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heroescutiesTitle: Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh (3/6) [FF.net link] [Previous Chapters]
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: America/England
Word Count: 3,921
Summary: Amidst meetings and their other duties as nations, they had searched for it; the final resting place of the legendary Golden Heart of Osiris. Having figured out the possible location, America and England venture into the tomb of the Pharaoh's sons to try and unearth the artifact. But the question is, can they make it out safely without incurring the Pharaoh's wrath?
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sakuratsukikage as part of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
usxuk's 2009 Secret Santa exchange. The prompt was, in short, America and England go on an adventure. Indiana Jones style. And no, this is not an AU. Countries can go on adventures too, you know. XD
It was a very manly scream, America assured himself. The type of scream any manly man would make when they were suddenly face to face with a skeleton. The fact that the echoes off the tomb walls made it sound more like a wail of terror was just a distortion of the sound, obviously.
Or at least that’s what America told himself up until the moment he felt something grip his hand.
“Aaaahhhhhh!” He screamed again.
“It’s just me, you idiot. Calm down,” England’s voice piped up. America sighed in relief. England was there. Everything was going to be fine. England probably had tea parties with skeletons and imaginary creatures all the time- the weirdo.
England pushed ahead, shifting around America to move the skeleton aside. At the slightest touch of his hand though, it fell to the ground and the bones went scattering all over.
“Cursed, England. This place is so cursed and Burton saw that skeleton hanging here as a warning and took the hint and got out,” America remarked, his blue eyes darting around the room warily.
“Or he just didn’t feel like it and that was that. Tombs are often equipped with things to detour or scare off robbers and I’m sure this one is the same. I’ll admit, the fact the door sealed itself behind us is worrisome, but it’s nothing we can’t manage to get out of when need be. Plus, it’ll keep that other intruder out.”
Walking at a brisk pace, England started to cross the room towards the large painting on the back wall. That’s when America heard it, the resounding click and the distant sound of a sliding rock slab.
“England…” He warned. Rubbing some dust off his glasses, he looked about for the source of the sound. “What was that?”
England waved a hand over his shoulder as he started to inspect the painting. “Probably just the intruder trying to get through, that’s all. Now, will you stop fussing and get over here?”
America sighed. England was right; he was all tense now because the skeleton had startled him. He was a hero. He could handle this.
Straightening the fedora on his head, America took a deep breath. He started to cross the room, and was just about to reach England, when he felt the floor tile depress under his foot. He froze.
“England. The floor.”
England turned around and took a step forward. “What on earth are you talking…”
The rumbling sound this time was unmistakably inside the chamber, and both America and England glanced upwards at the reverberations. That’s when a solid rock slab descended from the ceiling, crashing mere inches behind where England stood.
“Bloody fucking hell!” He swore.
“England!” America called out. He started to run forward, momentarily forgetting about the sensitive floor in his haste to reach England. Another tile sank at the weight of America’s foot, and moments later a crashing thud echoed throughout the room as another slab of rock plummeted down.
England made his move then, both of them racing across the room; dodging the pillars and trying their best to avoid the rain of rock slabs as they quaked the chamber quite thoroughly.
It wasn’t until England stumbled and fell that America realized what the rock slabs were meant to accomplish.
Shit. They’re meant to encase a tomb robber. Trap him in four solid walls between the pillars. The skeleton… that was probably…
Wide eyes glanced to where England pushed himself upright from the ground, another tile getting triggered by the weight of his hand.
“England, don’t move!”
A rumble announced the fall of another slab and England had no choice but to jerk back against the pillar to avoid it smashing his hands. But, in doing so, his knee triggered another.
America felt his heart clench. He wanted to run to him, sweep England up in his arms and away, safely into another chamber. But at the same time he was utterly terrified to move. If he was the one to cause England to be trapped, he would never forgive himself. And already, England was surrounded completely on three sides. One more slab and he’d be sealed in.
“America!” He called out, his voice echoing across the chamber. “Don’t move until you can figure out which ones are trigger points and which aren’t.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Thought that might be a good idea.”
England stood carefully, making certain to only put his weight on the current square floor tile he was on. Once he was standing tall again, he smiled reassuringly at America. America grinned back.
He started skimming the ground, trying to discern any differences between the tiles that might be a clue. America was squinting at a tile about four squares away when England spoke up.
“So uh…” He cleared his throat and looked at America.
Blue eyes met his imploring gaze, and immediately America knew that England was really shaken by the current ordeal. On the surface he might look calm, but his eyes were wide and his chest was heaving with uneven breaths.
“Hey England…”
“Yes?”
America smiled, trying to act as if nothing was wrong. He would keep trying to decipher the tiles, if there was any method to them at all, as a secondary effort. Right now, first and foremost, was making sure England felt better.
“When we get back, you totally gotta come with me to the grocery store. That or we’ll have to live off fast food until I get another free day to go shopping.”
England looked confused at first, but catching a glimpse of America’s smile, he smiled back. “Don’t you live off fast food anyway, idiot?”
“I have to have some nice things for when certain people visit.”
