In the end, Arthur supposed that it was all his fault. When Alfred and Frances arrived on his doorstep towing several bottles of hard liquor and a reluctant-looking Matt, he should have slammed the door in their faces after confiscating their alcohol. But no, the combined power of Alfred and Frances's puppydog eyes had won him over, and soon the four of them were sitting in Arthur's kitchen, eagerly clutching shot glasses.

The evening had started out alright. They had played a couple of drinking games, Arthur and Alfred spent an awkward seven minutes trying to ignore the disturbing sounds Matt and Frances were making in the closet, and they did a few interpretive dances. But once they had finished a riveting performance of the Pokemon theme song and all sat breathless in the living room, Alfred just had to turn to Arthur and shoot him the look.

The look, as Arthur well knew, was one that Alfred had perfected since infancy, and it usually tended to proceed some of his most insane ideas. The American Revolution, Manifest Destiny, and the Prohibition Era had all begun with Alfred's signature look. And he was currently beaming that look at Arthur with alarming intensity.

"Hey, hey Arthur," the inebriated federation stage whispered.

"What?" Arthur replied, unable to shake the feeling that he was not going to like the answer.

"We should go toilet-papering."

Arthur paused for a moment. Surely he had heard wrong. What sane person would want to waste a perfectly good night covering people's houses with toilet tissue? But then again, it was Alfred.

"No," came Arthur's answer.

"Aw, come on, it'll be fun!" Alfred whined.

"Isn't that what you said about the Paris Peace Conference?" Arthur sighed.

"Yeah, well… shut up," Alfred mumbled into an empty shot glass. "Besides, you owe me!"

"Alfred, have you been taking economical advice from your alien friends again?" Arthur retorted.

"What? No! I was talking about the oil spill!" Alfred sounded truly indignant. "You know, the British Petroleum oil spill?"

"You can't be serious," Arthur groaned.

"Oh yes I can!" Alfred hissed, whipping out his Iphone and pulling up a picture of a baby otter covered in petroleum. "Look at Mr. Skippy," he said, shoving the phone in Arthur's face. "Look at him! He may never crack shells on his stomach again, and you can't even let us play one little prank?"

"Alfred, how is toilet-papering people's houses going to fix anything?" Arthur inquired.

"If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you!" Alfred shouted.

"But you're not making any sense!" Arthur cried, quite exasperated at this point.

Apparently beyond words, Alfred lunged at Arthur, lightsaber app on. Five minutes and a black eye later, they were on the road.

Their little excursion began innocently enough, if one could call Arthur, Frances, and Matt sitting in a Hummer with a highly intoxicated Alfred careening down the streets hauling a large amount of toilet paper innocent. Apart from an incident involving Vash trying to shoot out one of their tires, everything was turning out quite well. But then Arthur looked out the window and noticed that they were driving up a long, dark, ice-slicked driveway that could only lead to one house.

"Alfred, what the hell are you thinking?" Arthur asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

"Relax, what could go wrong?" Alfred reassured him, swerving off the road for a bit before realizing that they were headed towards a tree. "Oh shit! Okay, there we go. See? Everything's fine!"

"What could go wrong?" Arthur exclaimed, incredulous. "You're thinking of toilet-papering Ivan's house! Ivan! This is insane even for you! Guys, back me up!"

But Frances and Matt were hardly paying attention to what was going on up in the driver's and passenger's seats. Arthur threw one glance behind him before rounding on Alfred again.

"And on a side note, what the bloody hell were you thinking letting Matt get drunk with Frances around?"

"Oh, chill out! Frances is drunk too, that makes it okay," Alfred shrugged, pulling up to a stop in the middle of Ivan's lawn. He jumped out of the car and grabbed several rolls of toilet paper. "You guys coming or what?"

Arthur watched him skip off towards Ivan's house, trailing a roll of toilet paper behind him before turning back to the car.

"Come on guys, let's make sure he doesn't get himself killed."

And the four of them happily (or unhappily, as the case may be) set to making it snow paper all over Ivan's front porch, covering, incidentally, several layers of real snow in the process. For a second, for one brief second, Arthur thought they were going to get away with it. But just as he and Matt were tiptoeing back to the Hummer, a long patch of golden light threw itself across the ground, soon to be darkened by a large, hulking shadow.

"Oh shit."

Arthur, Matt, and Frances all made a mad dash for the Hummer and started screaming for Alfred to come drive them the hell out of there.

Alfred, however, seemed oblivious to the imminent danger. "Don't worry, I got this, I got this," he slurred, walking up to Ivan and attempting to explain.

Arthur had never heard anything more terrifying in his life than the sound of Alfred getting dragged inside and the door slamming.

"Shit, guys, we gotta get out of here!" Arthur whispered, fumbling at the ignition. "Fuck, I can't do this, Frances, you drive!"

"Mmm?" Frances hummed, looking blearily up at Arthur from the floor of the car, having evidently tripped on his way in.

"Damn you, fucking alcoholic," Arthur cursed. "Matt, into the driver's seat."

"I-I dunno, guys," Matt mumbled, casting a terrified glance at Ivan's now completely darkened house. "Maybe we should go in after him."

