Please excuse my utter lack of chronology, including fudging nation ages and tweaking the time period of superglue.

"Kid, it's a nut-crac-ker. What do you think you do with it?"

"Don't tell me I'm actually supposed to crack nuts with this thing. And I'm not a freaking kid."

"Um, actually, you don't crack nuts with this kind of nutcracker," Prussia admitted, "but it's great for plenty of other shit."

Romano's scowl deepened. "What kind of shit, exactly?"

"Dunno..." Prussia scratched his head, momentarily displacing a very merry looking Gilbird. "You should probably ask someone else these kinds of questions…"

"So you're telling me you gave me a nutcracker that doesn't crack nuts but, in fact, is great for plenty of unknown shit."

"Yeah, glad you figured it out!"

"Why the hell would you even buy something if you don't know what to do with it?"

"I didn't buy it. At least, not that I remember. I was going through some old crap, and thought you might like this! Merry Christmas, Romano." The albino nation grinned, ruffled Romano's hair, and wandered off to a seemingly-empty corner of Austria's parlor, calling, "Yo, Mattie, the hell are you doing hiding over there?"

Growling, Romano flipped off his retreating back, then took another look at the wooden object in his hand. It was rather nice-looking- and there was something weirdly familiar about the dark-haired wooden figure in the cheerful red military uniform. Experimentally, he opened and closed its mouth several times with the lever in the back, then stuck his finger in its mouth, watching the wooden jaw squeeze and release it.

"Enjoying Gilbert's present, querido?"

Romano jumped. "D-don't surprise me like that, b-bastard. A-and don't call me querido."

Like his friends, and most of the other male nations, Spain was dressed in a (rather nicely-fitting) suit. "You look like you're finally having a little fun."

"Stupid Christmas Eve party with creepy-ass relatives and nothing to do— what a blast."

"The food is very good, though."

"It's mostly gone. America went by and left, like, nothing."

"What's that you're holding?" Spain looked curiously at the nutcracker.

"Oh, that? A nutcracker that doesn't freaking crack nuts."

"What's this I hear about cracking nuts, honhonhon?"

Great. The French fuckface had decided to show his face.

"Hi, Francis! Gilbert gave Lovi a nutcracker that doesn't crack nuts!"

"Oui, it's a little too rigid for that…"

"Fuck you, pervert."

"I think this kind of thing is more for decoration, really," Spain remarked. "See? They're adorning the entire hall!~"

Romano looked around, noticing the little wooden men for the first time. "Oh."

"Ah, oui, we have them in France, and they bring such joy to the little children." France nodded. "Antoine, Gilbert's been waving us over to the champagne for the last twenty seconds, now. We better get over there before he steps on that chair. Oh, wonderful, he's found Mattieu!"

"Okay!~ Give me a second."

As France flounced off, Spain took a deep breath. "Lovi, I'm sorry, but it's been so long since all us nations were last gathered so pleasantly like this without fighting and arguing. I… I think you should take advantage of that, and maybe meet some nations your age! Before you know it, everyone'll be going home, and you can pick a room and get some rest before we head home tomorrow morning.."

"I still can't believe we have to spend the night here at the prissy-bastard's house, with creepy Hungary and her… frying-pan-weapon-thing." Romano's scowled deepened, and he plunked down on the conveniently located couch.

"It's only one night. Look forward to the pantry full of tomatoes when we get home, si?"

"Whatever, bastard."

With a small sigh, Spain left to join the drinkers.

Romano set the nutcracker down in front of him on the couch, brought up his knees, and crossed his arms in general irritation at the world. He supposed he should be thankful that he'd actually gotten a present from someone other than Spain this year (although Francis tended to send him the… creepiest dresses from time to time). The little man stared off into space, apparently lost in randomly swirling drifts of thought as well.

The curtains were drawn open behind the majestic grand piano, showcasing the pretty lights festively twinkling from the snow-covered buildings of Vienna. Romano wasn't fond of snow, pretty though it was—way too cold and stuff when he was used to the sunny, temperate weather of Madrid. Speaking of which, the nutcracker would probably look cool shoved on some random mantel piece in Spain's house… nah, it'd just be one more thing for Romano to have to dust…

"In my country, we have a story about a nutcracker— a ballet, actually."

Romano looked up, and found that Russia had seated himself at the other end of the couch.

Fantastic. The creepiest of creeps had decided to pay him a visit.

Romano ignored him.

"It's very nice. Mr. Tchaikovsky really is a brilliant composer," Russia continued cheerfully, gaze wandering around the parlor, coming to a rest on the dancing nations on the opposite side. "The story is about a little girl named Clara whose uncle gives her a nutcracker on Christmas Eve, and the nutcracker takes her on wonderful adventures. They fight mice, wander in the Land of Snow, visit the Hall of the Sweets-"

"And only a Russian would be crazy enough to dream this up," Romano muttered under his breath.

Russia smiled at Romano. "Did you say something?"

