Yes, Italia
Italy scampered merrily down the stairs, barely avoiding running into his brother. The latter merely snorted irritatedly and continued to stomp up the stairs, probably ticked off about some slight (real or imagined) from Spain. The Northern Italy paused for a second, trying to decide between flinging himself after his frattelo and continuing on his quest to find Germany...the second impulse carried the day, unlike many of his military advances. A large smile graced his face as he bounded down the curving staircase, trying to avoid ripping the decorations off the banisters. His curl bobbed up and down as he jumped the last two steps and set off once again, trying to hunt down his best friend in the whole wide world.
He hopped over a large, sleeping German Shepherd and continued down the hall, wondering who had managed to tie the large red bow on Berlitz. However, for once his one-track mind stayed the course and he succesfully reached his goal, hurtling into the larger man's chest.
"Ve~ Doitsu, Doitsu!" he exclaimed, tugging on Germany's sleeve, "Did you and Prussia get the Christmas sweaters I sent you?"
Germany's cheeks reddened slightly as he nodded. "Ja, mein bruder said to thank you for the 'awesome sweater'," he said, pulling a note out of his pocket and reading it. "Er...'Kesesese! Season's greetings, Italy! Actually...that sounds sort of lame! But I'm not lame at all, am I? I'm the awesome Prussia after all! Kesesese! Thank you for the Christmas sweater, it's almost as awesome as pancakes!'" Mentally, he cursed his brother's train-of-thought writing.
"Ve...Prussia isn't here for Christmas?" Italy said, his smile temporarily fading. He had invited all of his close friends over for Christmas Eve, even Spain, much to Romano's annoyance. He'd been almost certain Prussia would come, as he always tagged along with Germany. The German in the room noted Italy's expression and hastily added to Prussia's note.
"I'm sorry the awesome me can't be there for Christmas, Itali-y! Kesesese! My ...drinking buddies Denmark and Netherlands already roped the awesome me in! Too bad there's not enough awesome to go around! Give West a hug and a kiss for me, kesesese!" Mortified with what had just slipped out of his mouth, Germany froze for a second. The add-on had the desired effect on Italy, who apparently had not noticed the pause while Germany searched for an excuse. With a 'Ve~', Italy tackled him into a hug and pecked him on the cheek. Germany, still frozen, was unable to offer any resistance as Italy seized his hand and dragged him down the hall.
Stepping over Berlitz, the pair was confronted by the sight ofa tomato-red Romano and a slightly confused-looking Spain. Germany could not even begin to comprehend the situation, as Spain was merely holding the innocent-seeming item ofa Christmas stocking.
"What's wrong, Fratello?", Italy fretted, dropping Germany's hand and attaching himself to his brother. Romano did not answer, only directing a scowl at Germany.
"I was just asking Romanito what he would want from Santa Claus~" Spain answered, smiling as always at the northern Italy.
"Santa Claus doesn't exist, you tomato bastard!" Romano protested, "I'm not a fucking kid you moron, I'm too old for shit like that!" Spain opened his mouth to lovingly argue this point, but their discussion was broken by a small whimper from Italy.
"What...what do you mean Santa doesn't exist?" he cried in alarm, backing away and tripping over Berlitz. The old German Shepherd awoke with a start and dashed past the three stunned men, who were simply staring at the distraught Italian. As one, Spain and Germany glanced at Romano, who merely scowled and crossed his arms.
"Of course Santa doesn't exist, idiot! He never existed! Why the fuck would you think he was real, for G...Germany's sake!" At this, the other Italian let out a sob and dashed along the hallway out into the evening, at his top retreating speed. Germany rubbed his temples, feeling a headache starting, as Spain stared cluelessly after Italy. Romano's scowl deepened as he stared after his brother, arms still defiantly crossed as his true inner Italian debated running after his twin.
Italy dashed through the gathering night, dodging bullets at Switzerland's house and not even pausing to gawk at the decorations adorning Austria's grand home. His mind screamed rejection of his fratello's words, even as they rang in his ears and carved scars across his heart. Three revelers paused in their caroling as they watched him sprint past, one's hand still lighting his pipe as another clutched her basket of chocolate and stared in surprise.