He flushed a bit at the implication, but America also noticed the tension easing from his shoulders as England did so. “You don’t have to go out of your way, you twat.”
America shrugged, his eyes darting about the floor and observing any differences in the tiles as he spoke. “Of course I do. Otherwise I have to listen to you go on about how there’s nothing decent to drink in the house.”
“Lipton tea is not proper tea, America.”
“It is too!”
Crouching down slowly, as to not slip onto any other tiles, America glanced at a nearby tile that had small engravings on it. It was faded with time, but there was definitely something written there.
“I…I could bring over my own tea, you know?” England offered. America just knew, even without looking up, that he was probably blushing.
“No way!” America protested. He blew gently onto the floor, hoping to displace the dirt that was covering up a hieroglyph he was trying to read. “You buy all those things for me at your place; it’s only fair I do the same. I’m…” America paused in his work to glance up, meeting England’s eyes. “I’m trying to be better about not just...freeloading off you, ya know?”
England smiled, his eyes brightening. “Well, I… I rather appreciate that.”
America grinned, wide and warm and loving. “Plus, you already brought over your extra toothbrush and you leave all kinds of stuff behind.”
He chuckled at that. “I do have a bad habit of misplacing things at your place, don’t I?”
“I don’t mind,” America replied. “It always makes me smile when I find one of your things in some weird place at my house.”
“Like when you leave your shirts behind at my home?” England countered.
America laughed then, the whole dire predicament- the tomb, the floodwaters, the caved in entrance, and the falling slabs of rock- seeming miles away. It was just them, safe and sound.
“You always mend them too. I should start purposely leaving shirts I want fixed up over there.”
England leveled him a look. “You mean you don’t already?”
“Well…”
They eased into a comfortable laughter, both smiling and inwardly plotting to leave odd things behind just so the other could find it.
That’s when they felt the impact of an explosive rock the whole room. England braced himself against the pillar, managing not to fall forward again. America staggered to his left, his foot slipping onto a tile he’d hopefully correctly pegged as safe. On stepping onto it, nothing seemed to activate and he breathed a sigh of relief. That was until another explosion shook the room.
America saw it and cried out, his eyes going wide as England’s forgotten backpack by the far wall tumbled forward onto the tile.
“England, no!”
The slab slammed down in front of England’s shocked face before either of them could move to free him. America raced over to the encasement, several other slabs falling from the ceiling as he haphazardly stepped on the tiles. He pounded on the stone, calling out.
“England! England, can you hear me?”
His heart thundered loudly in his ears, and the mere seconds seemed like hours, until he heard the muffled reply through the rock. “I’m all right. Trapped. But I’m all right, America!”
America leaned his head forward against the cool stone and sucked in a shallow breath. “I’m gonna get you out of there. Hero’s promise, okay? I’ll find a way!”
England pressed against the same slab he heard America’s voice coming through, “Just tell me if there’s anything I can do here to help, all right Mr. Hero?”
Pressing his hands against the stone, as if he could reach through and pull England free, America started wracking his brain for what to do.
I think the tiles that trigger the slabs are the ones with writing in the upper left corner. The safe ones have writing in the lower right corner. Not sure about the others, but I doubt there’s a way to raise them...
“England?” He called out again, “I need you to tell me this. If you face in the direction of the entrance, which corner of the tile you are on has writing?”
“The entrance is towards your voice, right?” England asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll have to try and feel the engraving with my fingers. Not a bit of light in this bloody thing and my torch is near my bag.”
America chuckled nervously. No light might mean not many holes for air to pass through; he had to think and act quickly.
“It’s in the lower right from the entrance,” came the reply.
“Okay,” he responded, as calm as he could.
Inwardly, America started cursing. He slumped down against the slab trap England was encased in, clutching his knees up against his chest and burying his head against them. There just had to be a way to get England out. Staring up at the wall painting across from him, America squinted to decipher what was written above it. Blue eyes went wide as a hopeful grin edged onto his face.
Standing, he turned and pressed back against the slab. “England, I need you to stand away from my voice. Back corner of your little square. Duck and cover your head.”
“What are you…”
“Just trust me. I’m a hero, remember?”
“Just…” England smiled wryly. “I was about to suggest not doing anything stupid or rash, but I suppose these situations require those things sometimes.”
“Yeah. So stand clear, hero coming to the rescue!”
Stepping back across the tiles with calculated moves, America got a good distance away before making a barreling run at the slabs. He crossed his arms up over his face and hit it hard, the rock cracking as America plowed into it. He grinned at England as debris rained down over him and his cheek started to bleed. “I thought the sound through that slab was resonating too well for it to be that thick. Anyways, I believe you called for a hero?”
He held his hand down to where England had crouched. With a shake of his head, England reached up and took America’s hand. Within moments, he was swept into an embrace.
“Idiot, you’re bleeding,” he murmured against America’s neck.
America just kissed him, pulling back and giving England a beaming smile. “Tis but a flesh wound.”
He clutched him tighter at that, a smile tugging at his lips. “So, any genius ideas to get us out of here without that happening again?”
