it's beginning to look a lot like...

HOUR 1 - 07:00 EST - CHRISTMAS EVE

America was determined to have a bomb-ass Christmas. No matter if he had to wake up at six in the morning for this stupid meeting; no matter if he had to carpool down Fifth Avenue without stopping to admire the Rockefeller Center; no matter if his coffee froze to death on the sidewalk to the venue before he did. He was unstoppable, and nothing could keep him from getting hyped for the holidays. Not even the brackish sludge covering his business shoes, left behind from the freak storm two days ago. Man, was it a season!

"Do you think there'll be snow?" Canada tentatively wondered, narrowly dodging a fire hydrant, his face turned toward the overcast sky.

"What?" America hollered over the screeches of the taxis.

"I said Do you think there'll be snow?" Canada sidestepped a kid actually on a skateboard, wearing a Santa hat and eating a string of popcorn. Only New Yorkers had the audacity.

"WHAT?" America took out one earbud. Mariah Carey had been playing.

"Do. Ya. Think—" Canada was then jostled by a bunch of men with large cameras, who were hovering over a lady with a microphone—presumably a news crew of some sort. The woman was coincidentally belting out the weather prediction: horrendous, definitely seeing precipitation in the near future, you should all take cover, and by the way, enjoy the holidays! "Oh, forget it."

America dodged the chaos flawlessly, taking a solemn sip from his chilled coffee. He shivered, pausing to rub steam off his glasses with his gloves. "Well, dang. It really looks like there'll be snow. And I thought it had been the end of 'White Christmas.' Global warming, man. It's real. You holdin' up?"

Canada raised his shoulders, burying his mouth in the fuzz around his coat collar. He simply nodded.

"Good. Oh, hey, look. We're here." America didn't wait for the stoplight, double-checking Google Maps on his phone as he confidently crossed the street. He didn't know who had chosen this location, but it hadn't been very parking-friendly. He absently wondered if they were late, humming a few bars of the Christmas song the shop across the street was blaring and swinging his briefcase.

The door to the Midtown meeting building was swung open. Canada sighed when the blast of indoor heat hit them. He stomped the sludge off his shoes while the security personnel checked his identification, then followed America into the elevator.

Michael Bublé serenaded the two countries as they climbed into the sky. America finally looked up from his phone to make direct eye contact with Canada. A slow grin spread across his face. "Hey, Can, wanna hear a Christmas secret?"

Canada resisted the urge to take a step back, even though they were in a tiny moving box. "Um, what?" He laughed lightly.

America stared at him, repressing his smile. "When I hear Michael Bublé...I get…'how you say'..."

The beat dropped.

"EXCITÉ!"

Canada's eyes went wide as he tried not to immediately burst into laughter and glance in any particularly incriminating direction. "Damn you," he muttered over a snort, turning away as America guffawed, loud and proud.

The elevator came to a stop at the top floor, and the doors slid open with a ding. The two grinning nations stepped out, their strides falling into syncopation down the long hall. America shook out his shoulders, mentally psyching himself up once more for what was bound to go down in the world meeting. The rest of the building had been empty, which could only mean everyone else was already inside the room at the end of the hall. He wasn't sure how many nations his government had invited, but he knew, due to the amount of complaining emails he had received in the days leading up to the event, that at least half of the world was pissed off by it. Heck, he was pissed off by it. The world was easily pissed off.

And so America opened the meeting room door, thinking he was prepared for everything that was about to ensue in the hours to come. He really, really had no idea.

Various familiar faces were gathered around a large rectangular table, all in various volumes of conversation with each other, like a murder of crows. Coats and suitcases of all shapes and sizes were flung over chairs, and a stray coffee cart appeared to have been raided. Someone's laptop computer was connected with the big projector, their presentation announcing "CHRISTMAS EVE MEETING" in a garish, multicolored font that put off just the sort of annoyed vibe that had been expected.

France was the first to see the two enter, due to his proximity to the door. "Ah, joyeux Noël!" he exclaimed, offering kisses of greeting. His smile, however, was tense. "America and Canada have arrived!" he advertised to the room.

Conversations and heads turned their way. "Hey, y'all!" America shouted as Canada gave a wave.

"About time." Germany was looking at his watch and shaking his head disapprovingly. "We all have flights in an hour. This better be good and quick."

