Gunshots. It was late at night. All had been peaceful…and then, without any warning, piercing gunshots rang out. The loud explosions multiplied and spread quickly. England (who less than a moment before, had been sound asleep; suspecting nothing) sprang up and toppled out of his bed at the unexpected assault on his ears. That was not a pleasant way to wake up at all. The fallen nation quickly tried to pick himself up. Big mistake. His head was reeling from moving too fast after just barely awaking—not to mention that he was also tangled in his sheets. He awkwardly fell back on his stomach. He was so disoriented, but still very much alarmed. Carefully, he raised his upper body slightly with his elbows, looking all around the darkness while the gunshots continued to ring in his ears. So it wasn't a dream. The firing weapons were all too real. The disturbing sounds seemed to be surrounding the house and increasing in volume. In his still half-conscious state, England felt almost like he was in a giant popcorn-popping pot.

Not knowing what in the world was happening, but fearing the worst, England was about to search for his own gun, when a noise inside the room made him jump. His head shot around in a panic to face the new sound. He scanned the area, but there seemed to be no one in the room but him. He felt a little confused when he realized that the new sound he heard was nothing but a soft chiming. Blinking, he followed the chimes to a tall, dark figure against the wall. The sight startled him at first, but then he let his eyes focus. It was only a longcase clock announcing the time: midnight.

Wait. Midnight? Why did that specific time ring a bell? England shook his head as he tried to clear his thoughts. When his mind finally stopped spinning from his rude awakening, his eyes adjusted more to the room and the man could see exactly where he was. He also noticed that is was freezing cold. Good thing the blanket had come off the bed with him. As he huffed and tugged the warm blanket over his shoulders, the last piece of the puzzle hit him: the smell of pine. Evergreen branches decorated the house, and their fresh scent was everywhere.

Oh…right.

That's when England remembered. It all made sense, now! He remembered what day it was (or what day it had been when he had gone to sleep that night): Christmas Eve.

England groaned at the realization. He lost all motivation to move and fell back on the floor with a frustrated THUD! As his body flopped down, he allowed his forehead to smash on the hard surface; half hoping that the blow would knock him unconscious. It didn't. The gunshots were still going, and England was still painfully aware of them. The suffering nation groaned louder but stayed in the same defeated position while reaching a single arm up to the bed. His hand began to search groggily for a pillow. When his fingers brushed against the object of his desire, he roughly grabbed it and brought it down forcefully on his head to try to block out the noise.

He would never get used to how the American colonists celebrated Christmas!

You could almost say that England was more annoyed with himself, than the disturbance. He could not believe he had not seen this coming. It happened EVERY YEAR! Every year on Christmas Eve, and sporadically throughout Christmas day. He really should have been expecting it. Oh well. There was nothing for it now, but to wait for the shooting to end. The colonist tradition was like a domino effect. A few shooters would start it, and once the first shots were heard, homes from miles around would answer with their own firearms. Anyone within earshot of the answering explosions would respond in like manner, and so on, and so on. The sounds of gunshots would travel all across the countryside this way; heralding in the joyous holiday!

Well, hip-hip, hurrah!

England sure didn't feel too "joyous" as the moment.

It was not that England disliked Christmas. He quite enjoyed it! Actually, had he not unfortunately been in a current state of slight denial, the antics of his colonists might have reminded the great nation of his own wild Christmas celebrations. England preferred to forget about it, but the truth was that he had been quite the seasonal party animal when he was a bit younger. In fact, his ideas of Christmas merriment got so out of control, that his bosses had been forced to outlaw the entire holiday for a time!

Yes, those had been the days…. But that had been a long time ago! England was insistent that things were different now! Christmas was infinitely tamer than it had been in the days of England's youth—and so was the repentant country. These days, the former delinquent proudly considered himself a "gentleman," and he preferred to celebrate the holidays as such.

Besides all that, England really did not appreciate being disturbed from his sleep in the middle of the night. His head was pounding from the racket while he laid there on his cold floor, trying his best to lessen the impact of the shots with his pillow. Oh, what he would do to the person who had come up with this insane tradition, if he only knew who it was! I can tell you this: It would not be described as "goodwill towards men" or even "gentlemanly." That much is certain.

