As it would seem, Alfred has a bad habit of calling me in the middle of the night with nonsensical problems of no particular importance that, apparently, only I'm able to solve. Or at least I'm the only one who will actually answer the phone at 2 in the morning.

"Wadda ya want, 'Merica? Yoo woke me up 'gain. Ya need ta quit calling me this late at night…"

"MATTIE! HELP ME! I can't get my internet to close!", he yelled, nearly blowing out my eardrums.

"…That's it? That's the whole reason you called?", I say, now slightly irritated and fully awake.

"YES! I keep trying to close the page but it won't work! I already tried calling England but he hung up on me!"

"Mon dieu, just click the red X in the upper right-hand corner! It's pretty simple!"

"I tried that but it didn't work! COME OVER AND FIX IT!"

" …No."

"AW COME ON, MAN! DO IT FOR YOUR BROTHER!"

"FINE, I'LL GO IF YOU STOP YELLING!"

"AWESOMESAUCE! See ya soon!"

"…Awesomesauce?", I replied but he had already hung up.

Why did I agree to do this? America can close his own damn internet. And if he can't, he can leave it open for the rest of his damn life for all I care.

So, I get up to (unwillingly) drive to Alfred's house to fix something that was most likely never broken to begin with.

When I arrived and rang the doorbell, I was greeted by a tackle-hug from my slightly taller twin.

"FINALLY! You took FOREVER to get here! Now get in here and help me!"

" *sigh* Fine…", I say as I walk into his house and sit down in front of his laptop. The first thing I do (as would any other person trying to close the internet) is click the 'close' button. As soon as I do, a box pops up with three options displayed. One marked as 'Save', one marked 'Quit Firefox', and one marked 'Cancel'.

I don't see how he's having a problem with this… I think to myself as I'm about to click the 'Quit Firefox' button.

"NO DON'T CLICK THAT!", Alfred yelled just before I clicked.

"…Why not?", I say, honestly curious.

"Because! HEROS NEVER QUIT!"

I sat. I stared with disbelief. I wondered how I was related to this man.

"You… Really…. Just…", I splutter out, struggling for the right words.

"What?"

"You know what? Kindly get a step ladder and GET THE FUCK OVER YOURSELF", I shout before storming out of the house, regretting my half hour of lost sleep.

America watched me leave with a shock and confused expression on his face.

"But Mattie!", I hear him yell after me, "I DON'T EVEN OWN A STEP LADDER!"