Death is Cheap

For nations, death is cheap. Russian Roulette may hurt, but they always come back to life. No, the biggest concern is what the other player decides to do while you're 'dead.' Character deaths played for smut and laughs, multiple times. Don't worry, they get better. RussAme.

A/N

Klei: Because you can't call yourself a true RussAme fan until you've written a fic involving Russian Roulette. Seeing as pretty much every dramatic version of the game has been used, I have taken the liberty of putting what I hope is an original spin on the whole concept.

Hungary: Why's it rated M? Wouldn't T be enough?

Klei: There will almost certainly be more chapters. :3 Nothing's quite as fun as killing characters over and over in different ways, in the same continuity, and playing it for laughs/smut/a smut-laugh hybrid. And no, I don't mind requests for a specific kind of death at all.

Hungary: …Will there be actual smut?

Klei: Most likely.

Hungary: Popcorn time!

Klei: A description of the death in question will be provided at the beginning of every chapter. Feel free to skip if it's squicky. In fact, the first chapter is probably the least squicky (people get shot in the head for lulz, and it isn't even graphically described), and can easily be read as a standalone story. XD

Click.

"Why are we playing this once again?" Russia inquired as he handed the gun to America.

Click.

"I dunno. It's either this or paperwork, man."

Click.

"Have you ever considered just doing your paperwork?"

Click.

"Hell no."

Click.

"Ha, well, would you look at that?" America mused, passing the gun back. "This is the sixth. Looks like you lose, man."

Russia snorted and pointed the gun at his head. "What do you intend to do with my corpse, I wonder?"

"Just pull the trigger," America huffed.

Shrugging, Russia sighed. "Alfred, if I find my paperwork destroyed when I wake up, I am going to perform a taxidermy on your still-living body."

"Go ahead, dude," the younger replied with a grin. "I'll be a hot taxidermy."

"Perhaps I should put it in a slutty pose."

"Stop stalling and pull the trigger."

Russia rolled his eyes one last time before doing as he was asked.

BANG!

"WOOT!" Alfred cheered as the other fell to the floor, 'dead.' As dead as an immortal could get, anyway. "Finally!" He had never actually won Russian Roulette before. Be it Ivan cheating or him just having really poor luck, he always ended up being the one getting his brains blown out. But not that time! That time he had won! He had been victorious! There was only one thing left to figure out!

…What was he going to do to Ivan?

Something humiliating, his mind provided. After all, every other game he had played with the man ended up with him waking up in some sort of embarrassing outfit or situation. God, he didn't even want to think about the last time…

The first thing he registered upon regaining consciousness was the ring of a doorbell. Surely he could just sleep a little longer, though… Just a little more, to make sure the blood was flowing properly to all of his limbs again. Whoever was standing outside his door was persistent, though, repeatedly smashing the button until it began to give America a headache. Struggling to get back to his feet, both of which were still numb, he headed off to the mirror to see exactly what Ivan had done to him that time.

Hm… That was weird. He was in ordinary pajamas, there wasn't anything written on his face, and… He did a quick spin around to make sure there was nothing hidden anywhere. Nope…

The bell continued to ring. Rubbing his eyes, Alfred headed to the front door, opening it up with a groan. A woman stood outside, her face familiar… Wasn't she his neighbor? "Oh, g'morning, miss," he greeted drowsily.

She didn't look too happy. "Listen here!" she said sternly. "I know kids today are always trying to make some big statement nowadays, but don't you think it's a little much to hang Soviet flags all over your house? Show your country at least a little respect. This is the District of Columbia, after all."

"S-soviet…" he repeated, eyes widening. "What are you talking abou-"

He stepped out a little further, onto the porch. Sure enough, all his American flags had been replaced with a familiar red one bearing a hammer and sickle in the corner.

Turning back to the woman, he smiled and asked, "May I borrow your phone?"

She blinked back at him, confused, but held out a black iPhone. As soon as it was in his hands he dialed the number and waited for the other to pick up.

"Privyet," the voice greeted.

"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING COMMIE PIECE OF SHIT!"

