santa's got to make it to town

HOUR 2 - 08:00 EST - CHRISTMAS EVE

The street outside the meeting building was a soup of loud, distressed nations hailing cabs, making calls, and generally looking lost and confused. Germany shouldered his way out of the mess of countries as politely as he could, dodging Russia's scarf and almost knocking off Romania's hat. Prussia was ahead of him, already making his way down the sidewalk and around the building. Germany grumbled to himself, determined to catch up with him and figure out what the hell his brother thought he was doing.

The snow wasn't quite on the scale of "blizzard" yet, as Prussia had announced. Still, it was thick enough to sting in Germany's eyes and freeze his lungs. He imagined, by the way things were going, it would probably only get worse, which made it all the more important to get to his plane on time. He finally caught up with Prussia and grabbed him by the garland. "What are you doing?!"

Prussia whirled around. "Whoa! I'm getting us to our car, see?" He gestured to a tiny red jalopy squeezed up against a telephone pole, visibly illegally parked on a yellow swath of sidewalk. "See?" he repeated, as if it would have made anything clearer.

Germany shivered both due to anger and body temperature. "You've got to be kidding. Brother—"

Prussia swayed a little on the icy sidewalk as he tossed his empty beer into a nearby recycling bin. "Hey, do we have a choice? C'mon, I missed the party and it's Christmas! What can ya do. Now get in, loser, we're going home."

It was true. Germany didn't really have any other options. He and his briefcase climbed into the passenger seat, swept away a few specks of glitter, and began to pray.

Canada felt like one of the balls in a game of Hungry Hungry Hippos®️, which was, coincidentally, the gag gift he had thrown into America's sack/trash bag. The snow coming down outside was nothing of the caliber he was used to in his land, but the flakes were big and sticky, and the sky was dark. If he concentrated to drown out the city clamor, he could hear what he swore was thunder. Not good. He felt bad for only having an hour's flight home compared to the rest of panicked nations. If he started driving now, he could reach Montreal or Toronto within half a day; he only stayed where he was on the sidewalk and watched his brother try to hail a cab. (Maybe a better metaphor was that he felt like delicate china about to crack—another of the gifts he had seen under the "tree.")

America did it like a professional, despite the giant weight on his shoulder. But after a while of being ignored by congested drivers, he began to jump up and down, and then even ventured a little into the street. Canada winced as he was subsequently almost run over by none other than a terrified-looking Lithuania behind the wheel.

"Ah!" America yelped, pushing his gloved hands off the hood of the car. "Sorry, dude!" He skidded a little on the dampness of the street, then regained his balance and threw out two thumbs-up.

Canada watched for Lithuania's response. The Baltic appeared as shocked as anyone would have been had an festively overwrought citizen hauling a giant black mystery sack materialized in front of them.

After that occurrence, Canada thought it might be a better idea to just try and call for a cab, and relayed this to America, who finally stepped back onto the sidewalk and nodded with chattering teeth. They began to walk down the street in hopes of clearing the traffic. Canada wasn't having such a good feeling about this Christmas anymore. He began to meditate as the number dialed, wiping giant slowflakes off his glasses.

"This sucks," America hissed. He was frowning. "God, I feel so bad. Do you think all their flights will be canceled?"

"One second," said Canada. Someone on the other end of the phone was speaking. "She's asking for our address."

America relayed their location without looking up. His giant bag kept hitting his butt all weirdly as he walked, and it got more and more uncomfortable with every step. The worst part was that after awhile, it really began to feel like something was moving inside of it. He didn't want to open the thing up and check. "Do you think—"

"Okay. Okay, thank you." Canada carefully ended the call. "They said—they said it could take a while. Twenty minutes at the most."

America humphed. "This is stupid. We should have just not come to the stupid meeting." He squinted wistfully at the darkening sky, and the hype in his shoulders dropped considerably. "I thought I could mitigate the bad timing with a little fun, that's all."

Canada's thinking paused. "Wait, so you didn't call the meeting?"

"Huh? Me? Hell no! On Christmas Eve, am I crazy? "

That got a smile out of Canada, a wary yet reassured one. "So...who did?"

