Author's Note- Last year, I wrote a Christmas fic. This year, I wrote another one, just because. Happy Holidays!

Christmas Eve; one of the longest days in a child's year. Peter wanted to fall asleep as soon as possible so he could finally wake up on Christmas morning to a boat load of presents beneath the tree that overshadowed his living room. He was sent to bed a tad early from his father, but with minimal complaints, because the boy knew the cookies had to be laid out, and the lights turned on as a beckon for the one and only Santa Claus.

The staircase creaked as his father climbed to the upper floor, and his heavy footsteps turned from Peter's room to his own. As soon as his dad's bedroom door closed, the boy wiggled out of his covers with a gleeful snicker, and hopped onto his bedroom carpet. He hurried to his lone window to gaze at the street glittering with the previous day's snowfall. Ever since the beginning of the season, he would spring out of bed just to watch the night drift by and the neighbor's decorative lights flicker across the street until the cold and sleepiness got the best of him.

However, that night was a special night, and he was expecting a certain visitor. Peter could feel the onslaught of sleep creeping on him, but going back to bed was one of the last things he wanted to do. He knew he would not be able to fall asleep, but he was starting to get cold from the draft seeping from the window. With a last vigilant sweep, the boy spun around to quietly sprint to his bed, and shambled under the warm blankets. Lying down was more comfortable than standing guard before the glass, but he left the curtains open, so he could keep an eye on the night sky.

When a loud scrape drug across the road, Peter shot out of his bed again, and immediately stumbled to the window from his blankets tangling at his feet. He kicked away the cover clutching around his ankle, blue eyes glued to the road. Unfortunately, the monster of a noise belonged to the snow plows making their rounds. Dejected, the boy's shoulders slumped, but he did not dare utter a noise as he swept his blanket from the floor, and crawled back in bed.

Peter was not usually a quiet kid, so the silent night a little too calm, a little too right, but sleep was taking its sweet toll on him. He was growing bored with just laying in bed, and after a tough battle to keep his eyes open, they finally closed. The house and the street were peaceful, lifeless, and quiet.

A heavy force collided onto the roof, knocking any snow pass the window and to the ground in a quick but a loud thump. Peter's eyes flew open as he tensed, but he stuck to his horizontal position, clutching the covers in small fists. Following the grand collision, a smaller thump resonated along his ceiling, which sent any remaining flakes drifting into the night air. Peter slowly turned his head to gaze at the snow flinging from the disturbance, and pulled his blanket to his chin when the sound of footsteps padded across the roof.

The sounds stopped to a creak, and the boy furrowed his eyebrows from the sudden silence, and sat up in curiosity. A flash of red fell in front of Peter's window, and he gasped from the sight of a human form falling from the roof. The snow may have been soft, but was it that soft? He shoved himself against the glass, forehead pressed to the cold surface as he glanced around the front yard. Whatever, or whoever fell, was no longer there, but left behind a jumble of footprints amongst the snow. There was no outline of a fallen body; it looked like this person must have used some sort of ninja moves to land unharmed.

Peter's shallow breaths cut off to an excited giggle as he rushed to the door on his tip toes. The first obstacle separating him from proving everyone that, yes, dang it, Santa exists, was the squeaky hinges. He grasped the cool knob with clammy hands, and slowly twisted his wrist for the wood to unlatch from the frame. Just as carefully, he opened the door enough to slip through a slim crack, and into the hallway. He swiped a hand pass his forehead from the first mission accomplished, and crept to the stairs with more confidence in his stealth.

The boy lifted a hand to ghost against the wooden banister, and then firmly grasped it when he lowered himself on the topmost step. Then, the step decided to groan from the disturbance, and Peter was paralyzed to his awkward mid-step position. He did not even breathe in case that jeopardized him. A soft humming drifted from the living room, and he took it as a sign that it was a green light to continue. Something (or someone?) rustled against thin, crackly paper, and it was obvious that the invader was fiddling with nothing other than presents.

Peter may be slinking like a burglar in his own home, but he was smiling like he knew nothing else. When he reached the corner where the wall and railing separated, he gazed around the living room until a red-clad back faced him from the tree. "S...S..." The boy could not get the name out as he gawked at the supposed Santa Claus in his own living room, putting down what had to be his own presents! He scrunched his face to brace himself as he pinched his forearm, and it hurt. This was real. His father had to see this.