“Actually, we need to pick up our backpacks first. But yes, I think I can get us out of here. I do need to know though…” America leaned down, his nose brushing against England’s. “Can you quickstep?”
“What does a bloody dance have to do with…”
“There is no way to cross the floor without triggering some of the slabs. But! If you do something that seems to resemble the dance moves to a quickstep, you can avoid being near any of the falling slabs.”
England laughed, all warmth and life, against America’s shoulder. He just smiled wider at this. “And you know the quickstep?”
America shrugged. “Saw it on ‘Dancing with the Stars’ last week.”
“Oh, of course,” England teased. He shifted their positions so they were posed to dance. “Well then, I suppose we’re dancing ourselves out of this mess.”
America pecked a kiss onto England’s nose. “Yep. On my count then?”
England nodded.
“Five, six, seven, eight…”
And off they went- slow, quick-quick, slow, quick-quick, steps across the floor. In their wake, slabs crashed to the floor. America reached down and grabbed up his backpack as they danced their way past it. He secured it on England’s back as they kept up their tempo, never missing a step as they quickstepped across the floor. As they reached the wall, England snatched up his bag, pocketed his flashlight, and lifted the backpack to slide it down onto America’s shoulders.
With a few more well placed dance steps, they reached the far doorway and America looped his arms firmly around England’s waist as the older country loosened the latch and used a pocket knife to break the wax seal. Pushing through into this new corridor, they smiled. It was a simple, crudely hewn, corridor. Nothing fancy was going to trap them here.
Once the door was secured behind them, and their backpacks set down, America pulled England back against him in a hug. Resting his chin atop England’s head, he huffed out a breath of air that ruffled the Briton’s hair.
“America?” He queried.
“Hmm?”
“What are you…”
“Just…” America trailed off. So glad you’re safe. That’s all. “I just needed this. That’s all.”
“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” England replied, shifting in America’s arms to face him and hugging him back. As he pulled away, he gently ran a finger over the gash on America’s cheek. “Let’s get that tended to.”
He smiled, leaning his cheek into England’s touch. “Tend away, England!”
------------------------------------------------------------------
“He’s so out to get us, England. There’s no use pretending otherwise!” America said, gesturing with a homemade sandwich in his hand.
England rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s clearly nothing of the sort. You are just overreacting, as usual.”
“England, does this look like I’m overreacting?” He retorted, lips drawn into a firm neutral expression and eyes serious.
“Oh come now, it’s not that bad. Really.”
America gave him a look as England bit into his sandwich. After he chewed two bites, a frown surfaced on the Briton’s face.
“All right. It’s…bad,” he relented.
“Ha! Told you so,” America taunted. He put down his sandwich and started to rummage through the backpack for something else to eat. “I just cannot believe that we’ve been plagued with this, England. I mean seriously? Vegemite? Not cool, Australia. Totally not awesome at all!”
“I’d prefer Marmite, personally.” England replied. “But…”
He paused as they heard a distinct rumble from the direction of the pillared hill. The two of them exchanged a look. Without a single word, they hastily packed up their dinner and grabbed up their bags.
England was just about to reach over and take America’s hand, ready to make a run down the current corridor they occupied if the intruder came through the door. But that’s when he heard America’s voice loud and clear narrating again.
“And so, Alfred Jones has found himself in yet another perilous predicament! Bringing you awesomely up to date on the dashing heroics of everyone’s favorite hero, I will quickly tell tale of what has befallen our brave and daring adventurers so far!”
“America…”
“Hush!” America said, holding his recording device closer to his mouth. “After gathering the information and resting up, our dynamic duo entered the tomb of the sons of Ramesses the II. They have since ventured further into this tomb than ever before… But! In doing so, they have awoken a deep and powerful curse: the curse… of the Pharaoh! A curse that is now taking its toil on our courageous explorers.
They have foiled the flood, bested the bloody waters, feared not the fearsome mummy come to extract his vengeance upon them, and prevailed over the pillared room full of deadly traps!”
“Oh dear God, America!” England cut in. “Will you stop with the comic book blow by blow and give me your bloody hand so we can make a run for it?”
America was about to protest, but the crashing sound of something…or someone coming through the door back down the corridor from them made him think better of it. It appeared that the intruder had made it through the pillared room. Switching his recorder off, he pocketed it and firmly clasped England’s hand. America twined their fingers together and gave his hand a squeeze.
“Sorry. A hero must keep track of his heroic accomplishments.”
England chuckled and rolled his eyes; leading the way as they started to make a run down the long corridor. “You mean embellish them?”
They paused as England fumbled with his pocket knife, cutting the wax seal away from the door they approached and raising the latch.
America was shaking a bit, warily looking back at the shadow of the…person, mummy, whatever that was coming down the passageway. “O-Oh come on, England!” He laughed nervously. “You can’t tell me Robin didn’t embellish a bit on tales about him and Bats. I mean, Batman would embellish if he wasn’t so busy brooding and being a stick-in-the-mud all the time.”
