'Tis the season! It was that time of year again – time to go digging around in the storage for Christmas decorations. That was America's favorite part of the holiday season, aside from ripping open presents, of course. It made him feel like a treasure-hunter, searching for gold and trinkets. And he'd be sifting through his stuff in the shed for quite a long time. God, he had so much shit piled up in here. But also a lot of memories. Those nutcracker toys he got from England way back when he was a kid! A little dusty, a couple of them have some wear and tear, but it's all good. What else? This thing from France – okay, he'd just pretend he didn't see or save that. Oh yeah, and of course: "If we can send a man to the moon, why can't he pick up his socks?" Smart-ass Canada at his finest. An adorable singing kitten from Japan, handmade reindeer from Finland, and... Oh?
Buried underneath all the typical Christmas decorations was something else. Something a little heavier. It was cracked, not really functional – something that America rediscovered hiding back in its box just about every year, yet was thoroughly surprised by its presence every time: a simple pocketwatch, gifted to him from Russia over a century and a half ago. His fingers brushed over an engraving on the back. Turning it over revealed the pair's initials, an R and a US, linked through each other.
The watch dragged America down memory lane, made him travel back to a time when he could safely and easily say he loved Russia, to a time when they stayed faithfully by each other's sides, through times of struggle...
America was shaking, pressing his arms into his stomach, face red and soaked with tears. "Russia, I..." He choked on his words. "I feel like I'm going to die."
"Shh." Russia leaned against him, arm around his back, chin on his shoulder. "You will survive. You have my word." A brief pause, and then he growled, "I will punish anyone who dares harm you."
"No, you really don't have to go that far for me," America said. Satisfying as it may feel, America was scared of the notion of more people than necessary being hurt. "But thanks for sticking by me. That's all I want right now..."
...and times of happiness...
The invitation he'd sent to Russia – to a local celebration made just for him, here in America, in San Francisco – was engraved with a laurel wreath, enveloping their initials, themselves entwined around each other. Some months later, Russia had painstakingly engraved a pocketwatch, inspired by the design on the invitation. It, too, had their initials interlocked together. It was a symbol just for them, of their friendship, that Russia swore to America would stand the test of time for as long as they lived.
How times have changed.
America wasn't sure what came over him, smashing it against the wall like that. Fuck him!
Hence the scars all over its face. Hence its inability to tick forward. That was about 60 years after he was gifted the watch. Right when their "invincible" friendship went to hell, when their friendship was overthrown and replaced with a new, bitter, lethal hatred, left in the dust and all but forgotten. In almost every year afterward, always around Christmastime, America would rediscover the watch buried underneath all of his other storage-shed memorabilia. And every single time, these flashbacks came flooding back. Feelings of nostalgia, feelings of guilt, feelings of longing. It was more than enough to make a grown man collapse in a river of tears.
And sometimes... Sometimes amid all these feelings, a single thought emerges.
It's a thought had occurred to America a few times before in years past: what if he presented the watch to Russia again after all this time? How would he react? He knew how much Russia loved offers of friendship. More than most anything else. But maybe America was an exception. After all, it was an extremely dramatic and rapid shift their relationship underwent, more so than either had with anyone else that he knew of. And Russia wasn't exactly the most optimistic of folks.
Still, it had never hurt to try before. He remembered how hilariously flustered the other was when he gave him the reset button. He chuckled at the thought. Oh yeah, if America can screw up a single Russian word and still have Russia sort-of-accept the offer of friendship, there's no way this could go wrong.
It was settled. This year, he'd do it. He'd fix up the watch as best he could and show it to him. What was the worst that could happen?
Russia should be home for the holiday by now, according to his sister. America could tell she was upset to let him go. He knew exactly why. Russia had a tendency to drink until he was near-comatose this time of year. And he was a moody drunk, too – sometimes full of love, sometimes, rage, often switching between the two at a moment's notice. Knowing him, chances are that would've been the first thing he'd have done when he got home. He might even be in the middle of an episode right now.
Russia's entire property looked so lonely and abandoned. Hollow, and just barely alive. None of the indoor nor outdoor lights were on, save for the faint glow of a fire crackling inside. Certainly not helped by the current weather at all. Typical General Winter bashing a blizzard in America's face and making his ears ache like all hell. A hood and a scarf together still proved insufficient protection. He'd probably never understand how people could stand to live here.
Well, this is it. He's at the front door. America took in a deep, sharply-cold breath, gave four quick knocks, and waited. It didn't take long for Russia to respond. He only opened the door just enough to make conversation, a sober trait of his. Maybe America did catch him just in time before the booze-bath started. Then again, he was just able to see a section of the coffee table behind Russia, where there was one bottle in view, although it was good as empty. God only knows what he couldn't see. Shit. Great. He was probably the last person Russia wanted to see right about now.
"What was it that you needed from me, America?" he asked somewhat irritatedly. Yup. Definitely the last person he wanted to see.
"Well, uh, I found something," America said, reaching into his coat pocket, "and I thought I'd like to show you." He whipped the newly-fixed-and-shined watch out of his pocket, extending his arm out straight to Russia's chest.
It was only for a split-second, but America saw the little flinch in his face, the slightest widening of his eyes. So at least Russia remembered this thing existed.
"Ah...Where did you find this?" He took the watch gingerly from America's hand, closely inspecting it.
"Stuck it in the back of the shed a while back. Figured it'd be a good way to, like...I don't know. Like, I know it's not gonna fix all our problems or anything, but you know, nothing wrong with trying or even just saying you wanna try or something – you get what I'm saying?" God, he sounded like such a blubbering dumbass.
