Title: Maybe Next Christmas

Author: Darkmoonphase

Rating: K+ (the plus is for a small bit of "violence")

Summary: Attached to "Take Me Away". Alfred and Matthew spend their first Christmas at their "new home" while Arthur and Francis spend their first Christmas since the boys were born alone.

Genres:Family; Adventure; Drama; Hurt/Comfort; and Angst.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or characters thereof.

A/N: This is a little side-story that goes with "Take Me Away". If you haven't read it, I don't think you'll be TOO confused. But if you have no intention of reading it, just know that Matthew and Alfred were taken from their front yard twelve years prior to the story's setting.

This story's setting is the Christmas after the boys were taken. They're about three, I believe. One half is of the boys and the other half is of the parents. I'd do their Christmas reunited but that might actually show up in the main story sometime later. ;D So, this one should be kind of bittersweet but it's a Christmas story nonetheless.

Anyway, Merry Christmas! Hope it's amazing for everyone!

Alfred (December 24)

It was after dinner on Christmas Eve that Matthew and I were taken to the store to get stockings. I kept asking why we had to get new ones when we had perfectly good ones at home. Each time, I was told that we didn't have any at home until David – Dad, he told me – reached back and smacked me. I didn't ask again.

The funnest part of the trip was picking out our new stockings. There weren't a lot but we hadn't gotten to pick them before. I picked a dark blue one with a snowman on the front and Matthew picked a red one with a polar bear dangling from a ribbon up near the lip of the sock. Hugging our new stockings to our chest, Kim – Mom, she's remind me – and David took us to get cookies to put out for Santa.

Matthew and I both decided that chocolate chip cookies were the best – as that was what we would have made yesterday for Santa. David bought the stockings and the cookies and we all piled back into the car.

But the anticipation for Christmas wasn't all there. It was a small tugging in the back of my mind. What I really felt was alone and sad. My real parents were at home, probably sitting by the big, huge Christmas tree decorated with things from France and England. I wondered if they'd set out the cookies and milk yet, as the sun was steadily sinking behind the mountains. I wondered if they were still excited to open their presents – I hoped so. I wiped my eyes as they teared up and looked at Matthew.

My brother had his head bowed and one hand pressed to the side of his face. He was obviously crying too so I didn't feel so bad. I was only afraid that Kim or David would get mad at us for being so upset about not being "home" for Christmas this year. But it was all that I wanted. I missed my mommy and my daddy. I missed my room with all the toy soldiers lined up on the shelf across from my bed. I missed the snow that always came during December. I missed my home.

David pulled into the driveway and ordered us out of the car while he went to grab the bags. Matthew rubbed his eyes dry and then we both hopped out of the car and followed Kim inside. "Are you ready to put out the milk and cookies?" she asked as she went into the kitchen.

"Yeah..." I muttered and Matthew nodded. She looked at our sulky expressions but said nothing. I missed the smell of my daddy's famous cookies in the kitchen. David came in and opened the cookies, setting about five on a plate. I was handed the cookies and Matthew was handed the glass of milk. We wandered into the living room and set them carefully on the coffee table.

"I have an idea..." Matthew whispered to me as we were still leaning over.

"What is it?" I asked, glancing at him.

He gave me a small smile. "Let's write Santa a letter and tell him we want to go home to Mommy and Daddy for Christmas." I nodded and we took off to my room where I pulled down paper and crayons off my desk.

I grabbed the blue crayon and he grabbed the red crayon and we started on our letters, asking Santa very nicely if he'd please take us home to our mommy and daddy. I knew it was a little late but I wouldn't mind being taken from my bed to sit in Santa's sleigh if it meant I could go home. We signed our letters and folded them up nice and neat before we went back into the living room and slipped them under the plate of cookies so that the edges were peeking out.

"Time for bed!" Kim called as she walked out. We smiled at her and went to our rooms to change. When our teeth were brushed and we'd been tucked in, I felt like tomorrow would never come. I tossed and turned and tossed and turned until I finally fell into a restless sleep.

