[Secret Santa] Twas the Night Before...

[akisilver.livejournal.com]

TITLE: Twas the Night Before…
AUTHOR: akisilver / doomedmessenger
RECIPIENT: strawberryl
GENRE: Humor/Fluff and slightly ridiculous?
PAIRING(S): USxUK, Canada/someone he doesn’t mention ^^
RATINGS/WARNINGS: PG-13 for smartass comments and being mean to Santa.
SUMMARY: Prompt: - “England interacting with Santa and his elves and other mythical Christmas characters in an effort to save Christmas. Perhaps America is in on the Christmas magic? The two of them flying Santa's sled would be plus.”

NOTES: This is my second attempt at getting this prompt to work, and which only turned out better due to a random thought of Alfred & Arthur standing over Santa’s prone form arguing over who killed him. I think I needed the crack after the hell that kept me from finishing this last month. ^^ Also a huge thank you to miss_duchess for beta-ing this despite my asking so late, and getting back so quickly.


Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring--no wait, scratch that. A nation was creeping about. The embodiment of one anyway, a one Alfred F. Jones clad only in sweatpants and a t-shirt that read, "I do my own stunts." The sweatpants only because it was too god-damned cold for just his boxers, and old people wore robes. Like England. And it was to England's room he crept, pillow under one arm, to sneak into the grumpy one's bed.

It was probably the only way he was ever going to get some attention. England had been in a mood all night, paranoid that France was going to invade again. Apparently last year he had snuck down the chimney pretending to be Santa Claus. So despite having invited both him and Mattie to visit, he was poking at the fire and checking at the windows. They were at some large house he had in the middle of nowhere, so if France showed up in a red suit he'd be easily visible. Reasoning with Arthur hadn't gotten him anywhere other than a guest room like Canada. It wasn't fair. Canada got to dream of his significant other, that he wasn't telling anyone about, and he had to sneak to join his.

With his best spying techniques he got England's door open, and was almost to the bed before he was caught. "America, don't you dare tell me you saw a ghost and need to sleep here."

"How the hell did ya know it was me?" Alfred grumbled, running a hand through his hair.

"Matthew would knock and the frog doesn't lumber about like that." England stirred, sitting up to face him in the near-darkness. "What do you want?"

"You?" Despite the fact that he could only see an outline of his former caretaker in the filtered moonlight of the window, he knew that caused a blush. "My bed's so cold without you. So mean to kick me out Arthur..."

"Well," he coughed in embarrassment, "I couldn't very well shock Matthew with our current relationship."

"Mattie's not gonna care. I told him. He's too busy hiding his from me." Alfred came closer to the bed. "I think he's afraid I'd terrorize them." Which he wouldn't...too much...

There was a long pause, and he realized that maybe there was something he shouldn't have said. Did England not known that Mattie had someone? "...you what?" Arthur asked flatly.

Oh, so that wasn't it. Alfred hurriedly put into effect his usual way of not getting killed by English rage. He climbed onto the bed, careful not to sit on Arthur and wrapped his arms around him. "He's my brother Arthur, I couldn't leave him in the dark. 'Sides, Mattie's not gonna tell anyone." He didn't mention the part that he told in hopes that Canada would fess up to his own, which he didn't the jerk.

"That is not the point America--" Arthur growled, but was cut short by a warm kiss. Unable to resist, he responded, hands wandering where they pleased until air was required. "Don't think you can seduce me and get off the hook."

Alfred nuzzled his neck. "Still gonna try."

Arthur made to protest again but was cut off by the distinct sound of feet moving around on the roof. They both froze and looked at each other. "Francis?" Alfred mouthed. Arthur nodded and slid out of bed, padding silently to the shut window. He listened to the footsteps move around a bit, and then slammed the window open, leaning out.

"Bugger off you French sod!" He yelled. There was a shout, a thump and the sound of someone sliding off the roof into the snow out front. England shut the window again.