Yanking the door open, the two hastily went through and slammed it closed behind them. “Are you implying…” England spoke amidst ragged breaths, “that certain types of people do not embellish?”
They rounded a hard left into a small chamber, and on seeing no other passageways from there, backed out of the room and continued down the hall. The shadows of the statues in their flickering flashlight cast across the floor. America gripped England’s hand a bit tighter as each shadow flickered closer to them.
“I’m just saying I want this to sound awesome, not stodgy.”
“Since when is Batman stodgy?”
America laughed. “Oh come on, you know the Robins all think he is. At least Tim Drake would. Totally. Okay, and probably Dick too. And Stephanie. And…”
“America…” England warned. “You’re rambling about comics again.”
“Ah sorry.”
They skidded to a halt at the end of the hall, three archways in front of them. None of the entrances had a door blocking them, just engravings on the frames.
Turning to England with a grin, America said, “Pick a door, any door.”
“Shall we turn left then?” England asked, pointing towards the entrance that had cartouche with an Egyptian Scarab engraved on it.
America let go of England’s hand and held out his arm. “Sounds good to me.”
England smiled back and linked his arm through America’s. Arm in arm, they strolled through the archway.
------------------------------------------------------------------
After getting at least several corridors south of where the pillared hall, and subsequently, the intruder was, America had relented to England’s request that they pitch their sleeping bags to rest for the night. Thankfully, they’d found a small chamber with a bolting door that seemed like a secure enough location for it.
“England, are you sure that we’re safe? I mean that mummy can probably walk through walls and…”
The older country rolled his eyes. “America, first off it’s not a mummy. It’s some intruder probably here after Professor Hamill’s quarry. Secondly, and shouldn’t you know this with all your rubbish pulp novels, I don’t believe mummies- not that it is one - can pass through walls.”
“But if it’s like a g-ghost, then…”
England dropped his sleeping bag into a heap in the corner at that, and with a huff, he turned to place his hands on America’s shoulders. “Come now, America. Everything will be quite all right.”
He smiled tentatively at that. “You gonna be my hero tonight, England?”
Cheeks pinking, he crossed his arms and looked away. “I suppose I don’t have much of a choice then. One of us has to be bloody sane about these non-existent poltergeists.”
America pecked a kiss to England’s cheek at that. “Thanks. Not that I’m scared or anything, I’m just…concerned! For both of us!”
England bent to lift up his sleeping bag, and was just starting to lay it out next to where America’s was, when something wriggled from near the top opening of the sleeping bag.
“Bloody hell!” He swore. Rushing over to the door they’d just secured, he began opening all the latches as quick as his fingers would allow.
“England, what’s wrong?” America asked, hastily coming over to his side.
He opened the door and tossed his sleeping bag out onto the corridor floor. “A snake. It just had to be a bloody snake!”
Sure enough, a large, brown cobra slithered out and froze on seeing the two countries looking at it. It started to hiss, its hood opening up. Not wasting any time, America pushed past England and slammed the door shut.
“There. Cobras outside, us inside.”
England let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Christ, I hope there aren’t any others…”
America, full hero-mode on, swept around the small chamber. Rustling amongst some of the small shabti figures, he didn’t find anything worrisome- alive or dead.
“We’re okay, England. But uh…” A lopsided grin surfaced on his face. “Looks like we’re sharing my sleeping bag tonight, huh?”
Brushing past him without a word, England slipped off his boots and slid into America’s sleeping bag.
“It’s gonna be a bit tight…” America said warily.
Adjusting the pillow beneath his head, England smiled up at America and patted the small amount of space next to him. “Oh don’t give me that rubbish; I know you love to cuddle.”
Yanking off each of his boots and plopping them down next to England’s, America dimmed their lantern slightly before tossing his hat aside. Slipping into the sleeping bag alongside England, he murmured. “Nu-uh. That’s you.”
His actions betrayed his words though as he wrapped his arms around England, nuzzling his head into the crook of England’s neck.
“It’s a manly cuddle, is that better?”
America pecked a sleepy kiss to England’s lips and snuggled closer. “Very manly cuddling,” he yawned. “I like that.”
The older country just chuckled and pressed a light kiss to America’s lips. “I see.”
“You gonna keep the mummy out with some sort of voodoo spell?” He asked sleepily.
“If I say yes, will you sleep soundly?”
“Maybe…”
England absently ran his fingers through America’s hair before cuddling back, just a bit. “I’ll handle it, Mr. Hero, so you can get your beauty sleep.”
America chuckled. “Thanks. Goodnight, England.”
“G’night, America.”
--------------------------
[To Chapter 4...]
--------------------------
Notes:
[1] Vegemite is a dark brown Australian food paste made from yeast extract.
[2] Marmite (a British product) is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, powerful flavour, which is extremely salty and savoury, somewhat comparable to soy sauce.
[3] In Egyptian hieroglyphs, a cartouche is an oblong enclosure with a horizontal line at one end.
[4] Shabti, as they were called during the New Kingdom, are funerary figurines that were placed in tombs among the grave goods and were intended to act as substitutes for the deceased, should he/she be called upon to do manual labor in the afterlife.
