The amount of regression that Raiden exhibits while this drunk is almost alarming, but it shouldn't surprise Snake that much. This is a young man who never actually got to be a kid. Those formative years had been spent with a gun in hand, moving through warzones, taking lives because he didn't know enough to even know it was wrong. And even if he had known, would he have had any other choice?

It's why Snake finds he can't be that bothered by the way that Raiden's acting out. He just needs to get him horizontal and then he'll likely pass out within seconds. Along with the water, though, he's going to need to get him a change of clothes. Sleeping in damp clothing isn't going to help anything.

"I'll be right back," he insists, and then he disappears through a door into his room. Raiden's build is slighter than his, but he should still be able to fit into his clothes well enough, so he grabs a shirt and a pair of sweats. Then he stops by the kitchen, first dumping out the flask and then pouring Raiden a glass of water. He returns to the couch, handing Raiden the clothes first as he sets the glass down on the side table.

"You done whining?" he asks as he crosses his arms, looking Raiden up and down. His eyes can barely focus on anything, his hair's all over the place, and he's got at least a few stains on his jacket. Probably from a failed attempt at drinking from that flask. What a mess.