"That's gonna hurt," Alfred commented.

"I should leave him to freeze his bloody arse out there. Does he think I'm going to fall for it a second time?" Arthur stomped to his bedroom door, before turning and giving Alfred a meaningful look. "Well, hurry up you idiot. I'm not the only one that's going to haul him out."

At the front door they put on their snow boots and coats before going outside. Snow had ceased to fall so the air was crisp, and bitingly clear-cold. There was a red lump in the snow closer to the chimney, that wasn't moving. Francis must have knocked himself out after the fall off the roof. Served him right for interrupting their together-time. England was the first to reach him, prodding him in the back with his boot.

"Wake up you bastard." There was no response.

"He really did a number on himself, didn't he?" Alfred looked at the figure lying face down in the snow. There was something wrong about this picture. He was way too big to be Francis, unless he was really trying to look the part this year and had padded his coat. Reaching down, Alfred rolled him over so at least he'd have an easier time breathing, but froze when he took a look at his face. "Artie...this isn't Francis."

Arthur took a closer look and swore. "What's he doing on my roof then?"

On a hunch, Alfred stepped back and looked up towards the roof of the house. He walked out past the chimney. "Holy shit. Arthur, there's a sleigh and reindeer on your roof."

"There's what?!" Arthur hurried over to join him, looking up where he pointed. "Oh lord."

"You killed Santa Claus!"

"I did not! He fell off himself!"

"'Cause you yelled at him!"

"I thought he was Francis!"

They both looked over at the still unmoving man in the snow. Arthur trudged back over to him, then crouched down to take his pulse.

"I can't believe he's really here..." Alfred said softly. "Of course I believed, but still..."

"He's still breathing. Just knocked out. Help me carry him inside."

They brought Santa inside to Arthur's living room, laying him carefully down on the floor. "You think he's okay?" Alfred asked, worried as he bunched his fingers in his coat.

"Nothing seems to be broken, he's not visibly bleeding anywhere, and his breathing is fine," England said as he checked him over. "Frankly, I'm surprised you can see him. You never see any of my friends..."

"But he's Santa! How could I not see him?! He's the best guy in the world! And now he's gonna hate us 'cause you knocked him off the roof..."

"Shut it. It wasn't intentional."

Alfred stared worriedly between Santa and Arthur. "What if he doesn't wake up? It's Christmas Eve; he's got rounds to make! Kids are going to be traumatized if he doesn't reach them. He might not have made it to me yet!"

"America. Shut. Up. I'm trying to think." Arthur said, though he didn't know what he could think of. Santa Claus (or Father Christmas as he was sometimes called) was technically a mythological creature, so they couldn't very well take him to the hospital even if it wasn't several miles away. They also didn't get hurt like people did, which was probably why a fall off a two-story building only knocked him out and didn't break anything. He supposed they would just have to try and wake him, and apologize.

"Arthur look, he left us instructions," Alfred was now sitting down by Santa with a piece of stiff paper unfolded in his hands.

"Where did you get that?"

"Fell out of his pocket." Alfred adjusted his glasses to read. "To whom it may concern, if anything should happen to me, please place me back in my sleigh, it will handle the rest."

"We have to carry him up there?"

"Least we could do after you tried to kill him." Folding the note again Alfred got up.

"I did not try to kill him!" Arthur thundered, looking for something to throw at the irritating American.

Waving him off, America shrugged. "Whatever. Don't wake Mattie with your growling, and help me carry him."

With America in the lead, they hauled him upstairs. Alfred was taking most of the weight and Arthur was helping to steer from the end. They brought him to Arthur's bedroom that only earlier they were sharing, listening to the footsteps above.

"So how is he going to fit through the window?" Alfred asked as they leaned him up against it.

"How does he fit in my chimney? It's smaller than the window. He's bound to have some magical ability to fit anywhere." Arthur said as he sat down to have a quick rest. "I'll get some rope and climb up there and then we'll use it to haul him up. You'll have to lift him out of the window."