With stiff limbs, Peter twisted around, and crawled back up the stairs on all fours. Nothing else ran through his mind besides, 'Got to get Papa. Got to get Papa!' As if the littlest noise would cause Santa to flee, he opened the door just as painstakingly slow like his own. He slid into his dad's bedroom, and surveyed the great lump posing as his parent in the middle of the double bed.

"Papa!" Peter whisper-yelled. "Papa!"

The collection of covers did not make a noise or movement.

Peter crept around the foot of the bed frame, and started to tug the topmost blanket. "Wake up, Papa!"

"Hm," a deep groan sounded from the man, but that was no where awake enough for Peter. Santa could come and be gone by the time it would take to awaken his father!

The boy pressed a palm to his dad's cheek, and started to smack his face. "Papa! you got to wake up! Santa's here!"

His father's eyebrows mashed together in an deep crinkle as he picked up his head in an alarmed manner. "Huh? What?" He blinked against the moonlight, registering the sight of his son standing before his bed. "Peter, what're y'doin' outta bed?"

Peter announced a bit more loudly, a bit more excitedly, "Santa's here!" He gave the blankets another pull when his father's head slumped onto his pillow. "Come on, you got to see before he leaves!"

"Peter," the man grumbled almost incoherently, "Santa's not...real...ly here. He's not really here."

"Yes he is! I saw him! He's putting presents under the tree just like you said he would!"

That seemed to catch his father's attention more. The man flopped onto his back before flicking off the covers. The boy's legs danced on the rug impatiently as he took his sweet time to pat the nightstand for his glasses, and feel around the floor for his slippers. His steps were much more lagging compared to the child's, and his foot caught on a giant and plastic candy cane propped against the foot of the bed frame that Peter left behind when he was triumphing through the house with it.

Peter's dad looked at the cane thoughtfully, and before the boy could usher him closer, so close to the door, he grabbed the object to bring it along with them. Peter gasped, "What are you doing with that? Are we going to play a game with Santa?"

His father lifted a finger to his mouth. "Shh, Peter. Be quiet for now." The boy stuck out his lower lip, but trailed after him through the hall. His dad held a hand up when they reached the stairs. "Stay here, 'n don't come down 'til I say."

"But Pa-"

"Stay," he jabbed at the carpet more forcibly, and the boy did not want to test his father at the moment. He lingered at the top of the stairs as the man slunk down the steps almost noiselessly for his size, and wondered what in the holy night his dad was going to do that required so much silence.

The man crept from the foot of the stairs, and across the living room where the tree (and Santa's butt stuck out from the bottom branches) stood in the furthest corner. He gave the plastic cane a little wag as he gripped it like a baseball bat. He raised the decoration as if he was going to strike the invader, and then-

"Papa, no!" Peter shouted from the middle of the steps, "What are you doing?!"

Santa Claus exclaimed in a surprisingly high voice, and shoved away from the radiant tree, and onto his rear end. "Ow!" Peter's father took a quick step back, still wagging the cane threateningly. The invader craned his head back, took a good look at the other man's face, and released a terrified scream as he scrambled to his feet.

The noise and clumsy movement stunned Dad, who remained in his defensive stance. He glanced to wide-eyed Peter, also freaked how un-Santa-like this guy was. The man threw his head back to the intruder, and demanded, "Whadda y'doin'?!"

"Uh, uh, what?!"

"Who are you?!"

The stranger shot his hands into the air when Peter's father stomped a foot in his direction as if he were going to lunge any moment. "What do you mean who am I?! I'm Santa! Isn't it obvious?! I'm giving your family presents! That's what I do!"

First of all, this imposter was too young in appearance and voice to be Ol' Saint Nick. Old was even in the name! Instead of stark white curls peaking beneath Santa's cap, straight, sandy blond hair just came to his eyes and ears. He was nowhere as fat as Santa should be, and that had to be a baggy read suit rather than a heavy intake of cookies! This slight man did not even have a luxurious beard!

Peter cried in horror, "You're not Santa!"