America kicked at some sidewalk sludge. "Idk." (He literally said the I-D-K out loud.) "I got a bunch of invitations in the mail a few weeks ago. No return address—real shady. Anyway, I was mad, because, like, who schedules a meeting on the morning of Christmas Eve and expects actual work to get done? So, my retaliation was to edit in the gift game stuff. Then I sent the rest of them out. So I guess I technically DID call the meeting?"

"...Oh." Canada was not sure what to do with this information. He ended up appreciating America's enthusiasm to unite the world with fun seasonal entertainment (however frustrating the strategies he used to do so), but felt apprehensive at the fact that no one knew who had actually wanted to gather the nations together, all in one place, on such a momentous day. He guessed they couldn't do anything about that now, could they. "So..."

"So we have to help them. Get to the airport. Make sure their flights will all be on time, or that they can at least get a flight. Deliver the presents." America's eyes glimmered like that anime effect. "Save Christmas."

This isn't a movie, Canada wanted to say, but couldn't, for America was trying to do the good thing and fix the mistake and how could Canada disagree with doing good things and fixing mistakes? It was, as he thought, against his nature. The gnawing red dread clotting up his brain subsided a little. "I'm with you."

All around them, the snow continued to fall.

Greece woke up covered in wrapping paper, cold and alone in an empty conference room. It looked as though the world had ended- streamers hung desolately from the drop ceiling, fluttering in the faint draft, garland lay trampled on the floor, the tree was…gone?

There had been a tree, right? Yes? Yes. Greece had a foggy memory of peering into the branches, beaming when he found a small gray cat. He had wiggled his fingers and tried to coax it out but it only hissed at him and threw a pinecone. It had been a strange cat.

Pushing his way out from under the wrapping paper, Greece yawned and scratched his stubble. Idly, he peered under the conference table, in case they were planning on jumping out and surprising him, like last time. No one appeared, however. He really was alone.

"I really am alone," Greece said.

He pulled out a chair, but it squeaked so loudly that he decided to just sit on the floor. He tried to think. Clearly, everyone had evacuated with urgency; even the presents were gone. He was a little disappointed, really; he'd been eyeing that pet collar. Or maybe that cuckoo clock.

Ah, the time, that's what he needed.

Greece walked outside to look at the sun, blinking in surprise when he stepped into a snowdrift. It soaked halfway up the leg of his dress pants. Well, walking was out of the question. Trying to ignore the cold, he raised his fingers to the sun to measure its distance from the horizon. About…ten o'clock, probably. He didn't have much time.

Prussia hadn't been cruising down East 36th for but a block before he slammed on his brakes, almost causing Germany to vault through the windshield. Germany turned, ready to start firing accusations, but Prussia was pointing ahead at something—or two somethings—on the sidewalk a few meters in front of them.

"Check it out!" he jeered. Then he lurched sideways, leaning over Germany to roll down the passenger-side window, with much protest from Germany. "You two losers need a ride or something? HA HA HA!"

Spain flung himself against the side of the car, his face too close for comfort. "Ey, not funny! Romano said it would look unfashionable if we showed up at the airport at the same time!" he sobbed.

Germany wrinkled his nose. "So you and France decided to...walk?"

At that, France turned, gazing peacefully off into the distance. "Men who are meant to be will always find their way. The future is in our hands."

"But really," Spain whispered, "please give us a ride."

"Well, shit, get in." Prussia rolled up the window. A car behind him honked furiously and repetitively. "We're causing traffic, men. And the kid?" he stuck a thumb at Germany, spinning the wheel with one hand. "He's only here because he couldn't catch a ride with an Italian, either."

"That isn't true at all! You forced me to come with you!"

France and Spain had spread themselves across the back seat, which only had one seatbelt, which they were sharing. France pulled out a phone and began texting someone while Spain leaned forward up to the back of Germany's seat, breathing down his neck. "So you know then what it is like!"

"No." Germany folded his arms. "It is just that when Italy and I ride together, I must always be the one driving. Simple."

A sad, quiet, regretful beat passed.

Prussia and France instantaneously burst into laughter. The car swerved and hit three potholes in a row. "No, stop it, stop it!" Germany roared, leaning away from them.

Spain didn't seem to understand or care. He fell back into the seat against a breathless France, scratching his chin (Spain's chin, not France's) and sighing thoughtfully.

