***Nice, I was able to overcome my writer's block (and the fact that I had no idea what to write about or how to start it.) I still feel kind of foggy when it comes to writing right now, but I hope this satisfies : \***

There's something about life that has a tendency to make one wonder, "What of roads untraveled?" Some may wonder, "What if I'd never met the one I love, or my best friend?" "What people who I 'could not live without' did I never meet?"

Prussia was no exception to those who fall victim to this perplexing course of thought. Only his question was, "Why the hell did I get the fate of having these two dummkophs as my friends?"

The girl to the right of him, and who was currently sensing the displeasure coursing through him, was outwardly trying to calm him down, but all the same, knew exactly what was going on. When Spain and France drag you and the third member of their trifecta to the starting line of an obstacle course, something is up. And when you look and see the pairings they'd made for themselves: France drooling over Ukraine's 'great tracts of land' and Spain with Liechtenstein, much to Switzerland's vocal chagrin from his place by Austria, you know it's no coincidence.

Hungary, a little curious herself, turned to her right and asked the two hosts of the party herself, "America, Canada, was this obstacle course planned?"

"Ah, n-AAHHH~" Canada began to answer, resulting in a swift heel to his toes from his brother.

"Of course it was!" America shouted. "Shit like this always livens up the party. Thought we'd try something new this year." Inwardly, she raised a skeptical eyebrow. It would be easy to catch America's BS if he didn't say everything in the same loud bravado.

She didn't have much time to question, as Australia had taken the closest free microphone and stood, slightly staggered (weighted down by the booze, as he'd said earlier,) in front of the sixteen contestants.

"Before we get to it, I'd like to give a 'Happy Birthday' to my mates 'Merica and Canada. My brothers in independence from that bastard up north." He grinned and looked in the direction of a back table that the light wasn't quite reaching, to see a scowl, the back of a hand, and one, possibly two fingers, raised.

"Beg yours," the impromptu MC feigned surprise. "Don't give me that derro you bloody whinger, get off your sphincter and get in this ripper shivoo, already!"

"Was that English?" America whispered to Canada. He received a shrug as an answer.

"Right then. You blokes n' birds at the ready? Good. So what we've got here," he turned around and gestured with his hand, "Is a bloody obstacle course." A few titters among the crowd. "Whoever wins, gets to go-" he motioned off to his left, and a dark-skinned, rather curvaceous young woman started to make her way through the crowd.

As she did so, Prussia's mind began to drift off in the direction of his two best friends once more.

'How did they pull this one off?' In his mouth, his teeth were gritted. 'What the hell sort of plan is this? And those girls are also-'

"Right, whichever team wins gets to join this lovely beaut for a week on Paradise Island. That's right, we're talking Atlantis."

This piqued the interest of all eight of the quickly assembled teams.

'Wait, so this is- she and I could- Oh, you sly dogs, you.' He didn't dare move his gaze to either side, Spain being to the left down the line, and France being on the other side of America. He didn't have to. Their gazes were burning holes into the side of his face, observing his unwavering features.

Inside, however, he was wavering twice as much to compensate. "Who cares how this contest came about," a voice inside him shouted. "The important thing is that we have to win!"

"Heh, now that's what I like to see! All you blokes just got more determined. Let's make this a fun one. So on my mark." He edged over to the side, to get out of the way of the determined faces, taking special care to avoid Belarus at the end of the line, whose eyes blazed with a determined nature not seen in nature. The tall man next to her seemed far less enthused. "Ready, steady... FIGHT!"

Fifteen of sixteen people took off running through the ball room, going around, through, and under tables, decorations, and other impromptu obstacles, as everyone else cheered them on loudly. Countries stuffed themselves with mountains of desserts. Seven of the ten small cakes meant to be shared by the teammates were devoured by America before Canada could out two syllables of the word "petit four". Belarus (now fighting alone,) followed by Prussia and Hungary, then Sweden and Finland, were the next to finish the task.

Other teams were not so suitably paired for this task.

"But I'm full!" Austria whined to Switzerland. "I refuse to stuff myself on chocolates."

"Well I refuse to eat these; the chocolate is obviously of sub-par quality!"

His partner took a small bite, before reeling back in anger. "This is Austrian chocolate, you idiot!"

"That explains it." Those were the last words that left his mouth before he found his mouth crammed full of the things.

After sliding under a few more tables, the next task was a serving cart race around the room. The pushers were presented large mugs of beer by Germany and Belgium, which they were instructed to chug before wheeling their partner around on the cart around the large room five times. America was already halfway done with his mug by the time Belarus approached, Prussia and Hungary just having finished the last of their miniature pies.

"Sorry, but you're going to need Russia for-" Belgium started, receiving a predatorial hiss from the already mostly drunk Belarus. She snatched a beer from the tray, chugging it while retrieving her older brother, who'd passed out at the starting line after drinking vodka until he fell. She dragged him effortlessly to the cart, draping him over it roughly just as she polished off the mug.

Prussia, at the same time, had finished his and was starting around the room carting Hungary. He hadn't had much to drink up until this point, but what he had had was beginning to hit him harder. By the time he'd finished the fourth lap, the acceleration of his heart rate from running and the adorable squeals of excitement coming from Hungary was bringing the beer to his system, and hard.