"Sorry; you know traffic." America ripped out his other earbud and took off his coat, slinging it over the back of an empty chair. "FYI, the timing totally wasn't my idea. You'll get home soon. Don't 'get your knickers in a knot,' as my ol' pal here would say!" He slapped Britain on the back.

Britain oofed. "Please."

Germany took a seat. "My knickers are not knotted," he grumbled to himself. He turned to North Italy, slumped over the table next to him, fast asleep. "Wake up, we're starting."

"I vote we don't even start!" South Italy declared, his chair screeching as he pulled it out to take a seat across from his brother. "This is stupid! We are not having a very buon Natale, no! Do you know how early we had to wake up for this?"

"You should talk," mumbled Belarus from the other end of the room. There were noticeable gray circles around her eyes. "It's all for naught."

"You should talk!" China chimed in, violently whipping pens out of his briefcase. "I would be about to go to bed right as of now!"

America tried to do the math in his head. "So you go to sleep at like, what, seven o'clock? Eight? Old man."

China hissed at him

Finland stood, displaying a nervous smile. "Um, isn't this beside the point? The faster we finish the meeting, the faster we can get to the airport, the faster we can get to bed and wake up for Christmas, right?" His arms shot out, then fell to his sides. "As you can see, this is important to me."

The mood of the room dimmed substantially as everyone simultaneously remembered why the Nordic was decked out in full Santa gear.

"Oh damn," someone muttered.

"Wait!" America shrieked. "We haven't gotten to the game yet!"

Italy blinked and leaned forward, suddenly awake. "Game?"

"No," said Germany.

"I can't believe you're going through with this," Canada whispered under his breath.

America was a little hurt by the lack of faith, but soldiered on ahead. He pulled a snapcracker out of his pocket and pulled it with a grand gesture; the boom was huge in the small room. Several nations winced; the Baltics cowered; confetti drooped sadly to the dingy tabletop. "So!" he began. "You may have noticed! In your invitation, there was some fine print!"

"In fucking Comic Sans," Estonia grumbled.

"Aha! So you did read it!" America winked. "Anyway! Sometimes, workplaces and offices and whatever will do a white elephant gift exchange, which is where you bring a cheap joke gift and pass them around and try to get cool ones and not sucky ones! I don't know why it's called that, it just is. So, um, yeah."

The reactions were less than favorable.

"Germany, I'm confused," mumbled Italy.

"This is so gay," mumbled Romano.

Japan, always patient, raised his hand and waited for everyone to quiet down. "Not that I'm against your traditions, America-san, but I don't think it would fit within the allotted time frame. Plus, I am not sure everyone was aware that gifts were required."

Britain scowled. "Truthfully, and it's mighty rude to ask of us, after we already made time for this blasted meeting." And then, almost as an afterthought, he growled, "As if I'd spend money on the lot of you."

"But, there is a parcel right next to you?" France pointed.

"Well of course!" Britain coughed. "It's homemade, obviously."

France mimed a gag.

"But it would be so much fun!" America tried to remain enthusiastic, despite the barrage of angry words and pens and au d'oeuvres. His heart sank to his shoes. "I know you guys are exhausted, but this could be like, that one thing that gets us going! Sparks! Creativity! Come on!" He jumped up and his chair spiralled into the wall. "We have actual Santa Claus with us right now!"

Finland looked uncomfortable under all of the attention, and reluctant to delay the meeting any further. America tried to channel every childish Christmas wish he'd ever had into his puppy eyes, and clasped his hands together. "Please," he breathed. "I'll never be naughty again."

Finland closed his eyes, as if he could not even. "I think…" he began, looking away from the crowd, "I think that giving gifts is a good show of peace, and that…and that it is in the true spirit of the holiday."

"Yes!" crowed America, because who could argue with actual Santa Claus?

Several nations protested: they didn't have time to get anything, this was a waste of time, this was stupid. America let it bounce right off of him, because he was rubber and they were glue. "Not to worry!" he cheered. "I'm sure our dear Santa Claus has presents enough for everyone!"

