I planned to post this on Christmas Day. In case you hadn't noticed, it's late. I'm sorry. What can I say, it was Christmas. So if you'll close your eyes for a moment, I am going to use my magical time-warping powers - didn't I tell you about them? Well, now you know - to transport you back to December 25th for the duration of this chapter. You're welcome.

"Scotland, those presents are not wrapped," said Northern Ireland, crossing his arms and glaring accusingly at his brother.

"What dae ye mean?" Scotland, who was in the process of placing what looked like piles of scrunched paper underneath the Christmas tree, looked indignant. "Of course they're wrapped! I used Sellotape this time and everythin'!"

"When I said 'use Sellotape', I didn't mean for you to wrap it around the presents like string," he sighed. "First you ignore everything I say about the tree-"

"But organisin' the decorations isnae fun!" sighed Scotland. "You always try ter colour-coordinate the tree and it just isnae the same."

"Give it a rest, guys." England's presents, while not as immaculate as Ireland's, were acceptably wrapped and therefore approved to go under the tree. "It's Christmas Eve."

"I know, but that doesn't mean we can-"

"England!" Wales came running in from the kitchen as fast and as terrified as if someone had just told him Scotland would be cooking Christmas dinner. "Scotland! Ireland!"

"What? What's the matter?" asked Ireland, the presents and the tree forgotten.

"You know that tree in the garden? The one with the robin's nest in it?"

"Yeah..."

"It fell out! I was just by the window and I saw it on the grass!"

"Oh," said England, relaxing again. "That's a shame."

"We have to do something! We have to help it!"

"There's nothing we can do," he said. "It's not like we can put it back in the tree or anything."

"Why not?" demanded Wales, staring around at the other two for support and receiving none.

"Because it probably wouldn't want it any more even if we did. It'd smell like us, wouldn't it? It can build a new nest. Besides, it's cold out there."

"We have to try, though! We can't just sit here and do nothing!"

"Well, that's what I'm plannin' on doing," shrugged Scotland. "England's ri- England isnae wrong, Wales."

"Fine! Fine, if that's how you feel then I'll just have to do it myself, won't I?" He glared around as though disgusted with them, spun on his heel and stomped back down the corridor.

"Don't worry about him," said England. "He'll get cold and come back inside. You know what he's like."

It didn't occur to them until they'd finished putting the presents under the tree, had one last mug of eggnog each and were about to go to bed that they noticed something rather alarming; Wales was still nowhere to be seen.

"Ye dinnae suppose he's still outside, dae ye?" asked Scotland, staring concernedly at the remnants of his eggnog as though they'd just done something worrying.

"He might just've gone to bed early," Ireland pointed out. "He did say he was tired earlier."

"Even so... I'll go and check." England put his mug in the sink, found a coat and pulled it on. "You guys stay where it's warm. I'll be back in a second."

He stuck his feet into his wellies, pushed open the door and headed out into the garden. He was instantly glad he'd brought the coat; the air was absolutely freezing and there was a light dusting of frost over the grass. At least it's not raining. It was so dark he was tempted to go back for a torch, but then a voice shouted weakly, "Is someone there?"

"Wales?" he called, staring around for his brother.

"England! I'm up here!"

A branch rustled in something other than the wind; England's eyes were drawn up to the top of one of the biggest trees in their garden. "Oh my God. Wales, what the hell are you doing up there?"

"I was trying to put the robin's nest back but I got stuck and now I'm really cold and I can't get down!"

England sighed. "Just hang in there, I'm coming to get you!" Cursing the entirety of nature itself under his breath, he grabbed one of the lower branches and hauled himself up into the tree.

"Right," said Scotland, draining the last of his eggnog and dropping the mug into the sink. "I'm going ter bed. Coming?"

"In a minute. I'll just wait for England and Wales to come back in."

"Suit yerself," shrugged Scotland, and disappeared off up the stairs. Ireland leant back against the counter, finished his own eggnog and glanced at his watch. They should be back any minute now.

