Christmas Sweaters

Ivan makes sweaters for the Allies.

Rated K.

~o~

"Has anyone seen Russia?"

England looked at his fellow allies, searching fora n explanation as to why the Nordic nation was absent. It was Christmas, but no one took the time to celebrate it this year. The war was taking up every last bit of their time, draining their energy and willpower.

France desperately needed a shave, China had huge bangs under his eyes, and America was practically asleep. Even that one guy – what was his name again? – looked absolutely dreadful.

And then suddenly the door burst open, Russia waltzing in like he hadn't just arrived fifteen minutes late.

"Russia! Where on earth were you?" England snapped, the pressure not doing anything for his usually sour mood.

Russia smiled his usual creepy smile, though it lost effect due to how hollow and bony his face looked nowadays. He placed a box on top of the meeting table, waking up America as it hit the surface.

"Wha-what's going on? What'd you got there big guy?"

"It better be something helpful," China mumbled, France merely leaning his chin in his hand.

Russia pulled out the top object and sprawled it over the table. Everyone stared. Someone coughed.

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to be?" England asked, frowning heavily.

"A sweater, da? It is Christmas after all. Look, I made one for everyone!"

He pulled out five more pieces of clothing, even getting one for Canada. Every sweater had a different symbol knitted into it; there was a rose, a panda, a maple leaf, an eagle, a teacup and a sunflower.

America pawed curiously at the things while England sat back down, rubbing his temples in frustration.

"Sweaters- for heaven's sake Russia, now is not the time to be knitting sweaters! We're at war!"

Russia turned towards him, smile strained as he gripped the table.

"I only thought everyone might need a little something to cheer them up. Do not think I have forgotten my duties, Angliya. I have suffered just as much as any of you, if not more."

His scarf slipped slightly from his shoulder, revealing fresh scars and signs of misfortune. The two nations glared at each other, Russia determined and England almost showing pity.

They were interrupted as America got up, took a few swift strides around the table, and pulled the tall man into a tight bear-hug.

"A-Amerika?" Russia yelped, bones grinding together as he gasped for air.

When the younger let loose he flashed a dazzling smile, the light having returned to his tired eyes.

"That's awesome dude! Ugly Christmas sweaters are seriously the best tradition ever! How'd you know?"

He walked back to the table and instantly began pulling on his sweater, gushing like an excited little kid.

"America," England sighed, "now is not the time for-"

"Come on, you too!"

England was abruptly cut off as America pulled a sweater over his head, the two struggling for a while as England tried to escape.

France was studying his own gift, smirk twitching up his lips.

"Mon ami, I must say this is the ugliest thing I have ever seen."

Russia giggled a bit ominously, and France quickly shut up and dutifully pulled on his sweater. China laughed when he saw the horrified look on France's face when he glanced down. China's sleeves were too long, of course.

And as Canada and Russia pulled on their sweaters as well, America turned around to study them all – leaving England half-in half-out his confines.

"Merry Christmas you guys! And we'll make sure to kick those Axis guy's butt this year!"