Archive of Our Own

Oh god his head hurt.

His mouth tasted like an ashtray had vomited into it.

And there was an undeniable pain in his left leg that he couldn't quite recall getting the night before.

Then again, he... couldn't really recall too much from the night before. Little snippets here and there--Italy dancing with Spain on his kitchen table, Norway and Germany completely decimating France and Russia in beer pong out in the yard, Lithuania cleaning up Poland's spilled Arbor Mist in the kitchen...

With a wince, America finally opened his eyes. He was on his couch, and there was a four-foot tall pyramid of empty Budweiser cans on his fireplace. "Just one foot shy of the 1987 record," he muttered, rolling over slowly. America patted himself down; good. At least he was still wearing pants.

"Fuuuuck my life." What was that noise? Was someone in his downstairs shower...? "The fuck're my glasses?" More snippets came back to him; England and Portugal singing sea-shanties off key in the den with a bottle of rum, Japan starting up a round of karaoke with Turkey, then Greece and Hungary trying to get him to shut the hell up...

"Glasses, glasses..." America stooped low and looked under the coffee table, only to find Finland's white hat. "Gotta give that back later, I guess." With a huff, he sat back down on the couch. "Think, what did you do with Texas?"

More snippets came back; yelling at Cameroon and China to get the hell off his roof, arm-wrestling with Turkey, kissing Germany out on the deck, Sweden showing him a fuckton of family pictures of Sealand on his camera, Australia mud wrestling with Korea--

"Wait. What." America licked his lips, thought backwards. Beer pong, rooftops, arm wrestling and--kissing Germany, out on the deck.

America felt his jaw drop just about at the same moment the shower turned off in his downstairs bathroom.

"Shit. Oh dammit." This was going to end up being one of those mornings where he had to write a whole lot of people some very long, apologetic emails.

Groaning, America flopped back onto the couch cushions. "I am never mixing beer and liquor again." Even though he knew that was a damned dirty lie.

Honestly, it really shouldn't be such a big deal. As nations, America reminded himself, none of them were really... Like no one had one steady partner forever and ever; even Austria and Hungary had eventually split, right? And he did like Germany, had liked Germany since the 80s and, well, way before then, like before he got all achtung on Europe of course, and there had definitely been a connection between their cultures for ages, and he liked BMWs, but...

But goddamn he hoped there was a spare beer left in the fridge.

"America? You're awake?"

America nearly jumped off the couch. "HEY! Uh, hey... Germany!"

An eyebrow lifted at that. "I used your shower, I hope you don't mind. Prussia spilled a lot of beer on me last night. And this morning you had said I could borrow some clothing."

So that's why Germany was wearing his old NightRider t-shirt. "Oh, yeah, sure it's no problem. Uh, say--have you seen my glasses?"

"They're on your head."

"Huh?" America ran his hand through his hair and picked the frames out of his locks. "Er, thanks."

"You're welcome." Germany leaned in the doorway, crossing his arms and looking just the slightest bit uncomfortable. "I... think I am the last one here."

"Everyone else left?"

"Lithuania woke up early to clean; I helped, but he departed maybe an hour ago."

The house was suspiciously tidy and PineSol-y. "Shit, what time is it?"

"Almost noon."

"Damn. Uh, hey," America said, scratching the back of his neck. Better to get it over with, like ripping off a bandage: "Sorry for... kissing you last night, I was pretty messed up. The last thing I really remember is playing Yatzee with Poland, and I think that was at like eleven we started..."

"I... it's not a problem." Germany's lips quirked at that, and his mood seemed to brighten. "Are you hungry? Maybe for pancakes?"

America grinned; that had been easy. He knew there was a reason he liked the guy--no nonsense, right to the point. "You offering to cook?"

"I believe so."

"Can't pass up that, now, can I?"

"Go take a shower." Turning, Germany made his way to the kitchen. "They'll be ready when you get out."

"Hey, you didn't slick your hair back!" America rubbed at his own mop of blond vigorously before tossing the bath towel to the back of a kitchen chair. "I like it when you keep it all shaggy; looks good." He bit his tongue as soon as that sentence left his mouth.

But Germany only smiled, adding the last of the pancake batter to the pan. "I just didn't get around to it, I guess."

With his back turned to cook, America could watch Germany unabashedly. He really did like Germany's hair like that; he appeared more relaxed and at ease. He was definitely ogling Germany's jeans--mostly in the, er, back pocket area--when his phone started blasting the Macarena. "Oh crap; it's Mexico." America stared at his cell phone like it was a viper. "Did I... did I shoot any fireworks or anything over into her yard last night?"

"Not that I recall."

"Okay. Okay, that's something." With a deep breath, America answered the phone. "Hola, que tal?"

At that and the steady, easy stream of Spanish from America's mouth, Germany nearly dropped the pancake he was flipping in midair.

