Two shot glasses were slammed down onto the wooden table. The two brothers looked at each other seriously. "Pour." The glass was once more filled.
"Three." They drank the liquid and once more the cups were on the table.
"What's that, the tenth."
"Eleventh Feliciano, you can't fucking count." Romano glared at his brother who simply smiled back.
"Now on to twelfth~!" They poured the drinks once more and prepared to drink when someone came up to their table.
"Wow, Italy, you're drinking?" America asked.
The two ignored him and downed the shot. "Thirteen." Italy blinked a bit. "Darn, I think I'm getting a bit tipsy." Romano rolled his eyes.
"Pour." Gulp. Slam. Sigh.
"Fourteen Romano! I'm gonna win, just like last time~!"
"You didn't win bastard! It was a fucking tie."
"This time there will be no tie." Italy looked at him seriously, deadly calm.
"I know that, you're going down. Now fucking pour."
"America, you bloody git! You owe me a drink and I'm holding you to that!" England walked up to him and glared. "Hey, are the Italies drinking?"
"I know, right? God, this can't end well. Imagine them drunk." The images of a excited happy Feli, and a moody violent Lovi filled their heads. They shuddered in horror.
"Fifteen." Italy said. Said, not squealed or shouted.
"Hey, does the awesome me detect a drinking fight?" Prussia appeared out of nowhere. "Hey, Hungary. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are getting wasted!"
"Maybe they'll end up doing something they'll regret in the morning." She said worried. The worry vanished as she pulled out her camera.
A few shots later:
A few more countries crowed around the Italian brothers as they continued downing shot after shot. A lot of countries had very high tolerance to alcohol. Germany drank beer everyday practically, Russia basically lived off of vodka. It was hard to get some nations drunk and they were used to it. It was kinda strange seeing the two adorable, cute little Italians drinking though, but not to strange. No, the reason they were surrounding them was because by now, the two were teetering between tipsy and drunk, and some changes had taken effect.
Germany entered the small bar and looked around for the other nations. He remembered Italy saying he and his brother were going drinking and was a bit worried. God, a drunk Italy must be absolute torture to deal with. Japan spotted them first. A crowd of nations were surrounding the two as they downed the drinks.
"Twenty two~!" A happy, Italian voice shouted out. So there's Feliciano. Germany thought.
"Shut the hell up, I can count you idiot!" And there's Lovino. But something was off, did they sound different. Well they are drunk, what do you expect? Germany and Japan came up to the crowd.
"Prussia." He nodded towards his brother.
"Hey West! Italy and Romano, wow, this is the weirdest fucking thing, ever." Prussia shook his head and Germany pushed through the crowd.
One of the brothers giggled. "You seem to be a bit drunk Feli! Aw, you look so cute with your face so red~!"
"Shut the hell up you stupid bastard! I'm not cute! Idiot Lovino." Germany shook his head, he must be hearing things.
"Awww, Italy! Don't be so mean. Here, have a hug!" Germany looked through a gap between the spectators and saw ROMANO reaching over the table and trying to hug ITALY who was violently fighting him off and cursing.
"Am I-" Japan said beside him.
"Imagining this?" Germany finished.
"So this isn't a dream?"
"I don't think so Japan." Italy punched Romano, hard. He laughed it off.
"Aw, won't someone give me a hug?" Romano looked up at the crowd with puppy dog eyes. They stared back. Was he... acting cute?
"Nobody wants to fucking hug you Romano. Stop begging and looking pathetic."
"Italy~! That isn't nice!" Romano nudge him.
"And we're not done yet either Romano! I'm still gonna wipe the floor with you." With wobbly hands Italy poured the next shot.
"Italy." Japan called. "Maybe you had enough to drink." He reached over to take the shot glasses. Thunk. Japan stared with horror at the knife buried up to the hilt in the wooden table, millimeters away from his fingers.
"Do not. Touch. The. Drinks." Japan backed away slowly.
"Ahaha, Germany, I'm leaving." Japan walked shakily out the door.
"Oh my God, Feli!" Romano cried. "The table looks so cute!"
"Shut up you idiot!" Germany wanted Italy back. He was never going to let him drink again.
"Romanoooo!" Spain called. Romano looked up at him and in seconds tackled him to the floor. Maybe they were sobering up.
"Spain! I missed you!" Romano snuggled into his boss's chest.
"Romano, you're not suppose to miss me, you're suppose to say you hate me but not really mean it and then hit me!"
"Aw, but I like snuggling you~!" Spain looked horrified.
"Romano! Insult me, hit me, it's so cute! Not that you're not cute, but..." Romano began purring.
"Italy, maybe I should take you home." Germany came up behind him.
"No thanks bastard."
"Italy, you're drunk. You should get home. Hey, you can even sleep with me."
"I don't want to sleep with you, perv." This was going to be a long night.
Italy woke with a slamming headache. Sniffling in pain he looked around the room, trying to figure out were he was. Naked in Germany's guest bed. Italy threw on a shirt wincing and ran to Germany's room. "Germany!" He cried loudly. He gripped his head as he felt someone slam a sledge hammer inside of it. "My head hurts." He whimpered and nuzzled into his friends chest. Germany winced. His body was covered in bruises and everything hurt. Goddamn, why couldn't Italy fight like that sober. Gerany sighed and handed his favorite Italian some aspirin.
"Romanoooo! I brought you some food and water and medicine! I'm pretty sure you must have a hangover! Oh, and some tomatoes!"
"Gah! You stupid bastard, if I have a hangover why the fuck would you scream!" He shouted. He regretted doing that though and curled into the fetal position holding his poor little head. "Close the goddamn blinds." He whimpered. "And shut the hell up, you're breathing to loud." Spain smiled, there's the Romano he knew.