Author's Note: Sorry for the late update, but writer's block hit me like a pimp slapping his bitch.

...wait, wut? O_o

I'd like to thank my readers, my reviewers, people who faved this story or added it on their story alert, & even the people who just glanced at this story before going "What is this piece of crap?" before leaving.

Warning: Bad language, some more Spanish words (translations on bottom!), and certain implications.

Disclaimer: I own nothing from Hetalia, only this bad plot & my Mexico OC.


Sunlight snuck past a small opening in the window blinds, forcing Mexico to finally awaken. He wasn't sure if he should sob in relief or scream in rage. Sunlight meant morning, which brought about safety from night terrors, but it also brought eyes that burned with exhaustion and a pounding headache.

He sighed into the tangled blanket that pillowed his head. He didn't make any effort to get up; his muscles were still heavy with exhaustion. And the sun's warmth was lulling as it suffused the room. He let the weight of slumber overpower him for the moment. Until a loud snore sounded near his ear.

Of course, he thought bitterly. He wasn't being weighed down with sleep. He was pinned under Alfred.

Alfred's breath was loud as it was expelled next to his left ear. Mexico shifted under the weight, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle out from under the sleeping lummox. Alfred murmured in response to the movement before his snoring resumed.

"Hey…" Mexico placed his arms under his chest and pushed against the mattress, raising his torso just a few inches above it. He felt Alfred's lips curl down into a frown before he found himself being pressed back down forcefully.

"Despiertate, idiota," he hissed. He struggled a bit more, finding that his movements were severely restricted by the twisted bed sheets. He couldn't help but fear that Alfred might somehow crush him with his brutish strength.

As if in response, Alfred wrapped his arms around Mexico's waist and began to pull him into a bone-crushing hug. Mierda, this man was going to kill him!

"Let go of me, you molesting fatass!"

He heard a snort as Alfred finally woke up. He pulled himself out of Alfred's momentarily weakened grip, letting out a (very manly) squeak as he fell off the edge of the bed.

Alfred rubbed his eyes as he sat up in the bed. "What're you doin' down there?" His voice was still thick with sleep.

Mexico reached up to pull his legs free from the knotted sheets. He wasn't going to acknowledge that with an answer. "Where's your bathroom?"

Alfred pointed to a door on the side of the room. "The extra towels are in the cabinet."

Mexico hummed a response as he stood up and made his way to the other room.

"The blankets feel weird," Alfred called out.

"Probably has something to do with the fact that we just woke up," he answered. He turned on the shower.

"No, I don't think it's that. It feels kind of…moist."

"You were crying a lot last night, so it's not surprising. I think you were also sweating."

"It smells weird too." Alfred froze. "Oh my god, did you-?"

"It's sweat!" He slammed the door closed before Alfred could question him further.


"You're disgusting, you know that?" Alfred's voice sounded over the running water and through the door.

"Oh, like you were any better last night. Some hero you are," Mexico growled back. He turned his attention back to the mirror on the other side of the room. He hadn't seen his reflection in a while, though not much had changed. His black hair was a bit longer than before; too short in his opinion, as the manner in which the little strands curled up naturally reminded him all too much of the Spanish blood coursing through his veins. His once richly tanned skin had lost some of its luster, taking on a slightly sallow tint. He had lost a lot of weight recently, but then again, he had always been a little on the skinny side, so that wasn't noticeable. Still, his ribs were visible, so that probably wasn't a good sign. The large, green bruise that had appeared on his upper left arm a few months ago was still there. He hoped it would disappear soon.

The sound of the shower turning off pulled him out of his thoughts. "Hey, do you have any pants I can borrow?"

"Why can't you wear your own pants?" Alfred called out.

"They're downstairs."

"Then go get them!"

"Estas loco? I'm not going out there by myself!"

"Ugh, fine. Look in the dresser."

Mexico doubted he'd find any clothes in there that would actually fit, but he supposed he'd just need them long enough for him to go downstairs and get his own. He pulled a drawer open. Well, no pants in this one. Plenty of interesting toys there, though.