"L-lo siento, pero... pero..." America rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked like he could go for another dose of Advil sooner rather than later. With a few more muttered apologies, the voice on the other end of the line finally quieted, and America hung up with a sigh of relief. "Guess she's just pissed I didn't invite her; honest to God I thought she'd still be mad about the border thing and skip my party anyway. Dammit. I'm gonna have to take her to see Inception next week to make it up to her. Uh... what's with that face you're making?"

Germany was staring at him as if America just announced he was giving up the nation gig to go pursue a career in ice dancing. "You speak... Spanish?"

"Of course I speak Spanish. How the hell else am I supposed to take a vacation in Miami? I like playing checkers with the retirees."

"I'm sorry, I honestly had no idea."

"Hey, those old guys are pretty spry and have some kick-ass moves--"

"I was referring to your Spanish."

"Naw, don't worry about it," America grinned, shoving his phone back into his pocket. "Just keep it on the down-low; Cuba still doesn't know and it's funny to hear him talk shit about me to Honduras."

"I see." A small smile tugged at Germany's lips as he turned back to the stove. "How many pancakes do you want?"

"Ugh, just one. Don't think I can handle any more than that. My stomach's still a little funky." America shuffled around the kitchen and rooted through one of his cabinets for--"Maple syrup; Matty got it for me last month."

"Your birthdays?" Germany slid one pancake to the side for America, stacking the rest onto his own plate. "And what did you get for him?"

"Bottle of Jack."

"That's... nice."

"We get the same thing for each other every year since, oh I don't know..." America shrugged, taking his seat at the kitchen table. "The 70s I think? Except for that one year I gave him those SeaWorld tickets I won off the radio. I think he took Ukraine with him."

"I was unaware your brother had an affinity for Jack Daniels."

"Were you not here last night?" America grinned, accepting his one measly pancake. "Did you not see him streaking with Denmark and Netherlands through my yard?"

With a slight grimace, Germany took the seat opposite of America, helping himself to the maple syrup. "Thank god, no. I was probably walking in on England and France on your bed at that point. You should really tell guests where your bathroom is before--"

"Wait wait wait wait. France and England. On my bed."

Hesitating, Germany nodded.

"Please tell me they were making a pillow fort."

Hesitating, Germany shook his head.

"Oh god." America threw down his fork. "It's the fucking family vacation to Nova Scotia all over again!"

"What?"

"Never mind, forget it--at least one of us should try to enjoy breakfast," America muttered. He shuffled his pancake on top of Germany's stack.

"Al... right." Slowly, Germany dug into his pancakes, not looking certain about what else to do.

"I'll make us coffee." Pushing away thoughts of England and France shagging between his own sheets, America puttered around the kitchen and got the Mr. Coffee started. For a few moments, America glared at the dripping beads of coffee, muttering about Nova Scotia and parents who didn't respect their kids' beds when they went out for ten damned minutes on a Tim Horton's run.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Germany silently eating his meal, bangs scraggly around his distant-looking eyes. It mixed with the scent of coffee and the remnants of last night's bonfire still stuck to his skin; it brought back another memory to America, but one from much longer ago than the previous night.

"Hey, how are you doing? Prussia, er, told me to say hi to you on his behalf."

"Fine, thank you. Give my regards to Prussia when you see him."

"Sure. So, thanks for... coming over to my side. Even though I don't really know why you did it, I still appreciate it," America laughed nervously.

A pair of distant blue eyes glanced up from the fire. "I like it here."

"Y-you do?"

The young man nodded, face as grim as ever despite his claims. He had a bandage wrapped around his head; America hadn't seen him wounded, but there were dark spots of old blood.

"Well. Thanks." None of the others had ever said that to America before; they'd all pined for their homelands. France for his vineyards, England for his manors, and Netherlands his gardens; all of the older nations for their culture and class on the continent. America smiled. "I mean it. That makes me happy."

Another nod, and the eyes darted back to the flames.

America cleared his throat. "Hey."

Germany glanced up.

"So, this is kinda random. And I never really thought to ask you about it because it was such a long time ago, but were you... here? Like, back in the 1700s, when I was... fighting England?"

"Was I here?"

"Prussia told me there were a lot of you guys, before I was around, so I could be mistaken. I just, like, remember someone from your neck of the woods, someone who'd been fighting for England first but..." Behind America, the coffee pot dripped slower and slower. "But I recall him coming over to my side eventually, and he looked a lot like you." America drummed his fingers on the counter. "Do you remember? Sitting at a campfire with me in Pennsylvania?"

Germany chewed slower and lowered his gaze, studying his plate. "It's difficult for me to recall many things before the late 1800s."

"Ah, I... I see."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no--don't be, seriously! I was just curious." America forced a smile; he couldn't even imagine forgetting so much of his life. He had heard rumors, been told not to bring it up by Prussia repeatedly... But still; it made his heart clench. "Don't worry about it. You're here, now, that's what matters, right?"

"Right. And since we're on the subject of memories..." Germany's lips were twitching like he was trying to conceal a smile. "How much do you recall from last night?"

America nearly toppled over. "W-what?" He had certainly not been expecting that, of all things.