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: America/England
Word Count: 3,921
Summary: Amidst meetings and their other duties as nations, they had searched for it; the final resting place of the legendary Golden Heart of Osiris. Having figured out the possible location, America and England venture into the tomb of the Pharaoh's sons to try and unearth the artifact. But the question is, can they make it out safely without incurring the Pharaoh's wrath?
Notes: Written for
sakuratsukikage as part of usxuk's 2009 Secret Santa exchange. The prompt was, in short, America and England go on an adventure. Indiana Jones style. And no, this is not an AU. Countries can go on adventures too, you know. XDIt was a very manly scream, America assured himself. The type of scream any manly man would make when they were suddenly face to face with a skeleton. The fact that the echoes off the tomb walls made it sound more like a wail of terror was just a distortion of the sound, obviously.
Or at least that’s what America told himself up until the moment he felt something grip his hand.
“Aaaahhhhhh!” He screamed again.
“It’s just me, you idiot. Calm down,” England’s voice piped up. America sighed in relief. England was there. Everything was going to be fine. England probably had tea parties with skeletons and imaginary creatures all the time- the weirdo.
England pushed ahead, shifting around America to move the skeleton aside. At the slightest touch of his hand though, it fell to the ground and the bones went scattering all over.
“Cursed, England. This place is so cursed and Burton saw that skeleton hanging here as a warning and took the hint and got out,” America remarked, his blue eyes darting around the room warily.
“Or he just didn’t feel like it and that was that. Tombs are often equipped with things to detour or scare off robbers and I’m sure this one is the same. I’ll admit, the fact the door sealed itself behind us is worrisome, but it’s nothing we can’t manage to get out of when need be. Plus, it’ll keep that other intruder out.”
Walking at a brisk pace, England started to cross the room towards the large painting on the back wall. That’s when America heard it, the resounding click and the distant sound of a sliding rock slab.
“England…” He warned. Rubbing some dust off his glasses, he looked about for the source of the sound. “What was that?”
England waved a hand over his shoulder as he started to inspect the painting. “Probably just the intruder trying to get through, that’s all. Now, will you stop fussing and get over here?”
America sighed. England was right; he was all tense now because the skeleton had startled him. He was a hero. He could handle this.
Straightening the fedora on his head, America took a deep breath. He started to cross the room, and was just about to reach England, when he felt the floor tile depress under his foot. He froze.
“England. The floor.”
England turned around and took a step forward. “What on earth are you talking…”
The rumbling sound this time was unmistakably inside the chamber, and both America and England glanced upwards at the reverberations. That’s when a solid rock slab descended from the ceiling, crashing mere inches behind where England stood.
“Bloody fucking hell!” He swore.
“England!” America called out. He started to run forward, momentarily forgetting about the sensitive floor in his haste to reach England. Another tile sank at the weight of America’s foot, and moments later a crashing thud echoed throughout the room as another slab of rock plummeted down.
England made his move then, both of them racing across the room; dodging the pillars and trying their best to avoid the rain of rock slabs as they quaked the chamber quite thoroughly.
It wasn’t until England stumbled and fell that America realized what the rock slabs were meant to accomplish.
Shit. They’re meant to encase a tomb robber. Trap him in four solid walls between the pillars. The skeleton… that was probably…
Wide eyes glanced to where England pushed himself upright from the ground, another tile getting triggered by the weight of his hand.
“England, don’t move!”
A rumble announced the fall of another slab and England had no choice but to jerk back against the pillar to avoid it smashing his hands. But, in doing so, his knee triggered another.
America felt his heart clench. He wanted to run to him, sweep England up in his arms and away, safely into another chamber. But at the same time he was utterly terrified to move. If he was the one to cause England to be trapped, he would never forgive himself. And already, England was surrounded completely on three sides. One more slab and he’d be sealed in.
“America!” He called out, his voice echoing across the chamber. “Don’t move until you can figure out which ones are trigger points and which aren’t.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Thought that might be a good idea.”
England stood carefully, making certain to only put his weight on the current square floor tile he was on. Once he was standing tall again, he smiled reassuringly at America. America grinned back.
He started skimming the ground, trying to discern any differences between the tiles that might be a clue. America was squinting at a tile about four squares away when England spoke up.
“So uh…” He cleared his throat and looked at America.
Blue eyes met his imploring gaze, and immediately America knew that England was really shaken by the current ordeal. On the surface he might look calm, but his eyes were wide and his chest was heaving with uneven breaths.
“Hey England…”
“Yes?”
America smiled, trying to act as if nothing was wrong. He would keep trying to decipher the tiles, if there was any method to them at all, as a secondary effort. Right now, first and foremost, was making sure England felt better.
“When we get back, you totally gotta come with me to the grocery store. That or we’ll have to live off fast food until I get another free day to go shopping.”
England looked confused at first, but catching a glimpse of America’s smile, he smiled back. “Don’t you live off fast food anyway, idiot?”
“I have to have some nice things for when certain people visit.”