"Why can't I climb up there?"

"You threw buffalo as a child; you are strong enough to lift him on your own." Arthur reasoned. "He can not weigh more than one."

Sure enough, he fit through the window easily. He also didn’t seem to visibly shrink either, so either the window expanded or physics was ignored. America wasn’t sure which, but considering how much he weighed he also had little chance to care. With plenty of rope and unhelpful comments from Alfred they dragged Santa onto the roof and carried him over to the sleigh.

"I do believe he's getting heavier, hurry up." Arthur grunted as he stepped backwards into the sleigh.

"He's just as fat as he always was, you're just getting weaker." Alfred told him as he followed. There were two benches in the sleigh; they laid him down on the one in back before collapsing on the other to rest.

"This is so weird." Alfred sighed, looking out at the reindeer all still waiting patiently on the roof before them. "What do you think happens next?"

On cue, the sleigh began to rise into the air and the reindeer leapt as well, moving it forward. Arthur groaned and smacked Alfred upside the head. "You had to ask, idiot."

They shot through the air like a bullet, though the wind did not whip at their hair. It was like the sleigh was encased in a bubble, you could see the wisps of clouds shoot by outside, but not touch them. The sleigh didn't stop until it landed delicately on another rooftop.

"That was so cool! Arthur, we're riding in Santa's sleigh! It's like we're being him!" Alfred exclaimed, standing up suddenly. "C'mon, we gotta go save Christmas!"

England looked back in the sleigh, hoping vainly that the old man would wake up and save him from this farce. "You don't know what you're doing you idiot. We're better off trying to wake him."

"Everyone knows what Santa does! He lands on the roof, grabs his bag of gifts and slides down the chimney to distribute them!" Alfred said, undeterred. Climbing out of the sleigh, he stepped back to reach for the red, velvet bag lying in the back beyond Santa. It was smaller than he expected to hold all the gifts in the world, but hey, it was probably magic too. Magical things didn't have to make sense.

Arthur rolled his eyes, refusing to budge from his seat. "Alfred, have you ever slid down a chimney in your life?"

"Uh, no? But it can't be that hard, can it?" He carried the bag over and looked down. Hmm. Seemed a bit small, but maybe he could squeeze.

There was a tug on the bag. America looked over, figuring it was Arthur trying to take it from him only to find that it was rising into the air on its own. With the handles still in hand, he watched it float over to the chimney-hole, start to descend, and then sucked him in after it.

"Alfred!" Arthur clambered out of the sleigh and ran over to the chimney as quick as he could. Seeing his former colony sucked down a small hole was a sight he could have well done without. "Are you alright!?"

There was a soft chuckle from down below. "Being Santa kicks ass."

England sighed in relief. "Well then, get your bloody arse back up here! You can't be breaking into other people's houses!"

"Hold on, being Santa."

Alfred returned by the same manner that he had left, with the bag of presents preceding him. "This really isn't that hard, the bag only gives you whatever you need to leave there. You should try it with me next time."

"I doubt we will both fit." Arthur grumbled as they went back to the sleigh.

"Of course we will!" Alfred laughed. "That's the power of Santa! Man, I'd love to have this power. I could be the coolest spy, or maybe a ninja if Kiku would teach me some tricks."

"Because of course you need to be any one of those..."

After getting back into the sleigh, it took off for the next house. This time they landed in a suburb, with many little identical houses all lined up, one next to the other. There were so many, England realized. How would they ever manage to finish them all? Not to mention the rest of the world. He turned to ask Alfred only to find himself being dragged out of the sleigh by the younger nation.

"C'mon! We're both gonna be Santa!" With the bag in one hand and Arthur in the other, he dragged them both to the chimney.

"No, wait! Let go of me Alfred I don't want to--ahhh!" The world blurred and spun as they were both sucked down the chimney and deposited on the floor outside it. The trip made England feel faintly nauseous and he shut his eyes tightly, holding his head with his free hand until the world stopped spinning.