"On the deck."

"Uh. Uhhhh." He remembered there being Christmas lights strung around the railings, casting a rainbow of colors in the night against the wisteria in full bloom. He remembered feeling giddy, a pair of calloused hands on his hips, raking his fingers through Germany's hair. "Erm, not much," he lied.

"Ah. Well." Germany returned his attention to his breakfast. "You didn't actually kiss me."

"Huh? Beg pard--"

"I was the one who kissed you. If you want to get technical, that is. And then you fell off the deck."

"...That explains the bruises on my leg. You sure you didn't push me off?"

"Positive."

America's heart began to hammer. "And... how much did you have to drink?" The grin on his face couldn't be helped.

"There was, sadly, not enough beer in your house to get me the least bit tipsy, America."

"That's a damned lie; just look at that Budweiser pyramid!"

"Let me elaborate," Germany said with a wry grin. "There was not enough good beer in your house."

"Them's fightin' words, partner."

"Mmn. Maybe after our respective hangovers are gone."

"I thought you didn't get hungover."

"I don't. Well, I get hungry," Germany elaborated, shoving another bite of pancake into his mouth. "But no headache or nausea or anything like that."

"Huh. So... how come you're still at my house?"

"I'm sorry; I didn't realize I was overstaying my welcome."

"Nononono--I'm not trying to get rid of you, I swear." The coffee was finished, and America poured two cups, loading his with cream and keeping the other black. "Stay as long as you like," he said, reclaiming his chair. "I enjoy spending time with you."

Germany polished off another pancake, and started on his final one with a slight chuckle. "Why is that? Because I keep you out of trouble?"

"No--because you let me get you into trouble." America waggled his eyebrows. "Like that time I told Bush that Merkel is really hands-on and touchy feely--"

"I could have murdered you; or at least let her do it."

But Germany was smirking as he made the declaration, so America pressed on: "Aw, that was hilarious!"

"At the time, I could have pushed you from the fourth story window. But I suppose now it's funny."

"That shit's all over YouTube now; good stuff," America grinned, settling his chin against his fist. "So if my beer is so terrible--which it isn't--you should show me the best from your place."

"I intend to." The final pancake was polished off with a swig of coffee. "What are you doing two weekends from now? You should come to Bavaria."

America started. "Er, I'm not sure. But I can make time," he added hastily.

"Good; let me know." Germany's face was a little red as he moved to clean the used dishes, but otherwise he looked... fairly calm for someone who was supposed to be the stick in the mud by which all other muddy sticks were judged.

America blinked. "Germany... did you just ask me out on a date?"

There was a slight stiffening of his shoulders as he washed the dishes, but no other reaction like America had been expecting. "I believe so."

"I gotta tell ya, I never would have expected you to ask someone out so easily like you just did."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, I mean, you yell at France every time he so much as bats his eyelashes at Prussia, or--"

"Because he is France and requires yelling at regardless. If you must know, I have actually come to find your presence fairly enjoyable."

"I'm touched. I think." America really was. "Is this because you've had so much practice dealing with Italy's whims?"

"Perhaps," Germany admitted. He finished the dishes and set them out to dry before turning back to America, crossing his arms. "Just as you've had time to experience England's--"

"Drunkenness?"

"I was going to say his no-nonsense demeanor."

"Suuuuuure."

"Anyway," Germany pressed on, "even if it isn't that, I've noticed that you know when to stop short of pushing my buttons one too many times. If that makes any sense."

"Ahh, there we go; you analyzing stuff too much," America grinned. "And here I'd thought you'd gotten a fever." His fingers tightened around his warm mug. "But yeah, Bavaria sounds, sounds really awesome."

"Good."

"Sooo... what are your plans for the rest of the day?"

Germany simply shrugged, even though America was certain he had his day planned out to the minute.

"Well, there's a Law & Order marathon on today, that was really all I was planning on. Then maybe like swimming down at the lake or something." America drained the last of his lukewarm coffee. "You're welcome to dick around with me today, is what I'm getting at."

"I'd like that."

"Really?"

Germany threw a dish towel at him. "Stop sounding so surprised."

"Hahaha! Alright, alright!" Standing, America grabbed Germany's hand and dragged him to the couch in his living room, throwing them down with an 'oof'. "D'you have this show at your house?" America fiddled with the TV remote, not even thinking when he let his weight settle easily against Germany. "I know France adopted it, but I haven't seen it at his place; probably's really lame in comparison."

"You do seem to have an odd fascination with crime." Hesitating just a bit, Germany let himself lean against America.

"I dunno, it's interesting. And Sam Waterson is just a damned cool actor."

"Mmn."

Just as the episode began, America turned to Germany, a huge grin on his face. "Thanks for helping me through my hangover; you've made it pretty manageable, I gotta admit."

"Thank you for getting drunk enough that I could kiss you."

"Was that a joke?"

"It may have been."

Laughing, America settled back against Germany, enjoying what was probably the most pleasant hangover he'd ever had.