"W-what?" 'Santa' glanced to the boy clinging to the railing, but quickly snapped his eyes back to the other man, too scared to chance and look anywhere else. "S-Sir, I assure you, I am Santa. Why would I be dressed up like this if I'm not?"

"Yer jokin'," Peter's dad seethed, and the cane waved angrily in the air, almost whacking against the mantle of the fireplace. "Yer some kind o' robber wit' a sick sense o' humor."

"That's just silly! Who would do such thing?" The invader squeaked when a menacing growl rose from the other man's throat, "Not me! I'm not robbing you! Quite the opposite, ha-ha! I'm giving you stuff! I-I'm just doing my job, sir!"

Peter's father barked, "What job?!" The boy jumped from the intensity of his voice, but could not turn his face anywhere else.

"Being Santa Claus? I-I don't...I'm just spreading cheer and presents to families who need and deserve it!" 'Santa' nervously laughed with his plea, "Please, s-sir, you can go outside, and see my sleigh if that's what it takes!"

The boy flabbergasted, "You have a sleigh?"

"Peter," his father warned.

"But I..." Peter decided to pipe down from the glare shot from the corner of a fierce eye.

His dad jerked the large candy cane over his shoulder. "Go outside."

The movement made 'Santa' flinch, and his raised hands balled into shaky fists. "E-excuse me?"

"Y'said y'got a sleigh outside."

"Y-yes I do-"

"Then go."

"Ah, yes, sir." The intruder was going to step forth, but hesitated when he looked from the floorboards to the other looming man. He quickly dropped his eyes, and hurried to the door.

Peter bumbled down the stairs. "Wait for me!" He did not want to miss this!

"Not without yer coat, first," his father told him, but never eased his festive weapon from its tense stance. He rested it against the belt drooped around 'Santa's' red and fuzzy coat, and the stranger scrunched his shoulders from the contact. "Keep yer hands up."

"Oh, don't worry, sir, they're not going anywhere."

Peter snatched his coat from the wall hooks near the door, and had trouble zipping it with excited fingers. His dad swooped down for a quick moment, and pulled the zipper up, only to go back to his interrogation hold. The intruder did not even notice the one-second absence of his threat. They awkwardly shuffled out the door, and stepped down from the porch, and onto the sidewalk. The cold from the concrete immediately seeped into Peter's socks, and he took wide steps to avoid any ice patches that crept onto the walkway. They turned around, and craned their heads up to the roof.

An enormous and bright red sleigh perched on the edge of the roof, and its side was out for display of the gold trimming running up the sides. Peter's father adjusted his grip on his striped weapon, almost wiggling to use it at any minor provocation. 'Santa' uneasily laughed again. He seemed to do that a lot, even if nothing funny was said or happened. "S-see? That's my s-sleigh!"

It was beautiful, and believable, but the absence of something important was striking. Peter asked, "How'd you get up there without your reindeer? Where are they?"

"They're back at home. It's...sort of...old fashioned to use them now. You know, with those turbo engines and crazy gadgets cars have these days!"

Peter's dad grunted, "Y'flew that?"

"Yes, sir!"

"That's impossible."

"Unless you know any other sleighs that would or could even get up there..."

"Hm," the man let out a deep and inquisitive hum as he gazed at the festive vehicle. "Let's go back inside."

"What?!" 'Santa' exclaimed as the round part of the cane lightly jabbed into his lower back. "Sir, I can't! I need to be on my way to the other houses-"

"Get inside." Almost like an after thought, the boy's dad said, "It's cold."

"Well, all right, but like I said, I can't stay long!"

"Yer gonna stay as long as y'need to stay."

Frankly, Peter never heard his father sound so menacing before. The man was usually a calm, to himself kind of guy, but wow, he was being really cool right now! If only it was not to the wrong person. "Papa," the boy protested. "You're going to end up on the Naughty List if you keep being mean to Santa!"

"I'm not being mean," his father lowly dissented, "I am being cautious."

"Against Santa?"

The intruder shot Peter a wide-eyed look, like he agreed with everything the boy said. The door shut with a flick of the other man's hand, and the three of them shuffled to the living room set.

"Sit in the chair."

"Really, I should be going-"

"Yer in my house," Peter's dad pointed out with a little waggle of the candy cane. The boy cupped a hand over his mouth in order to not burst out in laughter from the silly sight. "Y'listen to me if y'want to make this easy...as it can be."

'Santa' sighed lightly, but settled neatly in the seat across from the couch anyway. He watched Peter's father help him out of his coat, despite the small protests that Peter could do it himself, before flopping it over the back of the couch and coaxing his son to sit. Both gazed back, and his eyes immediately reverted to the floor.

Papa leaned the candy cane against the couch, finally letting go of it. He folded his hands in front of himself, and leaned forward. "What else?"

The other man gave a little jump at the sudden words. "W-what do you mean, what else, mister? I thought my sleigh would be enough proof."

"How'd it get up there?"

"I've already told you, I flew it up there, sir."

Peter blurted, "How could you without any reindeer?!"

His father shushed him, but faced their company as if he was wondering the same thing. 'Santa's' pretty purple eyes flickered around the quaint living room in nervous leaps. "I flew it up there."

The other man asked very slowly, "How?"

"By driving it? I don't know what you would like for me to say."

"Do y'got a license?"

"Huh? For the sleigh? No, sir, I believe sleighs are not considered 'on road' vehicles."

"Pilot's permit?"

The stranger blinked from the question before putting a hand over his mouth and snickering, "I'm sorry, that is an odd thing to ask somebody...who steers a sleigh."

The boy's dad easily pointed out, "It's weird to fly a sleigh."

Peter glanced between the two adults, and kicked his legs for idle movement. "Do you have a l-license?"

"Does my Naughty or Nice List count as a form of identification?"

His father straightened from his tense perch, and rubbed his palms against his pajama bottoms. "Let's see it."

'Santa' did not make a move for a moment. Maybe he did not expect that answer. Resituating himself with a little wiggle, he snuck a gloved hand into his left coat sleeve, and began to pull out a sheet of paper. It was like a scroll, but the sheet kept unraveling, and tumbled to the floor without a second end, which must have been somehow stored in the (possible) imposter's coat.

Peter bent forward to pick up the bottom of the list that rolled from the stranger's sleeve to their feet. Hundreds, if not thousands of names were scrawled in tiny print down the entire length of the paper until a signature took up the bottom most line. "Wow!" The boy's eyes jumped all over the names of people he did not recognize. "Did you write this? There's got to be everyone in the whole world on here!"

'Santa' chuckled, "It seems like that sometimes, but no, some of my colleagues compiled these lists over the year. We just deliver them."

The child's father tipped the paper over, but did not see anything on the other side. "We?"

"Santas. There are..." The intruder's eyes flickered to Peter. "There are many of us designated to deliver to different parts of the world, so everyone get their gifts by Christmas morning."

Peter dropped the enormous list to latch on his father's nightshirt sleeve, and gave it enthusiastic tugs. "Did you hear that? Santa is real! There's just a lot of them." He gasped, the words clicking in his mind. "There's more than one Santa! That's awesome!"

"Ha-ha, yes, there are many Santas, but..." 'Santa' turned his stare to the other man, "That doesn't mean who we are and what we do is not real. So, hopefully you can see that I didn't do this for funsies or to sneak in your house and do awful things! This is all very real, sir."

The boy turned to his father expectantly, but he just echoed in disbelief, "Is it?" Sharp eyes behind glasses scrutinized the last name on the list which was underlined to the list's owner. "T-Tino?"

The stranger perked up. "Yeah? Oh, yes, that's...that's me."

This intruder was still a person deep down, but he was also Santa. Santa was real, and he was sitting right in front of him. Peter kept grinning like he did not know anything else. He dared to believe that this was better than any present. However, his father let out a soft groan, and put his head into his hands. "Papa, isn't this great?"

"'m sorry."

'Santa tipped his head, and the fuzz ball at the end of his hat rolled to the side. "What did he say?"

"He said he was sorry. Right Papa?" Peter nudged his dad again for confirmation. "Your ears are all red, so you know he's not lying! He really is sorry!"

His father took one of his hands from his own face to clamp it on the boy's shoulder, and pulled him to a closer embrace all the while 'Santa' let out a nervous giggle.

"No, no, you don't have to apologize!" Tino even performed a weird swishing motion with his hands to prove it. "I mean, yeah, it was a bit scary, but I probably would have done worse if I found a stranger slinking around my house!" He cheerfully laughed again, "Good thing it did not come to that, right?"

The living room fell into a crisp silence as the adults avoided one another's gazes. 'Santa' decided to take back his list, and began raveling it into his sleeve. Peter exclaimed, "Wait! Is Papa still on the Nice List?"

"If I ever was on there in the first place..."

"Of course you two are!" Tino drew the parchment closer, and stopped it a little more than halfway into his sleeve. "Berwald and Peter. I recognize other names on here that have been on the Nice List ever since I started doing this." He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a pen to check next to the column of names. "I would say you guys are done now."

Peter's eyes bugged from realizing the check marks meant houses 'Santa' already visited. "Whoa, you gave all these people presents already?"

"Yes, but I have so many more to do, ha-ha."

The boy shrugged, not sure what was funny, and glanced to his dad when he tapped his free hand on his own knee. "I guess...y'need to go on and be Santa?"

"Ah, yes, there is still much to do, so-"

"What?!" Peter whined as Tino rose to his feet. "You're leaving?"

"Hush, Peter," his father patted his head, but that did not do much comforting since he, too, stood up, and began to guide their guest to the door.

"But...but..."

'Santa' turned from the door to put his hands on his knees to be at level with the boy. "Hey, Peter, you like getting presents, right? You like waking up on Christmas day, and diving onto all your stuff?"

"Yeah! I sure do!"

"Well, if I don't get out to all those other children, they're not going to have gifts to unwrap!"

"Don't their parents give them presents?"

"Y-yes, they can give their children gifts, and they do, but some of those kids don't have parents to give them stuff. This is the only time in the entire year they get these things."

"Oh," Peter begrudgingly nodded despite his obvious pout. "It's like how it's just me and Papa, but they don't have anybody?"

Tino winked, "That's were I come in, so you don't have to worry about it." The boy's sourness crumbled away when 'Santa' reached up and gave his pale locks a good tussle, and he could not help but smile again. "Thank you for understanding."

Their guest straightened, and warily approached Berwald who hovered close by. "And thank you, too, for...not whacking me with that candy cane." He suddenly stuck his hand out. "It's been lovely meeting you!"

Peter's father took a stiff step back from the doorway. "Y'don't hafta lie."

"What!" Tino slapped his ignored palm to his chest, "Oh, no, I really mean it! I can't say many things happen during my run that make my heart beat so fast! I-I mean because you scared me! W-with the candy cane, not that candy canes usually scare me..." He shook his head as if to clear it. "It's all better now! I don't want you feeling bad!"

Too late; Berwald's ears were reddening again. "Then how do I make it up to ya?"

"You don't have to, really! It's no big deal!"

Peter injected, "You could have some of our cookies! Oh, and Papa's hams are always great! I could eat a whole half of the ham, that's how good it is! I wouldn't mind sharing!"

Tino giggled in delight as the boy's dad appeared agitated (there were slight indications), and lightly objected, "Peter, Santa's gotta leave."

"Papa, come on! You don't really want him to go, right?"

"Hm," his father glanced away from Tino surprised expression. "He's got things t'do, and you needa go t'bed. Make sure y'hang yer coat back up."

"Ah, poo," Peter kicked the carpet dejectedly, and went over to the couch to grab his jacket.

'Santa' smiled as the boy tripped over the sleeve dragging the ground as he hurried to hand the coat back on its rack. A sudden mumble startled him, "But aftawards..."

"Huh? Did you say something?"

Berwald looked to his feet as if they were interesting. "Yer probably cold and hungry when yer all done wit' everythin', so if yer not doin' anythin' aftawards..."

Their guest caught on, despite the frazzled look Peter tossed between them. "Ah...we'll see. As I said, there's still so much to do."

The boy grew alarmed as Tino opened the door, and he blurted, "Y-you'll come back next year, right? I mean, if you don't come back later?"

Tino gave the small family a warm smile despite the icy drafts coming into the house. "Oh, Peter, Santa comes back every year!"

A.N.- One time, I said I MIGHT do a continuation. Turns out, I am not going to do that. Maybe. I think everything is fine the way it is! Unless I get an idea, but then it'll have to wait until Christmas time, of course.