Spin, Click, Bang

Summary: Most nations had, somewhere in their home, a game room; Russia rather liked his… Psycho!Russia

A/N: Done as a gift fic for FlyingLama, who was the 100th reviewer on Soul Mate! I'm not sure if this is exactly what she wanted, but I tried, anyways… *sweatdrop*

Please enjoy my first attempt at writing Russia… and also my first fic with a psychotic subject… Please enjoy my probably fail-tastic fic.

Russia smiled down at his toy, laughing like a small child. "It's an easy game, da? And all you have to do is be lucky. I'll do everything else!" He giggled again.

"The rules are simple…" Russia looked down at the shiny revolver in his hand, spinning the chambers. "There are bullets, da? Well… Each time we play…" He held the gun up to France's head, and pulled the trigger. There was an empty 'click' noise, and he pulled the gun back, opening it. He held up a bullet for France to see, again laughing. "We add one. We're playing with one now, yes?" He added the first bullet to the empty chamber.

France stared at him, his eyes still drowsy from sleep. Russia may have used too much of the sleeping drugs that France kept in his cabinet… Oh well, no matter. He snapped the gun shut, and spun the chamber. "Let's see how lucky you are, da?" he questioned, holding the gun up to the French nation's temple. He pulled the trigger, hearing it click slightly.

There was a loud bang, and France fell to his side, his eyes rolled up into his head. Ivan sighed. "That wasn't very fun… I'll have to find someone luckier, yes?" he questioned. He dragged France's body to the corner of the room, tossing him into the couch that he'd pulled down earlier without a second thought. He was a nation; something like this wouldn't kill him. He'd be fine… when he woke up, anyways.

Russia had a new toy, now. Hopefully, this one wouldn't break quite so easily. He smiled down at the albino, who was just starting to wake up. Ivan believed he'd gotten the dosage for France's drug right this time.

Prussia started into wakefulness, looking around himself. He made to get up, but was stopped by the bonds that held him down to the chair. Whereas France had been too far gone to need to bother with tying up, Russia had been more careful this time; Prussia was awake for the "game", and it would be more fun playing it this time around.

Prussia swore loudly, muffled by a gag that Russia had tied tightly. Russia once again explained the rules, pulled the trigger on the empty gun, and added the first gun. Prussia was a little more amusing than France had been; he didn't cry or plead or anything else that Russia might have thought would be amusing, but his anger and feral attempt to flee was also fun. He added the second bullet. "Let's see how lucky you are!" he laughed, spinning the chamber, holding it to Prussia's temple, and firing.

Spin, click, bang. Prussia's red eyes—as red as the blood that decorated his pale skin—rolled up into his head, and he slumped over into his chair. Russia pouted. That toy hadn't lasted as long as he'd wanted, either. He kept the other tied up, and tossed him into the refuse pile with Francis.

Russia's third toy lasted a little longer, and he was the most amusing so far. Spain's olive-green eyes were wide as soon as the game began, and he was panicking too much to know that the first round was just Russia explaining the rules. Ivan added the first and second bullet with no incident, though Spain looked increasingly as if he were about to faint.

Tears were streaming down the Mediterranean nation's face, and each time Russia lowered the gun down to his temple, he would start hyperventilating behind the gag. The third bullet came, and with it, Spain fell.

Spin, click, bang, fall. The game was over once again; Ivan frowned heavily. Once again, he was bored. Spain joined his friends, still bound and gagged.

Russia began wondering how he was to get his next toy. It would be more difficult, now. People were beginning to notice those who went to Russia's house alone were missing. If he had a good enough reason, however, it shouldn't cause too much of a problem.

He picked out his next target, knowing that he would be too naïve and unassuming to think anything of a sudden invitation to the Russian's house.

The fourth toy may have been Russia's favorite. Perhaps it was because he lasted longer than Spain; perhaps it was because he got something oddly satisfying from seeing the pure, unadulterated fear in the normally-smiling nation's eyes. Perhaps it was because he just hated him, and this was an outlet for that hate.

Either way, he enjoyed it immensely each time Alfred's eyes would widen in terror as he lowered the weapon. Once, Russia moved it down to his temple, and simply stood there, his finger on the trigger, and watched the other squirm against his restraints, muffled screams coming from his mouth.

