Dukes of Hetalia

England was dead. Dead and in Hell. That was the only logical explanation for why he was currently laying in the back of an unfamiliar car, wearing a cowboy hat, a pink shirt, and a pair of what appeared to be America's old jeans.

Not to mention the sun was in his eyes.

That detail gave England pause. Last he checked, there was no sun in Hell. Just lots of fire and brimstone and torture. Ok, so he was still alive. But how did he end up here?

Thinking back, England remembered being manhandled to America's birthday party by a certain Frenchman. After America had screamed a greeting at him, England had headed straight for the bar. He only had a drink or two. Ok, maybe three. Four. Oh hell, he got shit-faced beyond all reason.

That solved part of the mystery. England always woke up in odd places after he got drunk. Like broom closets or that room in Germany's basement that the intimidating blonde had made him promise not to mention to anyone, ever, on penalty of becoming an experiment.

Ok, so the how involved alcohol, but that still didn't tell England what had happened to land him in his current situation. Deciding that being outside the car might help him think, England tried the door handle, only to discover that it wouldn't budge. Several subsequent attempts yielded similar results. The car door was sealed shut.

England's heart sped up a bit as the implications of this particular fact hit him. He was trapped in a car, in the middle of nowhere, with no food, no water, and no way to call for help.

Just as the Brit decided that things couldn't get any worse, a grunt from the front seat proved him wrong. Leaning over slightly, England caught sight of one Francis Bonnefry, dressed in a similar outfit to England's and passed out on the front seat.

England weighed his options for several minutes before deciding to let the other blond sleep. Any information that Francis might have wasn't worth fending off the other blonde's attempts to take a tour of Big Ben.

Leaning his forehead against the glass of the window, England tried to think. There had a to be a way out of this. He refused to spend the rest of his life stuck in a car with that idiot frog.

Just as England was about to attempt to kick the window out, salvation arrived wearing a pair of the tiniest shorts England had ever seen.

While England was lining up his first kick, America emerged from the woods around the car, hair full of leaves and twigs.

Seeing the other man walking towards him in nothing but those tiny shorts and an equally tiny shirt stopped England cold. All he could do was stare as Alfred approached the car, seemingly oblivious to his attire.

When America was close enough to the car, he leaned in to look through the window, giving England a wonderful view down his almost-shirt. A view which was promptly ruined as the American doubled over in laughter at the two European nations.

After several minutes of banging on the window and swearing, Arthur gave up on trying to get the other blonde's attention, instead deciding that his rage could be put to better use once Alfred freed him.

It took a bit longer, but America finally got his laughter under control and, with a casual tug on the door handle, ripped the car door off, sending it flying off to the side with a flick of his wrist.

The noise of the door being removed woke France, giving the Frenchman a perfect view of Alfred's ass in those tiny shorts as the hyper American took off running, England hot on his tail as the overly large jeans he was wearing threatened to fall off.

Meanwhile, back at America's house, the rest of his party guests were also recovering from the previous night's festivities.

Nursing throbbing heads and rolling stomachs, the nations of the world stumbled out in twos and threes, all of them planning to head back to their respective houses and crawl into bed for a week.

As the parade of groaning nations trailed off, two remained behind, hunched in a corner with their heads bent over a piece of paper.

It was Hungary who broke the satisfied silence, exclaiming over the pictures she and Japan had taken the previous evening.

These pictures, the two fan-nations agreed, were worth every penny that they had spent to make sure that there was enough alcohol to get the three pictured blondes to participate in an all-bishie Dukes of Hazard musical revue.