the tightness in her voice.

"No I mean that beep beep noise."

"It's an alarm clock," Matthew said a bit harshly, "not that you'd know what those are," he added under his breath.

"Matthew!"

"Jeez dude, who peed in your maple loops this morning? Haha, get it, maple loops? Instead of cheerios, 'cause you're Canad-"

"Got it," Matthew cut him off. Alfred walked past them to the kitchen, still laughing at his own joke. Matthew's mother gave her son a stern look.

"Couch. Now." Matthew followed her finger and moved to the couch, flinching at the rays of sun slipping in through the window, and wincing as he sat down and pulled at his injury. It was going to be a long day.

His mother came to sit in the armchair to the right of the couch, tugging her thin robe tighter around herself. She hadn't changed out of her nightgown yet, and her hair fell messily about her face as she hadn't gotten the chance to pin it back yet. That was a habit instilled upon her by his father. It made Matthew sad to think that he could only see her hair loose, as she'd once loved it, when she hadn't had time to think about it.

"I'm worried about you, Matthew," she said. He tried not to flinch at the wave of guilt that crashed over him. "Up until last night I thought it was Alfred I'd have to keep a close eye on."

"Hey!" Alfred protested, coming in with a bowl of cereal. Matthew tried not to glare at him as he watched his step-brother take the other armchair.

"Alfred, if you're going to listen in on our conversation, you can't interrupt," his mother said. Once again her subtle meanings flew over the American's head as he simply nodded and took to stuffing his face full of cheerios.

"I'm scared, Matthew," she said, turning back to him. "It's like I suddenly don't know who you are."

"I'm just Matthew," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

"You came home past curfew last night. Drunk."

"Whoa, really?" Alfred sat up.

"Mind your own business, Alfred," his mother warned.

"He's already listened in," Matthew huffed.

"And there's another thing; you're suddenly argumentative and temperamental. I understand you're hungover, which is your own fault, but you also didn't tell me about the dog bite. It's not like you to hide things from me, or at least I didn't think it was." Matthew winced again. But the mention of the dog bite reminded him that his shift started in half an hour, and the walk to the shelter took fifteen minutes.

"I don't," he promised.

"I'd like to believe that," his mother said. A silence fell between them, broken only by the occasional clinks of Alfred's spoon. Eventually she sighed and tugged at her robe again. "I'm not letting you off the hook. You'll be doing chores for me for the rest of the day."

"We have practice today," he reminded her. She turned to Alfred.

"How badly will you need him?"

For once Alfred waited until he'd finished chewing before he spoke. "Well he's our lead singer..." He looked sideways at Matthew for a moment. "He's pretty important."

"Fine," she sighed. "You'll work tomorrow, then. But you're grounded for two months, at least."

"Okay," he nodded. His mother stood up and headed towards the kitchen. Matthew got off the couch and tugged on his shoes. The medicine was starting to kick in, and he hoped that would help him walk through the early morning light.

"Do you want me to make you some breakfast?" his mother called.

"No thank you," he answered before pulling the door open and starting the walk to the shelter. Alfred jogged up to him a few moments later.

"Mom told me to catch you."

"You caught me."

They kept walking.

"You left me," Matthew said eventually.

"No I didn't; I've been right here the whole time dude."

"Last night. You and Arthur ditched us."

"You got drunk," Alfred noted. Anger wove its way into the shame that rose up in Matthew.

"I wouldn't have if you hadn't taken off to go do whatever was so important you had to do it in private last night," he spat. Alfred probably hadn't gotten caught for whatever that was, either. It irked Matthew that he was acting so high and mighty when they were both rule breakers.

"You mean fight?" Alfred asked. "Anyway, Ludwig said he'd bring you back home, and Iggy was bossing me around about leaving."

Matthew felt another twinge of guilt. "You two had a fight?"

Alfred sighed and told him what happened.

-H-

Matthew picked up a pad of paper from the desk after he'd settled in.

"Here, Al. Write an angry letter."

"To who?"

"Arthur."

"Dude, no offense, but there's no way that's going to help me out here." Matthew pushed the pad and a pen into his step-brother's hands.

"You don't actually send it. You just write out everything you're mad about. It helps you organize your thoughts so you can talk this over with him later without it blowing up in your face."

Alfred raised an eyebrow as he took the items. "You sound like you've done this before."

"Alfred," Matthew said, giving the other the most deadpan look he could manage, "it's impossible to live with you otherwise."

Alfred snorted.

-H-

"Are you done yet?"

Matthew sighed. That was the third time in as many minutes. "I told you before, we're only about half way through-"

"No, I mean are you almost done behind that desk," Alfred whined.

"Almost." Another whine.

"You've said that four times now."

"Then maybe you should stop asking," Matthew sighed.