The scathing glare he received from Finland reminded America that he should really stop volunteering people for things. With some shuffling, they decided that the best place to gather the gifts was under the decorative Christmas tree in the middle of the room. It was the saddest tree America had ever seen, a real Charlie Brown tree to be sure: it was balding and scraggly, the lights were going out; there might have been a squirrel in there. Just what was this conference building? Whatever. America thought it was perfect.

"Is that seriously all you brought?" Austria jeered at Switzerland, who stiffly placed a tiny bag next to the growing pile. "You cheap bastard."

Switzerland turned red. "Excuse me? You left the price tag on yours! That's so tacky! You ass!"

"At least I didn't wear a velvet suit! What kind of impracticality—"

"You wear a cravat to sleep, you stuffy wig ball!"

Germany knocked the arguing nations on the head and told them to shut up, please; they slunk back to their seats and waited for the game to continue. The pile under the tree was starting to avalanche, it was so big. Spain placed a tambourine on top of an elaborate cuckoo clock; America thought he saw an IKEA gift card swimming around and made note so he could grab it later.

"This is so much fun," he whispered to Canada. His brother looked a little tired, a little lacking in holiday spunk, in his personal opinion. Maybe it was the weather. He elbowed him a little harder than he meant to and sent him staggering. "Oh, sorry! It's just like old times though, yeah?"

Canada fixed his glasses and managed a smile. "Yeah."

They were distracted by a tiny voice, coming from under the tree. "Um, not to spoil the surprise or anything, but who put a knife under here?"

America screamed when, upon further inspection, he realized that it was Sealand. "Who put a child under here?!"

"Excuse you!" Sealand wailed.

"Ah, sorry," Sweden murmured. "He must've gotten out of the box."

Sealand was lead away kicking and screaming that he was a nation damn it, and America heaved a sigh of relief. The game had almost been ruined.

"The knife is me," Belarus said bluntly.

"Emo bitch," whispered Poland.

America reminded himself that he should really stop counting his chickens before they hatched—Russia always had to go and ruin everything.

"Ah, I don't have a gift," the man remarked sadly. He looked down at his gloved hands as if something would magically appear in them. They stayed empty. "Does this mean I can't play?"

America tried to feign regret, shrugging his shoulders up to his ears. "Oh no dude, I guess not…that really blows, man."

"But you said Finland could share gifts if—"

"Like I said, that sucks, guess you're out of luck!"

Russia looked thoughtfully down at his hands again. Then he snapped his fingers. America had half a mind to be afraid.

"No worry! Latvia will be my present, da?"

"What."

"Please no," Latvia whimpered, but he was too late. Russia smacked a bow on his head and plopped him next to the tree.

"See! He is small and cute! It is perfect!" Russia said.

"I hope there is alcohol under here," Latvia moaned.

Whether or not there was indeed alcohol existing under the ramshackle tree had yet to be determined. The nations switched focus. "Let's hurry this thing along," Japan said to himself as he counted heads. The process was time-consuming and difficult with everyone moving. "America, how do we do this?"

"Okay, so we get little slips of paper..." America quickly explained while ripping those little slips of paper from his notebook, "...and number them for how many people are here and brought presents. Then we get to choose in order." He leaned in, inches from the table, and began furiously scribbling down numbers. "How many?"

Japan provided the number as Italy finally perked into understanding. "Oh, so we all just get presents? Hey! This is fun!"

"No," Germany repeated, glancing at his watch once more before folding his arms.

"Yes!" insisted America, collecting all the slips together in a pile. "But once a present is chosen by one dude, the next dude can use their turn to steal it, and then the first dude can steal someone else's, and so on, and so on...wait." He looked around. "Where'd Sealand go? We...we actually need him."

"Dear God, no," begged Britain.

An ambiguous mumble passed through the gathering. Sweden began to stand up, presumably to retrieve the young micronation, when all of a sudden the conference room door slammed open. "HA!" Sealand shouted, hands on his hips. "I knew it! I knew the day would come! You need me, you all know you need me, you—"

"Just your hat, little guy," America said. When Sealand's jaw dropped to the floor, he elaborated. "We need something to hold the papers. So we can...pass it around. In your hat. The hat you're wearing. You—you know?"

Sealand made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like both a gasp and a scream. If America had heard it in an action movie, he would have assumed someone was being strangled. "Fine," Sealand uttered, very quietly. With a dramatic flair, he whisked the blue sailor's cap off his head and held it out to be taken. "But now you owe me."

