Discalimer: Cookies.

Yuletide Glow

England cursed. Fucking snow. Fucking winter. Fucking lying weather man, saying there would be no snow when, in reality, it had snowed around 4 bloody feet! He tramped through the said snow, his cursing becoming more and more frequent as he wandered down the road. Normally, he wouldn't swear like this around Christmas time, for the sake of the kids, but it was late, so no one was around to hear him. Alfred had invited him over to his cabin in Virginia for Christmas, and, after much pestering, England finally agreed. Better that spending Christmas with his brothers, right? Unfortunately, due to the snow, America couldn't come pick him up from the airport, as previously planned, and the cab would only go as far as the last gas station on its route. This left Arthur with a six mile walk. Through a hick country town. Alone. At night. On Christmas Eve. Bloody hell.

He shivered again, and hugged his coat tighter around him. Why had he agreed to this? It's not like he hasn't ignored him before, right? He's ignored that annoying prat's voice, his constant poking, his clear, amazing blue eyes... Wait, what? Where did THAT come from? Arthur hit himself on the head with his gloved fist, as if to dispel the very thought. He though he'd gotten over that, past that stupid feeling. Yes, and although he would never, never, willingly admit it, he was kind-of-sort-of in LOVE with the American git. Why, sometimes he wondered. Scratch that, often times, he wondered. But no matter what he did, he couldn't help himself. He kicked at the snow, but slipped and fell on his back. Great, more wet and cold to suffer through.

About an hour later, he was totally lost and had NO IDEA where he was, how far he'd gone or had left to go, but whatever it was, it was still way too fucking-bloody far in his opinion. He huffed a bit, kicking half-heartedly at the snow, which only caused him to lose his balance and fall over again. Grumbling he stood up, brushing the snow off of him, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. Pausing, he thought he felt something in his pocket brush his finger. That was odd. He pulled it out, and immediately choked up when he saw what it was. It was a picture of him and America, when he was still a colony. They were smiling and giggling, having a good time, like it was before THAT happened (1). England felt a tear roll down his cheek, and he quickly whipped it away. No time for tears, he thought, as he shoved the picture into an inside pocket on his coat. It was that git of a former colony of his that chose for his indi-bloody-pendence, and that's the way it was gonna stay. Brothers. Friends. Acquaintances, even. Nothing more.

Alfred had been preparing for England's arrival all week, he was so excited. He still couldn't believe he was spending Christmas with his super-duper-ultra secret-love, Arthur! He was almost high he was so happy. Then again, he was almost always like this. That, and a hero. But that one was a given, I mean, come on, he's America. Of course he's a hero. Duh. But then the snowstorm hit the little rural town, and he was stuck waiting while Iggy got a cab. He would call him, but after calling him so many times (on the plane, at the airport, in the cab, not to mention at home), Arthur had threatened to go straight back home and suffer through Christmas with his brothers if he called one more time. So THAT was out of the question. Alfred fiddled with one of the bulbs on the Christmas tree and sighed. Pushing himself up off the couch, he wandered over to look out the window.

Wow. It was really come down out there.

Alfred wondered how Tony was doing home alone. He'd asked the alien to come along, but once he found out that Artie was coming too, he mumbled something, pointed angrily (maybe) at Al, then stalked off somewhere into the depths of the house. Which was weird, cause he was pretty sure that the two of them got along. Maybe Tony just didn't wanna haveta share his awesome hero-ness. Yeah, that hadda be it. He'd reassure Tony that he had enough awesomness to go around when he got home. But seriously, he was excited that Iggy was coming over! But where was he?

Giving another sigh, Alfred leaned against the window, his forehead against the cool, frosted glass.
If he didn't arrive in half an hour, he was going out and searching for him himself.

Arthur kept walking, his feet numb and his hands useless blocks of ice. His suitcase was getting heavier by the second and he still saw no light or cabin or ANYTHING through the flurries and endless plains of snow. He kept at it, and just when he was about to give up all hope, when it came to him. Why hadn't he thought of it before?

He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a cell phone. Anxiously, he pressed the power button. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, like a beacon, the screen lit up. And he had service! Grinning triumphantly, he went to press the number for America's speed dial, when his hand slipped. Panicking, he juggled it for a second, then, almost in slow-motion, he watched the phone fall into the mountains of snow at his feet. Frantically, he dove into the snow, clearing it aside with his hands in search of the cellular device. After a couple minutes, though, he gave up. Even if he found the phone, it wouldn't work, because it would be totally soaked.