"Hey, Alfred. Why do you have a garter belt in here?"

Alfred stuck his head out from behind the door. "It, uh…was a gift from France."

"And you kept it?"

Alfred flushed. "It's the only gift he's given me that I can keep legally."

"Oh… Is that a whip?"

"No," he answered hastily. Alfred made his way towards the small table next to his bed and pulled out a comb, running it through his tangled wet hair.

Mexico opened the next drawer, this time succeeding in finding jeans. He stepped into them, letting his towel fall only when the pants had been pulled over his hips. He bent over to pick up the towel when something caught his eye.

"Are those hook-"

"Get out of my room!" Alfred threw his towel at Mexico, who dodged with a laugh as he made his way out of the room.


The living room looked much better in the daylight, Mexico concluded. The blankets he'd been using were strewn about on the ground from his quick escape the previous night. He reached down to pick them up before folding them and setting them back down on one side of the couch. He sighed. What now?

Deciding on making himself a nice home-cooked breakfast, he made his way to the kitchen through the dining room. He opened the door and walked into the kitchen before scrambling back out.

He heard Alfred stomping down the stairs. "Hey, Alex! You hungry? I can go buy some Mc-"

Mexico didn't even bother to correct Alfred's use of his name before he pulled the other man into the dining room with him. Alfred took note of Mexico's pallid face. "What's up?"

"It's still here…" Mexico whispered.

"What's still-"

"The thing from last night!"

Alfred tensed. "Are you serious?"

Mexico nodded. "It's in the kitchen. See for yourself." He pushed Alfred towards the door.

Alfred pushed back. He didn't want to look in there. He'd get killed. That always happened in the movies. You looked and there was nothing and once you relaxed, the monster would pop back up and eat you or something. But what if the monster decided to stay? He wouldn't be able to live here peacefully knowing there was a monster in this house. He gulped. A hero's got to do what a hero's got to do, he told himself.

He pushed the door open and looked inside. He looked back at Mexico. "It's not there anymore."

A puzzled look set on Mexico's face before he pushed Alfred aside and looked back in the kitchen. "Are you blind? It's right there!" He pointed.

Alfred looked in the direction that Mexico motioned towards. He laughed. "Dude, that's just Tony!"

Mexico made a choked sound. "You named it? Oh god, you fed it too, didn't you? It's never going to leave now!"

Alfred pushed the door completely open and stepped inside. "I haven't introduced you guys yet, huh?" He put an arm around the grey being's shoulders. "Tony, this is Mexico, but you can call him Alex! He's like me and England!"

"Fuckin' limey, bubu" the creature muttered.

"Alex, this is Tony. He's my best friend!" Alfred grinned like he'd won a prize.

Mexico shook his head in disbelief. "W-What is that…thing?"

"Never seen an alien before, fucker?" the creature snapped back.

Mexico raised his hands to rub at his temples. "No. Illegal immigrants are aliens. This-" he gestured towards the so-called alien "-is something out of your sci-fi movies!"

He grabbed the collar of Alfred's shirt and pulled him back out of the kitchen. "Excuse us," he called back to the strange being.

He led Alfred into the living room before letting him go. "I want that…thing out of here!" he hissed through his teeth.

Alfred pouted. "Why? He hasn't done anything to you."

"He scared the crap out of me last night! What the hell was he doing staring at me while I slept?"

"You were on my controller, bubu," Tony called out from the kitchen.

"I don't care how desperate you are for friends. I want him out!" he growled at the blonde in front of him.

Alfred crossed his arms. "He's been staying with me for years. I'm not kicking him out. It's my house. I can let in whoever I want to!"

"…All right, fine." He raised a hand to halt the start of Alfred's cheer. "On one condition."


"Mon cher, I do not think Alfred will answer his phone at this time."

England set down his tea as he pulled out his cell phone. Alfred's name was right at the top of the contact list, so he wasted no time in simply pressing a button and raising the phone to his ear as he waited for an answer.