America patted him on the head. "I'll buy you a drink someday, son, don't worry."

"Can you even drink?"

America whirled around and returned to the table, pretending not to have heard the comment. Canada stepped in to help him put the papers in the hat, and then they each gave it a good shuffling and chose a slip of paper for themselves. The cap slowly made its way down the table. Confused nations reached in and took a number even if they hadn't brought a present. Some nations, even if they had brought a present, deemed to turn up their nose and pass the hat on. In the end, by some ridiculous Yuletide miracle, or maybe just author convenience, the amount of players equated the amount of numbers drawn.

"Okay! So, it is we start with the first number?" Russia questioned.

"No; we start with number one." America scanned the crowd. "Which one of y'all is number one?"

A wave of silence passed through the room as everyone, finally concentrated on the task, turned to inspect each other. From that silence rose Belgium's solitary hand, in it the target slip of paper. "Do I...I now choose?"

"Yeah!" America jumped up and down.

As the brave woman stood, Netherlands, sitting next to his sister, put his hand on her shoulder. "Choose wisely," he advised.

After sharing her exact feelings with him in a choice language, she made her way over to the tree. There sure was an...interesting...accumulation of presents for her to choose from, ranging from a packet of unwrapped, half-eaten Asian candy, to a silk sleeping mask with the words "THE DIVA IS OUT" stitched on, to Latvia, who whimpered in embarrassment. Belgium tried not to look at him, carefully moving aside what looked like the tie Denmark had just been wearing thirty seconds ago, a lime-green pet collar, an album with the title Angelic Voices: The Best of the Vienna Boys' Choir, and that cuckoo clock. She absently wondered if Switzerland had made the clock—maybe he had finally stopped trying to one-up her in the chocolate department (she herself had brought chocolates). Belgium finally selected a decent-looking yellow bag, and when she unwrapped it on the table, was pleasantly surprised with a beauty salon manicure nail kit.

Poland slapped the table. "Aw, shithole!" When everyone's head turned, he lowered his own. "I wanted that."

Hong Kong stood up, flashing the number two on his slip of paper. "My turn."

"Great!" America clapped. "So now you can either just choose a present for yourself from the tree, or steal Belgium's! That's the fun! And then she would have to choose another different present and—"

Hong Kong was already walking directly toward the tree with purpose. He wasted no time in dallying and snatched up the bag of half-eaten candy. He nodded curtly at the group, showed them, made a peace sign, and then proceeded to finish off what he had started.

Before anyone could complain about eating the gifts before the game was over, Estonia, with his number three, was raising his hand. "I, um, I decide to not steal this round." He made his way over to the tree, hands in his pockets attempting casualty to disguise anxiety. "Wow."

"Please," Latvia hissed, clutching the bow Russia had placed on his forehead.

Estonia stared at him, let a hot second fly by, and then sighed. "Okay."

"Thank you."

"Oh, wait, hey, look! A gift card to IKEA!"

Latvia buried his face in his hands, but before Estonia could make a decision, he was interrupted by an abrupt loud screeching noise that alarmed him so much he fell backwards and almost wet his pants. He wasn't the only one in the room to react in such a dramatic way, either. England spewed his tea. Romano instinctively punched Spain in the gut. Norway blinked. Greece stirred. They realized too late that it was only the cuckoo clock going off.

"It was only the cuckoo clock going off," Germany explained to Italy, and by extension everyone else, but mostly for Italy, who had flung himself into his arms and almost toppled them off the chair. Little did they know, it would not be the last time such a thing would happen in the hours to come. "Every hour, it goes off."

Italy calmed down to listen to the dimming chirps of the chipper wooden bird. "...Ah, yes."

Russia had entered into a mad fit of giggles, his scarf bouncing. "It is so funny! Take it, Estonia!"

Suddenly, Hungary rose to her feet. "Estonia, wait!" she commanded, pointing. "If—if that clock goes off every...every hour..."

For like—what—the third time that day, the room fell into a disgruntled silence. Something inside America's head, perhaps a particular wistful dream of his, skidded, crashed, and burned up in a spectacular fire. "Oh, no," he whispered.

"Oh, no," Canada echoed.

