Oooh, say! Can you see, by the dawn's early light! What so proooudly we hail-
"Hello, Alfred Jones speaking."
"England! Hey, what's up?" America straightened up in his seat, adjusting his cell phone between his ear and shoulder, and flipping on his turn signal as he approached a stoplight.
The voice on the other end of the phone hesitated. "I- Listen. I mean-Oh bloody hell, where are you right now?"
America blinked in confusion. "In my car?"
"I mean where in the world, you git."
"Oh!" He stopped his car at a stop sign and looked both ways before continuing on. "Well, I had that meeting with Germany this morning, so I'm just cruising around Europe right now. Why do'ya ask?"
Surprisingly, England seemed to sigh in relief on the other end. "Oh brilliant, you're in the neighborhood." There was a short pause and another sigh before he continued. "Listen…Do you happen to have any tools with you?"
America was confused. He spared a quick glance to the back of his truck and nodded, even though he knew England couldn't see him. "Yeah, I have a tool box in my truck."
"Good, good. Um, America?"
Pause. Sigh. "I was wondering…If you would mind coming over for a bit."
"Oh sure, no prob." He switched his phone to the opposite ear as he reached over and started tinkering with his GPS. If he was going over to England's, it was probably a good idea to get some lunch first. "Any reason why? It's not like you to invite me over for no reason."
Another pause, followed by another sigh. "I would like your help…" England's voice wavered slightly. "…Getting out of the closet."
America blinked hard in response, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. He cleared his throat and smiled weakly. "Well, honestly Iggy, I'm honored. I mean, I always kind of saw this coming, and for you to come out to me, well that means a lot, old man."
"Not like that you sodding git!" England snapped loudly. "I mean literally! Bloody hell..."
"Wait. Literally?" America smirked. "You are literally in a closet right now?"
England groaned, which just made America smile wider. "Yes, I am in a fucking closet. The door is stuck and I need you to help me out."
"How the hell did you end up in a closet?"
"I don't know how it happened! I was simply getting my needlework off of the top shelf, and wind must have blown it shut, I don't bloody know!"
America smirked again, trying to hold in his giggles. "Needlework?"
"Just get your arse over here."
With a chuckle, America pulled into the nearest McDonald's and snapped his phone shut. It was a bit of a drive to England's house, but he had a feeling this was going to be totally worth it.
England let out his millionth sigh that day and let his eyes scan his surrounding.
Brilliant. Fucking brilliant.
He wasn't sure what had possessed him to call America, of all nations, to help him out. He certainly wasn't going to call France, or any of his brothers to help him, and he knew most of Asia was stuck in meetings that afternoon.
America was quite handy with tools, he reminded himself. And he knew he would be in town with Germany for the morning, so it just made sense.
Plus, the bastard knew how to break into his house.
He never thought he would actually be grateful for that.
England absentmindedly started sifting through the hatbox he had taken to using as a seat, and half-heartedly pulled out a black top hat. With a cocked eyebrow he carefully placed it on his head and tilted it to the side.
"Hm. Why haven't I worn this yet?"
Tossing his tool belt over his shoulder and locking his truck, America marched up England's front walkway and leaped up the porch steps.
Nodding in respect to the tiny lawn gnome he had taken to calling Rupert over the years, he reached down and picked up the decoration, revealing the small spare key it was protecting.
With a warm chuckle America unlocked the door and placed the key back in place. It was just so typically England.
In one fluid movement, he removed his boots at the front door and strolled into the spotless, empty living room. "England!" he called, "It's me! Where you at?"
"Upstairs!" Came the muffled reply. "Second door on the right!"
America trudged up the stairs, and grinned and the offending closet. He gave the door a hard thump and called in his best singsong voice to the irate nation inside. "Knock, knock! The hero has arrived!"
"Hip, hip, fucking hurrah."
America laughed, pulling off his jacket and snapping on his belt. He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and held his chin in his hand. "Lemme see what we have here."
"It's a door."
Ignoring the snide comment, the younger nation dropped to his knees and inspected the doorknob carefully. He gave it a small wiggle and frowned at the lack of movement. "Is there a key to this thing?"
"Hell if I know," England replied. "I don't think so. Is there even a lock on it?"
"Not that I can see." He tried the knob one more time and when nothing happened, he reached to his belt and took out a screwdriver. "Well, this is a really old door, so my guess is it got jammed when it shut. How old is this thing anyway?"
England shrugged. "It's original to the house."
"It's as old as you?! Damn, no wonder it broke!"
America chuckled and set to work with the screwdriver. "I'm pretty sure that doorknob isn't going to budge, so I'm going to take it off. Hopefully the door will open then."
England let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, relieved to finally get out of this situation. He started to fiddle with his thumbs, not sure what to do with himself while he waited.
"So, how exactly did this happen again?" America asked, breaking the silence. "I know you were getting your," he snickered, "needlework. But then what? Just decided to finally take your whole isolation thing to the extreme?"
"I think a gust of wind must have shut it," England explained. "And enough with the needlework remarks. It's a relaxing, respectable, and enjoyable hobby."