No response; Russia was still staring intently at the watch, although it was clear that he was trying to suppress some kind of emotion. The alcohol was starting to betray him.
"Uh dude, you alright?"
"...Are you all right?" Russia snapped. "You're an idiot, America. All these years later, all these horrible fucking years later, and you're still naïve enough to believe in this kind of shit." America bit his tongue, knowing from past experience that less talking meant less anger. "You have impossible wishes, America! I had them, too!" Huh? "I know it's impossible! I gave up on them a long time ago..." His anger suddenly melted into melancholy; he leaned up against his doorframe, closing his eyes. "I wish it was as simple as turning back and redoing..."
"Hey, don't mean to cut you off there, but my ass is gonna freeze off if I keep standing here."
"Oh!" Russia was too emotional to say much more in the moment. He simply pulled America inside – surprisingly gently – shut the door behind them, and guided him to the sofa, sitting down with him. Now America could plainly see a second bottle that had just been started.
He also noticed that Russia hadn't let go of him yet.
Without taking his other arm off of America's back, Russia switched his attention over to the watch, turning it over and over in his hand. Stroking his thumb over its face. Even pressed it against his cheek, holding it there for a minute, not moving, but making little moans and hums. Kind of a weirdo drunk, America thought, though at least it was better than getting used as replacement tinder for the fireplace in front of them.
Russia's next movement was to bury his face into America's shoulder, crying. Not exactly something he was expecting.
"Whoa there, big guy. Uh..." America awkwardly hugged him back. Russia started babbling about this and that; he was barely coherent at best, but America was able to make out a few bits and pieces, especially once he realized they came from Russia's own memories and flashbacks. From the time he saved one of America's cities from burning to the ground, to the time he almost proposed to him, Russia, too, was taken on the same time-traveling roller coaster that America was a few weeks ago. Must be a special property of the watch.
Then without warning, Russia grabbed the empty bottle and hurled it at the wall above the fireplace, completely shattering it. America's blood froze.
Russia immediately went back to sobbing, though sitting next to the fireplace and the bottle shards, away from America, even snapping at America, when he tried to come close to him again. The watch was still in Russia's hand. There's was no way in hell he'd let it go, and his mood had completely switched to anger at America's very presence, barking, "Leave me the fuck be!"
There was absolutely nothing else America could safely do aside from heeding Russia's wishes.
Upon the departure of Christmas Day, the buzz and the high that had previously filled the halls of the building dissipated. Meetings were back to business as usual, although the Countdown to the New Year was fast approaching, stirring up the Nations again; hell, even Germany was smiling just a little bit today, however much he'd pretend he wasn't. America certainly contributed to the excitement. It was the one time of year when the others were more tolerant of his (as well as Denmark's and Prussia's) usual nature, and he sure milked those few weeks for all they were worth.
America was among the last few in the crowd clearing out for the day. Just when the door to the winter wonderland outside came into view, he felt a hand bear down on his shoulder. The size and roughness could only belong to Russia. America laughed a little, asking, "Hey, how are - "
Without so much as a greeting, Russia hurriedly, almost violently, grabbed America's hand, opened his fingers, and placed the watch into his palm. "I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking his head.
"What do you - "
"I cannot keep this."
"Hey! The fuck, man!" America chased him down the hall. There was no stopping him. He was out the door and down the street in mere seconds, the door slamming shut in America's face. It was barely enough time for him to even process what just happened.
He froze on the spot for what felt like several minutes, heart beyondcrushed. His little idea, his spontaneous plan,failed. Russia rejected the most prized gift America had to offer him. He hadn't even so much as looked him in the eye during the exchange. The worst part was the growing sickness in his gut telling him he probably should have known this was coming.
Yet at the same time, he could have sworn he'd heard a slight tremor in Russia's voice. Looking down at the watch in his hand, America saw that it was somehow still in the same fixed, unscarred condition as when he left Russia's house. Maybe Russia was simply scared of the very-probable possibility of his drunken self destroying it. America hoped so.
He damn well hoped so.
For the last several days, America had been consistently forgetting to take his mail out of the box and was finally reminded today. God dammit, can't people understand that maybe he has other super-important things on his mind? Like what he's going to make as his New Year Resolutions? (Not that he ever stuck with them for more than a couple of weeks, but no one else needed to know that...) Flipping through the enormous pack of paper in his hands – bunch of bills, paycheck, sweet, oh shit, gotta renew that subscription – he paused at one. From Russia. From a man America was pretty damn sure wanted nothing to do with him, at least on a personal level, for probably until the end of time. The fuck.
Whatever, he'd read it. America opened up the letter and, before he could skim through its contents, noticed a peculiarly familiar insignia at the bottom. For a moment, his breath stopped.
He read through the letter. Once. Twice. Thrice. Who knows how many times he read over it, just to make extra sure that it said what it said. That Russia wants him. Back in his country, his house, before midnight on New Year's Eve. That meant that America would have to leave soon.
The plane took off just in time to make it to Russia's home by 10:30 p.m. local time, weather permitting. Normally, America would do the sane thing and take a good, strong nap on such a long trip. Not today. He was going to burst with anticipation. What does Russia want? He'll be sober, right? It was the New Year, which America knew was huge in his home. Probably there's something good in store, but only time would be able to tell.
For the time being, all America could do was keep himself awake by the letter in his hand, by the feel of its paper, by its message, by its laurel wreath.
[A/N: And that concludes the first-ever fic I fully finished and published, an idea I had rattling around in my head for ages before finally putting the words on paper and showing it to the world. It wound up being a lot longer than I originally anticipated. It was kind of stressful, getting it done on time... but I feel pretty good about how it came out!]