Depressed, he kept shuffling forward for a while. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a brief speck of light in the distance. He looked again, and there it was, just above the horizon. He watched it for a second as it bobbed around, then, deciding it was his only hope, started towards what might be his doom. As he walked, he listened closely for any sign as to what it might be. After walking for a bit, he thought he heard something. He stopped walking, pulling a tiny corner of his earmuff off. He heard a faint, "IGGY!" on the wind. He almost fainted from relief. It was Alfred, not some spirit like he'd thought (2). He tried calling back, but his throat was sore from yelling at Alfred and the cab driver, then hours of non-use in what felt like sub-zero temperatures. He was stuck with shuffling forward and waving his arm, hoping that Alfred saw. Unfortunately, since he had been out in the snow for much longer than any normal person could even hope to survive, and he was beginning to feel dizzy and very, very tired. The world was starting to sway, side to side. Everything slid sideways, went vertical, then there was black...

"IGGY!" Alfred yelled again and again, but had no luck. He was extremely worried and was convinced something terrible had happened. Maybe his brother was using the snow to his advantage and invading him and now it was called the United Lands of Canadria or something and Iggy had gotten caught in the crossfire and tried to stop them and got captured and they were torturing him for information but he was being awesome and not telling them anything and- wait, what was that? He thought he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. Shit, he knew he'd been right! He whipped around and slowly approached whatever it was (maybe a polar bear or something), raising the bread knife he'd grabbed last minute out of his kitchen over his head and was surprised to find...nothing. Nothing was there. Huh. Weird.

He walked a few more steps forward, wondering if he saw anything after all, when he tripped and fell flat on his face. "OWWWWWWW, what-" he got cut short when he noticed what he'd tripped over. A person. More specifically, Arthur. "OH MY GOD, IGGY!" He ran over to him and shook his shoulder. No response. He shook harder and got the faintest of groans from him. "DON'T WORRY, I'LL SAVE YOU ARTHUR!" He picked up Arthur bridal-style, grabbed his suitcase, and held the flashlight in front of him, struggling to do so, and hurried back the way he had come, slipping and sliding straight (kinda) to the cabin.

He ran inside, not even bothering to close the door behind him, and basically threw the flashlight and suitcase as he tripped his way to the couch closest to the fire. He began hurriedly struggle to stripping Arthur of his wet, icy clothes. After getting him into a pair of Alfred's pajama's and having a nosebleed or two in the process (really, how could Elizabeta stand having those all the time? they're annoying), he laid him down and threw tons of blankets on him. After that, he just sat there, fidgeting and staring at him, front door still wide open and him still dressed in his wet clothes. But he didn't notice. He sighed sadly. "I just hope he's alright..."

Arthur woke to find himself under numerous blankets and in a totally different place in totally different clothes. "Where in the world am I?" He said, his voice hoarse. He sat up and took in his surroundings.

He was in a very country looking living room, log wooden walls and all. There were 2 couches, including the one he was laying on, and a table-and-chair set. Behind him was a fireplace, and the walls were decorated with stuffed animals (that had once been alive, yeah, that kind) and pictures. Sitting at the table, his glasses askew and hair ruffled, was America, sleeping soundly. He was still in his wet clothes, covered in ice and water, and there was a wide puddle leading from him to the front door, which was open a crack. The elder nation couldn't help smiling at the sight. He barely remembered what happened after he fell for the second time, but all the remembered was Alfred's voice, then nothing. Alfred must have been that light, and had brought him here.

He looked at his watch. Almost midnight. He was supposed to be here around 5. He sighed, and looked back up at Alfred, still sleeping peacefully. This hadn't gone as planned, not at all. But maybe... He stood up, using the couch for support, and wobbled over to the table. He looked at his watch, counting down the seconds, then, at the stroke of midnight, said "Merry Christmas, you git." And then he bent down and kissed him. He, England, kissed him, America. Square on the mouth. He went to pull away after a second, embarrassed at his impulsiveness, but suddenly found a hand, Alfred's, most likely, on the back of his head, deepening the kiss, and was yanked roughly to a sitting position on Alfred's lap. It shocked him quite a bit, but he couldn't say it was exactly a bad thing, if you know what i mean. When they finally released each other, for both the nations were in dire need of air, he looked at America, who's eyes were shining brightly as he looked at the British island sitting on his lap with a loving, tender look.

"Merry Christmas, Arthur."

(1) THAT being the Revolutionary War
(2) Arthur is talking about a spirit that lures people (mostly children) away from their homes and families, often right over the edge of cliffs or into other immediate dangers. Or just kill them :) Such a lovely thought, no?

Alright, plz R&R! Sorry if Iggy's a bit OOC, this is the first fic that i've actually posted, so i wanna know what you think! CRITIQUE ME!

Flames will be used for the campfire. Those who Review get to come roast marshmallows.