Title: An Awesome Christmas

Summary: While Santa/Finland goes delivering presents around the world, who's left to cook Christmas dinner? How hard can it be, really? Follow our favourite Dane and his best pal, Prussia as they make Christmas one to remember. Guest stars: Finland, Sweden, England, America, Russia, femLatvia, Lithuania, Hungary, Austria... Christmassy sequel (of a sorts) to Revelations.

Warnings: Drunkeness, some swearing, crack, some of Santa's secrets revealed, implied yaoi.

Chapter 1

24th December early morning

Santa/Finland sat in his sleigh, holding the reins nervously awaiting the go-ahead from his chief elf. His breath crystallised in the cold air. The final checks were being made. The elves checked the sleigh runners, the harnesses and that the huge sack of parcels (although magically shrunk) was securely tied.

"All ready, Sir?" the chief elf, a rather large (for an elf) 5 foot tall, 2000 year old boy-ish looking person with twinkling eyes asked.

Finland nodded, he glanced at his GPS, at his companion who sat motionless and silent beside him and gave a wave of his hand.

Rudolph at the front, turned and looked at the 'boss' and raised an eyebrow – if a reindeer could do such a thing.

The elves began the countdown, one elf pressed the switch so over a dozen fairy lights lit the runway and the snow began to fall.

"All ready, Ber?" Finland asked his companion nervously.

Berwald nodded imperceptibly and grunted.

Finland took that as a yes, gave the reins a shake, the bells tinkling – his favourite sound in the world – and as the elves got to "One!" the reindeers ran forward.

"Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen and Rudolph! Let's go!" Finland yelled.

"Lift off!" The chief elf shouted.

And, amazingly, despite all the laws of gravity, the reindeer did just that – and soared into the air.

Down on the ground, on the frozen sea ice which was the temporary runway and Santa HQ for that year, the elves began to dismantle everything. "Good job, man!" "Great work!" "See you next year!" "You off to the after work party?" "No, off to Barbados for my annual leave." So was the various shouts between them as they packed the remnants up onto sleighs and began the trek back to Lapland and the permanent Santa HQ.

"Well, that went well... glad that Dude Den person didn't turn up or any of those moronic Nations..." the chief elf confided in his Lieutenant.

The second in command nodded. In past years, they'd had to deal with a drunken but over-jolly Russian who'd scared the reindeers, a very drunken Dane who'd traumatised some of the younger elves by stripping – in sub-zero temperatures – to show them his tattoo of Copenhagen and one awful year when a very loud-mouthed American had turned up with a dreadful aeroplane that he seemed to think would be better than a 'silly old-fashioned sleigh'. They'd only just rescued him from being trampled by nine very angry reindeer.

Besides, no aeroplane, jet or other 'flying monstrosity' as the elves called them, could keep up with the reindeer at full speed.

The chief elf's mobile phone tinkled – Jingle Bells appropriately – and he answered it, "Yes? Ah yes, thank you very much! Yes, he's set off... he should be on your radar now!"

He snapped the phone shut. It had been a relief in way when NORAD first said they would track Santa. With the increasing air traffic – both military and commercial, the elves had gotten more and more concerned about Santa in the past fifty years. The only worry they'd had before had been fog or lightning. At least knowing the military was keeping an eye on things – they'd had a near-miss once with a missile, so now Santa had a military escort when flying over some 'hotspots'. Although as they'd pointed out, time and again to the various Air Forces, the reindeers could fly faster than any fighter jets.

"Humans..." the elf muttered sadly, and shook his head.

Meanwhile... Helsinki, Finland

"Matthias,

Don't forget to pick up Peter from his friend's party. Everything you need to cook Christmas dinner should be right here. Remember, the turkey needs to be cooked in the oven for four hours in the big tray. All the vegetables you need to boil in the big pan on the stove for as long as it says on the packaging. There should be enough for you and a few friends – don't forget Erik and Emil are coming around at ten pm and they need to be fed, and I should be home soon after that, so don't eat it all! Then again, I don't think even you could...

Try not to mess it up,
Tino."

"Does he think I'm a moron? I got all day to do this... it's only mid-day... man! I got time to paaaaaaaaaaaaarty!" the tall Dane threw the remnants of a bottle of Carlsberg beer down his throat and laughed.

The doorbell rang. Den yelled ear-splittingly, with the force of a dozen fog-horns, "Hey, Pru, yer lazy sack! Answer the door!"

Prussia, for it was he, staggered out of the living room, a tangle of fairy lights wrapped around his neck, a beer in his hand, a screwdriver – ominously – in the other, a black Santa hat on his head which pronounced the words in white, quite amusingly (he thought): "Ho bloody ho".