"You said it yourself!" Prussia screamed gleefully. The car skidded on a patch of ice, and then Prussia, as well as everyone else, screamed for real. Then they overcame it and continued laughing.

"Let me out of this car," Germany demande in a grumble, curling in on himself.

"No." Prussia retorted. He grit his teeth in preparation to pass someone up ahead.

Germany sat up. "Do you even know where you're going?"

Prussia scoffed. "Who do you think I am?"

"I—"

"Of course I have no idea where I am going! Oh, but look, a tunnel's coming up. Let's hope it is the right one, friends. Get ready for headlights!"

The headlights weren't already on in this snowy fog? Germany could have punched out his headlights.

Japan just wanted to go home. He was cold, tired, and sick of New York. He hadn't been there long but it was so busy and loud that it felt like he'd been there for ages. His body was also revolting against the time change, giving him a massive headache and a strange craving for cold shrimp.

South Korea, riding next to him in their shared cab, was just as tired. BTS, had just recently released a Christmas song and he hadn't had a chance to listen to it. He mumbled to himself and fiddled with his earbuds nervously. Feeling the need to stir up the thick silence, he spat out the first thing on his mind. "This sucks ass. I just wanted a present!"

Hong Kong, sitting on the farthest side, nodded sagely, looking up from his phone. "Ass is so totally being sucked." He then proceeded to ignore the rest of the conversation.

Japan pursed his lips. A car outside honked, and he jumped a little. Their driver laughed lightly. Japan watched on.

"What's that?" South Korea leaned over him to see out the window. He swiped the fog away. "Ahh! Look! It's seonsaengnim!"

It hurt Japan's neck to turn and look. China was standing on a sidewalk, apparently arguing with Russia, who stood halfway down the stairway entrance to the subway. "I can't believe you broke the train!" China shouted, flapping his arms hysterically.

"The train is not broken," Russia insisted. His scarf was moving, but it was undeterminable whether it fluttered in the wind or of its own accord. "Come with me! We could get there fast!"

"I am scared!" he shouted back, looking more angry than scared. "And I want food! So hell to this!"

Russia looked down, dejected. "Fine. Then I will take the train myself. I will find a way."

From below ground, there came a deafening screech. Made by human or train, Japan could not tell, and wasn't sure he wanted to know, either. He quickly shifted his eyes elsewhere and patted away South Korea's waving hands.

"Seonsaengnim!" Korea shouted, pushing back at Japan.

"No," Japan quietly urged. "It will be embarassi—"

"Japan?" China saw them. Japan sighed and sank down in his seat. "And, Korea, is that you? What are you children doing?"

They were in standstill traffic at the moment, allowing a continuous conversation, yet he still wished the stoplight would change colors already. "We are riding to the airport," Japan meekly deadpanned.

"Duh," said Hong Kong, finally looking up from his phone.

China folded his arms. "Without your elder? I do think not so! Are you trying to sass me, boy? Let me in!"

South Korea got excited. "Yay! You can ride along with us!"

"We only have room for, like, three," Hong Kong mused, chewing his lip. "Oof. Sorry, old man."

"Don't you 'old man' me! Or try any of those stupid perplexing attitude phrases that Britain taught you!" China was opening the door, scooting against Japan with his old man hip, trying to squeeze in. Japan was miffed. The cold air seeped in as well, and he wanted to sob as the warmth escaped.

"Scoot over Hong Kong-ah! We have to make room for seonsaengnim!" South Korea exclaimed, shoving Hong Kong against the door, and then scooting over against him so he couldn't scoot back over. "Come on, Japan-hyung, scoot over!"

The cab driver had turned around and was looking at them skeptically. "Um...we only allow three…"

Japan accidentally made direct eye contact with him right as he scooted (scat? sket? skot?) over.

With a thump, China's luggage was thrown in, crushing at least two sets of toes. "Let's go, kids." His ponytail came untucked out of his coat and smacked Japan in the face. He slammed the door shut, and in with the wind of the movement flew a miniature blizzard. Everything felt unsafe and itchy.

"I, like, think I'm dying," Hong Kong stated quietly from what seemed like a day's travel eastward.

