The Storm [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter Three:

Cassius was fast asleep in no time, so America guessed this was the first time the boy had truly slept with a full stomach and had someone to tuck him in.

Yawning loudly, he made his way over to his own bed. America removed his boots and laid his glasses on the ground next to them. It was a long day, and Cassius had added a level of stress on America to get the boy to eat.

At least now he can rest easy knowing that Cass was sleeping happily with Khione the Bunny. With a smile plastered to his face, America fell back on his mattress and pulled the warm blanket up to his chin. It felt like forever since he'd last slept.

"That was nice of you," said a quiet voice from the shadows. America cracked open an eye and looked around for the owner of the voice, but found no one.

"Who said that?" He asked, feeling drowsy again. Just my imagination, now go to sleep, heroes need their rest. He thought to himself and felt his eyes droop when a lamp turned on.

The soft orange glow provided just enough light to temporarily blind America before he could identify the darkly illuminated figure propped against the wall.

Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, America blinked at the figure. It seemed to be tall; slender figure with long legs in a pretzel form, and thin arms crossed over its narrow chest. Barely identifiable muscles could be found on the biceps if one looked hard enough and large but delicate looking hands completed the figure. All that was missing was facial expression. The hazy glow of the figure's lamp provided light only up to its collar bone, the rest of it was illuminated by darkness so America could only see shaggy hair and a thin face.

"I'm José, maybe we've met before," he said, a small chuckle escaping him.

America's eyes widened and he shakily stood up and staggered to his old friend. The thin man also stood up and faced his friend, and America almost laughed: the man was at least 5'5.

"Mexico you little bitch!" He dramatically whispered and pulled him into a bear hug. Mexico returned it, laughing silently.

"When'd you get here?" Asked America after he set him down again. Mexico's face turned grim.

"I came with a group of my people, we had respirators and extra supplies we were instructed to bring up to the states," he explained. "But a lot of my guys got lost in the Storm and we only managed to sneak in with that group of guys that went out to bury that one woman." Mexico finished and America nodded, believing his story.

"What happened to that lady? The one with the gray hair?" Mexico asked. He looked like he was ready to be sick. Maybe no one had died at his place yet?

"She had a heart attack. Her sister said it ran in the family, nothing to worry about," explained America as he sat down on his bed again. He then smiled and added, "No crazy killer's coming to get you." Mexico punched his arm but smiled with his friend. 

"Someone's still annoyingly positive," Mexico commented. "But hey," he began conversationally, "how you been?" He asked and America shrugged.

"Everyone's miserable, and the wind only stops for like, five minutes, then starts up again," America muttered, rubbing his eyes.

He felt Mexico shift closer, again placing his hand on his friend's shoulder, and America found himself smile. "I'm glad I found you, cúmbila," said Mexico and he rested his head against America's shoulder.