I do not own Hetalia, or the Hangover plot, which is what inspired this little onshot. If anyone reading this feels like writing a continuance, feel free! I sure won't!

And happy birthday, Ant-Carrying-A-Rubber-Tree! I know it's a bit late, but...happy birthday!

It was a commonly accepted fact that America and Prussia, while being the most irresponsible of the modern-day Nations, were also the most social. One would never be surprised to see them texting and walking down a hallway, or surreptitiously updating their Facebook status during a meeting. They were old friends: Prussia had taught America to fight back when America was trying to win his independence, and while the experience had been traumatic, it had created something of a bond between the two.

Everything of importance to this story began because Germany was socially awkward. Everybody said it was true. His boss had mentioned to him that she thought it was unhealthy, so he had agreed to try and learn how to be more relaxed in casual settings, more to put her at ease than anything else.

Germany's initial attempts at learning how to relax had involved books and Internet searches. He found several self-help and advice books on the subject, but when he tried to use the information from them his attempts fell flat. If he brought out some sort of alcoholic beverage his troubles vanished in an instant, but that was cheating—he shouldn't have to rely on alcohol to hold a simple conversation.

Prussia had noticed something was up with his little brother, but had refrained from poking into matters until nearly a month had gone by. "So you want to learn how to relax, West?" Prussia had laughed when his brother confessed his troubles. "That's not so hard! Come with me and America to Vegas. We'll show you how to relax without any alcohol!"

And so, despite his better judgment screaming at him not to accept, Germany agreed to accompany his brother and America to Las Vegas for a weekend. When he told Austria and Hungary, the two insisted on accompanying him. Austria claimed to want to attend a concert in Las Vegas, though Germany suspected his interests were more in the entertainment of watching Germany's discomfort. Hungary, when asked why she wanted to go, simply held up a camera and grinned.

Packing was a trying affair, as always. Germany had chosen a single suitcase and packed all the clothing, hygiene products, and reading materials he thought he would need. Prussia had gone through it, thrown out half of the contents as "unnecessary weight," then repacked the suitcase to include some sort of French cologne and impractical leather jackets. When his brother wasn't looking, Germany repacked his bags as they'd originally been.

Of course, Prussia's own luggage had plenty to be picked at. Seven large bags stuffed with what had to be all of Prussia's wardrobe were ruthlessly examined by Germany. After discarding most of the clothing and at least a dozen stuffed yellow birds, Prussia's baggage had been reduced to three overstuffed duffels.

Austria had, for some reason, tried to bring along a grand piano. Germany had taken one look at it, felt a headache start, and told Hungary to leave it in Austria's living room. Hungary's bags had clanked suspiciously when she picked them up, and there was a beeping coming from them that reminded Germany of a video camera low on batteries, but he chose to ignore it.

On the plane to Las Vegas, Germany read a book about tourist attractions in the desert town. Most of them seemed to be casinos, or gimmicks for hotels, but he saw several museums he wouldn't mind looking at. Prussia snored in the seat next to him, oblivious as ever to the small yellow bird on his head. In the row behind them, Hungary and Austria listened to classical music on Hungary's iPod. They tried striking up a conversation several times, but eventually Hungary fell asleep on Austria's shoulder, cutting short any further attempts. Austria didn't seem to mind.

America met the four European Nations at the airport, all smiles and fast food. He'd gotten them two rooms in one of the best hotels in Vegas, he told them on the car ride to the hotel, and you could even go up to the roof. Prussia immediately began to search for good bars near the hotel using his phone, and made everyone promise that they wouldn't drink alcohol until midnight or after. Austria huffily informed Prussia that he had no intention of drinking alcohol at all, which only made Hungary snicker.

The hotel was nice—large rooms, competent staff, fully-stocked bars in each. Prussia almost broke his own promise when he saw the sheer variety of alcohol that came with the room, but restrained himself with little difficulty. Hungary and Austria claimed one room for themselves, and locked the doors while they unpacked. America immediately claimed one of the double beds in the remaining room, and despite his brother's offer to share the last bed Germany elected to sleep on the floor.

Things with the rooms were put in order, and it was time to go socializing. Their first stop was a restaurant called "The Old Fritz," which Prussia proclaimed to be the most awesome eatery in Vegas. As soon as they sat down at the bar, America and Prussia began to chat up the other patrons. Austria and Hungary settled themselves in a corner table and ordered dinner, while Germany was put between his brother and America and told to watch their every move.