"But I've already written this dumb letter, and listed all the colors of Iggy's eyes-"

"All one of them? How long did that take?"

"I'd say 'ha ha' if you weren't totally wrong on that one, bro."

"They're just.. green, aren't they?" Matthew said, looking up from his work. Part of the reason this was taking so long was because Alfred kept asking why it was taking so long.

"Well yeah, they're green," Alfred rolled his eyes, "but like, they turn a bunch of different greens."

"So you just listed obscure things like chartreuse?"

"Chartreuse is a fire pokemon. You mean Bulbasaur. Which isn't a color dude." Matthew tried not to groan. "I've got Leaf Green – which is a pokemon game too, FYI – Grass Green, Sprite Green, Slug Green, Pu-"

"You compared his eyes to slugs?"

"Well, like, cute slugs."

"Maybe you better throw this list away with your angry letter," Matthew said.

"Why?"

"Because I don't think he needs Slug Eyes to got with his Caterpillar Eyebrows." Matthew initialed the last document and clicked his pen shut. Alfred dragged himself up off the bench.

"Done?"

"Yeah. The dogs are back this way," he said, leading the way. "You can't go in the cages, though," he reminded Alfred. The blond nodded and waved him away.

"Don't worry dude, I don't need a scar to match yours. People mix us up enough as it is."

"You mean they mistake me for you." Alfred ignored that statement. An animal had caught his eye.

"Hey boy! What's your name?" he asked, crouching down and reaching for the dog.

"Alfred, don't put you hands in the cages." Matthew hurried to his side, crouching down beside the other and gently tugging his hand away. "We don't give them names; it confuses them when they get adopted later and their new owners want to name them."

"What about the guys that come in from people who don't want them anymore?"

"He's not one of them," Matthew shrugged.

"But he's all grown!"

"That doesn't mean he hasn't been here his whole life."

"Poor dude!" Alfred said with sad eyes. He reached in again to pet the dog. "Nobody wants him?" Matthew shook his head.

"There's something wrong with his vocal chords; a birth defect. His bark is weird. It's too high pitch to be good for a guard dog, but it's high enough to be annoying I guess. And he's not actually all that friendly, which is why you should get your hand out," Matthew repeated, tugging at Alfred again.

"But he likes me!" Alfred reached in with his other hand, and the dog rushed at it, making Matthew shout and jump up. But before he could grab the nearby squirt bottle full of water, the dog was licking Alfred's fingers and making him laugh like a nine year old.

"Amazing," someone murmured from behind them. Matthew looked over his shoulder to see his boss. Alfred grinned.

"What do I have to do to take him home?"

-H-

"Mom's going to kill you."

"Probably," Alfred shrugged, stopping yet again to pet the newest member of their family. The big grey dog yapped and wagged his tail furiously.

"I guess you picked a name for him?"

Alfred nodded. "I've got an awesome name picked out."

"Please tell me it's not Arthur."

Alfred snorted. "Jeez, I'm not that infatuated, am I?"

"You just said 'infatuated,' Al."

"Point taken. But no, I've got a way cooler name."

"Superman?"

"Closer."

"Bruce Wayne?"

"You're like two steps from the fire, bro."

"Just tell me."

"Tony! Y'know, like Tony Stark."

"I think Deadpool is a better name," Matthew said.

"No way, dude. Deadpool's crazy. Besides, Tony likes this name better, right boy?"

Tony yapped.

A/N: I'm alive! BC is still in progress! (Because I know that was the bigger concern here.) Thank you all so much for reading.

My apologies to Hornet394; normally I would send this to you before I posted it. It's just that it's been so long that I don't know if you're willing to put up with me and the amount of time I'm taking between chapters. I also didn't want to make anyone wait longer than they had to.

It's been months, and I'm so sorry for the delay. Thank you so much those of you who've stayed with me through this. I can't make any promises that I'll write any faster, unfortunately. School and life are rather hectic, but I haven't given up on this story! It means too much for me to abandon it.

The angry letter Alfred wrote is allegorical to the colonists original reaction to the taxes: angry petitions declaring taxation without representation was tyranny.

To the guest reviewers: TooLazyToLogin (Toni's Little Tomate): Ah, you don't have to cry now! Five times?! That's amazing, I'm so happy you like it this much! Oh wow, thank you so much! I'm glad you're liking the story as much as I'm liking writing it. I hope you liked this chapter as well.

KalteEinsamkeit: Ah, here is the update! I hope you like it.

Anonymous: I'm so sorry this took forever! Here you are, I hope you like it!

Translations for this chapter:
Vous: French; you (plural) (As in "you (all)")
Tu: French; you (singular)

Thank you so much. I hope you had a happy Thanksgiving, if you celebrated.

~VV