In the bottom part of the cart, Hungary could sense the trouble above. "Prussia?" she shouted up, "Are you okay."

"Yeah... Just'un more, yeah?" he slurred.

About a quarter of a leg ahead of them, the North American team came to an abrupt halt. Canada, seated on top of the cart, turned around to see the problem. As he did, America had grabbed the nearest trashcan and was vomiting technicolor pastels, marking the obvious problem as too much booze and petits fours.

The BelRus, PruHun, and SveFin teams sped into a respective first, second, and third place. As Prussia sped up to pass, Belarus did the same, not even bothering to block, knowing he couldn't match her level of speed in his state. She was handling the large amount of alcohol extremely well, unlike her closest opponent.

"Fuckin' Belarus," he growled, staring at the girl's pale locks of hair. Exactly where he shouldn't have been staring if he wanted to avoid hitting the table he was approaching.

As he clipped the table, it knocked Hungary off balance, and her legs slid out to the right side of the cart. Exactly where they shouldn't have been if she didn't want to clip her ankle on the approaching column.

The bump and cry of pain made him stop momentarily, panicking through his drunkenness. "Elizabeta!" he yelled, ducking down to see the damage that was done. "I'm so sorry, are you-?"

"I'm fine; just keep this thing moving!" she commanded. He stood up and wasted no time in accelerating the cart to speed before Sweden could overtake him.

They maintained their silver spot until the end of the course, where Prussia offered Hungary his hand. It seemed that Belarus was having a bit of trouble making her way to the final task while drunk and carrying her brother, but nonetheless, she made her way onto the stage in the middle of the room. Waiting for her there, was Japan.

"Konbanwa, Belarus. Please find the-"

An even more vicious roar was emitted from the girl as she ripped the folded piece of paper from his hands and read the sheet of paper.

"Sadness and resentment," it read.

Her head snapped to the adjacent corner of the room, where a certain country continued to sulk.

"ENGLAND!" she howled, somehow immediately catching the man's attention across the deafeningly loud room. The color drained from his face as she trucked her way across the room, bowling over carts, people, tables, anything that was in the way of her making it to him in a straight line.

Back at the finish line for the carts, as Hungary pulled herself up and put her weight on her right leg, she immediately fell. Prussia, in his state, was unable to catch her.

"Go to the next task," she got out before he was able to give a verbal response. "Go!"

"No way!" he protested. "I don't care if it were a trip to the moon; I'm not sacrificing your health over some vaca-"

"Do it or it's the frying pan!" she growled. His face dropped as the image of that night so long ago, her hair flying around her as she tossed the pan at her, crossed his mind. "You're so close," the voice came again as he ran toward the shorter, black-haired man, the voice he'd come to realize was Drunk Prussia, "Don't let her go again. Don't mess this one up. It's probably the last chance you'll have."

When he read the paper Japan handed him, he wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or this task, but he was also ready to technicolor vomit.

He strode back to where Hungary had pulled herself into a chair, scooped her up with little fanfare or warning, and carried her, in no particular hurry, to where Japan stood on the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please quiet down!" Japan said, as loudly as he could into the mic. Unfortunately the man's loudest voice was no match for a room full of rowdy, drunk westerners. Australia, seeing this, jumped up on the stage to join him.

"OI! YOU BLOODY BASTARDS LISTEN UP!"

This quickly got the attention of anyone who had not turned theirs to the stage, and likely, several of the hotel guests on the floors above.

"Thank you, Australia-san. For anyone who finishes their challenge, please line up in-order beginning at the stairs. For anyone who has not yet received a challenge, please receive one from Taiwan-san, near the stage."

Despite this, everyone who had not yet finished the race stopped where they were and made their way toward the stage, with the exception of Belarus, who was still attempting to chase down England.

"Now, Prussia-san and Hungary-san. What does your task read?" Prussia adjusted Hungary in his arms, handing Japan the slip of paper. "Ah, I see: Budding love. And you believe that you have completed this?" Prussia nodded.

"Dewa," Japan requested, "Please display this to us now."

Prussia began to speak, inaudible to the rest of the crowd, before looking to Japan and Australia for help. The latter was the first to respond, sticking the mic where it could catch Prussia's voice.

"Thank you. Ahem..." He paused to clear his throat and clear his mind at least slightly of the alcohol that fogged it before speaking. "Hungary, as you know... I like you more than anything. I have for almost five hundred years, before the kids we're here to celebrate for tonight were even born. You were my everything. I couldn't bring myself to express that to you, and instead, I made so many mistakes and pushed you so far away that I didn't think you would ever come back. But somehow, you did. Despite all of the hate and tears, you gave me a chance to prove myself to you here tonight. And if you would... If tonight has made you feel anything for me... I'd like you to do me one more grace... and give me permission to say that I love you. In front of everyone..." A pause. "I'd like to think that it's a good sign that you didn't become angry the last time I called you Elizab-"

The name was cut off by a kiss as the room erupted into cheers.