"Yeah, for old ladies." America smirked, trying and failing once again to successfully get a good handle on the screws holding in the doorknob. "Damnit," he cursed under his breath.
England turned his full attention back to the door, eyebrows creasing with worry. "What? What did you do?"
He rolled his eyes and leaned back, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "I didn't do anything. These screws are totally rusted in place, I don't know if I'll get able to get them out."
In the darkness of the closet, England's eyes widened. "What do you mean you can't get them out? Take the door off its hinges, then! I am not staying locked in this bloody closet all day!"
"It's no good," America explained. "Those screws are rusted on as well. You really need to look into re-modeling, dude."
England crossed his arms in a huff. "My house is just fine thank you."
"Obviously not if it's trapping you in closets." With a groan, he hoisted himself to his feet and gave the doorknob one more jiggle.
Inside the closet, England growled in annoyance. "You're probably having a jolly old time with this whole mess, aren't you?"
"Nah, the traffic on the way over here was a bitch." America smirked.
England rolled his eyes. "Lovely." He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, figuring he might as well get comfortable. A rumble in his stomach instantly took away any bit of relaxation he may have found however, and he pouted, placing his hands over his empty belly. "Bloody hell, I'm starving."
Before he knew it, he felt a small tap against his sock. Blinking in the darkness, he reached down and picked up the candy bar.
"America, what is-?"
"I know it's not that Cadbury stuff you love so much, but Hershey's is actually really good."
"Belgium is right next door, couldn't you get something decent from her?" Try as hard as he might, England couldn't hide the crinkle of the wrapper as he opened the chocolate and devoured half of it in one bite.
He was hungry. That was all.
America smiled knowingly, but kept his mouth shut, studying the door intently as England enjoyed his chocolaty treat. He knew what had to be done. It wasn't going to be difficult, not for him. The hard part was telling England.
"Hey England. How attached are you to this particular door?"
England raised an eyebrow. "Well, right now I hate the fucking thing." His eyes narrowed. "Why?"
America tapped on the door with the knuckle of his middle finger and bit his lip. "I think I'm going to have to break it down."
England flew to his feet. "Break it-?! America, don't you dare you git! This is original mahogany!"
"Just a second ago you said you hated it!"
The older nation crossed his arms and sat stubbornly back down on his hatbox. It was true, he wasn't fond of the door, and in the back of his mind he had figured it was going to come to it getting broken down. There was just one teensy little problem.
"So," England sighed, "You plan on just ramming into the door and letting me get impaled with a shower of wooden shards, then? Great plan, America. I'm in a closet you bloody idiot! You can't just break it down with me inside!"
"Oh right." He ran a hand threw his hair and smiled brightly. "You'll just have to break it down then!"
America nodded and ran his hand along the old, rough wood. "Mahogany is tough, but this door is pretty old, you should be able to break through it fairly easily. I happen to know that you aren't as weak as you look, old man."
England pouted, not quite sure if that was supposed to be a compliment or an insult. With a sigh, he ran his hand along the wood, not feeling nearly as confident as his younger companion. "I wont even be able to get a running start."
"You don't need one!" England didn't need to see his face to know America was grinning like an idiot.
He rubbed his temples and glanced apprehensively at the closet door. "I guess I could…You know, some of us treasure brains over brawn, and can't just-"
America was starting to get impatient, which really was nothing new to him. "Do you want to get out of there or not?"
England gulped and backed away to the back of the closet. "Here goes nothing," he mumbled as he flung his shoulder at the door as hard as he could.
"Oooow, bloody, fucking, son of a-, piss-it! That fucking hurt!"
"I think you cracked it!" America cheered.
England let out a few more choice words, rubbing his stinging shoulder. "No, that was just my bones. Fuck."
America traced his finger along a small fracture that had formed where England had made impact and grinned. "No really! There's a crack! One more good hit and that should do it!"
England grumbled and glared at the offending door, rolling up his sleeves and running a hand through his hair. If it didn't break after this one, he was just going to let America do it. Safety be damned, at least he wouldn't be in (more) pain.
He charged at the door as hard as he could, and before he knew it, found himself on the soft carpet, surrounded by splintered mahogany.
"You did it, England!" America applauded, gently lifting the older country under the arms and helping him up. "Oh man, that was actually kind of badass! Look at that door, you busted right through it!"
England rubbed his shoulder and sighed sadly at the destroyed closet. Original mahogany! "Well, at least I'm out of there. My shoulder hurts like hell, though."
America laughed and helped England down the stairs. "I'll get you an ice pack or something. Oh man, that was badass!"
"If you ever tell anyone about this, you git, I will-"
He laughed. "I wont tell, I wont tell!"
"You better not."
"…Can you imagine the next summit? Hey guys, guess who finally came out of the closet?!"
"I hate you."
Well, there you have it! Everyone seemed to enjoy Executive Residence, so I figured I would give another Hetalia story a try!
Gotta say I don't enjoy this one as much as ER, but it was just a little idea I had from reminiscing with my sister about when he once locked me in a closet when we were kids and my dad had to take the door down to get me out because it got stuck. XD
Anyway, I hope you all still enjoy it and please review! :)