"OH, HELL YEAH, BAY-BEE!" The door burst open. In tumbled what was left of the great state of Prussia, wearing glitter, sparkly garland, beer, and a maniacal grin. "I had no idea there was going to be an after-party after the party! Please tell me this is the after-party! It would be a disgrace if someone of such distinguishment—and here I refer to none other than myself, of course—showed up to party at the actual party!"

If America's balloon hadn't already been popped, it was popped now. Torn to shreds. "Um. This is the p-party, man."

Prussia's arms fell to his sides. "Really? What? Why are you all still here? Did you dummkopfs miss the huge-ass blizzard outside? And—what in the name of Fritz is that nasty heap of birdcrap mess?" He flung out an arm in the direction of the room's corner.

Austria, who happened to be sitting in that direction, threw a fragile hand to his fragile heart and almost fainted out of sheer horror. "I look fine!"

"He looks fine!" Hungary repeated, to the key of a provoked bear.

Prussia huffed. He didn't have time for this. He had come in here expecting a party and had gotten dozens of stiffs in suits. "I mean the—the tree thing! Behind you! But...actually, Österreich, now that you mention it—"

"Stop!" Germany's voice boomed above his brother's.

Prussia jumped, spilling some garland.

Germany's tone lowered. "It's okay; I am not mad, just disappointed. But, did you say 'blizzard?'"

It was almost mechanic, how all the nations reacted at once. "This cannot be happening! I don't believe it!" Finland cried, stepping forward as if he was about to dash somewhere, but stopping himself. The Santa hat fell off his head, but Sweden stepped in to catch it.

"The hell?" Turkey exclaimed, slamming an outraged fist on the table, which caused his coffee to spill all over his brand-spanking new suit. "Ahh, the hell!"

"The clock must be wrong! Maybe we forgot to set the right time!" Ukraine repeatedly glanced back and forth between the time on her computer and the time displayed by cuckoo clock. The times were the same.

Sealand sobbed, hatless and still hanging by the exit. "We'll all miss our flights! Oh, this is horrible! I'm just a little kid! Christmas is ruined!"

China groaned and covered his ears. "All stupid, stupid cows! What kind of game were we playing—we know this was going to happen!"

Something had to be done, and quick. There was no time to assess the situation any more. America looked around for his chair, but in finding he had sent it crashing into the wall an apparent hour ago, he gave up and stood on the table instead. "Everyone call a cab!"

It worked; some of the frustrated screaming morphed instead into frustrated typing. "They won't make it," Canada reasoned, knowing better. "The airport's half an hour away."

America tried and failed to kick himself. "They have to! Oh, ding darn dang..."

He jumped down from the table. This was not supposed to happen. Grabbing the handle of the coffee cart, America spun it and whisked out a giant black trash bag with a flourish. He wondered again who had scheduled the meeting for such an offensive, problematic time. While his mind ran, America began stuffing the rest of the white elephant gifts into the bag. Canada joined in due to, if not the goodness of his heart, then the fact that he had nothing else to do in the panic but clean. If there really was a bad storm like Prussia had prophesied, then the odds of catching a flight at all could be even lower than the odds of making the flight on time. And it was Christmas!

America stared at the work they had made of the room while the last of the foreign nations rushed out the door behind him. "We have to help them," Canada was saying, even pleading, like he doubted America would want to help. "We have to go with them!"

"Of course we're helping them! They can't leave their presents—their holiday cheer and good will!—behind, before they leave for home!" America stood and slung the bulging bag over his shoulder in a way that did not make him feel like Santa. There was a cuckoo clock poking him in the pelvis, and he could swear he heard the knife ripping something open. At least Latvia had run out with the others. "This is gonna be one hell of a cab chase."

Canada nodded. If his holiday was gonna take a turn for the worse, then he was gonna do his best to spin it around again. He tried to forget the reason they were in this sticky situation in the first place. "Let's go."

America took one last look at the dejected tree. Just for good measure, he threw it into the bag, too, and then they were off.

Surprise, y'all. It's been awhile since the last crackfest, so have this epic Christmas countdown story, featuring the writing of the amazing TheMagicLamp, LOTRPJOHP13133, and me. Shower us with reviews and we shalt continue to deliver all the Hetalia holiday cheer.

Also check for more coming soon on my tumblr: rebels-advocate.