Soon enough, the noise began to die down, but England could not relax quite yet. It was as the gunshots faded into the distance, that England became aware of another commotion—and this one was going on inside the house. The Empire took the pillow off of his head; giving a long, drawn-out sigh as he did so. Did he really have to deal with this? But despite his reluctance, England was already in the process of standing up and locating his rope. He grumbled loudly while he tied the frigid fabric around him, as if there was an audience in his room that he felt had the right to know just how put-out he was at that moment. After donning his long robe, he shuffled out of the bedroom and made his way down the chilly hall. He hugged himself against the cold as he walked.

It didn't take long to find the source of the disturbance. All England had to do was follow the sounds of happy shouting. It came as no surprise when they lead to his colony's bedroom. With his arms still wrapped around himself for warmth, England pushed open the door with his shoulder.

And there was his adopted little brother, America, also awoken by the shootings (or perhaps he had been awake and anxiously awaiting them all along). America was leaning as far as he could outside his open window. In his arms, the boy held his toy gun. He appeared to be joining in on his people's festivities as best he could. He was whooping and hollering and making pretend gun sounds while aiming the barrel of his favorite toy into the starry night's sky. At times, he would take a short break from "firing" his weapon of choice to shake it over his head and call out wishes of "Merry Christmas" to the world. Even from the back, America radiated with pure boyish joy!

However, England was too tired to be affected by the cuteness of the scene before him…much. Ok, so the ends of his lips turned up, but only for a second, then he swiftly came back to his senses.

"Alfred!"

The boy-America jumped at his name being called behind him. He looked like he almost dropped his gun. Once he caught it, the kid eased back inside the house and whipped his head around to greet England with a big, oblivious smile.

"What are you doing?" England took the initiative to ask before the boy could voice his characteristic "Hi, Arthur!" greeting. America always seemed happy to see England, even when England was upset. Sometimes England wondered if the boy suffered from some sort of inability to sense tense situations and feelings. (Either that, or he deliberately chose to ignore them. Maybe it was a defense mechanism?)

America's smile grew before he proudly answered England's question, "Shooting in the Christmas!"

"I can see that," England replied calmly, but wearily. "But do you have to make such a fuss about it?"

America's smile faded. His brow focused. His head lowered to the toy gun in his hands. He looked out the window…then back at his gun. He was seriously contemplating the question. When at last he raised his head back to England, his face looked conflicted.

"That's kinda the point," he spoke hesitantly, as if he was slightly embarrassed for England for not getting the clear idea of the wonderful tradition, and yet he didn't wish to hurt his older brother's feelings.

England dropped his own head in defeat. It was no use. It was impossible to convince America of the utter ludicrousness of this annual event, and England was not going to waste his energy, trying.
By the way, England was never really mad coming into the room—only annoyed. And he was never going to keep America from "shooting in the Christmas," if the boy really liked it. After all, it was America's special tradition, and it did no harm (other than preventing England from sleeping through the night, that is), so why not let the child have his fun? But fun-time was over now. It was time to settle down.

"Ah well, never mind," England mumbled as he strode towards the boy. "I think you've done quite enough of that for now. It's late and it's time to return to bed." He moved passed America as he spoke and closed the window.

"But I'm not tired!" America proclaimed with a new smile.

"I am," England said simply. He turned and began to gently nudge America towards his bed.

When England touched him, he realized that the boy was ice cold. Strangely enough, that didn't seem to be bothering his little brother. Well, that was not really so strange. Normally, America hated cold weather, but not at Christmas time. At Christmastime, he loved it! He would get so excited whenever the weather started to get cooler near autumn's end. To America, it meant that Christmas was coming! The young America especially loved playing in the Christmas snow. There would be days when England would practically have to drag America inside and force him to warm his poor, frost-bitten body. Well, even England believed that there was something magical about a white Christmas, but England also knew that once the Christmas season was over, he could count on America to camp out inside and complain about the cold for the rest of the year. According to the young American, winter was made for Christmas. The season just didn't have any use afterwards.

"But I can't sleep!" America added a new protest as he was guided to the bed.

"Then lay in bed, quietly, until a decent hour," England negotiated. He pulled the covers back to let America in, before gently prodding the boy on.

"But that's boring!" America began to whine as he crawled in bed. "Come on, Arthur! I'm too excited to sleep!" Here, the boy began to bounce on his knees. "It's Christmas!" he exclaimed in joy.

"And it will still be Christmas when the sun rises," England sounded unaffected by his sibling's Christmas spirit. He put a hand on America's shoulder to stop the bouncing and also to lean him backwards. England then pulled the covers over his colony; trying to tuck him in snuggly. He wondered to himself if he should get some extra blankets for the cold boy?