"I ain't your servant, answer it yourself! I got my hands full..."

"Yer big jess..." Den answered and grabbed his friend in a big bear hug, "Love ya, Pru..."

"Stop calling me Pru and stop bloody hugging me..." Prussia said within the confines of his bigger friend's arms.

Den let go of him and ruffled his friend's 'awesome' hair but was stopped dead when there was an earth-shattering bang on the door.

"Yer'd better open it, man!" Prussia said.

BANG.

"Dude...?" Denmark's voice, for once, sounded very small and quiet in the large house.

"I'm right here, man..."

BANG.

"Wh-what is that?" Denmark tried again to make his voice stop shaking. "I mean, I'm not scared or anything, I'm the King of Northern Europe!"

BANG. CRASH. CLUNK!

"Aaargh!" The King of Northern Europe jumped into his best friend's arms as a huge, cloaked figure burst in through what used to be a door. There was a hood covering its face, and it was holding a long, curved object in one gloved hand.

The two Germanic Nations watched in horror as the figure stepped towards them, dragging its feet across the carpet and leaving snow in its wake... then threw back its hood and said cheerfully "Privet!"

"I shoulda bloody known it was the commie bastard!" Prussia shouted, and dumped Denmark unceremoniously on the floor.

"Kolkol... Is Tino here?" Russia asked, bending down to stroke a yapping Hanatamago. There was movement behind him as a shorter person stepped carefully through. Whoever it was, was wearing a huge coat that made them look twice as wide as they probably were, and a hood that covered their face. A woolly, gloved hand took down the hood, revealing curly blonde hair, big blue eyes and a scowl. Latvia.

"Dude Chick!" Prussia exclaimed. It had been a while since he'd seen the honorary Awesome Trio member.

"It's bloody cold out there!" Latvia complained, ignoring Gilbert completely. "Did you have to destroy the door? Now it's cold in here, too."

"They locked it." Russia offered by way of explanation, with a shrug.

Apparently, the door wasn't done being crashed through, as a shout of "Latviaaaaaa!" came from outside and a taller figure stumbled through, holding hands with little Dmitri, who had refused to wear a coat. Latvia had instead wound a scarf around the future Nation's neck, a scarf which was longer than the boy was tall and that he kept tripping over.

"Labas rytas," Toris said breathlessly, shuddering a bit from the cold.

"Toris had to drive us here," Latvia explained, "Ivan's been suspended from driving again, the big oaf." She looked over at Russia, who shuffled his feet and looked at the floor.

"It said 'McDonald's Drive Through'," he said with another shrug.

"They didn't mean the building!" Latvia scolded.

"Is little Tino here or has he left?" Russia asked.

"Father Frost! Father Frost!" Dmitri jumped up and down excitedly, his big purple eyes shining with excitement. In his rather large hands he held a purple teddy with a medal pinned to its chest.

"S'up with the kid? The guy's called Santa Claus... SANTA CLAUS!" Prussia said slowly with great care and bent down so he was level with the child.

Dmitri answered this by hitting him with 'Comrade Ted', "I don't like you!" the child said with a distinct Latvian accent.

Russia smiled proudly.

"He's gone... set off already... so bye then... have a nice Christmas..." Den indicated the ruins of the door.

Lithuania had already stepped into the kitchen though and was switched on the kettle. "You haven't started cooking your turkey, Mr Denmark?" he called through.

"Aaaargh! No! I haven't! It's nothing to do with you! Go away... we're partying, man!" Den answered and attempted to steer Lithuania, who had already began to pick up some cooking implements and had switched on the oven.

"I wanted to make sure I was on the 'good' list," Russia explained, scooping up his son who was still trying to hit Prussia.

Prussia clutched his nose, "Bugger off," he muttered.

Latvia punched him on the arm, "Don't swear in front of my son," she said.

"Bloody hell, dude chick!" Prussia exclaimed and was rewarded by another smack.

Denmark skidded out of the kitchen, "I had a look at the list... and no, you're not... she is though and Dmitri, Toris is always on the good list... so bye then... see you... don't come back..."

"Not. On. The. Good. List." Russia said this slowly but quietly, his aura suddenly crackled into life and surged around him.

Dmitri clung to his father and pursed his lips, "Bad men in trouble..." the child muttered and looked at Prussia.

"Well... perhaps it's because you put that pipe in that man's head last week?" Latvia said and then attempted to move him. It was like moving a mountain. "He won't be coming to our house any way until the New Year and I'm sure you can do something good by then..." she added.

