America always came to England's for Christmas, just like everyone always came to England's for Christmas. It was the only time the house was really full. It was horrible and wonderful and chaotic and they were all very glad that the holiday only came once a year. Everyone had their own different preludes to the big day, but England had only managed to memorize those of America's and his siblings (for they would already be there and America also always made a point of coming early) He knew that America would always drive up to Toronto on the twenty-third and then he and Canada would fly together and arrive in the evening while everyone else was sitting around and reading and talking and half-paying attention to whatever movie was on the television. America would always make a big entrance and then put on a massive show of pulling England into a kiss, much to the chagrin of everyone else. Canada came in behind him and made himself comfortable next to the fire.
America would refuse to leave his side for the rest of the day, often literally clinging to him unless he claimed he needed the toilet so badly he was about to piss all over the both of them. It was exasperating, but England could hardly blame him. Eventually, once they'd lost everyone else's interest, England would allow himself to lean into America's broad, warm body and just enjoy the company.
Christmas eve the rest of the extended family started to trickle in. There was never really an exact list of who was coming, but on any given year it seemed to be most of the world, regardless of their actual religion. If anyone else had noticed that the party was growing smaller and smaller as the former colonies gained more of a sense of self and would rather spend time with their neighbors than their former elder brother, they never mentioned it. The only other ones who were there every year were Australia and New Zealand. They would always come in very late, sometimes past midnight. Apparently Australia had the same habit of forgetting timezones as America did. Depending on the time, there was either further celebration or a row. Either way, New Zealand would creep in behind him with little Wy in tow and take a front row seat next to Canada.
On Christmas Day, America would wake up long before the crack of dawn and drag England downstairs so that they could open each other's presents (the real ones, that was. Typically they also bought something purposefully awful to open in front of everyone else). As the rest of the family awoke, they all took their turns in the kitchen, aside from India who stated that he refused to leave his curry (but everyone knew that it was really because the last time he'd left anyone alone for too long something or other would end up destroyed). People congregated wherever there was space. Most of them were in the main sitting room, but there were only so many chairs so a lot of people ended up in various dens or relaxed in bedrooms. The younger nations were usually to be found in the basement, playing video games or watching cartoons. A few of them would go off to church (there were both Anglican and Catholic churches located strategically nearby, but most of them didn't bother), and there was gift giving after dinner, but those were the only traces of the actual holiday left. Even their big meal together was basically everyone rushing for plates, followed by pulling up whatever square foot of space was available and chatting.
America always liked being in the thick of all of it. He bounced around, talking to everyone who would let him. He and England would typically separate for a while, but they always would wander over to each other. England kept a protective hand around America's waist no matter how much he would rag on everything he said.
However, on one Christmas day England awoke before America. For a moment he felt a rush of panic as he saw America lying so still with one arm at an odd angle. Then he saw his chest move and breathed a sigh of relief. One day maybe he'd learn not to jump to conclusions so quickly. It couldn't be good for his health. America had been working so hard lately and he'd seemed almost sluggish the day before, so England decided that just once he'd allow him his rest. He gave his sleeping partner a kiss on the temple and went to take a shower.
It was nearly noon when England realized that America still hadn't made it downstairs. He'd been so busy making sure that everything was going well he'd scarcely had time to miss him. He made his way past a few of the smaller nations rolling around on the carpet to return to his bedroom. He opened the door just a crack to look in.
"America? Are you awake?"
America made a noise as though he was dying.
England smiled in spite of himself. "Lazy arse. You ought to wake up. Christmas only comes once a year. It's too quiet without you."
He groaned again and opened one eye. It was bloodshot and had a thick crust around the edges. His skin was blotchy and his hair was lackluster.
"Are you alright? You didn't drink too much last night, I thought. Or did you sneak off for seconds?"
America moaned again and buried his face in the pillows. "Kill me." He croaked.
England sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. He ran his hand down America's spine. "You feel warm." He finally said.
"I feel like death."
"You look like it to. Let me take your temperature. I'll get someone to heat you up some soup."
"Thank you." He mumbled pitifully.
England retrieved the ear thermometer from the bathroom and carefully pressed it inside America's ear, murmuring reassuring things all the while. After a few seconds, it beeped loudly and England pulled it away. He hissed. "Thirty nine degrees."
"How much is that in normal?"
"A lot."
America groaned again.
"You just rest, alright? I'll be right back."
He quietly left the room, trying not to disturb his lover any more than necessary. Then he hustled downstairs.
"Do we have any canned soup left?" He asked Scotland, who was currently in charge in the kitchen.
"Aye, we should have one or two. What's the matter?"
"America's ill."
"Och, poor laddie."