America sat up before England could finish tucking him in. "But that's too far away!" he went back to whining. "I can't wait that long!"

England stood up straight and gave America a serious look. "Naughty boys, who refuse to get a good night's sleep, do not receive presents on Christmas morning."

Suddenly, America laid back down like he couldn't get in bed fast enough.

England smiled. "That's better."

It was not really a custom to give presents on Christmas day, but it was sort of a family tradition for England and America. England loved to shower America with gifts and presents if he could ever find an excuse. It made him happy to see his little boy get all excited over a simple gift that he had given him. The Christmas presents thing had started with small treats in honor of the special occasion and had evolved from there. England never gave a thought to the fact that he might be spoiling America. England loved America as if the boy was his own child, so to England, America deserved all of the love and affection that he could give to him. England had never had anything like that growing up. He wanted things to be different for America. He wanted America to have the full childhood that he had never experienced. And anyway, just it felt natural to be giving on a day like Christmas.

"I don't want to hear another peep out of you, understand?" said England as bent over once more to tuck his colony back in bed. "Morning is going to come earlier than you think. Need I remind you, we have Christmas services tomorrow? It wouldn't do for you to be falling asleep during—"

"Wait!"

America unexpectedly threw the covers off of him and leapt out of the bed in a panic. The hastily discarded covers fell on top of England. Caught off guard, England had to struggle briefly with the cloth before emerging from it with an irate expression.

"What did I just tell you?"

America was kneeling at the other side of his bed by now. "But I forgot to say my prayers!" America said; looking up at England with pleading eyes. England groaned. He rubbed his weary (and still vaguely throbbing) head.

"Very well," he relented. "Just be quick about it."

America nodded and bowed his head over folded hands. "Dear God," he started. "Thank you for all the fun snow, and for Christmas, and for my big brother, England…"

England leaned against the wall and waited for America to finish. He listened silently as the boy offered up his innocent prayers. He would have thought it a very sweet sight, had he not already known what was going to happen.

"Bless England, and bless me, and bless all my friends," the prayer was coming to an end now. "Please help me to go to sleep…and…and…"

Here it comes.

Thought England.

"And please, please, pleeeeaaaasssse let me get a real musket for Christmas!" America finished.

And there it is.

"Amen!" With that, America jumped back in bed and curled up under the sheets like a little angel. England sighed as he walked over to the lad.

"Well done," he encouraged as he made sure the boy's resting form was fully covered. "But a word of advice, I wouldn't get my hopes up on the musket," he added; trying to make his charge think realistically, for once.

America shrugged under the layers of cloth and rolled over on his back to stare up at England. "It doesn't hurt to ask, does it?" America had been praying the same prayer every night for almost a year. Each time England had come for a visit, he had been forced to listen to America faithfully ask for the same thing whenever he said his prayers.

"No, but I don't want you to be disappointed," England replied.

America sat up. "Aw, come on, Arthur!" he pleaded. "I've been really good!"

England gave America a small smile. "You've been as good as gold, but your behavior has nothing to do with my decision. You are too young for a real gun." England tried to lay the boy back down as he talked. He mentally decided that the cold colony would need an extra covering. "You'll shoot your eye out," he added before walking to a trunk on the other side of the room.

America sat up, yet again. "You know, I've been thinking about that," he informed.

"Oh?" England said off-handedly as he opened the trunk and grabbed a quilt.

"Yep, and I think it's pretty impossible to shoot your own eye out with a musket."

England shook his head. "Knowing you, I'm sure you'd figure something out." America was a very inventive and resourceful boy. He didn't like to be held back by a silly thing like the impossible. Never tell America that something couldn't be done, because he'd spend all his time trying to prove you wrong.

"Nuh-uh!" America insisted. "See, first I would have to aim the gun right at my eye, and that would be a pretty stupid thing to do," England only half-listened while he brought the quilt over. America went on talking as England spread the thick fabric over the bed. "Then, I would have to pull the trigger, but look:" here, the boy stretched over the edge of his bed and grabbed his toy gun as an example. "A rifle is so long, that my arms wouldn't be able to reach the trigger," he demonstrated the procedure for England. It was true. He could not quite reach the trigger on the toy. A real gun would be even longer. "And anyway," he concluded. "Why would I want to shoot my own eye out on purpose?"

In response, England simply took the toy out of America's hands and carefully pushed him back into a resting position. "Sounds as if you have it all figured out," he commented. "I'll give you that. Shooting oneself in the eye would be difficult and pointless—but you are still not getting a gun."

