The Assasination Game

Fuck This Shit

Several minutes later, Mexico was brought out of his drunken haze only a little, when he heard a loud knock at the door. He shook his head in an attempt to gather his thoughts, and pulled himself out of his chair too quickly, causing him to get a bad head-rush. The knocking came again, much more insistent and loud.

"QUIET!" he shouted, before holding his head, whining under his breath in pain.

"It's Russia! Open up."

"What the fuck does he want?" Mexico whispered to himself, while he swayed in place.

Almost as if he was answering his question, Russia said, "You have something of mine. Hurry up and open the door, will you?"

Something of his?

He finally managed to get to the door and open it, looking the tired Russian up and down. He was in a t-shirt and sweats, with a big jacket to cover himself; and he had slippers on, like he'd just gotten out of bed.

"Uh...hey Russia?"

"Hello Mexico. I came here for America?"

"Who? Oh! I know who you're talking about!"

Russia sighed tiredly, "Well, just hand him over."

"Sure thing, amigo. Come in."

Russia stepped in and looked around at all the sleeping counties and drinking countries. Russia watched as Mexico pulled a limp body from under Peru's body, grimacing at America's lack of a shirt. Mexico shoved him into Russia's arms, to which the bigger country reacted by wrapping his arms around his waist to hold him up.

"Here you go! He's all yours, mí amigo! Make sure to return him to his parents in one piece, if you know what I mean!" Mexico laughed loudly while giving Russia the ol' "wink-wink-nudge-nudge."

Russia gave a face of disgust at the suggestion, but couldn't help his body getting warm over it, either.

"I will be doing no such thing. Especially not with this one."

Mexico chuckled, "Okay, whatever you say! Here, have some water. For the hangover, you know? He's going to really feel it tomorrow."

Russia nodded and waited as Mexico went into his kitchen and reurned with two bottles of water.

"One for yourself, okay?"

Russia nodded and moved America so he was carrying him bridal style. Mexico placed the bottles on the sleeping nation's arms which were cradled on his stomach.

Mexico walked them out and opened the door so Russia could place him in the passenger seat. America frowned and curled in on himself.

Probably cold, Russia thought.

Russia went back in to look for America's shirt. Once he'd found it, he threw it on America's lap and turned up the heater in the car. He then simply got into the drivers seat and pulled out of the driveway.

"I hope you realize that the reason I'm doing this is because your drunk as fuck. You can't go back to your house like this, and I don't think leaving you with Mexico is the best idea."

Russia started muttering to himself, knowing fully well that America couldn't hear him anyways. He continued to drive. The bright lights that flashed by as he did so soon fell into this blurred brightness, that somehow allured him. It made him think of good things. Like growing up with his siblings, watching them all go on to lead their own lives, meeting new people and becoming friends with them. He smiled at the nostalgia.

"You look better when you smile."

Russia shook himself out of his thoughts when America's voice broke the silence. He glanced over to the passenger, no real thought or emotion in that exact second; but his smile was gone.

America shifted to sit up more in his seat, groaning a little from being in an uncomfortable position so long. Russia kind of felt bad for leaving him in the seat like that. His eyes refocused on the road ahead, readying himself for some drunken ramblings. America frowned at Russia's now neutral look.

"I mean it," he said, "you don't look so tired when you smile. You...you still do, but its-its not so...so..." He trailed off, not sure what the right word was.

"So stressed?" Russia tried filling in.

America looked at the dashboard, frowning more in thought now.

"No, just. You don't look so...not yourself."

Russia raised a brow, smiling in amusement. He knew America was just drunk, so he couldn't really piece a coherent sentence, but...he knew how people were when drunk. They were more honest.

"Not myself?"

"Yeah," America said slowly, still frowning. Russia nearly chuckled, thinking to himself that America probably shouldn't think so hard. Especially when he spent a good amount of time damaging more brain cells than he had to spare.

"I'on wanna tell you," America started slurring now, "howto live yourrr life, BUT! Maybe yo-you shhould smile more."

"Really now?" Russia played along, raising a brow.

America nodded firmly, looking serious. Russia knew, of course, why he'd started speaking so weirdly. He was starting to get sleepy again. He'd doze off any second now and forget everything. But, it seemed America had just a little more in him.

"In fact! Mayyybee you coul' get more girllss t' like ya!"

"Is that so? And what makes you think I'm interested in having girls like me?"

America sunk back into his seat and looked out the window. He leaned against it and sighed loudly. He didn't even answer Russia's question.

"Y'know I reeeaaally low-key think you'rrre gay s'mtimes," he said.

Russia's eyes widened at this. If he hadn't directed his attention back to the road, he might've just veered off it and into the trees that grew alongside.

America turned to grin at his DD*. His glasses slipped down a little and if Russia sat up a little straighter, he could've seen the drunken glaze that covered his half-lidded eyes.

"But who says wishes always come true?"

Of course. The one clear sentence he says in that slurred mess and that's the one. "Who says wishes always come true?"

Russia nearly felt his heart jump into his throat once he realized the meaning in that sentence. Russia frowned more deeply, nearly scowling as he now directed all of his attention to driving.

"Don't say that to me."

America huffed and looked out the window again. He hadn't even heard what Russia had said. Leaning his head on the glass pane once more, he finally dozed off, ignoring the rumbling and vibrations that constantly moved his head around. It helped lull him to sleep.

~

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A/N:
For those who don't have party parents(or are socially starved), a DD is just short for "Designated Driver." Essentially, when y'all go to a party, this person isn't supposed to drink and has to drive others home.