But they weren't. Ten minutes later, there was still no sign of them. Ireland weighed his choices: he could stay inside where it was warm, go to bed and pretend he'd never known anything was amiss, or he could brave the cold, wet night and get himself tangled up in whatever had gone wrong out there. He sighed, found his coat on a peg by the door and ventured out into the garden.

However, they didn't appear to be there. "Wales? England? Where are you?"

"Ireland, is that you?" That was definitely Wales's voice, but he couldn't see where it was coming from.

"It's me! Are you out here?"

"No, we've left a voice recording specifically to trick you. Of course we're out here, you numpty!" He didn't need the English accent to identify that voice. "We're stuck in this damn tree!"

A rustle of branches brought his eyes to the top of the big tree at the end of the garden. "You have got to be kidding me."

"We aren't kidding you! I just wanted to put the nest back but now I'm stuck and I can't move without falling!" Wales sounded almost desperate now; perhaps that was what made him sigh and say, "Fine. Wait there, I'm coming."

"No! Don't come up! This tree is cursed or something!"

"Don't look at me, why would I curse our tree? The branches are just really far apart near the top, that's all."

"Even so, go and get a ladder or something. Don't risk it!"

"Alright, fine," said Ireland. "Wait there. I'm getting a ladder."

He trudged over to the garden shed and pulled open the door, shrugging off the shower of spiders. Through the haze of cobwebs, he spotted an old ladder leaning against the wall next to a broken Space Invaders arcade game and a rack of old longbows. He dragged it out into the garden, pulled it across the grass and propped it up against the tree.

"Is it okay?" he called, squinting through the leaves to see if it was secure. It wouldn't be much fun to get halfway up and find out that the branch it was leaning against wasn't strong enough to support his weight.

"It's fine," shouted Wales.

"Right, I'm coming up!" With one last suspicious look at the tree – and, now it occurred to him, the grass, just to make sure it wasn't too slippery – he planted a wellie-clad foot on the first rung and started up the ladder.

It really was quite high up, and somehow it looked higher when he was looking down than it had done when he was on the ground looking up. England had been right; the higher he climbed, the further apart the branches seemed to get, until he was amazed that Wales had been able to scramble up that high. Ireland wasn't sure if he himself would be able to, and he was a few inches taller than his brother.

By the time he reached the top, his fingers were numb and he was beginning to wish he'd brought gloves. He scrambled off the ladder and onto the branch next to England. Squinting through the darkness, he could see Wales clinging to the end of the branch not six feet away.

"Don't come!" squeaked Wales, before he could move to help him. "The branch isn't strong enough! Whenever anyone else comes down this end it starts creaking and if it breaks we'll all die!"

"We won't die, Wales," sighed Ireland. Why didn't I stay inside? "Just wrap your legs around the branch and lean backwards. England and I can pull you back."

"But I'll fall off if I let go!"

"No you won't. We'll catch you. Just do it really slowly."

Wales took an audibly deep breath, tightened his legs around the branch and, as though expecting himself to detonate at any moment, lifted his hands. And, inch by inch, began to lean backwards towards his brothers. The second he was within reach, England and Ireland grabbed his hands and pulled him back along the branch towards them. In slightly less than a minute, he was safe.

"Why were you that far out anyway?" asked England. "And why wouldn't you let me get you? I could've had you back here well before Ireland got here."

"Because the nest wouldn't stay here and there's a fork at the end of the branch that's perfect for it," said Wales, his voice shaking only slightly. "And I was scared you'd make us both fall."

"I'd make us both fall? Who was it that came up here in the first place?"

"Stop bickering. We just need to go back down the- oh."

"What?" asked Wales, suddenly even more scared than before. "What's wrong?"

Ireland pointed wordlessly to the grass barely visible between the branches. Lying on the lawn was an old, cobweb-covered ladder.

England swore loudly. "Now what are we supposed to do?"

"Get Scotland," said Wales, gripping the branch with white-knuckled fingers. "He's just inside, isn't he?"

"He went up to bed," said Ireland.

