And here's the slash part of this. Sorry, guys.

Tank was jolted awake, much to his contempt, by a rather disturbed Nikolai.

"Gah! Everywhere! They're every—"

"Silence, Nikolai!" Richtofen hissed, his brown-green eyes widening and brightening dangerously in annoyance at his fellow soldier, who was thrashing about on the edge of being awake and asleep, "You were dreaming."

Dempsey groaned and sat up, blinking and rubbing his eyes. They ached from being torn open after being peacefully closed for so long (if a few hours could be considered long,) and the marine's patience was already running thin.

And the day hadn't even begun. Great.

The Russian man had by then stopped his panicking, and sat up, one of his hands going to his head and entangling within messy brown hair, beneath which a massive hangover beat the insides of his skull. He swooned a little and fell over, not doing much to prevent himself from hitting the hard floor, moaning pathetically. "Take… take me back… to the zombies… Nikolai can't stand to live anymore…"

"Oh, shut up," Tank growled, extending a foot to kick the Soviet with all his strength. Nikolai gave no sign that he felt it, and began to loudly snore. Two out of the three other men ignored him; Takeo just gazed, hugging his knees to his chest, as though he couldn't believe anyone could have less shame than the Russian that lay drunkenly in front of him.

"So, what now?" Dempsey asked, glancing at Richtofen with disinterest.

"What now?" echoed the German, "Silly American, what have we been doing for the past week, every day? We fight." There was a pessimistic note in his voice, making what might have sounded courageous bleak and hopeless.

"You can't," the other said, "You got a busted hand."

There was a slight silence as the doctor glanced down. Blood had seeped through the bandages overnight, and he stopped to admire the scarlet stains. Tank groaned again—Richtofen acted like such a weirdo sometimes.

"If the Russian and doctor stay in this room, they can shoot the undead below. I and the American can go below, and—"

"Why am I stuck with Nikolai?" Richtofen said, almost in a whine. Takeo raised an eyebrow at him, and tried again.

"Very well. I will stay with the doctor, and the Russian and American will—"

Richtofen made a disapproving sound in his throat, making the Japanese man pause again, his face contemplative. "Doctor Richtofen, what do you suggest?"

"Dempsey should stay up here, he's a better shot with a sniper rifle than the both of you put together."

Takeo's cheeks flushed slightly as he took offense, but he soon resumed his neutral expression. "Fine, fine."

"Hey, don't I get a say in this?" Tank broke in, not exactly eager to spend the day alone with the Nazi, but he was ignored.

"He's right, Takeo, your aim is shit!" Nikolai laughed suddenly, but his voice was slightly faded and his laugh was not as cheerful as it usually was.

"Hush," the Japanese man snapped, trading his Dragunov for Dempsey's AK47. When they were gone, having exited in a more traditional way considering if they teleported than the other two would be forced to go with them, Dempsey found himself glaring at the German.

"You just love making me miserable, don't you, Doc?" he said grumpily, fixing his sight on the open window as his fingers wrapped around the gun.

"Yes, Dempsey, yes I do," the other replied, almost lovingly. The American rolled his eyes and took up ignoring the man completely, something he was getting rather skilled at. Pointing his sniper rifle out the window, he searched for any of the undead. There was nothing, yet, to both his relief and disappointment.

"Dempsey," Richtofen sing-songed—he was bored of this lying around already. When the marine didn't even glance over, he got to his hands and knees and crawled to him before standing up, a little too close for the other's comfort. He was practically breathing down the American's neck. "Dempsey…" he repeated.

"Shut up, Doc." Why was it that did Richtofen always have to screw with his focus? At any other time he was sneering and yelling and trying to taste the blood of whatever his target was at the time. A single zombie sauntered across the stage, and Tank rushed to aim and fire. He missed. Richtofen giggled.

"You will never be able to be a productive fighter if you get nervous so easily, my dear Dempsey," he said patronizingly, his green-brown eyes sparkling.

Ugh. Even the way he said his name put him on edge. "I'm not nervous! I was too quick to shoot, that's all!" This only earned another laugh from the doctor, and it definitely did nothing to make him move away. If he gets to me, it could screw everything up. Calm down, Tank, you sexy bastard, calm down, and don't let this Nazi freak get to you…

"Dempsey—" Richtofen said quietly, right next to his ear, making him gasp a little.

"Richtofen! Gimme some space!"

"Takeo needs some help."

"Shit!" Tank aimed down to his friend, who was being pursued by three of the undead, and pulled the trigger. One dropped dead. Takeo saluted up to the projector room where he knew the marine was, and took down the other two on his own.

"Good shot, Dempey," the doctor quietly praised, not at all giving him space. He took delight in how uncomfortable the American was getting by this. His useless angry demands were like music to his ears.

"Yeah, yeah," Tank muttered, trying unsuccessfully to put more space between them. He ended up pressed against the projector, and of course the German took no time in moving closer.

"Why do I make you lose your focus, American?" he whispered amusedly. Said American sighed a little, masking a shudder.

Not giving an answer, Dempsey elbowed the Nazi in the ribs, just hard enough to get him away. Ugh. You need a woman, he thought to himself, spending all this time with dudes is makin' your brain work weird.

Richtofen giggled again, but went away to the corner of the room, watching the marine and occasionally glancing down at his hand. He would need to change the bandages soon— a drop of blood escaped the wrappings and ran down his wrist.

"What are you doing?" Dempsey turned for a moment, suspicious at how the attention had just stopped. The man locked eyes with him, and, smirking, licked up the blood. "Look, you don't even creep me out anymore, so stop."

"Is that so, Dempsey?"

"Yeah, it is." For some reason, this seemed to greatly amuse the doctor. A few seconds of quiet passed, but it wasn't long before the peaceful silence was broken.