It was simply delicious, watching America struggle like this. He could do this more often…

America lasted longer than the others, for sure; Russia even got to put in the fifth bullet. The American fell to the side with that bullet, unmoving, those stupid eyes that were color of the summertime sky that Russia so desperately wanted to possess finally closing, their eyelids shielding them from Russia's gaze.

Well, he was in a bit of a bind now. Where would he get his next toy?

Russia's fifth and final toy was both his most frustrating and the one that lasted the longest, by far. He hadn't expected him to last nearly as long as he did, and when he lost his temper later, the other's luck had seemed almost supernatural.

Russia watched those pretty green eyes open sleepily, their owner still drowsy and confused. They were perfect, like cats'-eye marbles… Russia wondered vaguely if the backs of the eyes were as pretty as the fronts. He smiled childishly and tapped the English nation's chin with his pistol. "You're awake now, da?"

England's eyes snapped into awareness, and he looked up at Russia in surprise. He blinked once before he struggled against the bonds holding him to the chair. When he realized that they weren't going anywhere, he glared up at Russia with acidic green eyes that promised a slow, painful death should he escape his bonds.

Unlike Spain, England showed no sign of fear the first time Russia held the gun up to his forehead and fired. Nor did he the second. Russia frowned. This game wasn't as fun if his target didn't at least pretend to be afraid of him. He turned the chair around abruptly. "See this? These are my old toys… They're broken now, but they'll fix themselves eventually, da? And then the game can continue," he pointed out, sounding rather proud of himself.

England's eyes gazed over each of the faces almost emotionlessly until he came to the last. As soon as the island nation caught sight of closed sky-blue eyes, blonde hair with a single stubborn strand, a limp, but muscular body… Instantly, those green eyes widened in shock, and his breath caught in his breath. England uttered the first word since he had woken up. "America…"

Russia laughed gently. "Hm, we can resume playing now, yes?"

He added another bullet. Spin, click… Nothing. "Ah, you're lucky, yes? Three bullets… Let's try four?"

Nothing yet again.

The same result with five. "Today is your lucky day, England. You lasted the longest… Let's see how long your luck lasts, da?"

The island nation lasted seven more rounds with five bullets in the pistol. This was getting bored. Russia flipped the weapon open, and slipped in a sixth bullet, smiling widely. "Your luck just ran out, England. I apologize."

England merely glared up at him with pure hatred. "You bastard. You'd better hope I don't get out of this, because if I do, I'll kill you for what you've done to America," he hissed dangerously. Russia was almost surprised by the level of protectiveness the nation displayed towards his former colony. But it wasn't any secret, how he felt towards the tall blonde; it was rather pathetic, actually, that the idiot himself hadn't noticed it before anyone else.

The fact that England showed no fear as he lowered the filled gun to his forehead angered the Russian. Mockingly, he spun the chamber, smirking. Spin… click… Nothing.

The gun had jammed.

Russia stared down at it in disbelief. What on Earth had just happened?

England laughed outwardly, staring up at Russia with knowing green eyes. "What's wrong, Ivan?" he hissed dangerously. "Can't kill an old man at your mercy?"

Russia decided that, if the gun wouldn't fire, he could use it another way. He pulled back his hand, and used it as a blunt weapon, smashing it into the side of England's head.

The island grunted in pain, and his chair tipped over; other than a small scratch and a growing bruise on his cheek, however, he seemed to be unharmed. The island laughed again, mockingly… just daring him to kill him, daring him to beat him into the ground until he was little more than a bloody smear on the ground.

As it was, Russia had been stopped. Someone—he wasn't sure who just yet, but he planned to find out—had found out about his game, and called in reinforcements. It had taken a good six or seven countries had been needed to hold him back, to keep him from simply beating England into the ground to prove that, yes, he was more than able to erase that tiny little speck on the map off the face of the planet.

Russia knew that his toys were in the hospital now, recovering from their game. England would be at America's bedside, of course, holding the other nation's hand and refusing to leave until those sky-blue eyes that Russia hated so much would open.

Next time, Russia promised himself, his game with England would not be cut short. He would win, in the end… He always did.