He fled through the woods of Northern Europe, battling through thick pine forests and only pausing once to sob over a scraped knee. Three brothers putting up lights stared in wonder as the Italian ran past their house, the youngest trembling so hard that the ladder started to sway as the other two reached for the eves and prayed that the man wasn't fleeing a certain Russian. Italy was heading for one place he remembered from years ago, when a purple-eyed Santa had waved merrily to him as the reindeer jingled their path through the sky. He resolutely splashed through a freezing stream and loped along a lonely country road, single-minded purpose driving him on.
Denmark glanced up from harrassing Norway as frantic knocking interupted their Christmas Eve preparations. The Dane started to stand, only to be resolutely knocked back into his seat by a certain giant Swede, who was certain that it was not wise to let Denmark get first shot at any carolers that appeared. His impassive face did not change a bit as he opened the front door and was confronted with the sight of a muddy, tear-stained Italian.
"V-ve...Is S-santa real?" the Italian quavered, squinting up into Sweden's face as the sudden light almost blinded him. Without a word, the master of the house hauled the Italian to his feet and gently guided him along a well-beaten path in the snow. They came to a large wooden stable, which seemed to pulse Christmas spirit as the busy sounds of last-minute packing and harnessing wafted through the air. The much taller Swede pulled open a door and pushed Italy through in front of him. Italy could only stare in wonder, his eyes widening as his eyes took in the sight of the workshop. Packages seemed to float through the air and pile themselves into a large russet sack in the back of a gleaming red sleigh, and snorting reindeer pranced in their traces. The only sign of life in the stable was the man dressed in red and white, who turned with a smile to greet the pair as they entered his domain.
"Is...is Santa real? My brother said you aren't!"
Santa's eyes matched his smile as he crossed the workshop and placed his hand on Italy's shoulder.
"Your brother is wrong. Yes, Italia, there is a Santa Claus, and he is as real as love and the pasta you eat for dinner every night. Not believe in Santa Claus! Why, you might as well not believe in angels! Most people never see Santa, but that is no grounds for the assumption that there is no Santa. Even when Christmas seems outdated after a thousand more years, he will still exist in the hearts of every caroler and do-gooder in the world. He will still be visiting homes and battlefields at the end of the world, bringing joy to all the people of the world."
'Santa' smiled and glanced at Sweden as the exhausted Italian crumpled into sleep, the sleeper's brow smoothing into carefree Italy once more. The Swede leaned down to scoop up Italy and deposited him in the sleigh, then paused to run a hand along Dunder's back before turning back to the door. He paused once more to drop a kiss on Finland's forehead, then muttered wishes for a safe journey and left the building.
The next morning, Germany stopped mid-step into the room, blinking at Italy's sudden appearance under the tree. His eyes took in the sight of the red Santa's hat on the Italian's head, before a relunctant smile graced his lips. He gently knelt to adjust the hat to sit straighter on Italy's head, before sitting back with a fond, "Welcome home, Italia."
~/\~
Secret Santa present for Lucky on the CS Hetalia Club. MerryChristmas!
Notes:
Berlitz: The Hetalia Archives disputes my headcanon, so I seem to name Germany's dogs differently than everyone else. XD Berlitz is the German Shepherd, Aster is the Golden Retriever, and Blackie is a Rottweiler. (Hetalia Archives identifies Blackie as the German Shepherd and Berlitz as a Doberman, so I just wanted to clear up any confusion my messed-up headcanon may cause)
"For G-Germany's sake!": Romano is a strict Catholic in my headcanon, which means he'd avoid taking God's name in vain. He caught himself and changed it to someone who he did not care about.
Part 2: I had far too much fun describing the chaos that Italy left as he ran past. Brownie points if you can name all of the cameos! OHSNAP POV change for one paragraph, sorry. Also, don't you love how Sweden is level-headed enough to not panic when Italy showed up shouting incoherently about Santa?
Also, if any words seem spliced, it's spellcheck's fault. . *strangles the document-writer's spellcheck*