He flushed a bit at the implication, but America also noticed the tension easing from his shoulders as England did so. “You don’t have to go out of your way, you twat.”
America shrugged, his eyes darting about the floor and observing any differences in the tiles as he spoke. “Of course I do. Otherwise I have to listen to you go on about how there’s nothing decent to drink in the house.”
“Lipton tea is not proper tea, America.”
“It is too!”
Crouching down slowly, as to not slip onto any other tiles, America glanced at a nearby tile that had small engravings on it. It was faded with time, but there was definitely something written there.
“I…I could bring over my own tea, you know?” England offered. America just knew, even without looking up, that he was probably blushing.
“No way!” America protested. He blew gently onto the floor, hoping to displace the dirt that was covering up a hieroglyph he was trying to read. “You buy all those things for me at your place; it’s only fair I do the same. I’m…” America paused in his work to glance up, meeting England’s eyes. “I’m trying to be better about not just...freeloading off you, ya know?”
England smiled, his eyes brightening. “Well, I… I rather appreciate that.”
America grinned, wide and warm and loving. “Plus, you already brought over your extra toothbrush and you leave all kinds of stuff behind.”
He chuckled at that. “I do have a bad habit of misplacing things at your place, don’t I?”
“I don’t mind,” America replied. “It always makes me smile when I find one of your things in some weird place at my house.”
“Like when you leave your shirts behind at my home?” England countered.
America laughed then, the whole dire predicament- the tomb, the floodwaters, the caved in entrance, and the falling slabs of rock- seeming miles away. It was just them, safe and sound.
“You always mend them too. I should start purposely leaving shirts I want fixed up over there.”
England leveled him a look. “You mean you don’t already?”
“Well…”
They eased into a comfortable laughter, both smiling and inwardly plotting to leave odd things behind just so the other could find it.
That’s when they felt the impact of an explosive rock the whole room. England braced himself against the pillar, managing not to fall forward again. America staggered to his left, his foot slipping onto a tile he’d hopefully correctly pegged as safe. On stepping onto it, nothing seemed to activate and he breathed a sigh of relief. That was until another explosion shook the room.
America saw it and cried out, his eyes going wide as England’s forgotten backpack by the far wall tumbled forward onto the tile.
“England, no!”
The slab slammed down in front of England’s shocked face before either of them could move to free him. America raced over to the encasement, several other slabs falling from the ceiling as he haphazardly stepped on the tiles. He pounded on the stone, calling out.
“England! England, can you hear me?”
His heart thundered loudly in his ears, and the mere seconds seemed like hours, until he heard the muffled reply through the rock. “I’m all right. Trapped. But I’m all right, America!”
America leaned his head forward against the cool stone and sucked in a shallow breath. “I’m gonna get you out of there. Hero’s promise, okay? I’ll find a way!”
England pressed against the same slab he heard America’s voice coming through, “Just tell me if there’s anything I can do here to help, all right Mr. Hero?”
Pressing his hands against the stone, as if he could reach through and pull England free, America started wracking his brain for what to do.
I think the tiles that trigger the slabs are the ones with writing in the upper left corner. The safe ones have writing in the lower right corner. Not sure about the others, but I doubt there’s a way to raise them...
“England?” He called out again, “I need you to tell me this. If you face in the direction of the entrance, which corner of the tile you are on has writing?”
“The entrance is towards your voice, right?” England asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll have to try and feel the engraving with my fingers. Not a bit of light in this bloody thing and my torch is near my bag.”
America chuckled nervously. No light might mean not many holes for air to pass through; he had to think and act quickly.
“It’s in the lower right from the entrance,” came the reply.
“Okay,” he responded, as calm as he could.
Inwardly, America started cursing. He slumped down against the slab trap England was encased in, clutching his knees up against his chest and burying his head against them. There just had to be a way to get England out. Staring up at the wall painting across from him, America squinted to decipher what was written above it. Blue eyes went wide as a hopeful grin edged onto his face.
Standing, he turned and pressed back against the slab. “England, I need you to stand away from my voice. Back corner of your little square. Duck and cover your head.”
“What are you…”
“Just trust me. I’m a hero, remember?”
“Just…” England smiled wryly. “I was about to suggest not doing anything stupid or rash, but I suppose these situations require those things sometimes.”
“Yeah. So stand clear, hero coming to the rescue!”
Stepping back across the tiles with calculated moves, America got a good distance away before making a barreling run at the slabs. He crossed his arms up over his face and hit it hard, the rock cracking as America plowed into it. He grinned at England as debris rained down over him and his cheek started to bleed. “I thought the sound through that slab was resonating too well for it to be that thick. Anyways, I believe you called for a hero?”
He held his hand down to where England had crouched. With a shake of his head, England reached up and took America’s hand. Within moments, he was swept into an embrace.
“Idiot, you’re bleeding,” he murmured against America’s neck.
America just kissed him, pulling back and giving England a beaming smile. “Tis but a flesh wound.”
He clutched him tighter at that, a smile tugging at his lips. “So, any genius ideas to get us out of here without that happening again?”
