A small three-part Christmas fic for the festive week. Sadly I didn't get around to Eternity this year due to focusing on finishing The Waning... updates for which have dropped off a little, haha... T.T

I'll get to it, I'll get to it. In the meantime, enjoy...?

Evergreen

[I]

"I think it's gonna snow."

"Oh, don't be so silly."

America puffed out his cheeks irritably. "Feels cold enough."

"There's some frost on the ground." England turned the page of his book, not looking up. "Hardly worth writing home about."

"We are home."

No answer. America stretched out his leg, prodding at England with his foot. "Bah humbug, Scrooge."

"Get out of it." England batted his toes away. "Still, at least you're paying attention."

"Hm?" America plonked himself down on the edge of the sofa, swinging his legs. "What's that, darlin'?"

"That's what I'm reading." England held up the book – a dog-eared leather-bound copy of Dickens' A Christmas Carol.

"Oh yeah?" America looked up at the ceiling. There was a crack in it. "Is it as good as you remember?"

"Yes," England sighed.

America sank his teeth into his bottom lip. "Good."

England glanced at him over the top of the book. "Now who's being 'bah humbug' about it all?"

"I'm not." A little defensive. "Just thinking, is all."

"Try not to tire yourself out, love."

"Drop dead, England." America grinned at him. "Come on, let's go out and get a tree. It's Christmas Eve, after all!"

"Oh, do we really need one?"

"If we want these halls to be properly decked, yes we do!" America seized him by the leg and dragged him off the sofa. "Come on!"

"Ouch." England kicked savagely at him, missing. "Don't just haul me around like that, idiot!"

"Pssh, you'll live. Jeez, I know you're old but come on." America skipped away. "I'll get the axe. Make sure to wrap up warm!"

"For what?" England grumbled, sliding his book onto the coffee table. "The damnable frost?"

"For the snow!" America called.

"The snow we're not going to have?"

"We might!" America leaned around the door again, brushing aside a hanging sprig of holly. "Maybe we'll have a Christmas miracle!"

"Not bloody likely."

America stuck out his tongue. "You're about as much fun as the Ghost of Christmas Future," he said. "Now hurry up and get ready. I know a good place to go for a tree."

He sidled away without another word. England went to get his shoes and sank onto the edge of the sofa to put them on. He paused, distracted, to rub at a dirty mark on the worn cover of his book. It didn't want to budge. How annoying – and on a first edition, too.

He could hear America singing loudly and cheerily to himself from outside. It sounded like 'Walking in a Winter Wonderland' – albeit with half the words replaced with nonsense because America couldn't remember them.

"It's not going to snow, America," England said softly, leaning back his head. "...How could it?"

[1775]

"John Adams is glaring at the back of my head," America said, lowering his voice. "I can feel it."

England glanced nonchalantly over his shoulder. "Why, yes he is." He sipped at his brandy. "I must say, I am most impressed."

America shrugged. "It is less a skill to be boasted about and more an increasingly-common state of affairs. He does not like me."

"He has said so?"

"In as many words. Truth be told, I don't think any of them are overly fond of me." The teenager pulled a face. "Woe is me."

England smirked. "I daresay that is the very attitude to which they take offence."

"That," America agreed, "and the fact that I am unmoved by their rallying cry for independence. So they want representation before taxation." Another shrug. "What on this earth does that matter to me?"

"Goodness, you are a little beast, aren't you?" England was amused. "Have you really no care for your people at all?"

"They are not my people." America examined his nails. "They are yours. This is, after all, still your colony, no matter how much tea they throw into Boston Harbour."

"They say that they do it for you," England said. "For freedom in your name."

"Then they take my name in vain."

England laughed. "What a delight you are. With all my time spent pressed from your side, I often forget."

"How flattering. Do me a kindness and take me with you next time you go. I know not how much longer I can put up with this warmongering."

"Oh, come along. For all your merciless savaging of the humans, there are elements of their society you would not be without." England gestured around the glittering ballroom, decorated in frosted finery for the Christmas party they were well in the thick of. "You have always enjoyed Christmas."

"That is because the humans become overtaken with the strange sudden urge to be kind to one another this season," America said.

"I see," England replied. "And it has nothing to do with the food or the gifts or the brandy."

"I don't even like brandy," America said, stealing a handful of figs from England's plate. "...Is John Adams still watching me?"

"Yes. So is James Madison."

"Ugh. Please let us go elsewhere. Even sitting on the back step would be preferable to this."

"Your leaving the party with me in full view of these men will not win you any favours."

"I care not. I want nothing to do with them."