On the other end, Russia had begun to laugh. "Oh, so you noticed? I was worried that you would not appreciate my redecorating skills…"

"REDECORATING, MY ASS! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, RED BASTARD?"

"Back home," Russia responded cheerfully. "I look forward to your next visit, podsolnechnik, but I believe you have a bit of cleaning up to do!"

"DON'T YOU DARE HANG UP ON ME, YOU-"

Beep!

The woman simply stared at him as he returned her phone. "Umm…"

"Just… Just go," he said simply, tearing down the nearest of the flags. "I have to go dump these in a landfill. Burning would be too good for 'em."

The woman winced. "Uh, well… If it helps, I think you should know…" She whispered something in his ear.

Horrified, he ran further out into the yard and turned around. Just as she had said, a huge hammer and sickle had been painted onto the roof. America couldn't help but be torn between complete and utter revulsion, and a question. He chose to voice the latter.

"How the hell did he DO all this in the course of one night and still manage to get all the way back to Russia before I woke up?"

"Hey, don't look at me," the woman replied with a shrug.

How had he done it, anyway? Well, it didn't matter… It was his turn to mess with Russia! But what to do? Paint Ivan's house red, white, and blue? Nah. Their flags used the same colors… He wouldn't have enough time, anyway.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. They were at Russia's house for a reason… The World Conference was taking place in Moscow, the next day. It would only took about 12 or so hours to recover from a gunshot to the head, and it was still pretty early, so they had both decided that one game couldn't hurt. The bullet itself would have dissolved by the time either of them awoke, and after that it was little more than a particularly groggy morning.

Those 12 hours would be more than enough for him to do it. By the time Ivan woke up, the meeting would be too soon for him to do anything about it, and Alfred would go off to share a very angry England's hotel room.

Life. Was. Awesome.

Well, except for the fact that he still had to do his paperwork.

Russia slowly opened his eyes, yawning as his blurry surroundings began to regain their usual sharpness. He wasn't tired, but he still preferred sleep to the dreamless abyss that was a nation's 'death.' They all did. Well, with the exception of Prussia, but he had always been weird like that.

He slowly sat up, immediately noticing one very important thing. America was nowhere to be found. He wasn't concerned that the other was lost, or some such thing. It was just that if he had actually felt the need to stay away… Whatever he had done must have been bad, indeed.

His first thought was to look at himself in the mirror. After checking his sunflower-patterned pajamas and finding nothing out of the ordinary, Russia began to remove them to inspect his body instead. Nope… Nothing. Well, what was it, then?

The scarf-adorning nation suddenly panicked. He wouldn't… Putting his pajamas back on as quickly as he could, he peaked out his window. No, his tricolor flags were still up. Phew. Well, what was it, then?

Russia blinked and looked at the clock. Well, he had to start getting ready for the meeting. Scarf? Check. Shoes? Check. Suit? He opened the closet and blinked.

Where were his suits?

"Damn him…" he muttered, looking through it. There was no use looking for them. America had probably taken them off to wherever it was he went to stay the night. Russia checked the clock again. Not enough time to buy a new one… Not nearly enough time…

That was when, much to his relief, he found one in the back that Alfred seemed to have missed. Not his favorite, but it would have to do until he could track the other down and retrieve the others. What an idiot, missing one… Ivan snickered. Once again, he was victori-

There was an American flag sewn onto the back of it. Underneath it, in tidily stitched letters far neater than the man's handwriting, were the words, 'FUCK YEAH!'

"I am going to kill him… And when he wakes up, I am going to kill him again."

And then, after he had done that… He would ask him where the hell he learned to sew.

"He's going to kill you," England said flatly, sitting beside America.

The man in question smirked, having just finished explaining what he had done. "Probably… Personally, I hope he really does do the taxidermy. What's it like to be skinned alive?" And then stuffed, lifeless and on display for anyone to see and touch… Fuck yeah.

England rolled his eyes. "Not pleasant."

"Had it done before, old man?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Arthur replied, taking a sip of his tea. "Imagine peeling off a scab." America nodded. "Now imagine being restrained either upright or on a table while they cut into your back and peel the rest of your flesh off from there."