“Actually, we need to pick up our backpacks first. But yes, I think I can get us out of here. I do need to know though…” America leaned down, his nose brushing against England’s. “Can you quickstep?”
“What does a bloody dance have to do with…”
“There is no way to cross the floor without triggering some of the slabs. But! If you do something that seems to resemble the dance moves to a quickstep, you can avoid being near any of the falling slabs.”
England laughed, all warmth and life, against America’s shoulder. He just smiled wider at this. “And you know the quickstep?”
America shrugged. “Saw it on ‘Dancing with the Stars’ last week.”
“Oh, of course,” England teased. He shifted their positions so they were posed to dance. “Well then, I suppose we’re dancing ourselves out of this mess.”
America pecked a kiss onto England’s nose. “Yep. On my count then?”
England nodded.
“Five, six, seven, eight…”
And off they went- slow, quick-quick, slow, quick-quick, steps across the floor. In their wake, slabs crashed to the floor. America reached down and grabbed up his backpack as they danced their way past it. He secured it on England’s back as they kept up their tempo, never missing a step as they quickstepped across the floor. As they reached the wall, England snatched up his bag, pocketed his flashlight, and lifted the backpack to slide it down onto America’s shoulders.
With a few more well placed dance steps, they reached the far doorway and America looped his arms firmly around England’s waist as the older country loosened the latch and used a pocket knife to break the wax seal. Pushing through into this new corridor, they smiled. It was a simple, crudely hewn, corridor. Nothing fancy was going to trap them here.
Once the door was secured behind them, and their backpacks set down, America pulled England back against him in a hug. Resting his chin atop England’s head, he huffed out a breath of air that ruffled the Briton’s hair.
“America?” He queried.
“Hmm?”
“What are you…”
“Just…” America trailed off. So glad you’re safe. That’s all. “I just needed this. That’s all.”
“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” England replied, shifting in America’s arms to face him and hugging him back. As he pulled away, he gently ran a finger over the gash on America’s cheek. “Let’s get that tended to.”
He smiled, leaning his cheek into England’s touch. “Tend away, England!”
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“He’s so out to get us, England. There’s no use pretending otherwise!” America said, gesturing with a homemade sandwich in his hand.
England rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s clearly nothing of the sort. You are just overreacting, as usual.”
“England, does this look like I’m overreacting?” He retorted, lips drawn into a firm neutral expression and eyes serious.
“Oh come now, it’s not that bad. Really.”
America gave him a look as England bit into his sandwich. After he chewed two bites, a frown surfaced on the Briton’s face.
“All right. It’s…bad,” he relented.
“Ha! Told you so,” America taunted. He put down his sandwich and started to rummage through the backpack for something else to eat. “I just cannot believe that we’ve been plagued with this, England. I mean seriously? Vegemite? Not cool, Australia. Totally not awesome at all!”
“I’d prefer Marmite, personally.” England replied. “But…”
He paused as they heard a distinct rumble from the direction of the pillared hill. The two of them exchanged a look. Without a single word, they hastily packed up their dinner and grabbed up their bags.
England was just about to reach over and take America’s hand, ready to make a run down the current corridor they occupied if the intruder came through the door. But that’s when he heard America’s voice loud and clear narrating again.
“And so, Alfred Jones has found himself in yet another perilous predicament! Bringing you awesomely up to date on the dashing heroics of everyone’s favorite hero, I will quickly tell tale of what has befallen our brave and daring adventurers so far!”
“America…”
“Hush!” America said, holding his recording device closer to his mouth. “After gathering the information and resting up, our dynamic duo entered the tomb of the sons of Ramesses the II. They have since ventured further into this tomb than ever before… But! In doing so, they have awoken a deep and powerful curse: the curse… of the Pharaoh! A curse that is now taking its toil on our courageous explorers.
They have foiled the flood, bested the bloody waters, feared not the fearsome mummy come to extract his vengeance upon them, and prevailed over the pillared room full of deadly traps!”
“Oh dear God, America!” England cut in. “Will you stop with the comic book blow by blow and give me your bloody hand so we can make a run for it?”
America was about to protest, but the crashing sound of something…or someone coming through the door back down the corridor from them made him think better of it. It appeared that the intruder had made it through the pillared room. Switching his recorder off, he pocketed it and firmly clasped England’s hand. America twined their fingers together and gave his hand a squeeze.
“Sorry. A hero must keep track of his heroic accomplishments.”
England chuckled and rolled his eyes; leading the way as they started to make a run down the long corridor. “You mean embellish them?”
They paused as England fumbled with his pocket knife, cutting the wax seal away from the door they approached and raising the latch.
America was shaking a bit, warily looking back at the shadow of the…person, mummy, whatever that was coming down the passageway. “O-Oh come on, England!” He laughed nervously. “You can’t tell me Robin didn’t embellish a bit on tales about him and Bats. I mean, Batman would embellish if he wasn’t so busy brooding and being a stick-in-the-mud all the time.”