"That turkey of yours needs stuffing..." Lithuania said, emerging from the kitchen, yellow marigold gloves on, a turkey baster in one hand. He took in the scene. Russia's purple aura, the child, Dmitri (who he was convinced had 666 on his head somewhere) glaring at Prussia, Latvia trying to pull the large Nation out of the doorway (there was no door).

Russia handed Dmitri to Latvia, took the baster out of Lithuania's hands and turned to Prussia and Denmark, "I'm going to do some stuffing!" he said menacingly.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarg h!" The most awesomest Nation and the King of Northern Europe would deny later that they screamed like little girls or that they ran, very fast, out of the back door... but they did.

Somewhere over Australia

"I like Australia... such a nice country... easy-going... peaceful..." Santa said cheerily as the reindeer touched down in Perth. They'd done Melbourne, Sydney, Canberra. He'd doffed his Santa hat at several Australian children hanging out of their windows to wave at him as he sped by, as well as the Australian Nation himself – leaving to go for a 'midnight' surf.

"Hmmmm," Berwald grunted and studied the list and re-set the GPS.

"We never needed a GPS before... I suppose it makes things a little easier. Can't go missing Papua New Guinea again, can we? And that Christmas I missed Madagascar?"

"Hmmm," Berwald 'answered'.

"It is nice to have company though," Santa continued as they sped out over the Indian Ocean. He waved at the NATO jets flying either side of the sleigh.

It had been Russian MIG fighter jets over northern Asia and now the Americans had taken over as military escort. Tino smiled, it was reassuring. He'd had a few near misses when the Chinese had mistaken him for a rogue missile once and fired on him, also when he'd delivered presents during the War, he'd had a military escort of RAF hurricanes attempting to keep up, but this had just caused trouble.

He was too polite to tell them that they were too slow for the reindeer and he had to keep tugging on the reins for Rudolph to slow down.

The walkie-talkie buzzed and he answered it, pressing the button, "Erm... Roger?"

"All a-okay, Mr Santa, Sir?" one of the pilots asked.

Tino waved. He knew the human pilots could not work out how he was flying with no oxygen mask, no protective pressurised cabin, notwithstanding the fact that the reindeer were flying at speeds of 3 to 4 MACH.

"Yes, thank you! All a-okay!" he said, adopting the Americanism. "See you in a bit in Taiwan!"

"Roger that!" the pilot answered but didn't have chance to disconnect as Santa's sleigh took off with a sonic boom, leaving a trail of glitter and a jingle of bells.

Helsinki

"Has he gone?" Den asked.

Prussia, his bright white hair stood on end, his black Santa hat gone, the fairy lights broken around his neck, shook his head, "Dunno..."

"Have a look..."

"You have a look..."

The ex Germanic Nation and the Danish Nation were crouched in Finland's garden shed. Prussia was still feeing annoyed that he'd been beaten up by a two year old. He'd only come to Finland's house because he'd been promised a 'wild party with girls, booze and food'. He'd ended up with a punch on the nose and being chased through the house threatened with 'a stuffing' by an insane Russian. Not good.

Denmark opened the door an inch and peered out, careful not to damage his own awesome hairstyle.

He yelped in surprise and not a little fright as an eyeball peered back at him.

"Shit man!" he yelled and jumped back, shoving Prussia back – the latter falling back painfully onto a garden ornament.

"Scheiße!" Gilbert yelled as his bottom met the pointy end of a garden gnome. The gnome had a horrid look on its face, Gil decided.

"Yay! Mr Denmark! We found you!" a cheery Italian voice cut through the chill air.

"You've got to be kidding me..." Prussia said, rubbing his arse and shoving Denmark out of the shed.

"We wondered where you were... me and Luddy-kins have come to see you. We brought presents for you and Mr Sweden and Santa and Mr Norway and then we found the door all burst open and nobody around and Germany was a bit worried and we searched and searched... and there were beer cans all over and your turkey needs putting in the oven... I made pastaaaaaa!" This was all said at 100 miles an hour, arms waving in the air and a huge smile on his cheery face.

"Feliciano! How long have you been here?" Prussia said, elbowing Denmark out of the way.

"About an hour, vee... Germany is sorting out your Christmas tree, he said it was abysmal."

"Rude bugger! Those beer cans were put on that tree for a reason!" Denmark exclaimed.

"Has fat Russkie gone then?" Prussia interrupted.

"I think so! Mr Russia wasn't here when we got here... but we found this!" Feliciano handed the Prussian a note – written in some unidentifiable red liquid.

"I WILL GET YOU", it said in spiky writing.