Diligently taking notes, Germany tried to deduce the secret behind his brother's ease in conversation. Prussia sipped at his soda water and discussed soccer with a couple of New York businessmen, while America flirted with a pretty black-haired girl named Audrey. Whatever it was that his brother and America had, Germany couldn't seem to pin it down.

"The referee must have been blind to miss that penalty," Prussia snorted as he discussed a recent game with his new friends.

"So you like playing softball? That's so cool!" America grinned at Audrey and slurped down half of his soda.

Something in the corner of his eye caught Germany's attention, and he looked at the glass windows that compromised most of the restaurant's street-side wall. He could have sworn he saw someone he knew…a blond? Maybe with a brunette? No, he couldn't have…taking a sip of his club soda, Germany wondered if they were supposed to taste so strange. Just six hours until he could have a beer…


Sunlight was streaming through the hotel room windows when Germany woke up. His head was pounding—how much did he drink last night? He usually didn't get hangovers this bad.

"Was ist passiert?" Germany groaned, cradling his head in his hands. He blinked, trying to shield his eyes from the light, looked around the room…and froze.

America was passed out on his bed, atop the covers, wearing a gladiator's costume. There was even a plastic sword in a sheath on his hip. Prussia was lying naked in his bed, a sheet strewn low across his hips and a naked brunette cuddled up next to him—was that Hungary? Everything from their suitcases had been dumped into one corner, and looked to have been turned into a makeshift nest. That was where Germany was sitting.

It occurred to Germany that Austria wasn't there. The door to the adjoining room, where Austria and Hungary were supposed to have stayed the night, was open: Germany walked over to it and leaned in, seeing no sign of his neighbor.

"Uungh…wha 'appened…" America stirred in his bed, and sat up. "Why's my head hurt so bad…what am I wearing?" Germany turned around to see the world superpower staring in horror at his gladiator costume. "Prussia, what did we—dude! Tell me you two didn't do it with me and Germany in the room!" Revulsion crossed over America's face, and he leaned away from the now-awakening Prussia and Hungary. America leaned over too far, and fell off the bed with a shout. Prussia rolled over to see what was happening, the sheet tangling around his hips.

"Mm…morning already…?" Hungary propped herself up on one elbow and rubbed her eyes. "Mr. Austria, what hap…?" There was a moment's pause as Prussia turned his head and locked eyes with Hungary. In the few seconds of silence that followed, Germany had the presence of mind to cover his ears with his hands.

"I…uh…" Prussia stammered, completely taken aback. Hungary's eyes narrowed dangerously, and her hand started to grope around for her frying pan. Knowing what was about to come, Prussia pushed himself backwards off the bed, thankfully taking the sheet with him. Hungary had her own sheet hanging off her shoulders, without which Germany and America might be in trouble as well.

"Prussia…!" Hungary growled, face twisting into a mask of utter rage. "What…did…you…do?" She spat her words out venomously, green eyes glaring.

"Nothing, honest!" Prussia held his hands up. "Last thing I remember, we were in The Old Fritz, and I was talking about last year's World Cup with Tony and Dan! Then…nothing, until just now! Scheiße, my head hurts…"

"Um, guys?" America raised his hand to get their attention. "Where's Austria?"

Hungary blinked, then gasped in horror. "Mr. Austria!" She cried. "Oh no, I can't tell him…Prussia, this is all your fault!"

"How is it my fault?" Prussia squawked. "I don't know what happened! For all we know, it's your fault!"

Germany shut his eyes for a long moment, then re-opened them. Still in a Vegas hotel room with a naked Prussia and Hungary, an America wearing a gladiator costume, and no Austria.


Something hit the closed bathroom door from the inside, making everyone jump. "What was that?" Prussia yelped. America got to his feet and slowly approached the bathroom door, pulling out the plastic gladiator sword and holding it before himself as if the toy weapon would save him from anything. Tentatively, he reached forward, opened the bathroom door…

…and slammed it shut again. The door rattled as something hit it again, and America threw his back against the door to keep it shut.

"Guys," he croaked, "there's a tiger in the bathroom."

Germany's eyes were probably as large as everyone else's. His mind was almost entirely shut down, focusing on one thing: what in the world had happened last night?

To put the cherry on top, the room's closet slid open, and Italy stepped out, covering a yawn.

"Morning, ve~," he greeted the four surprised Nations. "What's for breakfast?"