America shot back up. "Why not?"

"Your eyes might not be in danger of one, but somehow I still find myself concerned about everything else. You could easily shoot yourself in the foot by accident, or hit a window, or something in the house, or even me." If America had a gun, England would be very concerned about his personal safety and the safety of everything else in his colonies.

"No I wouldn't! I promise!" America didn't want to give up defending his side of the debate. "I'd be real carful! Please, England!"

"Now Alfred—"

"And if I had a gun, it would be a good thing! You'd see! Just think: you would never have to go into town to buy food again, because I'd do all the hunting for us!"

"That's considerate of you, but not very practical."

"And I could use it to protect myself when you're in Europe! If I ever got invaded, I'd just BLAST them away!" He pretended to aim his weapon at an invisible enemy. "POW!"

England's hand flew to his mouth to try to contain his snickers.

"And I could shoot in the Christmas for real!" America's face brightened significantly at just the thought of his own suggestion. "Please, Arthur!" The young boy folded his hands and beseeched his guardian. "Please, please, please, please, please…"

England folded his arms and did his best to look stern. "That's not going to change my mind, Alfred. And you know I don't like begging."

"But some of my friends said that they were getting one for New Years!"

"That is up to their parents," England was firm. "I'm raising you, Alfred, not your friends."

"But—"

"Now that's enough," England said quietly, yet firmly, as he held a hand to America's lips to quiet him. "It's time for sleep."

America looked up at England. He became quiet. His blue eyes looked so sad and disappointed. England thought he saw the boy's lower lip quivering, but America bit the lip and lowered his head. The poor boy looked like all his childish hopes and dreams had been crushed. It was a look that could stir up deep pity from even the most hardened hearts.

"O-Ok," he whispered; lying back obediently.

England tried to be strong. He bent down and tucked America in one last time. Then, he brushed America's bangs back and gave a quick good-night-kiss to his forehead.

"Good night," England whispered to him. He smoothed America's hair back in place and patted the small head, comfortingly. "Perhaps next year, hm?"

America shut his eyes tight. His lip was trembling again. He looked like he was trying to be strong, too. He had wanted that gun so much! He had been dreaming about it for so long. With a shake of his head, England sadly and left the room. He hated having to be the one to say "No."

He had not taken two steps down the hall, before he heard the bed in America's room shift. A slight creek of the floor-boards followed soon after. England quickly turned around and pushed the door to America's room open, a crack. America was on his knees, praying again.

"Please!" he was whispering so softly that England could barely hear him. "I promise I'll never make noise or sneak food in church ever again!" He sounded as if he was pleading with every fiber of his being. England rolled his eyes. So the child was bargaining with God, now.

England thought he caught a few more "I promise I'll nevers" before the child stopped and got back in bed. England sighed and shook his head. That boy never gave up. England quietly tip-toed away from the door and then walked back to his own room. He shut the door with a satisfied exhale. For a moment, he closed his eyes and drank in the silence. All was quiet at last.

Presently, England opened his eyes…but did not move, otherwise. He wanted to return to his bed, but something held him back. Hesitantly, England's eyes wandered over to his wardrobe. The nation stared the piece of furniture down. He felt as if something behind the wardrobe's doors was beckoning to him. He knew what it was.

England told himself that he should just ignore it. He should just leave the giant case shut up and return to bed and sleep…two seconds later, he in front of the thing (but not before checking outside his door to make sure America nowhere nearby and then promptly locking the door). England opened the wardrobe warily, as if he was half-afraid that something was going to jump out and attack him. With the wardrobe open, England rummaged through it until he found a large box that had been hidden deep inside it. He considered the offensive box for a moment. Giving up, he lifted the heavy box and reluctantly brought it out for air.

Outside the dark wardrobe, country and box faced each other. England studied the box in his hand. He considered it an enemy. He blamed this whole unbearable predicament on it. He certainly wasn't going to blame himself…even if he had been the one who had purchased said box along with its contents. After an unknown amount of time glaring at the box, England decided to open it. It was better than staring at it.

