Did you forget? (Completed)

Reconnection

America felt light-headed. His breath reeked of alcohol and his feet almost weighed him down from his chair. He held a cup of nothingness in his hand. When he looked up, his vision blurred and his throat felt like pounds of sugar and salt had been shoved down. America burped, almost throwing up at the same time.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, his eyes sprang a leak. Tears fell down his cheeks and under his chin. It didn't help much to cry though, he'd only made his headache groan and grow.

America cursed himself for drinking too much. He knew it was a bad idea, but he couldn't deny the good feeling in the beginning with his first few glasses. His brain took over, his thoughts pouring through his mouth. "I've only been here for a few days, and look at me. I already feel like shit." America laughed sadly and felt his head thump once again on the hard bar counter.

America wasn't unconscious, but reality felt unreal and exhaustion swept over his whole body. His legs twitched and tears still lingered from where they had escaped his eyes.

"Another glass?" America's eyes shot open but he couldn't keep the drowsiness and the alcohol effect out of his body. So as soon as he felt himself, out of shock, rise up. He only met the counter once again and he fell face first, sleep now catching up to him.

...

Russia clambered out of the bathroom, hoping no one would question the horrid smell from his puke. He wasn't very stable or balanced but his instincts took over. "I need something to drink." His hand caressed his forehead. He was still frustrated over the name he couldn't recall.

The door to the bar area in the back, cracked open with age. Russia stepped into the odd smelling room and realized how modern and normal it seemed.

Russia glanced around, trying to make out of anyone else seemed to be in the bar. No. Good. Russia sighed thankfully and pulled a flask from a pocket on his side. He thought he'd just have a few sips and clear his head, but when he went and turned the container over above his mouth for the Vodka to pour out, nothing did. Only a few droplets burned into his tounge, but clearly not enough to satisfy his throat.

Russia frowned and felt bitterness clench up in his stomach. A long bar counter stretched out, but Russia didn't really ever like talking to the bar tenders. Still unsatisfied, he turned backwards and started walking out the door.

But he hadn't made it very far before his stomach rumbled once again as it had before. Russia wanted only to shake it off but the feeling wouldn't wash off and soon, he found himself walking down the long row of alcohol, looking uneasily at them as he walked past on the outside of the counter.

Red and white bottles made the light reflect and hit the walls. The beautiful view made Russia feel a little less annoyed and anxious.

Finally, he reached the end where the Vodka would usually be. Well, the good Vodka.

He hadn't even noticed the country leaning on the counter and clutching his own head until Russia glanced down from the Vodka bottles. Russia was shocked but didn't want to wake the country up. But even so, the country gave off a recognizable vibe that sent Russia chills. Something tugged on Russia to go up to the country and wake his poor soul up.

Russia shook his head, "idiot." Maybe he said it too loud, but the country began to raise his head and stare emotionally at Russia. Tears fell down the pitiful country's face and under his chin, his eyes stuffed up in bags, and alcohol piled in shot glasses in front of his arms.

...

"Idiot." America felt his eyes snap open at the voice of another country. It was deep and tried to be low but America could recognize that voice anywhere. Atleast he thought so. When he rose his head up, it wasn't easy, his whole head almost weighed him back down onto the table in an uncomfortable tiredness.

As his eyes unblurred and his throat tightened once again, he saw the country that was standing only a few yards away from where America was sitting on the red stool. Looking closer, America noticed the country had a ushanka and he had colors on his face that matched America's own. Smiling drunkly, America spoke up. "Your flag colors are cooool." The country stepped forward in confusion and America felt his stomach twist in pain once again.

His hand flew towards on his stomach and he looked away from the country as he began puking out whatever kind of drink he had, had.

America realized what he'd done and shot his eyes back up to the country nervously. "Sorry! Just a little si...sick." But the country didn't answer. He only stood still, his eyes were still and his mouth bent open only barely. The country's arm twitched. Echoes came from the floor from the country's constant shaking. America felt pitiful for the country, despite his own state and ignored the puke that dribbled down to the floor from the counter. "Hey, are you okay-"

"Ame?"

Sorry it took a while, school and stuff, hope you enjoy the cliffhanger though >:)