[Twelve Days Event] December 24, Russia's first Christmas after the 1917 banning, fanfic
Title: First Christmas (hurr, originality)
Author: lokichan2004
Warnings: America's dirty mouth.
Summary: A rather unconventional Christmas between two former adversaries, set sometime after the dissolution of the USSR (December 26th 1991) but before the traditional Russian Christmas, which is January 7th. My first time posting here. Huzzahs all around, and a merry Christmas/happy holidays to all!
Someone was pounding on the door.
Russia knew of only one person in the world who pounded on the door instead of knocking, and he wasn’t in the mood to see him - not now, when the Soviet Union had been dissolved only days before. It was snowing again; Moscow was already buried in it but General Winter was unrelenting. Even now Christmas celebrations were starting up again, but Russia was in no mood to celebrate. Every bit of him ached.
The pounding on the door continued. Russia was content ignoring it, but it was disrupting his work, so he sighed, set down his paperwork and went to the door. He could hear America on the other side before he even opened the door.
“I know you’re in there, you commie bastard! Fucking freezing out here-“ He opened the door so suddenly that he caught America with his fist in the air, ready to punish his door with another round of blows. He blinked owlishly behind his glasses, and then he grinned. “Russia! Hey!”
“America,” Russia replied flatly. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to-“
“Have you come here to gloat?” America’s cheeks colored red and he shook his head; he opened his mouth to speak but Russia cut him off. “Because I have heard all of that before, da? You won, I lost, and you are here to rub it in my face.”
“God, would you shut up and let me talk?” America barked at him, shivering and brushing snow from his hair. Russia stared at him blankly. “I’m not here to gloat or anything, alright?”
“Then why are you here?” From behind his back America pulled out a brightly wrapped package and thrust it at him.
“Because it’s Christmas! You get to have Christmas again now, right?” he asked, grinning. Russia stared down at the package, green and festooned with candy canes. He looked warily from the box to America’s face.
“Yes, but…we celebrate Christmas on January seventh.”
“Oh.” America’s smile dimmed for a moment and then powered back up. “Well, Christmas came early this year!”
“I suppose so.” He stared at the package some more, weighing his options. He could feel America growing impatient.
“Look, man,” he finally blurted out, “just take the damn thing or something, I’m freezing my balls off! You can burn it for all I care, just do something so I can go back to my hotel and thaw out!” Russia sighed and took the package.
“If it will make you be quiet,” he said, holding the package up to his ear. No ticking - that was a good sign. America scowled at him as he gave the package a shake.
“Russia-“
“Indulge me, America, it has been far too long since anyone has given me something new.” He began picking at the tape, trying not tear the paper, but soon gave up and tore the paper away like an overgrown child. America grinned. It was a book, a thick, heavy book, and Russia turned it over. “The Illustrated History of War,” he read in a monotone, looking up into America’s face. America looked suddenly nervous, shifting on his feet.
“When I saw it I thought of you, you know?” he said, looking everywhere but Russia’s face. “N-not that I always think of you when I think of war, even though I did, kinda, with the Cold War and…yeah.” He mumbled something under his breath and chanced a glance up at Russia’s face. The older nation stood in the doorway, holding the book dumbly in his hands and feeling entirely unsure of what to do with himself. The snow swirled around them and crept into the house; America scuffed his feet on the porch and looked down the nearly empty street. “Well, if that’s it, I’ll-“
“I suppose I should invite you in,” Russia interrupted, tucking the book under his arm and stepping aside. “You gave me a gift, after all. It would be rude of me not to.” America flashed a grin and fled into the house, stamping the snow from his boots.
“Thanks, man. Merry Christmas.”
“…Merry Christmas.”