The top was removed, and England now began to glare at what was inside the horrible, evil box: a musket. It was a special gun that America had been admiring. Every time they had gone into town and passed by a certain shop, America would, without fail, stop and gaze longingly at the gun on display in the shop window. Sometimes, the boy would go into town by himself just so that he could stare at the gun for hours. (England only knew this because he had received a complaint from the owner about America fogging up the glass and dirtying it with his sticky fingerprints)

Anyway, a few weeks ago, England had finally gotten tired of it. He didn't know what he was thinking when he had bought it! He had tried to convince himself that it was purely to avoid having to watch America gaze at it one more time. Of course, that was not completely the case. England was toying with the idea of giving it to the boy. Every day after buying it, he had held debates with himself over whether or not he should give it to America now or wait till he was older. His better judgment told him no…but he hated seeing America so disappointed.

England looked the gun over, thoughtfully. America really had been good lately. He felt bad keeping the gun from him when he had been well-behaved. Then there was also the sad fact that he had also been earnestly praying with the faith of a child for it (Every. Single. Night.) for most of the year. Every prayer had chipped away at England's resolve bit by bit.

He's too young!

No he's not.

He's just a boy.

But many boys his age know how to use a gun.

He could get hurt, or hurt something else!

Not if I teach him how to use it.

But he doesn't take anything seriously. Everything is a game to him!

I could keep it locked up; only to be used with my supervision.

But what if he sneaks off with it when I'm not looking?

He wouldn't do that.

But sometimes boys can't fight temptation.

On and on, England fought with himself over what to do.

I should just wait until next year…or even the year after that! Yes…that's what I should do.

England was about to banish the weapon back to his portable closet…when America's depressed face flashed before his mind's eye. England wavered. Then he imagined how overjoyed America would be if he actually got his wish. England could easily see the boy hyperventilating, or freezing out of shock, or even fainting. (America had an inclination to overreact) Finally, England's imagination was assaulted with images of America looking up at him, all teary-eyed, with indescribable gratitude.

Thank you, Arthur!

England thought it over for a few more minutes.

He sighed. He put the gun back in its box, but instead of returning it to the wardrobe; he turned to take it to join the other presents, downstairs.

I must be out of my mind.

A certain little boy was going to have a very merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas! For those of you who might be waiting for the next chapter of "Playmates," sorry, but I had to do this first! I came up with this idea a few months ago, and figured this was the perfect time to finish it. ^^ Like everyone else, I'm going to be really busy over the holidays so most likely now new chapter until after New Years, but just to let you know, I'm not giving up on it.

Now it's time for the fun history facts!

"Shooting in the Christmas" was actually a real way that the American colonists celebrated Christmas. (I know, right? That's so America!) Colonists would fire their guns on midnight, Christmas Eve, and a few more times throughout Christmas day. Today, we celebrate Christmas on Dec 25. Colonists did too, but "Christmastide" lasted for a few weeks in December. Colonist were known to shoot off their guns to celebrate all throughout the Christmastide, and not just on Christmas day. People also celebrated by cooking special foods, having huge parties, get-togethers, and dancing balls that could last for days. They decorated their homes with things like holly, ivy, and other evergreens. Christmas day was a little bit more special than the rest in the season. On Christmas morning, everyone went to church in observance of the birth of Jesus. "Santa Clause" did not really exist as we know him, and people didn't usually get presents, but sometimes children received gifts for the New Year (which is why America mentioned that he friends were getting guns on New Years).

And the thing about England canceling Christmas, totally happened, too. In the 1600's I guess England's "delinquent pirate" side came out durring the holidays as well, because his Christmas celebrations had become a total nuisance. People would use the holiday as an excuse to get drunk and do whatever they very well pleased. People gambled and were promiscuous. Mobs would get together and cause mischief. There are even records of Christmas partiers disrupting Christmas services. The celebrations were thought of as a mockery of what was supposed to be a holy day. There was already an anti-Christmas movement by the Puritans, who saw it as a pagan holiday. A long time before, Christmas was invented by the Catholics as an alternative to the winter festivals held by the pagans. They had tried to redeem the celebrations as a Christian holiday. Anyway, after the civil war in England, the new Protestant parliament believed the Christmas celebrations to be going too far, and they were seeking to abolish any holidays that had Catholic backgrounds, so in 1647, parliament ordered that there should be no holiday and shops should stay open on the 25th of December. No one was to decorate their houses with evergreens or celebrate in any way. This eventually became one of the complaints that led to the next civil war in England. The law also motivated some English to come to America for Christmas Freedom. Yay! (Although the Puritans canceled Christmas in parts of America, too)

And by the way, yes, I did get the "You'll shoot your eye out" line from the movie "A Christmas Story." ;)

Hope someone likes this! Merry Christmas again, and Happy Kwanza, and Belated Happy Hanukah, and Happy New Year!