Yanking the door open, the two hastily went through and slammed it closed behind them. “Are you implying…” England spoke amidst ragged breaths, “that certain types of people do not embellish?”
They rounded a hard left into a small chamber, and on seeing no other passageways from there, backed out of the room and continued down the hall. The shadows of the statues in their flickering flashlight cast across the floor. America gripped England’s hand a bit tighter as each shadow flickered closer to them.
“I’m just saying I want this to sound awesome, not stodgy.”
“Since when is Batman stodgy?”
America laughed. “Oh come on, you know the Robins all think he is. At least Tim Drake would. Totally. Okay, and probably Dick too. And Stephanie. And…”
“America…” England warned. “You’re rambling about comics again.”
“Ah sorry.”
They skidded to a halt at the end of the hall, three archways in front of them. None of the entrances had a door blocking them, just engravings on the frames.
Turning to England with a grin, America said, “Pick a door, any door.”
“Shall we turn left then?” England asked, pointing towards the entrance that had cartouche with an Egyptian Scarab engraved on it.
America let go of England’s hand and held out his arm. “Sounds good to me.”
England smiled back and linked his arm through America’s. Arm in arm, they strolled through the archway.
------------------------------------------------------------------
After getting at least several corridors south of where the pillared hall, and subsequently, the intruder was, America had relented to England’s request that they pitch their sleeping bags to rest for the night. Thankfully, they’d found a small chamber with a bolting door that seemed like a secure enough location for it.
“England, are you sure that we’re safe? I mean that mummy can probably walk through walls and…”
The older country rolled his eyes. “America, first off it’s not a mummy. It’s some intruder probably here after Professor Hamill’s quarry. Secondly, and shouldn’t you know this with all your rubbish pulp novels, I don’t believe mummies- not that it is one - can pass through walls.”
“But if it’s like a g-ghost, then…”
England dropped his sleeping bag into a heap in the corner at that, and with a huff, he turned to place his hands on America’s shoulders. “Come now, America. Everything will be quite all right.”
He smiled tentatively at that. “You gonna be my hero tonight, England?”
Cheeks pinking, he crossed his arms and looked away. “I suppose I don’t have much of a choice then. One of us has to be bloody sane about these non-existent poltergeists.”
America pecked a kiss to England’s cheek at that. “Thanks. Not that I’m scared or anything, I’m just…concerned! For both of us!”
England bent to lift up his sleeping bag, and was just starting to lay it out next to where America’s was, when something wriggled from near the top opening of the sleeping bag.
“Bloody hell!” He swore. Rushing over to the door they’d just secured, he began opening all the latches as quick as his fingers would allow.
“England, what’s wrong?” America asked, hastily coming over to his side.
He opened the door and tossed his sleeping bag out onto the corridor floor. “A snake. It just had to be a bloody snake!”
Sure enough, a large, brown cobra slithered out and froze on seeing the two countries looking at it. It started to hiss, its hood opening up. Not wasting any time, America pushed past England and slammed the door shut.
“There. Cobras outside, us inside.”
England let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Christ, I hope there aren’t any others…”
America, full hero-mode on, swept around the small chamber. Rustling amongst some of the small shabti figures, he didn’t find anything worrisome- alive or dead.
“We’re okay, England. But uh…” A lopsided grin surfaced on his face. “Looks like we’re sharing my sleeping bag tonight, huh?”
Brushing past him without a word, England slipped off his boots and slid into America’s sleeping bag.
“It’s gonna be a bit tight…” America said warily.
Adjusting the pillow beneath his head, England smiled up at America and patted the small amount of space next to him. “Oh don’t give me that rubbish; I know you love to cuddle.”
Yanking off each of his boots and plopping them down next to England’s, America dimmed their lantern slightly before tossing his hat aside. Slipping into the sleeping bag alongside England, he murmured. “Nu-uh. That’s you.”
His actions betrayed his words though as he wrapped his arms around England, nuzzling his head into the crook of England’s neck.
“It’s a manly cuddle, is that better?”
America pecked a sleepy kiss to England’s lips and snuggled closer. “Very manly cuddling,” he yawned. “I like that.”
The older country just chuckled and pressed a light kiss to America’s lips. “I see.”
“You gonna keep the mummy out with some sort of voodoo spell?” He asked sleepily.
“If I say yes, will you sleep soundly?”
“Maybe…”
England absently ran his fingers through America’s hair before cuddling back, just a bit. “I’ll handle it, Mr. Hero, so you can get your beauty sleep.”
America chuckled. “Thanks. Goodnight, England.”
“G’night, America.”
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[To Chapter 4...]
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Notes:
[1] Vegemite is a dark brown Australian food paste made from yeast extract.
[2] Marmite (a British product) is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, powerful flavour, which is extremely salty and savoury, somewhat comparable to soy sauce.
[3] In Egyptian hieroglyphs, a cartouche is an oblong enclosure with a horizontal line at one end.
[4] Shabti, as they were called during the New Kingdom, are funerary figurines that were placed in tombs among the grave goods and were intended to act as substitutes for the deceased, should he/she be called upon to do manual labor in the afterlife.
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