"Did you come over here just to bother me, or something? Don't you have something b-better… to… d-do…" He trailed off. The childlike eyes danced merrily, freaking him out a bit- b-but only a bit, of course. "N-never mind. Please, go on."

"Da. Well, anyways, Clara and the nutcracker visit those lovely places, and the Land of Flowers, and everywhere they go there's dancing and merriment in their honor-"

"Wait, in honor of Clara and a freaking nutcracker?"

"Well, the nutcracker transforms into a handsome prince after the battle. Or during. My people have different versions."

"The battle… against the mice."

"That is correct! And then, they go to the Land of Snow and… oh, there go Lithuania and Poland! Excuse me." Russia stood and started creepily stalking the two laughing nations.

Gladly, thought Romano.

The talk of candy had made him a little hungry again, so he got off the couch and made his way to the table, hoping that America really hadn't eaten everything. There were a few sugar cookies left, and strangely the American nation was nowhere around them. Curious, Romano looked around for the young nation. Oh, there he was- on the dance floor, laughing and gripping soft-eyed England around the waist as he precariously balanced on the older nation's feet.

It was actually rather heartwarming.

Everywhere, surprisingly, family and friends were mingling, chatting, generally having a good time. Perhaps Austria did have the right idea, after all.

If only Romano weren't so bored.

He was on his fifth sugar cookie when a movement by the couch caught his eye. It was stupid Feliciano and Prussia's weird little brother. Hungary had dressed up his girly brother for the occasion, and he looked… even more girly than usual, in a floofy dress. With lace.

Freaking lace!

Feli was holding something, and Germany was telling him to put it down… Something red…

Holy shit, was that what he thought it was?

Romano was over there in a flash with his hands on the nutcracker.

"Oh, fratello, there you are! Vee~, look what I found!"

"Give it back, damn you, it's mine!"

"Hey, I found it, so I think it's mine..." Feliciano replied brightly.

"Prussia freaking gave it me, dammit," Romano hissed. "No one gave you permission to just… pick it up; I mean, you could break it or something!"

"No fair, fratello, I just want to look at the pretty costume—"

"But it's MIIINE!" And Romano yanked, sending his brother tumbling to the ground behind him, where he immediately burst into tears. Germany, who'd been watching in shock the whole time, gave them both a slightly scared and apologetic look and ran off. Romano smirked, extremely proud of himself… until he looked down at the nutcracker in his hands.

Broken.

It was freaking broken, one of its arms snapped off and laying on the carpet.

Shit.

A small part of Romano vaguely wondered why he was getting so emotional over a wooden toy-decoration-whatever-thing, but the larger part was engulfed in righteous fury. The moment Germany came hurrying over with Prussia, Spain, and France in tow, Romano launched himself at Spain, brandishing the nutcracker and the detached arm.

"About time you got here, bastard. He fucking BROKE OFF THE F—"

He was silenced by a hug, mouth muffled against a warm chest. "Shh, Lovi. I'm sorry, so sorry, but we can fix it, okay? Um… if I may ask… why exactly did you get so emotional over a wooden toy-decoration-thing?"

Romano scowled. "You may not ask."

"Si.Losiento.~"

Romano twisted away, and took a quick look at the scene. Austria and Hungary had apparently been summoned by Prussia ("I swear, Liz, I had nothing to do with this!") and Hungary was now trying to calm down Feli ("Yes, dear, we'll make lots and lots of pasta… There, there, dry those tears, off to the kitchen… No, Prussia, you've already pigged out earlier this evening, and you will not set foot in the kitchen while I'm still breathing."). Germany was awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, obviously totally unsure of what to do. France was talking to the air.

"Yes why don't you go find your brother. Gilbert, you did bring along those other charming toys, didn't you?"

"What? Oh, yeah! Yeah, they're really cool."

"Lovi," Spain whispered. "Let's go fix the nutcracker, shall we?"

"Oh, uh… sure." Romano looked at the pieces in his hands, bringing them together in an attempt to match up the splintered edges. "How are we supposed to fix this crap?"

"Hm… good question," Spain mused thoughtfully. "I think I might have a bottle of super glue with my stuff. Come with me to the coatroom, Lovi."

Romano followed him, staring incredulously. "How would someone just happen to have superglue with them?"

"Well, you never know when you need superglue. It's smart to be prepared."

They stepped into the coatroom. Spain quickly located his bag and began rifling through its contents. "Hm… money, crayons, random pad of paper… Ah-hah! Superglue!"

Romano's mouth twitched into the teeniest of smiles. "Unbelievable."

Spain grinned broadly, gently repositioning the nutcracker and arm in Romano's hands.

"Th-thank you," Romano murmured, looking down.

"No problem at all, querido. You're so sweet…"

Romano felt his cheeks flushing. "D-don't say things like that."

Spain laughed. "But it's so true!~"

They were quiet as he finished gluing together the nutcracker. When he finally straightened, sighing in satisfaction, the crack was barely visible.

"What do you think?"

Romano carefully turned it over in his hands. "It's… it's really nice," he said quietly.

"It looks a little like me, doesn't it?"