"Awwwww, that kid's come on quick! Who'd have thought he could write that well!" Denmark said and was bashed around the head by Prussia.

"Fool! Russkie dude wrote that... in blood!" Prussia yelled dramatically.

"Actually... I think it's ketchup. I think they had some chips before they left," Italy said.

"Besides I ain't scared of no kid," Prussia said.

"Hmmmmm..."

"I'm bloody not!" Prussia yelled.

"Stop yelling, Bruder!" Germany yelled as he came out of the house. "I sorted out that dreadful Christmas tree, cleaned up your kitchen – which looked as if someone had attempted an invasion..."

"That wasn't us! That was fat Russkie dude..." Prussia said.

"... and his little boyfriend, Toris..." Denmark interjected.

"... and then I did your recycling – all those beer cans are in the green recycling bin," Germany continued, glaring at the two men.

"Awww man! Those beer cans were decorating the tree!" Prussia yelled, utterly appalled.

Germany ignored him and took the fairy lights from around his brother's neck, and held them up between thumb and forefinger. "What happened to these?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I had a bit of bother..." Prussia began and was interrupted by the telephone ringing.

"Yo dude, you've reached the most awesomest Dude Denmark, man!" Denmark yelled down the phone.

Approximately 1,080 miles away, Austria held the phone a full arms-length away from his ear in what was probably a vain attempt to save his eardrums. "Er, hello Denmark. May I speak with Finland?"

"He's out, man! Gone to deliver presents. Took Ber with him in his stupid elf costume, hahahaha! Ever seen a 6 foot elf carrying a broadsword? I know I have, man."

"Erm... okay. I just wanted to know about the Naughty or Nice list..."

"Hahaha, duuuuude! S'okay, man, I'm pretty sure you're on the Nice list! Even though you're not nice..."

"I am nice!"

"You're not..."

"I could be nice!"

"Okay, man... Whatever you say..."

Austria took his glasses off and massaged his temples. "I wasn't actually going to ask about myself, I want to know about Switzerland."

Den smiled what he thought was a knowing smile, but which actually looked decidedly perverted... though it didn't matter, because Austria couldn't actually see him. Hanatamago, however, could and ran to hide under the table, whimpering. "He your dude boyfriend, man? Congrats, bro!"

"NO HE IS NOT!" Austria yelled, blushing from both anger and embarrassment. "I wanted to know because that man should be on the Naughty list, he has been very very bad all year."

Denmark continued to do his perverted grin. "So he's naughty, huh? You're a lucky guy, dude Austria!"

"I DID NOT MEAN THAT KIND OF NAUGHTY! I mean... He's always doing target practise at dawn and waking me up, and of course there's the way he lets his goats stray onto my yard, and of course the man has no appreciation whatsoever for the piano! He's a barbarian, truly!"

"But you lurrrve heeemm..." Denmark said in a very bad French accent for reasons unknown to anyone, including himself.

"DUDE! Who're you talking to?" Came Prussia's grating voice from the dining room, where he had been watching, in totally awesome silence (for once) while he brother untangled fairy lights and fixed a fuse.

Austria's phone picked up the shout from the ex-Nation, and out of pure fear that he might have to talk to the Prussian, he banged the phone down without saying goodbye.

"HELLLOOOOO? DUUUUUUDE?!" Denmark continued to yell deafeningly down the receiver, before shrugging and hanging up too. "Huh. Guess his boyfriend arrived."

Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean

Finland/Santa double-checked the co-ordinates. Since the sleigh had had a major overhaul back in the 1960s with radar and now with GPS, it had made it much easier to find their way. Before that, he'd had to occasionally back-track to places he'd forgotten. As it was they seemed to be ahead of schedule. Every-time he came to a major city or town, he did the usual magic – the world would stop turning, effectively stopping time and he would deliver the presents – usually by elf magic – so they flew themselves down the chimney/through windows/doors or any aperture. Occasionally, he would deliver presents himself just to keep the legend alive.

Besides he enjoyed it – especially if children stayed up specially – Finland's special magic camouflage kicked in and they saw the usual fat, jolly white man in a red suit with a long white beard. Sometimes Berwald delivered a few as well. Finland remembered the time he'd taken Russia with him and had been horrified to find that the drunken Russian had stolen vodka wherever he could. He hadn't been allowed on the sleigh after that.

"China done. Japan done. India done... that curry we had was a bit hot wasn't it, Ber? I mean it was nice of India to make us a meal but..."

"Hmmm," agreed Berwald.