But the next day, when I excitedly woke up, I was disappointed to find that I was still in the same room as the night before. Hopefully, I wondered if maybe our parents had been switched and Mommy and Daddy were in the bedroom. I hopped out of bed and crept quietly to the master bedroom, peeking in. But in the bed, it was clearly just Kim and David. I closed the door and looked down, tears pricking at my eyes.

All I had wanted was to go home. Not even Santa seemed to understand that. I went to Matthew's room and sat at the end of his bed. He turned onto his back and sat up, looking at me. "He didn't take us home..." I whispered as strongly as I could. That didn't stop him from bursting into silent tears, though. This was the one holiday we'd been looking forward to since we'd been taken away from our parents – just so we could go home. And now we were reduced to tears, realizing that we weren't going home any time soon.

Francis (December 24)

It had been hard to decorate this year, half-hoping and half-knowing. We'd hung up Alfred and Matthew's stockings despite the fear that they weren't going to be here in time. We bought toys like it was going to be Christmas for them; wrapped them neatly and set them under the tree. We'd kept everything going in hopes that we might be graced with good news and our boys would be home for Christmas. But it was late that night, as I wrapped the last of Arthur's gifts and set them under the tree and then stepped back to look at the entire front room, I realized that they wouldn't be here.

A part of me had hoped deeply that they would arrive before we had to go to bed. But the better part of me knew it wasn't going to happen. It had been six months, seven at the end of this one, and there was nothing from or about them. I knew that in some cases, it had taken over a year to find the missing person. However, most of those stories didn't end happily.

Arthur wandered downstairs to stick his presents to me under the tree and then he too stepped back. After a moment of just staring at the room, I took his hand in mine and felt him squeeze it tightly. "They're still not here..." he whispered dejectedly. It felt odd to be so close to tears when the tree was shining, brightly wrapped presents were all huddled under the tree, the stockings were above the fireplace with a fire still slowly burning.

"I have an idea," I started and looked at him. His face was streaked with tears already as he tore his green eyes from the scene and looked into my face. "Let's make ourselves some hot chocolate and settle down on the couch for a little bit. I'll turn on some music. Let's just relax a little before we face tomorrow."

Arthur nodded weakly. "Yes... That sounds nice..." He attempted a small smile before I guided him into the kitchen where we set to work making ourselves some hot chocolate. He even thought to pull out some chocolate chip cookies that I'd baked the day before. Then we settled ourselves on the loveseat, sipped at our cocoa and nibbled on our cookies while instrumental Christmas songs hummed softly from the kitchen.

The normally cozy room felt chilly despite the fire and the hot mug in my hands. There was only one thing running through my head over and over – "Please let the doorbell ring. Have Basch and Matthew and Alfred all standing on our doorstep. Please let the doorbell ring." It wasn't until four in the morning, when our mugs were long empty, the plate void of cookies, and the fireplace cold without its previous flames, that we admitted defeat.

Arthur looked like he wanted to cry but had no more tears to shed. I was far too tired to cry by that point. We both tiredly stood and went silently up to our room to get a little sleep before Arthur's brothers showed up.

We were up again at eight, hurrying to get ready and make sure that all the presents were under the tree. There was still no sign that Basch had ever brought my sons to my doorstep. When we were finally ready, we sat in the kitchen to wait because the front room was too much for us to handle alone.

His brothers finally started arriving with their significant others and we greeted them all as happily as we could. It wasn't until we sat down in the front room that we realized no one was very cheery that morning. We all stared at the gifts under the tree, counting out how many were actually for Matthew and Alfred – the stars that never arrived. There was another fire that I continually tended to but it didn't do much in the way of making the room brighter.

The day was long and everyone lingered as long as they reasonably could before it got dark. Everyone was disappointed when there were no more knocks on the door, no phone calls to tell us that little Alfred and Matthew were okay. The day felt miserably by the time that Arthur and I were left alone again. Together, we took down Alfred and Matthew's stockings, folded them up, and packed them away.

Even then, I recognized a small thought: Maybe next Christmas...