"At least your favorite band hasn't just dropped five new songs that you haven't gotten to listen to yet even though the songs have been out for two weeks." South Korea muttered, desperately trying to untangle his head phones, which had managed to become one giant knot tangled in the curl in his hair.

"Two weeks?" Hong Kong frowned. "That is sad."

"Right?! I'm desperate, but I want to listen to them somewhere where I can appreciate them, so I'm going to wait to get ho—"

"Okay okay, enough of this," China interrupted. "Can we get going now? JFK Airport, please. And maybe somewhere with hot food along the way."

The driver, a middle-aged man in a fedora whose skin resembled burned bacon, still looked perplexed. "You know, having four people in the backseat is a violation of the safety rules."

All four nations stared blankly.

"But, this ain't no normal cab, is it."

A moment of abrupt silence.

"Are you going to murder us?" finally whispered Korea.

The man laughed (a non-evil type of laugh, don't worry), but really all they could see was his hat bobbing. "Oh, no way, gentlemen!" Suddenly, hidden lights all around the interior of the vehicle began to flash festive colors. Jazzy music cracked out of a speaker. The driver beamed at them and began to talk into a headset previously hidden. "You fellas were just in time to catch the Loot Lyft! Smile; you're live on camera for all the world to see! It's a Christmas special! Welcome to the gameshow!"

Japan could have committed seppuku.

Meanwhile, in the backseat of a certain rust-colored vehicle, heading south halfway through Queens, an argument was taking place.

"Keep going straight!" France insisted, pointing at the highway in front of them. "I know this road!"

Spain shook his head, staring intently at his phone, as if it held the secrets of the universe. "But Siri says—"

"I don't care what that cow thinks—I'm staying." Prussia gunned it, switching lanes. "Besides, France, you never do anything straight." A cacophony of guffaws. Their car fell in line with another.

A very worried Germany happened to glance over at the other car—a white soccer mom van, to be precise—and then immediately wished he hadn't. He whipped his head back forward just as his brother noticed.

"Who is this idiot think he is trying to race me—ah!" Prussia almost slammed on the breaks. "Denmark!" Before anyone could stop him, Prussia rolled down his window and began to shout into the frozen air at a van full of Nordics.

Whatever Denmark shouted back was lost in the wind. Sweden, the driver, only glanced over once to give them what really looked like a death glare. The Nordic car began to pick up speed.

"Oh, no they don't!" Prussia hit the gas again, matching them. France shrieked.

"Don't you dare!" Germany put a hand on Prussia's coat sleeve, but the older brother paid no mind. "We're both going to the same place!"

"I am not losing this!" Prussia yelled.

Germany buried his face in his hands. Hopefully they would just all die so no one would have known he was here. There was an extent to Christmas fun, and this was it—the line where fun became terror. They had just crossed it. At least, if they somehow lived, they would get to the airport faster. Germany wondered if his flight had already left.

Outside of the grungy hotel, Liechtenstein stood on the only piece of dry sidewalk, shivering as Switzerland tried to nab a cab. The cars paid him no mind, ignoring his waving. He threw his hat to the ground in frustration, where it flopped like a sad soppy calzone.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Your dress is all ruined."

It really wasn't, Liechtenstein thought, just a little damp. She told him so. "Don't worry about it, big brother."

Switzerland looked unconvinced. "I don't understand. I know it's Christmas Eve and people want to get home to their families, but you'd think I would be able to catch just one—"

"TAXI!"

Liechtenstein yelped in surprise as someone shoved past her, shrieking wildly and pointing at the one remaining cab—

"Better luck next time, Switzy!" Hungary whooped, dragging a frazzled-looking Austria by his coattails. "This cab is ours!"

Switzerland jumped back to his feet, mouth agape. "What?! That's not fair!"

Austria sneered as Hungary rocketed past. "Don't be absurd," he huffed. "It might have escaped your notice, but life isn't fair. I have a Christmas Eve concert to conduct, so you'll have to meekly accept the next available cab."

Switz looked floored, seething silently, so Liechtenstein grabbed his soggy hat and plopped it back on his head. "Switz! Come on! Follow them!"