"He'll be alright. He's probably just going to complain for a long time. You know how he is."
"That I do."
England had to stand on his tiptoes to reach it, but eventually he found one last can of chicken soup.
"Budge up" He said, grabbing a sauce pan.
Scotland rolled his eyes but did so anyway, giving England enough room. They didn't talk, but they'd been together for so long there wasn't much to say anymore. Scotland only spoke once England had poured the soup into a bowl and was about to leave.
"Tell him I hope he feels better soon."
"And give him my best as well." India said, not looking up from his book.
England smiled at both of them. "Thanks. I will."
He carefully made his way back to the bedroom, dodging questions and bodies and trying not to spill anywhere.
America grumbled as he smelled the food and lifted his head.
"I brought you breakfast. Or lunch. Whichever you would most prefer."
All he got in response was a pathetic whimper.
"Oh darling." He gently stroked Alfred's hair. "You need to eat, though."
America's stomach rumbled and that seemed to motivate him enough to at least get him to sit up.
"There you go. Good lad."
America glared at him. "I'm not a little kid anymore."
"You're acting like one." Arthur said, offering him the bowl and a spoon. "Except when you were younger you were more grateful. I swear, you looked at me like I was the second coming when I would tend to you."
"I have no memory of that." Alfred said, blowing on a spoonful of soup before swallowing it.
The first sip seemed to do the trick. After that he attacked the soup as veraciously as one could a liquid. His eyes were looking clearer and clearer by the moment. England wasn't sure if it was the excitement or the prospect of food or if he was just finally waking up, but it was nice to see some life back in him. England watched him eat thoughtfully. He'd never seen him perk up so quickly before.
"Maybe you would get sicker." He said.
"Huh?"
"When you were young. Or else it was the seventeenth century medicine. Probably would have been better to give you straight gin and hope that would kill the bacteria."
Alfred laughed. "Yeah, probably. At least you went with the magic herbs route instead of bloodletting."
"That's true. But you've always been resistant to magic."
"Sure. Magic."
"It worked fine on all the others. You were always the troublemaker."
"You must have liked it. You came back for me."
"That I did." He kissed America's forehead. "I have to go back downstairs now and spend time with everyone else. Eat and rest some more and come down once you feel better, okay?"
"Alright. But gimmie some sugar first."
England huffed, "Only because I'm sure I'm already contaminated."
He pressed another kiss to America's lips, one that was chaste and sweet and usually made America mushy and complacent. "Feel better."
"I will."
With one more stroke of his hair, England got up to leave. He paused in the doorway. "Scotland and India wish you well too."
"Tell them I say thanks, okay?"
"Alright."
With that he closed the door behind him and went to tend to the rest of the family. He was asked a few times about where America was, but after the fifth person he told the news seemed to spread by itself. A few people came up to give their condolences and tell him to tell America they hope he would recover soon, but other than that it was basically the same as ever.
Near the end of the evening, America came downstairs. He'd borrowed a set of Arthur's good pajamas and a dressing gown. His hair was a mess and he was still rather pale. Everyone looked up and some of them waved for a moment before turning back to their previous conversations. England and Canada went up to greet him.
"Feeling better, love?" England asked.
"Much. Thanks for the soup." His voice was hoarse, as though he'd broken out in coughing fits several times throughout the day.
"You're welcome"
He rolled up his sleeves and began edging towards the table of appetizers. "So what all did I miss?"
"Well, we just finished with dinner. We're starting gifts soon."
"Really? Awesome!"
"You might want to put clothes on, though."
"Eh, most of the world has seen me in worse."
"America."
"But I'm sick." He said with a pout.
"I know you are. Get dressed. Would you like help?"
His eyes lit up and that was a good enough answer for England.
The two of them went back up together and America locked the door behind them before coming up behind England and kissing his neck.
"Come now, love, if you're ill the last thing you need is sex."
"It'll make me feel better. I missed out on my morning nookie."
"You are an absolute maniac."
"I'm practicing fidelity. I've been putting this off since the last time I saw you."
"And I appreciate it. But later."
America sighed and went to the wardrobe, pulling out one of his suits.
England eyed America's clothes skeptically. The pinstriped suit itself was nice enough, as well as the red shirt he was matching with it, but his tie had a garish Christmas tree that appeared to light up printed on it. "I suppose that'll do. Now hurry, we don't want them starting without us!"
"Yes, mother."
"Do you feel well enough to start the exchange?"
America didn't look up from his half-buttoned shirt. "Yeah. Sure."
"I could have Australia do it. It would be fine."
"Come on, England, I've got it!" He replied exasperatedly as he fastened his trousers and reached for his belt.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I'm good. It's all good."
England rolled his eyes and went to retrieve a comb.