This suggestion was punctuated with a bloodcurdling shriek of "I don't got this! I DON'T GOT THIS!" All three of them winced.

"Fuck that bastard," Frances uttered emphatically into the carpet.

"But we can't just leave him," Matt pleaded.

"You wanna go in there? Get fucked up like your friend?" Arthur reasoned. "You live near Ivan, don't you? He finds out you're trying to help one of his enemies, mark my words, he'll find you."

A crash was heard, and seconds later Alfred's bomber jacket went flying out a window and landed on the hood of the car. Matt squeaked, and seconds later they were careening down the icy drive so quickly that Arthur couldn't quite tell if they were sliding on the ice or the wheels were simply turning that fast.

"Shit, that was close," Arthur sighed the second they were out of sight of Ivan's property.

"Um, Arty…" Frances trailed off, sounding frighteningly sober.

Arthur followed his gaze to a set of distant flashing lights. "Oh fuck, it's the UN! Drive, Matt, drive!"

"But I think they want us to pu-"

"DRIVE, DAMNIT!"

Matt didn't need telling twice. Arthur had to admit, he was doing quite well, under the circumstances. Admittedly, he was rocking in the driver's seat and squeaking unintelligible phrases, but at least they managed to shake the pursuing law enforcement off after a few minutes of reckless driving down a narrow mountain road. Unfortunately, they also managed to run out of gas.

"Fuck the mileage on these shitty American cars!" Arthur howled, climbing out and kicking the offending vehicle. The Hummer teetered for a moment, and the three of them watched in horror as it flipped over and tumbled into the ravine off the side of the road.

"Al's gonna kill us," Matt whispered, tearing up.

"That's only if Ivan doesn't kill him first," Frances muttered darkly. This did nothing to ease Matt's conscience.

There was a terrifying lapse in all noise in the area for a few moments. No one seemed able to speak, and the only sounds were the distant wailing of sirens and the even more distant wailing of Alfred. Then Matt spoke.

"H-how are we gonna get home?"

"I don't know," Arthur groaned, slumping to the ground and placing his head in his hands.

"Well we can't stay here all night, and your place is too far to walk," Frances pondered.

"Doesn't Ludwig live around here somewhere?" Matt piped up.

"Hey, you're right!" Arthur leaped to his feet, ignoring the slightly uncomfortable look on Frances's face. "He lives just down the street from here!"

The three of them trudged along the rocky path for what seemed like ages, stopping every now and then to dig pebbles out of their shoes, until they finally stopped at Ludwig's doorstep. Arthur took a deep breath and knocked.

Nothing happened at first. Arthur was just about to knock again when he heard voices coming from inside.

"I got it, Ludwig!"

"No, no, stay there."

"It's okay, you don't need to get up! I wonder who it is, they sound-"

"Feliciano, go back to bed!"

"Aw, but I wanna see who it is!"

There was the sound of a small scuffle, and the door opened to reveal a disgruntled Ludwig in a purple bathrobe.

"What do you want?" Ludwig growled.

"Ask them if they want pasta!" came Feliciano's voice from inside.

"Shut up, Feliciano!" Ludwig shouted.

"Actually, our car broke down, and we were wondering if we could crash at your place," Arthur implored, leaving out the fact that by "broke down" he meant "got kicked down a cliff."

"Yeah, sure, come in," Ludwig yawned, stepping aside so they could enter.

"Have some pasta while you're here!" Feliciano jumped out at them, ushering them to the kitchen table and loading several plates up with food.

Grateful for the chance to sit back and catch their breath, Arthur, Frances, and Matt shoveled down their pasta within minutes.

"Ah, Feliciano," Frances sighed, patting the Italian on the back, "that was amazing. I don't suppose you have any wine?"

"Ahem," Arthur fake-coughed, "are you forgetting how we got into this mess?"

"Mess?" Ludwig asked, leaning on the kitchen counter, his face obscured in shadows. "What mess?"

There was silence for a moment as the three seated at the table looked around at each other awkwardly. Finally, Arthur spoke up.

"Well, you see…"

By the time he had caught Ludwig and Feliciano up on their night, Arthur was dismayed to see an almost sadistic expression on the former's face.

"Now that you mention it," Ludwig murmured, "I did hear gunshots over at Vash's earlier tonight. He called the cops, you know. Offered a reward." Ludwig fixed a horrible leer on the three of them.

"You're not still pissed about the whole D-Day thing, are you?" Arthur asked, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Ludwig merely grinned.

It was mid-afternoon by the time they were finally able to reach Alfred; they had managed to waste two of their phone calls because for most of the morning he wasn't picking up. Luckily, though, Matt managed to get a hold of him at last, which probably made things easier for Arthur and Frances, as Matt was probably the only one that could get Alfred to the police station with fifty thousand dollars worth of bail money.

When Alfred entered the police station, all three of the prisoners rushed to the bars to try and get a better look at him. He was missing his bomber jacket and his glasses, and he was paler than usual, but otherwise it didn't seem as though Ivan had caused too much damage. When he came over to talk to them, though, he fixed them with a cold, dead gaze that sent chills down their spines.

"You bitches owe me fifty grand, a new Hummer, and a kidney."