She tugged him through the snow, and they raced towards the taxi. Hungary and Austria seemed to be arguing with the driver. Too bad. Liechtenstein hip-checked stuffy Austria out of the way.

"JFK, please," she said primly.

"Oh, good," said the driver. He was wearing a Santa hat and a matching beard that he must have been wearing during lunch, because it had bits of falafel in it. "Y'all are going the same way. It's a little tight but I'm sure you can fit."

Austria looked politely revolted while Switzerland looked politely furious, while Hungary shrieked, "I will not share! I won fair and square!"

Ignoring them, Liechtenstein asked, "How much?"

"Ah, well, it depends…" The driver scratched his beard. "Traffic might be pretty bad, but my best guess is about seventy dollars."

Switzerland and Austria stopped arguing long enough to stare aghast at the driver. "Seventy dollars?"

Austria scoffed. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm sure I can find a better price elsewhere."

Switzerland looked down at Liechtenstein, conflicted. "Well, Liechtenstein is very cold."

Liechtenstein was, in fact, very cold, but she thought Austria was a grump and he was always giving Switzerland lots of tension. She hated to give him the satisfaction.

"Only a fool would pay that much for transportation," Austria was saying.

"What are implying?" Switz spat out.

Austria shrugged. "Only that you're not as skilled in saving money."

Watching her brother turn red, Liechtenstein made up her mind. She turned to the cab driver, who was now eating more falafel and looking bored.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but we'll find transportation elsewhere. Thank you."

The man shrugged and closed his window. The yellow car drove away, and the four nations were left on the side of an empty road.

Greece waited a few minutes outside the conference building for a cab, but the road remained empty. In fact, there wasn't a car in sight. The six-lane intersection stretched out empty before him, blanketed in undisturbed snow. It was very quiet. He mused over the concept of hitchhiking. What he really wanted was a place to sit down and think, but the ground was wet and cold and covered in that weird black gritty asphalt stuff. So he started walking in search of someplace dry.

Eventually, a few blocks west, he found a man next to a cardboard box and a dumpster.

"Excuse me," he said. "Are you using that box?"

The man squinted up at him and rubbed his snotty nose. He looked cold. "The fuck? Are you high?"

Greece considered. "No," he answered finally. "Are you?"

"A little. What's it to you?"

"I just want to sit in that box."

Greece pointed at the object in question, it was a very nice box, about TV-sized. Good for sitting and thinking.

The man snorted. "Like, whatever. But be careful. It's a magic box."

Greece did not see anything magical about the box, but then again, the stranger did not seem particularly lucid.

"Okay," he said. "I just want to know if I can sit in it."

"Whatever you want, man."

The stranger appeared to go back to sleep. After some thought, Greece shrugged out of his sweater and draped it over the man's shoulders.

"Dude! What the fuck?" The stranger recoiled. "Don't strip out here, you'll freeze your balls off!"

"You need it more than me." Then Greece sat down and the box began to shake and vomit sparkles and he was whisked away.

New York City's JFK International was at that time now being met with its first visitors of the personified nation variety, well, since that morning. Two cars pulled up side-by-side: a rough-and-tumble crimson machine and a hardened family van. Snowflakes covered a light film over the windshields of both, concealing what lie within.

The first thing they saw when they reached the entrance to the airport were the Italy brothers, both sitting together cross-legged on a bench, holding Starbucks espressos. Their luggage was abandoned next to them as they peered intensely at something on Veneziano's phone. (He had discovered one of those "adult coloring book" apps and was becoming molto amused by it. He planned to print out the pretty flower he was "painting" and use it for his "white elephant" gift. America had said "gags" were welcome.)

Germany stomped up to them first, visibly shaken (shaking) from his car ride, whisking falling snow out of his face.

Romano stood strong to meet him. "Finally, someone else is here. Took long enough! Too bad it had to be your old fart tighty ass."

"Oh, please. I am younger than you." He paused. "I think. Maybe." The wind blew. "It doesn't matter! How are you here already so fast? And how did you have time to get coffee?"

"Well, we drove ourselves, of course!" Italy reluctantly saved his work, taking a sip from the aforementioned coffee.

"Dang," Denmark whistled, crossing his arms. Iceland took both an earbud out and a step back. Sealand whispered, "Gay."

