A/N: Oddly enough, I thought up this story in its entirety while having my hand shoved up a turkey's rear end. Happy Thanksgiving, my fellow Americans, and for the rest of the world, thanks for being awesome, all countries of this Earth.

Thanksgiving With My Family

a Hetalia fanfic

by Rhov

It was late November, a Thursday, just a normal day to everyone else. However, America was anxious all through the summit meeting, checking his watch, looking at his cellphone, and fidgeting until he annoyed Germany. When finally it was over, he leaped up and headed to the door.

"America!" Italy shouted out. "Won't you come with Germany and me? We're going to have beer and wine and bratwurst and pasta…"

"Sorry, dude, I need to head home for dinner," the blond country grinned, and with a wave he left.

"Aww," Italy pouted. "He normally never turns down food."

Canada smiled to himself. "He has more food waiting for him." However, no one really heard him.

Japan looked worried. "America was unfocused the whole time. He is perhaps nervous."

"It's no wonder," France said, swaying a hand in the air. "It is a special time for sa famille."

"It's fine if he's a glutton on this day," England nodded reluctantly. "I supposed it was partly my fault, anyway."

Canada walked to a window, where he saw America hurry off in his Corvette. "Say hi to Mother for me."

America traveled to a special place in his heart. He loved everywhere in his broad and variegated land, but there was something about Plymouth that reminded him of his youth. He took a moment to visit what looked like a temple. Underneath, now protected from vandals and the elements, was the famous Plymouth Rock with the number 1620 etched into it, now faint but still discernible.

Here, in 1620, one hundred Pilgrims landed, seeking refuge from religious oppression they had faced in England. Only fifty-three survived the harsh winter. They learned about this new land, and the Wampanoag tribe assisted them, gave them food, taught them how to plant the native vegetation, and helped the small group of English Christians to thrive. In the Fall of 1621, after a bountiful harvest, the Pilgrims held a three-day feast, inviting the Wampanoag chieftain Massasoit and ninety Native Americans. They celebrated together, thanking the natives for their generosity, and give blessings for a rich harvest that would ensure no one else would die of starvation.

In that moment in time, skin color did not matter, nor did religion or nationality. They celebrated as equals, united in the brotherhood of Man.

It was such a simple thing: inviting neighbors and friends, sitting together with family to eat and be thankful. It was a happy tradition. It started between a religious sect seeking freedom to worship their own way, and an indigenous tribe with their own gods and spirits.

Thanksgiving is special. Unlike many holidays in America, there are no religious or political overtones to the holiday. There are no saints, no Christ, and nothing political about it. Absolutely anyone of any race, religion, or nation-of-origin can be thankful for what they have, as much or as little. Even when times are tough, or maybe tragedies have struck us painfully in the past year, still, it gets better. Time brings blessings, and for that absolutely anyone can give thanks.

America rapped on the door of a humble house. He nervously slicked his blond hair back, but one lock sprung out anyway. Finally, the door opened, and a graceful woman beamed a smile at him.

"Little One," she sighed in happiness.

America twisted a toe bashfully into the ground. "Hey, Mom."

She opened her arms, and he fell into them. Her copper skin was so warm, so inviting, and her ebony hair smelled of sunflowers. Native America, some named her. Or First Nations, as Canada liked to call her. America preferred to call her just Mom.

"Your brothers and sisters are here," Native America told him, pulling him inside.

America walked in, and he saw the place was already crowded. Nearly everyone knew that he and Canada were brothers, especially since they looked so much alike. What they did not know was that America had many siblings, all of them older than him.

"America!" one shouted out.

"Cherokee," the blond laughed, giving the muscular man a hug. "Apache! Tlingit! Seneca! Chickasaw! Ojibwa! Choctaw! Chumash, how's California?"

"Awesome, dude," the laid-back man said, giving him a thumbs up.

"Tongva! I was just around your area yesterday. Mohawk, awesome hair, man! Navaho, you got big, dude. Kawaiisu, I told my friend Japan about your name. He said it was cute."

"Up yours!"

"Mohave, looking hot! Inuit, cool coat, dude! Potawatami…"

"Don't you dare say it, America!"

"Mi-wanna-potty!" the blond laughed.

"Brat!" Suddenly, Potawatami tackled America, tickling him for the insult. Arapaho, Cheyenne, and Comanche leaped in at the chance to torment their brother with noogies on the head and tickles to his armpits.

"I give, I give!" America laughed. "Man, I missed all of you."

"You tend to forget about us," Sioux shouted out.

"I know I do," America confessed sheepishly.

"How can you forget about me?" Iowa shouted.

"Or me?" Missouri chimed in. "We gave your states their names."

"I'm just … busy," he said awkwardly. "I have so many issues, and all sorts of crap my boss tends to get into, only to dump me with work while he goes off golfing or vacationing with his family."

Native America came forward. "Well, now you're with family, so forget the world outside and remember the family here within this home. Come on, dinner is ready."

They sat in a massive dining hall with tables for all 566 tribes that supported and helped to make up the nation known as America. They were their own nations, often with their own laws, languages, customs, police, and own courts. Still, at moments like this, America realized that they were all family.

As they began to take seats, Wampanoag came up to America holding a black hat with a belt around the rim. Just as Navaho, Lakota, Shoshone, and many others had elaborate headdresses and traditional costumes, it was time for America to don his own. He put on the black hat, took off his fight jacket to pull on a black coat, and tugged the white lapels out.

"It suits you," Wampanoag said solemnly. "Just like that feast back then."

"I might not have become a nation with you, Wampanoag," America said with heartfelt thanks and a bow of respect.

"Carve, the turkey! We're hungry," shouted Wichita and Pawnee.

"Give thanks first," Native America gently scolded. "America, may you give thanks?"

He nodded and lowered his head. "On this day, we remember family, friends, those with us and those gone. We give thanks for the memories or the past, thanks for the moments now in the present, and thanks for the blessings in the coming future. We are thankful for this land of plenty, for the freedoms we have, and freedoms we still fight to obtain. We pray that we may know more peace rather than the tragedies of war, and we pray for the soldiers who protect this nation. We give thanks to this meal, and thanks for bringing us all together in peace. May this prayer be answered and our thanks perpetuate, not just on this day, but every day. Amen."

There were other words muttered for many religions, many languages.

"Nasgi winigalisda."

"Aho."

"Nunwe."

America took the carving knife and sliced into a juicy, browned turkey. As he passed the turkey slices around, he saw yet another blond amidst the dark hair.

"Canada!" he shouted, running over and hugging his brother. "I didn't see you here."

"It happens," he sighed, knowing he seemed to disappear.

"Thanks, really. It's not Thanksgiving without everyone around."

"We already had our Thanksgiving," he shrugged. "I wanted to come to yours. Mother cooks the best sweet potatoes."

"Doesn't she!" America exclaimed. "I'm totally gonna pig out."

"Typical of you," Canada laughed.

America grinned at the mass of tables. So many brothers and sisters! "Thanksgiving dinner with my family … I really am blessed."