"Thanks," America said quickly as he took it and ran it trough his hair without looking, getting everything flat but that damned cowlick in the front. "Do I look okay?"
"Absolutely horrid." England said with a scowl as he reached out to straighten his tie. "You should still be in bed."
America smiled. "Yeah, but it's Christmas. We're spending time as a family, even though something horrible happened. At least this isn't like the year that Sealand had that nasty fall and ended up breaking his leg."
"That's true. It didn't even slow him down."
"Dude, I don't think a nuke could slow him down. Now come on. I got presents to open!"
He grabbed his jacket from the bed and exited the room. He was almost pulling off his normal swagger. England rolled his eyes and followed.
Before England had even shut the door behind him, America stood tall and straight on the landing and was shouting for the exchange to begin. England had to admit that it was sort of fun to watch the beginning from the distance. The massive pine was swarmed by the fifty-eight other nations in attendance, the micro-nations in the lead and heading for anything that looked to be toy-shaped.
"See?" America said. "This is why I like to do it."
"It's really something, isn't it?"
"Yeah." They stood side by side watching before America grabbed England by the sleeve and dragged him down the stairs to join in the frenzy.
England tried as best he could to get to his little pile of gifts to give out, but he kept being stopped on the way. Since it was his house, everyone felt the need to get him something. It was fun seeing the variety. He got everything from a beautiful new tea set from India and a hand-knitted hat-mitten-scarf set from Canada to a blob of glue, glitter, and ribbon that was supposed to be an ornament from Sealand. He had great fun exchanging with his brothers and sister, giving away a kilt covered in sequins, a bright orange jumper saying "happy bloody St. Patrick's day," and an obnoxious and lopsided dragon statue while receiving coffee, a garish pink t-shirt with a unicorn on it on it, and a pair of tickets to some pop artist America kept going on about that was bound to be awful in return. Eventually he stumbled upon America and they swapped their equally-terrible presents (an eyebrow waxing kit for England and some supposedly revolutionary weight-loss device for America).
After a few minutes more, everything began to settle. People began to wander off to their rooms to deposit their gifts and England knew some of them wouldn't be coming back. The ground was littered with torn paper and lengths of ribbon. England sighed and resigned himself to cleanup. To his surprise, though, he found America picking up along with him. When he asked, America just replied with a shrug.
It wasn't until everything was picked up that his motives were made clear. Although the spot beneath the tree had been mostly decimated, two little boxes remained near the front. England recognized one of them as the gift he was supposed to give America earlier in the morning and upon inspecting the tag found the other to be America's gifts to him.
"Open it." America said, coming up behind him quite suddenly.
England blushed. "You should go first, idiot. You always do."
America smiled softly and took the little parcel from him.
"It always makes me kind of sad to unwrap these. They're always so nice."
"Oh, bugger off."
"They are!"
He turned the little box over in his hands once more, but then carefully took off the paper to reveal the velvet box beneath.
"Should I pause for you to get down on one knee?" He teased.
England blushed even redder. "It's not that, bloody idiot!"
America grinned and opened the box. His eyes grew wide as he looked inside. Inside were a pair of cufflinks, silver with a large sapphire insert in each.
"They're beautiful." America said softly. He pulled the plain ones from his shirt and slid them in his pocket, replacing him with the new ones.
England's heart swelled with pride. It was such a subtle little thing and no one else would know, but now every time he looked at America's wrists and saw the gleam of blue it would serve as one more reminder. He wished he could put it in words, but all that came out was "They don't match that outfit, you know."
"I don't care. They're fantastic. Thank you so much."
He took England's hands and kissed him slow and sweet. Then, he pressed England's fingers closed around the other box.
"Mine's not as nice as yours is. Sorry about that."
True, the wrapping was a tad lumpier and England doubted America would get him fine jewelry, but he couldn't have cared less. He eased the paper open and found a simple wooden box inside. The box itself was at least fifty years old, though. England looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
America just grinned. "Open it."
England did, and upon seeing the first flash of silver all he could think was, "America got me jewelry?" Then he wrapped his fingers around the chain, lifting it from the box and realized what it was.
"Dog tags?" He asked.
"Not just any. Look closely. That's the set I wore during world war two. The set I wore when you first asked me out, when we first kissed. I found it in one of my old storage closets. I- I thought maybe you should have them."
England smiled and put the chain around his neck, tucking the tags themselves under his shirt. "You were right. Thank you."
"Will you wear them for a while?" America asked. "I mean, like at night or when we're alone."
"Of course, love."
"Thank you." He touched England's hand gently.
England looked deep into his eyes for a moment. Even as weary and ill as he looked, there was no one more beautiful in his world.