"We wanted to wait for you!" Italy continued. "Also the airport is big and there are people running around and shouting all crazy in there...but mostly we wanted to wait for you!"

Germany's only emotion was sigh.

France flicked a dismissive hand through the frosty air. "This romantic development is very interesting, see, but can we go inside, please? My coiffure is absolutely ruined."

"I agree," said Russia. "I am just freezing to the death!"

They all jumped. Norway blinked.

"H-How did you get here?" Finland stuttered, a glove keeping his jolly stocking cap in place.

Russia did not give an answer. He pushed past them all to enter the building—Terminal 1, to be precise. Ahhh, yes…it was much warmer inside. The snowstorm in the streets reminded Russia of General Winter, and wondered vaguely if the great being's wrath would soon be upon them, from all the way across the ocean. The city seemed to be holding its breath as every gust of wind blew harder and the horizon slowly became the color of Russia's eyes. Something wicked this way was coming.

Just as Italy had reported, there was a certain commotion inside the airport. Urgent numbers and letters flashed across large screens, and the giant American flag hanging from the ceiling swayed. People of assorted shapes, sizes, and dress stormed about, shouting into cell phones in a plethora of languages and tones. Prussia was almost clotheslined by a sobbing teen girl. The drone of tumbling suitcase wheels surrounded them.

"That is strange..." Sweden murmured, taking in the unusual crowds of people hovered around the check-in counters. Figures pushed and shouted, and the workers were either shouting back or looking terrified. Now the scrolling words on the screens made a little more sense.

Romano folded his arms, visibly upset. "I knew this would happen. I fucking knew it, all along."

It took a moment for his words to kick in, but then Spain gasped. "No. You don't mean..."

Romano raised one eyebrow, then immediately turned to down the rest of his coffee all in one go.

"Let us find out!" Russia declared. No one followed him as he began to trail after a passing cloud of security officials, calling out questions. Italy covered his eyes. Denmark looked away, hands in his pockets. France swooned. And Finland's black Santa gloves clenched into tense, tight fists.

Compared to someone like America, Russia wasn't as into the whole commercial Christmas thing, but missing his flight would still be a hindrance to his holiday plans and sleep cycle. (Gotta keep up with those circadian rhythms.) He had had much fun being included in the gift game, but knew others would be unhappy if they missed their flights as well. He shadowed the security all the way to security, wondering what would be a good distraction, a good gloss-over for the bad news he would be destined to deliver.

"Excuse me, hello," said he. The officers whipped around, startled, as if they hadn't noticed him following them for miles.

"Can we help you, sir?" one of them finally said after much calculated glancing between their coworkers. All of them shuffled together, trying to do their squinting and askance looking thing as discreet as they obviously could. The flow of people created an island around them.

Russia nodded and took a step forward. "I have question—"

A blare interrupted him, with colorful blinking lights. At first he thought the flashing, screaming box that had encased him was a funzy display for Christmas, and began to laugh with glee. Then he realized he had accidentally walked into a metal detector.

"What's in your coat?" the officer asked, tilting their head and pointing. Russia blushed. "Take it out," the officer demanded, crossing their arms. A few more guards and police dogs appeared out of nowhere.

Russia, embarrassed, obliged. "It is only my pipe." He showed them his giant metal pipe.

Security glanced between itself. "Uh...so did you mean to, uh, bring that on your, uh, your plane?" inquired one brave soul.

"Yes." Russia was now getting impatient. "And that is what I want to ask—"

The officer turned to the others. At a whisper, "Is that...allowed?"

The others shrugged. "I mean, it looks like it maybe could be a weapon to me," said one.

"Doesn't matter, all the flights have been cancelled and rerouted anyways due to weather conditions," offered another. "You should have known this, José."

"Oh, it's definitely a weapon," a third chimed in.

Russia gasped, involuntarily stomping his boots. "So the planes are cancelled!"

José put his hands on his hips as a security dog began to growl. "That's right, mister. But don't you worry about that right now. Now, it's time for you to come with us."

Russia felt saddened by this turn of events. Why did things have to be so difficult.

Long chapter, sorry for the wait! We estimate this thing won't be done before Christmas, but that's okay, because it'll still be a blast! My other stories will update slower in the meantime.