ruffians | if i crash on the couch, can i sleep in my clothes

Raiden doesn't know why he's here.

Doesn't know how he got here, if he's truthful, how he even found the place. Maybe Snake told him? Maybe he called? He can't remember. Everything over this last year is a blur, a barely-real haze of violence and drunkenness broken up hangovers and arguments. He'd say he doesn't know who he is anymore, but that depends on him ever having known. Considering the two constants in his life seem to be lies and loss, it shouldn't be any surprise he can't figure this shit out.

It's cold here too. Because of course Snake would live in the middle of nowhere where it's freezing and Raiden has to wear three sweaters and a heavy jacket just so he doesn't feel like his lungs are turning to ice.

By the time Raiden makes it to what he thinks is the right place, he's all but belligerently fighting the cold to keep a significant blood alcohol level with a near-empty flask, his shoes are soaked and he can't feel his toes, and it turns out fingerless gloves do shit all for keeping any warmth in your hands.

This sucks.

When he stops to knock the door, his upper body doesn't quite get the message, and he hits the door with a thump, but that's fine. It just gives him somewhere to lean while he bangs on the door impatiently while waiting for some kind of answer.

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"I don't know what you're talking about, kid," Snake says as he shoves Raiden down onto the couch. What kind of strange ideas does Raiden have in his head about Snake and Otacon's operation, exactly? Not that it's so unreasonable to assume that a spy organization like Philanthropy has secrets, but Snake wouldn't have invited Raiden over here if he was worried about him uncovering something.

It's hard to say if he actually trusts the kid, but he doesn't distrust him either, so that's something.

"I'll give you the full tour tomorrow, all right?" Not that there's anything that exciting to show. Most of their useful intel is in Otacon's PC, hidden under layers upon layers of security. Snake's guns are also hidden away, but he doesn't think Raiden will find those to be all that interesting or unique.

Raiden makes some weak protests that come out less as words and more a jumble of syllables-- he may not be able to stop Snake from putting him on the couch, but by god can he be obnoxious about it. There's some other stuff mixed in about not being tired and secret walls, but mostly he's here acting out like a bratty kid. Any attention is good attention if it keeps him from having to sober up and think just a little bit longer.

For all his protestation, Raiden stays put when Snake shoves him on the couch. Looking up with a bit of a petulant frown, but even that passes quickly as some other thought drifts through his mind and he starts patting down his jacket to find his flask. Nore booze sounds real good right now.

It really doesn't matter who it is, taking care of someone who's drunk off their ass like this is always obnoxious to some degree. Snake knows that he hadn't been a peach to deal with when he'd been at the worst of his alcoholism. The one good thing is that it had mainly just been his dogs who'd had to deal with him at that point.

Raiden can pout at him all he wants, Snake knows better than to give into the demands of a drunk person. He watches as Raiden begins searching his person for something, and knows that it can't mean anything good.

"What is it now?" he asks, not bothering to hide his exasperation. The chances that Raiden will remember this interaction in any kind of detail is very low.

Raiden doesn't answer, too busy inspecting the padding of his jacket to even pay attention to what Snake's saying to him. He mumbles something about layers in frustration, but that complaint falls by the wayside quickly enough when Raiden finds what he's looking for and pulls his flask out of an inside pocket with a triumphant grin.

Should he drink more? Absolutely not. Unfortunately for everyone, Raiden is far too drunk to have the self-awareness that he's being an asshole and shouldn't be unscrewing the cap right now.

As soon as Snake sees the flask, he groans in exasperation and walks over to snatch it from Raiden. Thankfully his reflexes and reaction time are awful due to the haze of the booze, so he has little chance of being able to stop him.

Snake screws the top back on and then tucks it into the front pocket of his pants. He should just go dump it all out into the sink, but he'll do that after Raiden's asleep.

"I'm gonna get you some water, and you're gonna drink it. And then you're going to sleep."

No if's, and's, or but's, young man!

His attempt to stop Snake taking the flask from him is more like uselessly flailing his hands with a protesting whine than anything close to putting up a fight. Probably because that's exactly what it is. He keeps reaching for it though, mumbling something about vodka until Snake's tone of voice makes him shrink into himself with a childishly sullen frown.

"I don't want water," he says, extremely petulant and barely intelligible. He wants his flask back, it'll help him sleep.

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.

Something about Snake leaving the room sparks a panic in his chest, something he can't pinpoint the root of but he's certain it's his fault. It doesn't feel like somebody walking to another room in that moment, feels more like another person walking out because they're sick of him. Can't put up with it anymore. Who could anyway? It was stupid of him to expect Snake to be different.

His whole body is heavy, and when he moves to get up and stop Snake from leaving it feels like being stuck in quicksand, like there's some invisible force sucking him into the couch.

So it should come as no surprise that he's barely moved when Snake finally returns after minutes that feel far too long, and Raiden's expression brightens considerably as if it wasn't just five minutes ago he was willing to fight Snake to keep his flask. Right now he just feels the acute relief of not being abandoned, something that shows on his face as he struggles to focus.

"You came back," he mumbles, giving a dazed look to the clothes and the water.

It really is no longer than five minutes, but that's enough time that Raiden isn't being over-stimulated and can start to come down from the drunken stupor he'd gotten himself into. There seems to be something more to it, though. You came back. Snake raises an eyebrow. What, did Raiden think he was going to escape out the window of his own apartment and run off somewhere to avoid dealing with him?

Not that Snake can expect drunk logic to make sense.

"Yeah, I did," he says quietly as nods to the glass of water. "Drink that. All of it, if you can. And change into those clothes. I'll wash the ones you're wearing in the morning."

Did he just imply that Solid Snake, legendary soldier and spy, does his own laundry? Possibly so.

if i crash on the couch, can i sleep in my clothes

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7 months is a totally acceptable length of time between tags right

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