"And Mr China and Mr Japan were very welcoming... I didn't know they spent Christmas together... actually I suppose Mr China's government don't really have Christmas being communist... fancy arguing about the moon... I liked Mr Japan's rice balls. They're much better than Mr England's mince pies... I really hope we don't get them again."

Finland continued to chatter as the sledge slowed passing over the border back to Russia. The NATO jets dipped their wings and flew off as Santa's sleigh was joined instead by Soviet jets. Finland waved at them cheerily.

Helsinki, Finland

"So I made Spaghetti pasta, some carbonara sauce and also a pizza..." Feliciano was telling them.

"Groovy dude!" Denmark mumbled, his mouth full of pizza.

"What about sauerkraut?" Prussia asked, stirring up his bowl of pasta anyway.

"Nein! That pasta and pizza is for when Tino and Berwald get back," Germany said, taking the bowl from his brother's hand.

"We got a turkey for that and..." Denmark said and suddenly realised something – in fact a lightbulb appeared above his head (not literally of course) – they were supposed to cook the turkey for dinner.

"This turkey?" Germany held up the said poultry and turned to the Dane. The bird had a note on it that said "Cook me" in Lithuanian.

"Ja! That's the one!" Denmark said, "We've got to have it ready for when Tino and Ber get back."

Germany shook his head, "I'm no cook but..."

"Si... he is no cook... his sausages are not very good," Italy lamented.

"Kesese! You two kill me!" Prussia laughed.

Germany glared at Italy, "I'm no cook but... that bird is going to take a lot longer than four hours to cook..."

"Four hours? What do you mean, four hours?" Denmark said in a sudden panic.

"Well..." here Germany checked his watch, "It is now five o'clock, ja?"

"We were in that sodding shed for three hours, man?"

"It was Russia, man! Russia! Of course we were in there for three hours..."

Germany sighed and held up a hand for silence, "Santa is due back... at what? Ten o'clock? When all the little children are in bed, ja?"

"Ja, but that's five hours... easy, man!" Denmark said, confidently and grabbed the turkey from the German.

"But it's frozen! Solid!" Germany wacked the turkey on the table – it was indeed still frozen.

"Sod!" Denmark said.

"It was half thawed when idiot Russkie arrived and..." Prussia stopped and considered what he'd just said, "Bloody Russkie froze our turkey!"

"Hmm..." Germany said, having had experience before of Russia's propensity for calling up freezing temperatures, he wasn't about to disagree.

"There's a note on its bum!" Denmark said.

"Do turkeys have bottoms?" Prussia asked.

"Course they have bottoms – where do you think the eggs come from?" Denmark said.

"That's chickens, stupid!" Prussia answered, hitting his friend on the arm.

Denmark ignored him and read the note, "Your turkey is frozen, da. It is also stuffed. So will you be when I see you. Merry Christmas, Russia!"

"Fucking nutbag," Prussia muttered and was promptly hit by Germany.

Italy took the turkey from Denmark's hands and shook his head, "Frozen, weighs around 15 pound... I'd say at least 5 hours!" he said and then promptly put it back on the table.

They all looked at the kitchen clock and then back at the frozen bird.

"Right... well... we'll be off then, auf wiedersehen!" Germany said and then added, "Come on, Italy, let's go and leave these idiots..."

"Si, Germany... I'll take my pasta and pizza with me!"

"Wait! Leave the pizza!" Denmark said, in a rather pathetic voice.

Germany and Italy, the latter lovingly wrapping the pasta in a pot, headed for the doorway to bump into an old adversary.

"Honhonhon! Oooh yes! Mon Allemagne! Italie! Petit Feliciano!"

"Eeek! Germany, it's Mr France!"

"Aaaah oui!"

"Bloody hell, who invited frogface?" Prussia asked.

"Well... he's my dude friend and I thought he was your mate? He said he would bring girls..." Denmark said as Germany hurried past the Frenchman, pulling Italy along with him.

"Girls? Well in that case..."

Three scantily-clad women dressed, Germany thought rather scandalously, in tiny 'Santa' outfits stepped in.

"Man! I love you!" Gilbert said, with a tiny bit of a sob.

Author's Notes:

North Pole – the north pole is actually located on sea ice – the Arctic Ocean is just a frozen ocean much of the winter so have decided that in this story Santa's HQ is just a temporary one for when he sets off, his main one is of course in Lapland.

NORAD – NORAD (North American Aerospace Defense Command) do in fact track Santa by satellite, as do the Russian equivalent. The F1 fighter jets that accompany him is just a figment of my imagination – or is it?

Labas rytas – good morning in Lithuanian

Chapter 2 (and the ending) to follow soon (this was going to be a short one-shot but ended up too long).