England swore again. "You reckon we'll wake him up if we shout loudly enough?"

"No need. His window's right there." Ireland pointed out along the opposite branch; it came within two feet of the house, its outermost leaves brushing a tartan-curtained window.

"Right, who's heading out along that deathtrap, then?" asked England. He turned to Ireland, then to Wales, then Ireland, then back to Wales again. "What are you looking at me for?"

"You're closest," said Ireland. "Off you go."

"If I die, you lot are going to have to go to world meetings," said England through gritted teeth, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. "And they're not as fun as you might think they are." He was hugging the trunk now, easing himself gingerly to the other side of the tree. "And you'll have to do all the accounts for the entire United Kingdom." He moved slowly along the branch, wincing every time it creaked. "And they're a right pain in the- got it!"

Reaching out as carefully as he could, painfully aware of the long drop directly underneath him, he knocked on Scotland's window. No response. He knocked again. Just as he was preparing to knock a third time, the curtains flew back and Scotland's somewhat surprised face appeared behind the glass.

"Scotland! Open the window!" England mimed pushing up a window, just in case the glass was blocking any sound he was making.

Getting the hint, Scotland pushed it open and leant out. "What the hell are ye doin' oop there?"

"Wales and Ireland are here too. We're stuck. We need to get back inside through your-ah!" Arms flailing, England overbalanced and tipped backwards. The branch swung dangerously as he caught it on his way down, hanging with his legs flailing a scarily long way from the ground and his arms wrapped around the branch so tightly he could've snapped it right there and then. He swore for a third time, and this one was even louder and more enthusiastic than the other two.

"Hold on!" Scotland clambered up onto his windowsill and reached a hand down. "Grab my hand! Christ, that's a long way ter fall."

"Thank you... for your comforting words..." England's teeth were gritted so hard he could barely speak as he tried to take hold of Scotland's hand, but there were a good two feet between them.

Ignoring the shouts of Northern Ireland and Wales, Scotland swung his legs over the windowsill and lowered himself onto the branch. Clinging to it as hard as he could and trying his best not to notice the way it was bending under their weight, he grasped England's forearm and hauled him back over the branch.

England, white-faced and shaking but unhurt, inspected the tear in his jumper and sighed. "I've had this since nineteen fifty-three."

"Time ter get a new one, then," said Scotland. "It's probably a sign from the god of clothes or somethin'."

"Scotland!" Wales shouted through the branches. "It's freezing out here! Let's go back in now and talk about England's jumper later, shall we?"

"Right ye are!" With much scrambling and struggling, Scotland managed to turn around on the branch and ease himself back out towards the window. "Damn, it's fallen doon."

"Does that mean we're stuck out here?" asked Wales, suddenly terrified again.

"Of course it doesnae. I just need ter open it again."

"It does," said Northern Ireland. "It's locked itself behind him."

"It doesnae dae that," said Scotland, struggling to open the window without falling off the branch.

"It will tonight. I bet you ten quid it will."

Five minutes later, Scotland, England, Wales and Northern Ireland were huddled together like tree-dwelling penguins for warmth and Ireland was five pounds richer.

"This is yer fault, Wales," hissed Scotland. "Christmas bloody Eve and we're stuck up a tree catchin' pneumonia."

"I only wanted to put the robin's nest back!"

"I told you not to," said England. "Didn't I tell him not to?"

"You did tell him not to."

"Hoo many Christmas Eves have we lived through?" mused Scotland. "Hundreds? Are we countin' the Pagan celebrations too? Thousands. This one is the worst yet."

"I'm sorry, okay? I never thought we'd end up here!"

England sighed deeply and rubbed his temples. The other three could almost physically feel the 'I-need-a-cup-of-tea' waves emanating from him; they exchanged worried looks but, until he began to display signs of neurosis, schizophrenia, paranoia and/or unprovoked violence, there was nothing they could do. "Why don't we just shut up for once and try and get some sleep? It might be uncomfortable but we've got to make the most of it. We'll figure out how to get down from here in the morning."