The Italian nation glanced up at Spain, and realized with a start that there was a bit of a resemblance. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light. Or something.

"Let's go back to the party, Lovi." Spain took his hand and led him back out the door. "You're probably too old for toy soldiers and ballerina dolls, but Gilbert's are pretty cool! I mean, he's great with that complicated mechanical stuff, so his toys are fun to watch."

"Whatever you say." Romano didn't trust the creepy potato bastard. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if the mechanical toys went berserk and wreaked havoc. Of course, that would make this boring party much more interesting, which would definitely not be a bad thing.

A small cluster of nations were gathered around Prussia, who was smugly admiring a marching life-sized toy soldier.

On the floor at the front of the group was Feli, balancing a bowl of pasta on his lap. "Lovi!~ Veee, the toy soldier is so cool, isn't it? You missed the ballerina doll, which is really sad, because she was so pretty! And she danced so well, it was like she was alive!"

Romano nodded indifferently, watching as Prussia and England leapt forward to drag an overly inquisitive America away from the soldier.

It was quieter back at. The only others around were Switzerland and Liechtenstein, snuggled on a couch by the fire and talking softly. Romano settled himself on a nearby armchair by the glittering Christmas tree, curling up and staring at the nutcracker. So bored… When the hell would this stupid party ever be over so he could go to bed, go home, and eat tomatoes, dammit?

His eyes fell on a little hole behind the tree, and he briefly wondered if Austria's house was infested with rats. They'd probably liven things up a bit.

So… very… bored…

…

The first thing Romano noticed when he woke up was that it was completely silent. He supposed the party must have finished and most of guests had gone home. It was also rather dark, although the lights on the tree were still glowing, lending some brightness to the semi-dark parlor.

The next thing he noticed was that he was sitting on the hardwood floor. He staggered to his feet and made to climb back onto the couch to go back to sleep— except that, where the couch should have been, there was a towering wall of fabric.

Slightly weirded out, he glanced back at the Christmas tree, and realized for the first time that it was really, really big.

Ridiculously big.

Either that, or he was…really small, but the idea that he'd shrunken was so laughable it wasn't even—

Then he noticed the sounds coming from the not-so-small-anymore hole under the tree— scratching, squeaking sounds.

At this point, Romano was seriously freaked out.

He inched backwards, away from the creepy hole, away from those weird sounds…

"Boo."

Romano shrieked and spun around. And shrieked again.

Dios,mio, it was him.

"Wh-what the fuck is going on here? Get away from me, b-bastard!"

Turkey smirked., arms crossed and a random scepter in hand. On his head, a regal-looking crown bore the initials R.K. "Oh, no, I don't think so. As for what's going on… isn't it obvious? I'm going to kidnap you— and this time, there's no annoying Spain around to stop me. Don't try to resist. My army outnumbers yours several hundred to one."

"I don't even have a freaking army."

"That's my point." Turkey gripped his arm, forcibly turning him around to face the hole in the wall, where… ugh… dozens, hundreds of rats about Romano's size were pouring out, swarming towards them and coming to a halt a short distance away.

"Wh-why the hell are they so b-big?" This was a dream. All a dream. Some weird aftereffect of eating too many sugar cookies or bad mushrooms or something…

"They're normal-sized," Turkey sneered. "You're just small."

S-so he had shrunken after all… No,no,justadream,dammit…

"L-let go of me." Romano struggled, pushing away with his free arm. When that didn't work, he launched a kick at Turkey's shin.

Turkey winced, grabbing his other arm. "Ugh, you're so-o-o much work. Oh, well. It'll be worth it."

"Let go!"

Two of the rats scurried forwards, each one grabbing an arm. His kicks were futile. Turkey stepped back, smirking as he dusted off his robes. "Sorry, kid. You're coming with me."

"No, I'm not!"

"That's right, Lovi!"

!

Romano's head jerked in the direction of that voice, that oh-so-welcome voice. About time he came… and the sound of marching feet approaching meant that he'd brought an army, too, which was very good.

Turkey cursed, glaring in that direction. "The fool."

"Antonio!" Romano yelled, struggling again. "What's taking you so long? Wh— Holy—"

Spain and his army had come around the corner and they… and they…

It was an army of nutcrackers.

And Spain, who was also their size, was dressed almost like— no, exactly like that nutcracker Prussia had given him.

What the hell had Romano eaten to dream up this shit?

"Spain."

"Turkey"

"Spaaain."

"Tuuurkey."

They glared at each other.

"Get out of here. This is none of your business."

"Anything that involves Lovi is my business. I thought I told you to leave him alone and never let me see you again?"

Turkey rolled his eyes. "Did you really think I'd just meekly go along with whatever you said?"

"You were stupid not to. Release him immediately."

"Not likely."

At once, Spain drew his big, wicked-looking battle-ax (from freaking nowhere) and Turkey drew a pair of long, evil-looking scimitars.

Romano watched nervously as their eyes narrowed. Then, simultaneously, they yelled out.

"Advance!"