"I'm going to kill you," Arthur stated as he took an experimental step to make sure he wouldn't fall over. America shrugged, already digging in the bag for gifts.

"It's always worse the first time, Artie. You get used to it." Alfred placed a toy truck next to the tree and handed Arthur a stuffed bear. "Put that one where it goes."

He glared at him, ready to protest that he didn't know that, but suddenly he did. It was for a three year old girl who saw it on a trip to the store and couldn't leave it alone. She had a stocking to the right of the fireplace; it was pink with brown spots. Arthur looked down at the bear, squeezing it gently then placing it in the stocking.

"Now you know why it's great to be Santa. He knows exactly what they want, and their stories behind the toys," Alfred said after a moment, smiling as he watched him. "That bear is going to make her day."

"Is that why you like doing this? It's not just you fooling with Christmas magic?"

"It's kind of wanting to play Santa," Alfred admitted sheepishly, "when you get the opportunity you have to go for it, you know? But also, it's great knowing you're making these people happy. Your people happy."

He stepped over to Arthur, taking his hand. "Maybe if they're happy, it'll make you happy? He leaned in to kiss him just as the bag lifted up the chimney. With Alfred kissing him, Arthur found that going back up wasn't half as terrible as going down.

"I suppose..." Arthur said softly as they broke, finding their feet safely on the snowy roof again, "We could help with a few more. Just til he gets back on his feet."

"Awesome."

House by house, sometimes together, sometimes alternating, they delivered whatever presents the bag had for them. "Now I know why Finland likes doing this so much," Alfred said as he returned to the sleigh where Arthur was waiting. "You don't think he'd let us help next year, do you?"

"Next year, we are staying home, and I'll wait for Francis to break in before I try to kill him," Arthur replied very decidedly. "It is enjoyable, but it is not our place to be here. I only hope we are finished before Matthew wakes up and wonders what happened."

Oh yeah, he had forgotten Mattie would be waiting for them. It wouldn't be very heroic to leave his little brother to worry. "We'll get back in time," Alfred assured him, sliding in next to Arthur. "Besides, maybe now I'll be able to do this without you getting embarrassed." He kissed him warmly.

"I see you boys have been taking good care of my sleigh." An amused voice chuckled from behind them.

"Santa!" Alfred cried, pulling away quickly to stare at the jolly old man. "We weren't doing anything funny! Just wanted to help!"

"And help you have, thank you. I'm glad to see young men with such Christmas spirit in their hearts." Santa nodded seriously before his face broke into a merry smile again. "But now, shouldn't all good boys, and nations be in bed?"

Santa dropped them off in front of England's cottage, waving to them before sprinting off to continue his rounds. Hand in hand they watched as he disappeared from sight. "No one will believe this story, I hope you know," England said after a moment to break the silence.

"That you damn near killed Santa and we had to rescue Christmas by delivering his gifts til he woke up?" Alfred replied, squeezing his hand. "Yeah, I know. But it still makes a great story."

Arthur sighed. He was never going to live that down. Curse that Francis. "I just wanted you to be aware. You'll tell everyone anyways." He turned to head back inside, tugging Alfred with him.

"If I do, I'll embellish it more. It's too bad I never got to actually drive the sleigh."

"With the way you fly I'm glad you couldn't."

Alfred pouted at him, and then brightened as he realized something. "Hey, this is like that poem. You know, the one about Christmas."

"Alfred there are hundreds of poems about Christmas." Arthur rolled his eyes as he stepped up to the door. "I know it's hard, but try to be less vague." He fished in his pockets, hoping he brought his keys, and then tried the door. It opened easily in his hand. Knowing he locked it before they left he could only attribute it to Christmas magic, and silently thanked Father Christmas.

"Only one good Christmas poem though, and now we need the ending." Following Arthur inside, he let him lock the door before bringing him in close, one hand tilting up his chin.

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight."