A very Merry Christmas to all! This is a companion piece/prequel to a large fic I'm working on called The Boy Who Lived. GO READ THE BOY WHO LIVED! It will help you understand this more. Then come back and read and review this story.

Fans of The Boy Who Lived, welcome and Happy Holidays!

"Well, bud? How do they look?"

"White."

Alfred F. Jones, better known as the personification of America, laughed heartily at that. He had just finished setting up a large picture of the Nativity above his fireplace. Mary was gently cradling a swathed baby Jesus, who was glowing like a little star.

And, as Israel had observed, the skin of the babe and his family and the angels that surrounded them was pale as the snow that had covered the ground outside of America's New York abode. (Normally countries tended to live in or at least near their capital cities, but America had never been able to bring himself to move from New York to DC: he was simply too used to the area and he would hate to leave his house.)

The little Jewish Ghost, his roommate and best friend, the supposedly dead nation of Israel, smirked rather sardonically as he looked at the picture of the baby Jesus. Israel didn't look it, but he was a legendary nation, a nation that had existed for thousands of years. A nation that represented the despised wanderers that were the Jewish People.

He had been living with America, only occasionally leaving in order to go somewhere to defend his people, for over a century, since they had met during America's war for independence from his big brother. America could hardly imagine how lonely it would be if the child moved out for good, especially during Christmastime. England was too stubborn to accept an invitation ("You want me to fly over the ocean to your pigsty of a home to get annoyed by you during my one break of the year? Not bloody likely!"), and France…

No.

So he was more than thankful that Israel was with him to brighten up the place a bit, even if he wasn't Christian and even if he always poked fun of America's snow-white picture of Jesus.

"I'm just saying," said the child with a shrug, putting on his coat and gesturing for America to do the same.

"You just say that every year!" laughed America. "Over a hundred years, every Christmas you've just said that!"

"Well, I'd stop if you'd just get a more accurate picture!" laughed the Jewish Ghost, "One that doesn't make it look like Yeshu was born in fuckin' Berlin!"

"Hey, you're a pretty pale kid!" America pointed out, helping the child to wrap a scarf around his neck. The American nation had long ago grown used to the boy, who looked, at oldest, twelve, swearing up a storm. Child though he was, he was older than sailor-mouthed England and he had suffered much worse than any of the empires America had been reared alongside. It was only natural that he had picked up some coarse language over his years of persecution.

"I'm pale 'cause alotta my people are pale now," said Israel. His skin tone was indeed slightly lighter than those of most Arab nations America had encountered, though he still looked darker than the average Scandinavian.

"And that's only 'cause I've been forced against my will to live alongside you schmucks for the last couple'a centuries!" laughed the child as America opened the door, allowing the cold air to enter and allowing the child to exit. America shut the door behind them and helped him get down the snow-covered, slippery stairs of the porch.

"Oh, you love me," laughed America.

"I tolerate you," Israel countered as he and America went to stand on opposite sides of America's front lawn. Israel squatted down and hastily began to build a small wall of snow. America did the same, smiling cheerfully.

"No, I tolerate you," said America. "That's why you love me."

Israel chuckled. "Can't argue with that!"

The Jewish boy's hazel eyes wandered fondly towards the window of America's house, where his menorah, covered with wax from weeks ago, when Hanukah had started and ended, stood proudly. America glanced at the candelabra as well and sighed somberly.

"I hate when this happens," he confessed, pausing the process of building an arsenal of snowballs.

"When what happens?"

"When Hanukah and Christmas happen at different times," said the American. "When we can't light the candles together on Christmas Eve…it feels like we're separated."

Israel's gloating smile softened. "Hey, Al, it doesn't have to be Hanukah for us to light the menorah."

His smile became impish once more. "After you go and cut the firewood, we'll light the menorah together just for fun."

America grinned competitively. "HA! You mean after you cut the firewood…after you lose!"

"I'm not losin' to a youngster, I'm God's Nation!"

"Yeah, but I'm the HERO!"

"Heroism does not beat the will of an omnipotent…!"

But he was cut off as America tossed the first snowball. The Jewish child yelped and ducked behind his fort, narrowly dodging the projectile.

"Oy!" laughed Israel, "I was distracted!"

"This is war, boy! You get distracted, you get iced!" replied America in his harshest 'General' voice.

"All right, fine, but you're not getting any mercy either! I don't care if you're my friend!" cried Israel before grabbing three snowballs and tossing them in rapid succession.

The snowball fight, a yearly tradition for the duo, lasted a good hour and a half. By the end they were both caked in snow and America had surrendered (not out of desperation, mind you, simply because he knew that gathering the firewood, the duty assigned to the loser, would be easier for him, and he, being a hero, thought it necessary to take one for the team).

It took the strong nation only twenty minutes to grab his axe, trek about until he found a suitable tree, and chop it up into logs. He managed to gather the logs into his arms and stumble back to his house.

"Agh! Izzy!" he cried as he kicked open the door, moaning in exaggerated exasperation as he released the logs and let them fall to the floor. "You're so dead! It's so cold out there!"

He expected a sarcastic and conceited reply. Instead, however, he walked into the den and saw that the child was sitting pensively before the menorah, fiddling with the matchbox all while his hazel eyes remained pinned to the candelabra.

Uh oh, thought America, slowly approaching his friend. I know that look.

"Hey…little bud…" he gently punched his friend's shoulder and the child flinched, startled.

"Jeesh, Al, don't do that, you scared me," muttered the Jewish Ghost.

"You're scaring me with this 'deep in thought' thing," replied Alfred, forcing a carefree smile onto his face even as the serious glint in the child's eyes informed him that there was bad news afoot.

"I'm deep in thought…" muttered the child. "Yeah, guess I am."

"About what?" asked America, almost afraid to pose the question.

"My people," replied the Jewish boy, as expected, drawing a match from its case and lighting it. The dancing orange flame reflected off of Israel's deep, aged eyes, eyes that had seen their fair share of misery. America watched the waving flame as Israel lit the menorah with the match, spreading the light about until the nine-pronged candelabra was aglow.

He blew out the match.

"That law in Germany," said Israel. "The one they passed a few months ago. Still in place. No sign of lettin' up anytime soon, Germany. I think my people are gonna need me again."

America clenched his fists and his teeth. Germany's boss had passed a series of anti-Jewish laws in September. Israel had informed him then that he would wait it out for a little while since occasionally 'cowardly anti-Semitic fuckheads' would reverse their anti-Semitic policies when political or economic strife started to die down.

But Hitler hadn't reversed the laws. The Jews of Germany remained stripped of their rights and their personification was clearly sensing approaching danger. Israel had been through too much to not recognize the signs of incoming trouble for his people. It started with laws, then random pogroms, then, eventually something worse. It was Israel's job to get over there and be prepared to either stop that 'something worse' or at the very least be there for his people when that 'something worse' inevitably occurred.

Which meant that Israel and America weren't going to be celebrating Christmas and Hanukah together next year.

The merrily swaying lights of the menorah seemed to taunt Alfred as he asked, cool as possible but unable to keep the concern from his voice, "So…you're leaving?"

Israel sadly nodded.

"When? Tomorrow?"

"Nah, nah, not on Christmas," said Israel, smiling rather weakly up at the American. "Spirit of the season…stay with friends…"

"Right," said America. "Speaking of which, do me a favor and don't go right to Germany."

"Why?"

"Germany's a big guy, big and bad. He might hurt you…and…well…."

"Hey, Al, c'mon, I kicked Rome's ass…"

"That was different, Izzy, and you know that," said America, sternness that did not befit him conquering his countenance.

"Well, I'm not gonna do my people much good…"

"I didn't say 'don't go', I just said stay away from Germany if you can. Aren't you and Poland still pals?"

"Feliks? Sure, I just sent him his Christmas card…he probably won't get it till July given how slow mail goes, but…yeah, me and Feliks are friends."

"And he's Germany's neighbor."

"I get 'ya, I get 'ya," said Israel, rising to his feet. "All right, I won't step near the Nazi asshat's house, happy?"

"Not really," sighed America.

"Hey, Al, I'd stay if I could, but my people…"

"I know, I know," said America, still somber.

"Hey, cheer up," Israel commanded, reaching into his pocket and drawing forth a tiny patch.

"Here," he said, pushing it into America's palm. "Sorry I couldn't wrap it better. I know it should wait 'till tomorrow, but…well, fuck it."

America's usual smile returned to his face when he saw what Israel had given him: a star-shaped patch for his jacket, a symbol of pure valor.

"Saw it the other day and thought it would suit you, make you look more like…"

"A hero?"

Israel laughed genuinely. "You're a hero whether you look like one or not, Al, but you might as well show it off!"

"I'll sew it on tomorrow," vowed America, gently placing the patch into his pocket and drawing forth a tiny box wrapped in blue paper.

"And as long as we're giving gifts," he said.

Israel grinned and took the box, unwrapping it and saying, "Hey, Hanukah's over!"

"I was gonna give it to you tomorrow for Christmas anyway. Saw it at Felder's the other day and thought…well…"

Israel opened the box and pulled Alfred's gift out: it was a necklace. A boyish, silver Star-of-David necklace.

"Yeah," said America with a wave, as if the shape of the present spoke for itself. Israel eagerly put on the necklace.

"I get my present late and you get yours early!" declared the boy, throwing out his arms, "Christmas is ruined!"

America laughed, but his bout of laughter was cut short as the child wrapped his arms around his friend and benefactor's waist, embracing him fondly.

"I'll be all right, Al," he assured him. "I'll write and call if I can and…well, I'll miss 'ya."

America returned the hug. "I'll miss ya just as much, little buddy."

And right at that moment a cold wind managed to creep into the den from the door that America had accidentally left open, causing the embracing nations to tremble and killing the menorah's vivacious lights.