It was one of the most awkward, painful, cold nights of their lives, and that was saying something. They had spent many nights outside when they were children, but they had become used to warm beds in the last few centuries and hard, damp branches ranked fairly low on the list of preferred sleeping arrangements. The freezing December weather bit at their faces and numbed their fingers – around one in the morning, Wales was shivering so hard Scotland took off his jumper and gave it to him. They did manage to sleep – only a few hours each, but it was better than nothing. Even so, all four of them were well awake when the sun first began to peer over the horizon, announcing the arrival of Christmas morning.

"Seven o'clock," said England, checking his watch. "If we weren't stuck here, we'd probably be opening presents by now."

"I'm sick of this tree," groaned Scotland. "I dinnae want ter miss Christmas over somethin' like this!"

"Why don't we do the gift-giving here?" suggested Wales.

Scotland sighed. "We cannae dae that, Wales, because in case ye havnae noticed, we're stuck up a tree with nae presents ter give."

"I know, I know, but we can pretend, can't we?" He beamed around at their bemused faces. "Okay, I'll go first. Scotland, I got you a present!"

"Um..." Scotland proceeded carefully, not entirely sure where this was going. "What did ye get me, Wales?"

"I got you... panpipes!"

Scotland raised an eyebrow. "Panpipes?"

"They're really cool. They're like a bunch of pipes all tied together. I heard that they were much more fun to play than bagpipes, so I thought you'd like to give them a try. You might find that you like them more," he added cautiously.

Scotland took a moment to conjure the image up in his head. He liked what he saw. "So... they're like bagpipes without the bag?"

"Sort of, yeah. But much better. You should definitely start playing them instead of bagpipes."

Scotland considered this. He was going to have to reserve judgement on the whole better-than-bagpipes thing, but they did sound like fun. "Thanks!" he grinned.

"Your go, Scotland. What did you get me?"

"I got ye a Sponsor-a-Sheep package. There's this sanctuary fer mistreated farm animals in Aberdeenshire, see, and they're goin' ter send ye an update once a month on hoo yer sheep's doin'. Her name's Maisy."

Wales gaped at him. "Really? Thank you so much!"

"My turn," said England. "Ireland. You know how you never got to go on the Titanic?"

"Yeah..." he said slowly, not sure where England was going with this. He had built the ship – not personally, of course, but he'd been there at the construction site – but hadn't been available to go on its maiden voyage. He'd been disappointed, but resigned himself to getting a ticket on one of its later journeys. That, of course, had never happened.

"Well, I was going through some of the old records at the Museum of London, and I found an actual ticket for it. It's only second class and it's a bit aged, but I thought you'd like to have it. I know it's not the same as actually going, but I-"

"A real ticket? An actual, authentic one? Seriously?"

"Yeah," said England, his confidence boosted by the look of disbelief and amazement on his brother's face.

"Thank you! That's... I just... thank you!"

"Don't mention it."

And so they continued, describing the presents they'd bought for each other and the gifts that had come through the post from other countries. Wales went on at length about the new guitar he'd got for England, how he'd spent hours in music shops comparing Gibsons and Stratocasters and a million other variations and specifics until he'd finally settled on what he confidently declared the best guitar in the history of the universe. England had bought Scotland a collector's edition of Braveheart, complete with a poster and William Wallace action figure. It was almost as exciting as sitting by the Christmas tree and tearing off the wrapping paper for real, and they barely noticed the cold and the damp as the sun made its way slowly up over the horizon. They didn't have real presents. They didn't have a real Christmas tree. They didn't even have central heating. But they had each other, and that, as it turned out, was what made all the difference.

At least, until they finished 'unwrapping' presents and remembered that they were stuck up a tree with no obvious prospects of getting down anywhere in the near future.

"One of us should jump," suggested England. "They can go and get help. Scotland, you're toughest."

"What? I amnae goin' ter-"

"Would you prefer we stay up here until we starve to death?"

"I am actually quite hungry," said Wales.