"Dempsey," Richtofen said, in mock-helplessness, "Will you help me?" He held up his hand. The American glared down for a moment before turning back, his blue eyes scanning the theater. Takeo was slowly spinning, checking all around him for any sign of enemies, so he figured it was all clear. God only knew where Nikolai was.

"Fine." Laying down his gun, he reluctantly unwrapped the wound, tossing the bloodied bandage out the window. The thought that the blood may attract more zombies flickered and died in his mind—there were already tons of gore coating the place, anyway. Ugh, I bet he's loving this, Tank thought, wasting no time in grabbing a clean bandage and repeating the process of the night before. Richtofen studied his work, and seemed to approve. As if he cared, he had stuff to do. Like be a badass.

"Dankeschön."

"Whatever."

Dempsey began to stand when he felt arms wrap around his waist.

"Get the hell off me—"

"Shut up, Dempsey," Richtofen hissed, yanking the other man down to the floor.

"Hey!" Nikolai yelled as he staggered about, trying in vain to follow Takeo's swift and zig-zagging path. He was sober, but his headache hadn't gone away in the least bit and he had a great urge to curl up and die. He wasn't about to let the zombies take him, though—that would hurt too much. It was a slow day, thank God, but then again it always was when Richtofen wasn't out. For some reason, the zombies seemed attracted to him, as if they particularly wanted to destroy the Nazi above all others. Nikolai found this funny, especially since they were the animated corpses of fallen Nazi soldiers anyway.

Maybe they want their friend back, the Russian thought tiredly and without much humor.

"Hurry, Nikolai! I saw a few coming from outside!"

"Yeah, yeah, Nikolai is coming…" Damn Takeo—how could be so agile? Was it because he was so small? God, I need a drink…

Turning, Nikolai squinted. Fourteen zombies swayed and lurched in his vision. Damn double sight… triple sight? Quadruple sight? Yes, that must be it…

After all, Tank would have shot them down if there really were that many. His seeing was just screwed up from the alcohol. He aimed, and shot one down with his ballistic knife. The rest continued on, though, and soon it dawned on the Soviet that maybe he didn't have quadruple vision.

"Shit!" he shouted, taking off after Takeo, "Where the hell is Dempsey?"

Meanwhile, up in the projector room, Richtofen and Dempsey could have been fighting. They sort of were—at least, on Dempsey's part they were.

"G…Get off, freak!" the American growled, struggling in the other's arms.

"Nein," Richtofen replied, with the same anger, "Your confidence is wearing down on my patience, marine, maybe it's about time you lost some of it."

What he meant by that, Dempsey didn't know, and he sure as hell didn't want to know, either. "Get your Nazi freak hands off of me!"

Richtofen only chuckled humorlessly. To his surprise, Dempsey flipped over and lunged with his hands up, either to strangle or to punch his teammate he couldn't say. He caught them both by his wrists, and was jarred backwards. Numbing, delicious pain shot up the arm with the injured hand. The marine spat more obscenities and glared, straining against the other man as he tried to pull away. To his surprise, Richtofen just squeezed his wrists tighter and pulled hard, forcing Dempsey to fall against him.

"What's wrong, Dempsey?" The voice was right in his ear, he could feel the Nazi's breath against the side of his throat.

"You're givin' me the creeps, Doc…" he said, his voice sounding nervous and uneven. He had actually been expecting Richtofen to try something like this, whether subconsciously or not. Yet, he didn't fight back; he couldn't help but be a little curious as to what the German's intentions were.

"Am I?" The man's voice dripped with false sweetness, and he chuckled softly against Dempsey's skin, succeeding in making him even more uncomfortable. The American still didn't fight back. Richtofen's voice was almost putting him into a trance. Sure, the fact that he was in another man's lap bothered him, and it being Richtofen of all people's… but it had been a long time since he had been physically close to anyone (unless zombies counted,) and he was more than a little deprived.

Richtofen's lips grazed his neck, Dempsey bit the inside of his mouth. Yeah, he hated Richtofen. He hated him with every atom that made up his body. But maybe this didn't feel too bad…

Wait, what the fuck?

Breaking out of those rather uncomfortable thoughts, the marine growled in apparent displeasure and rolled his head to the side, cutting off any access to his throat. Richtofen only moved to the other side, his lips hovering over the man's pulse before biting him hard and without warning. Dempsey cried out and struggled as hard as he could, breaking free with one arm and gaining control. Instead of standing and going back to helping Takeo, or beating the hell out of Richtofen for doing whatever the hell he was doing to him, the marine found himself instead slamming the Nazi down under him, pinning his arms easily—the doctor seemed too shocked to fight back.

"Look," Dempsey hissed, getting low enough that his face was hardly an inch away from the German's. His pale eyes were brimming with a strange mixture of hate and lust, and his mouth was turned down into a snarl as he studied the face of the man beneath him. Richtofen's own green eyes were wide with many things, amongst them doubt. His hat had been knocked back, and revealed now messy black hair. Dempsey continued, "I don't know what the fuck you're trying to pull here…" his voice trailed off as he struggled to find a way to finish the sentence. His eyes moved around, as if searching for something threatening to say, but he found nothing.

Richtofen's frown melted into a sly smile. "What's wrong, Dempsey? Having second thoughts?"

He groaned as the American shook him once, hard. His head hit the floor and he saw a burst of stars. Through the pain he heard Tank's voice.

"You're not in any position to talk, Nazi." With that, Dempsey stood, locking eyes with the German and standing, glaring down at the man on the floor before moving back to his position at the window. Takeo was waving frantically below, a freight train of undead following him.

They were the last thing on his mind. He took aim and shot, more from impulse than thought. His heart pounded in his chest.