"And just what makes you say that?" He turned his gaze towards the man across the table from him.

They were outside in England's garden. It was a rather lovely morning, so England took the opportunity to have his morning tea outside. Even France's presence wouldn't deter him.

The other man daintily sipped his tea (he was mocking him somehow, England was sure of it) before answering. "It is still rather early at Amerique's house. And besides," he leaned over across the table and held a hand near his mouth as if to share a secret. "He and Mexique might enjoy a little more time alone, non?"

"Pervert," England snapped, ending the call. No one had answered. How strange. America always carried his phone around with him. "You know they don't like each other like that." He redialed again.

"How can you be so sure? They don't seem like the type of people to marry just for kicks."

England scowled. "It's a scam of some sort, I'm sure of it. I just have to figure out what Mexico's trying to gain from all this." A click sounded from his phone.

"America?"

"No, this is Mexico. Who's calling?"

He frowned. "This is England. I'd like to speak with America. Is he there?"


Mexico looked down at Alfred. He sat between Mexico's legs, kneeling on the floor in front of him. He had a look of total concentration on his face, completely focused on making sure his hands kept a steady rhythm.


"He's a little busy right now."

England raised his cup. "Well, I've called him two times already. What's he so busy with that you have to answer his phone?" He took a long drink from his tea.

"Petting my cock."

England spat his tea out on the table. "What!" This had to be some kind of sick joke. "What are you doing to Alfred? You're forcing him to do it, aren't you?"

"I'm not forcing him to do anything. He likes it. What do you think, Alfred?" England heard the voice become a bit more distant.

"It's so big!" He could almost hear the awe in America's voice.

He stood up hastily, pushing back his chair in the process. "D-Don't say such vulgar things!"

"Eh?"

"Wanker!" He threw his phone on the ground before storming back inside his house.


Mexico frowned as he heard a strange crashing sound on the other end of the line. That England guy was a strange little man. He shrugged it off, putting the phone down on the unoccupied part of the couch.

"So?" he asked.

Alfred giggled. "It's so cool! What's his name?"

Mexico smiled back. "His name is Paolo." He reached down to pull the rooster from Alfred's hold and onto his own lap. "He's my most loyal friend."

Alfred scooted closer and resumed stroking the feathered animal, moving his hand in a gentle, soothing motion. "He's so soft and fluffy," he crooned.

"So, your friend Tony can stay here if Paolo can too. Deal?"

Alfred grinned. "Deal."


France was quick to follow at England's heels. "What happened? What were these 'vulgar' things you were discussing?"

England hissed in response. He pulled his coat off its hook and picked his keys up from a nearby table before making his way towards the front door.

"Where are you going?"

England glared back. "I'm going to America."


AN: Oh mai~!

What sick things were running through your minds, eh? XD

Mexico has a pretty big rooster alright. Big enough to impress America, it seems. ;D

*shot for using such a crappy pun to move the plot along*

Translations:

Despiertate, idiota: Wake up, idiot.

Mierda: Shit. (At least, I think that's what it is in Spanish...)

Estas loco?: Are you crazy?

Now, who wants a cameo by a cloudcuckoolander Wales? :3

What Welsh stereotypes have you guys heard? Would you like to share some?

I looked some up. The worst one I read was that Welsh people had a reputation for being "sheep-shaggers." Took me 5 minutes to understand what that meant. *slams head on desk for being such a 'tard*

That's a mean thing to say! D:

The "better" stereotypes I heard was that Welsh people tend to be poetic, passionate & musical.

Another one said that Welsh people claim they're pretty good in bed. Or at least very enthusiastic about it. Whether that's a good or a bad thing is completely up to interpretation. X3

Hope no one gets offended by this. Of course, this is Hetalia, so...yeah.

I'll try to have the next chapter up by Tuesday, so if you have anything to share, do it quickly~!

& Happy Halloween, ya'll!