"Me too," added Ireland.

"We're all hungry, but we aren't going to get any food until we get down from here. Are we definitely sure there's no way in through that window?"

"I'm tellin' yer, it's locked."

"Can't we break in? Smash the glass or something?"

"That's my bedroom! You arenae smashin'-"

"Guys, shh!" Wales waved his arms to shut them up and almost fell out of the tree. "I can hear something!"

They all froze, listening with all their might. Aside from the birdsong and rustling leaves, there was... nothing. England was about to speak again when a voice drifted up to the top branches of their tree.

"Hello? Are you guys here or what?"

Ireland reacted in a nanosecond. "SOUTH! SOUTH, WE'RE UP HERE! HELP!"

"Oh God..." groaned England. "We are never going to live this down."

"Never ever," agreed Scotland, shaking his head sadly.

But it was too late. The Republic of Ireland was at the base of the tree now, staring up at them. Even England had to admit that he was glad to see her. She was wearing a Christmas-themed jumper so huge, hideous and brightly-coloured it could only have been a gift from America, but despite the blinding colours and actual sewn-on Rudolph nose, they were so chilled they were seriously jealous of it. She gaped at them for a full ten seconds, then threw her head back and laughed so hard she was in serious danger of asphyxiating before she could get around to saving them. "What the hell are you doing up there?"

"Wales got stuck," shouted Northern Ireland. "We tried to help him, but we got stuck too!"

"How long have you been up there?"

"All night."

Her eyebrows almost shot off the top of her head. "Holy crap! Bet you fifty Euros you've all got colds by this evening."

"Not a chance!" called England. "Now help us down from here, would you? If you open Scotland's bedroom window we should be able to get back inside."

"Sure. It's not like I had anything better to do today."

"Wait, the door's locked. You can't-"

"Oh, please. Just because you like to pretend you're a perfect English gentleman doesn't mean I have to."

They watched as she disappeared back down the garden and, within moments, was sliding Scotland's window up with a grin that clearly read 'you owe me one, guys.'

One by one, they managed to scramble out across the branch and clamber over the windowsill. It wasn't particularly dignified, but after a long, cold night stuck up a tree none of them honestly cared much about dignity any more. The whole, wide world of warm jumpers and showers and central heating was open to them once more and they had never been more grateful to have solid ground under their feet. Northern Ireland, forgetting himself completely, actually hugged his sister in overwhelming gratitude and even England shook her hand.

"Sou- I mean, Republic of Ireland," he began.

"Oh for God's sake, England, you're my brother. Call me South. I'm beginning to regret giving myself such a long name anyway. I would've gone with 'Eire' – much nicer – but that's sort of me and North together, so it didn't feel right to hog it."

"Okay then... South," said England, looking a little awkward. The fact that he still called her South almost exclusively in his head changed nothing – he had sworn to be diplomatic about the whole situation and calling her by her chosen name seemed only polite. "Why are you here?"

She bit her lip, looked around at the other three, then said reluctantly, "I was lonely. I don't like spending Christmas day by myself. Besides, I needed to give you these." She held out a carrier bag; brightly coloured wrapping paper was just visible through the plastic. "Merry Christmas."

It was fair to say that Christmas day was not nearly as eventful as Christmas night, but perhaps that was for the best. The five of them sat around the tree and opened the presents they knew they were getting along with a great deal of surprises from other countries. It was actually a pretty good haul that year, but, as they realised, perhaps at the same time, perhaps one by one, as they sat around a table full of roast turkey, mashed potatoes, boiled vegetables and cranberry sauce that evening, that was neither here nor there. They didn't voice it, of course – the only things voiced were jokes, stories and long-forgotten happy memories – but they all knew. They could've come down from that tree to find their stockings full of coal, but the fact that they were all together, all friends, meant more than any present ever could.

Except, perhaps, the William Wallace action figure.

Come on, it's Christmas. Forgive me my family fluff. And yes, I'm as ashamed of the title of this chapter as you are. I just couldn't resist.