"Very well." England put down the plate and offered America his arm. "Let us away."

Outside it was snowing, bitterly cold, with the flakes falling in the black silent darkness beyond the house. America pulled away and crunched down the steps, his bootprints his only anchor as he strayed towards the edge of the woods.

"America, don't you dare," England warned. "I am not in the spirits to go in after you."

"I am not going anywhere," America replied; but his tone was petulant, as though he'd been thinking about it.

"Do not play the fool with me, boy. You have done it before."

America laughed. It echoed off the black trees, delighted and guilty. England honestly sort of half-wanted him to run off – because then, at least, he could just shrug empty-handedly at the like of Adams and Jefferson and Franklin. He's gone - what are we meant to do about it now?

He wasn't going to run, though. England could see that he wasn't; he would have done it by now. He seemed more at ease out here, away from the men so determined to shackle him with words and wars. England, of course, was far worse than John Adams – but he, at least, was a devil America knew.

England sat on the steps and lit a cigar, trying to coax the warmth back into his fingers. He should have put on his travelling cloak – how America seemed perfectly content in just his tunic and breeches was beyond him.

"You know," America piped up, kicking at a rock, "they said they wish to declare independence. Adams said they will do it whether I want them to or not."

"I see." England watched him through the smoke. "That would be... well, not a declaration of war, exactly, but–"

"Close enough." America looked up. "I do not want them to. There will be a war and..."

He trailed off. England tapped off his ash.

"I confess," he said, "that I would prefer they did not drag you into any squabble that they may have with my king and I. You are only a child, after all." He paused, looking at his cigar. "Still, that is not how the humans think. They like to have a cause and you... you will be that cause. Rest assured that these men will be willing to die for you, at the very least."

"I do not want them to. They say it is for me but it is for them, it will always be for their best interests. I am not stupid – I know they just want to use me. They have not even asked me what I want, after all." America flopped down in the snow, going quite still. His breath clouded between the frosted branches. "I really hate humans, England. I wish it was like this always."

He turned his head, looking at England on the steps with the grand house lit up behind him.

"I wish it was just us."

("Debase me before them all," America said, pulling on England's arm. "Then they will have no want of me."

"I am obviously not going to do something so disgusting," England said coldly, pulling free. "Beware, your desperation is growing dangerous." He straightened his cuff. "I am returning to the party. Join me when you are of sounder mind."

He moved away, striding back to the down the corridor towards the warm glow of the ballroom. America scampered after him like an imp.

"It need not be anything truly outrageous," he wheedled. "A drunken kiss on the mouth, a hand to the front of my breeches–"

"America, I am becoming impatient."

"But your actions are inconsequential!" America said, springing in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. "They wish to be rid of you anyway! What will truly matter... is my reaction, which will be–"

"I dread to think."

"—To reciprocate, of course. To make it public, well, they will have no choice. The gossip will do the work for me." America wrapped his arms about England's neck, hanging off him. "Can they have England's willing whore as their cause? I think not."

"So you will destroy yourself before you will let them do it." England forcibly unwound him. "Not, I assure you, the wise decision that you seem to think."

"So you admit it?" America hissed. "You would wash your hands of me the moment I am troublesome?"

"If only it were that simple." England brushed him aside. "We both know that you are welcome in my bed – but believe me that it is not a weapon you can wield. Calling yourself my whore will only make them more determined to free you."

"I would rather be yours than belong to them! It isn't freedom, not for me! If I become their nation then I must answer to them and who knows what they will ask of me!"

England stopped again. "I understand," he said. "I understand your terror. I have felt it also. But you must understand that it is the humans who truly run this world, America. What am I supposed to do for you?" He touched the teenager's cheek. "Truly, what do you expect me to do? I cannot keep you with me through force of will alone."

"Then–"

"And surely you do not believe that a gossip-baiting stunt will be enough to stave off a revolution. These men are desperate, America, perhaps even more than you. They will take what they can get. England's whore is better than nothing."

America clenched his fists. "...If you will not fuck me then you could at least do the decent thing and kill me," he said bitterly. "At least then I would be spared."

"And a very Merry Christmas to you, too," England said dryly. He pinched his cheek. "There is really no sense in being a coward about it, you know. There is no escaping it."

"We could run away." America clutched at his sleeve again. "Then it would just be you and I, England, and we could do whatever we wanted."

"Oh, goodness. Surely you do not truly believe that? That there is anywhere for us to go?"

"I..."

"My darling." England kissed him on the forehead. "Even killing you would not spare you now.")

...How cheerful for the festive season.

Updates will be every two days, with the final part posted on Christmas Eve. :3