"Ouch…"

" 'Ouch' is an understatement," said England, wincing at the memories. "The sooner you bled to death, the luckier you were."

"Still…" said America, a glint in his eyes. "I wouldn't mind trying it, just once… It's the pain that makes it fun."

England scoffed. "You're mad."

"You raised me," America pointed out.

"I blame France's influence," was the irritated reply. "I told you not to smuggle his products into your country, but would you listen to me?"

America gave him a thumbs-up. "I did my best not to!"

The elder rolled his eyes. "Where do you get off acting all innocent, anyway? I recall several cases of people being skinned alive in American history."

Before America could attempt a comeback, Germany's voice boomed throughout the room. "If the lot of you wouldn't mind quieting down," he began, "has anyone seen Russia?"

There was silence throughout the room. England sighed and stood up. "Let me just start by saying this is entirely Alfred's fault."

"Hey, he lost the game fair and square!" America insisted just as the door opened up.

In walked a very irritated-looking Russia, aura dark and muttering 'kols' under his breath. "My apologies for being late," he said icily, taking a seat as far from America as possible. Covering up the flag and words on the back of his suit was one end of his scarf, hanging over the middle.

It didn't work for longer than about a minute. "What's that on your back, man?" Prussia asked, popping up behind the other and lifting the scarf out of the way. Russia swiped his arm at the other, but Gilbert just jumped back, snickering. "Dude, Alfred! That's awesome!"

England and the others facepalmed, whilst Prussia, Denmark, and America all laughed.

"Need I remind you," Russia interrupted, smiling. "That I am hosting this meeting, allowing me to bring my pipe unhindered?"

The three of them silenced themselves.

"Hey, come on, man!" America insisted. "You painted a hammer and sickle onto my roof!"

Prussia and Denmark were clearly straining not to start laughing again as both Alfred and Ivan started arguing. Germany just groaned, Ukraine sighed, Belarus unconsciously clawed at the table, England blamed France, France blamed England, Canada was ignored, China attempted to sell people things, Japan agreed with everyone, Italy surrendered, Greece slept, Lithuania bit his lip, Latvia shivered and wept, Estonia's eye twitched, Sealand took the opportunity to try and convince everyone that he was a nation, and Switzerland…

BANG! BANG!

Both Russia and America dropped to the floor.

"What the hell?" Hungary screeched as everyone turned back to Switzerland, who clicked the safety of his gun back on.

"I did what had to be done!" he responded, a vein bulging from his forehead. "Now, I propose a vote… All in favor of tossing the two of them into the nearest dumpster?"

Almost all the hands in the room went up.

"Then it's settled. Now someone help me with the bodies."

Liechtenstein shook her head vigorously. "No! Not the dumpster, brother!" Before Switzerland could reply, she added, "You might startle the civilians! Try the janitor's closet instead!"

"Very well…" he sighed. "All in favor of locking them into the janitor's closet?"

That time, all the hands in the room went up.

America groaned as he woke up. "What the hell happened?"

"Switzerland shot us," Russia replied in an irritated tone, rubbing his head nearby. "He got you first, then me." How rude, killing the host of the meeting. While he was trying to have a discussion with someone, no less!

"Fuck… What time is it?"

Russia checked his watch. "About midnight. We appear to be in a janitor's closet."

"Fuck," Alfred said again.

The two of them sat there in silence for a moment before America asked the question that was on both of their minds.

"Wanna fuck?"

"Da."

A/N

Klei: And so ends chapter one/the prologue! Pretty sure this story is gonna consist of Russia and America taking turns killing each other, for the most part.

Hungary: In what ways?

Klei: Lessee… Next chapter, Alfie is definitely skinned alive. I kinda want to do a brazen bull and iron maiden death, as well as death by the iron pear, some 'crushed to death' stuff, hanging, some creative shizz from Gurochan, cooked and eaten, burned at the stake… Maybe the rack, and a Judas cradle… Then there's water drop torture, being boiled alive (might actually coincide with the 'cooked and eaten' thing), the Spanish tickler, thumbscrews…

Hungary: Okay, we get it, calm the fuck down! You're starting to get that scary glint in your eyes…

Klei: :D