A/N: Please see Sparknotes for a detailed summary of each stave/chapter of "A Christmas Carol." This story is a Hetalia parody of Dickens's classic.

Disclaimer: Hetalia is © Hidekaz Himaruya. I don't own the series or the characters.

1/5: Gifts From the Allies

Germany was angry. No, he was furious. No, no, at this point, he was just irritated at their childish behavior.

Germany stared down morosely at the three cheerfully wrapped presents sitting on his desk. He'd been expecting them with dread ever since he'd noticed what day it was, and sure enough, they'd just been delivered to him by a frightened mailman blubbering about not killing the messenger. Just as he was contemplating tossing them into the lit fireplace next to his desk, an excited Italy bounded into his office.

"Ve~ Good morning, Ludwig! It's such a nice day! You should come out and play football with me! Yay"!

Germany could already feel his patience reaching its limits. He rubbed tiredly at a temple and muttered darkly, "No Italy. I keep telling you, I have work to do. Leave me alone and go bother Romano."

The Italian completely ignored him, gasping with wide-eyed surprise at the presents sitting on his desk. "Ludwig, Ludwig! You have presents! Are they for you? What are they? Is it pasta? You should open them! Oh! Oh! Open them! Open them!" He bounced from foot to foot excitedly, waving his arms and giggling as if Christmas had come early and they were for him instead of for Germany.

"No Italy. I will not open them. They're America, England and France's stupid idea of a joke, the immature bastards. I'm just going to throw them in the fire instead." As he picked up the nearest obnoxiously colorful box, Italy wailed and grabbed his hand, clinging desperately.

"Nooo Ludwig! They're presents! You have to open presents! There could be pasta inside!" Germany tried in vain to shake off the clinging Italian, to no avail. "Please Ludwig, please open them? I want to see what's inside, ve!"

Germany huffed indignantly, but relented. "If I open them, will you shut up and leave me to work in peace?"

"Ve~!" Italy chirped. Germany noticed he didn't exactly say yes. He sighed and began to unwrap each box with growing dread.

The first one, a large rectangular box wrapped in pink and red wrapping paper, revealed a bouquet of roses. Italy squealed with glee and swept it into his arms, smelling the lightly scented petals.

"They're beautiful, Ludwig! So pretty!" Then Italy paused, as if an idea had just hit him. He tilted his head and bit his bottom lip, suddenly looking unsure and insecure. "Who's sending you flowers, Ludwig? They must really love you…"

Germany almost smiled, before catching himself and forcing a scowl onto his face. "It's France. And he certainly doesn't love me." Germany reached out and plucked a piece of paper stuck into the bouquet. It was a signed photograph of France, blowing a kiss into the camera. A note was scrawled in the Frenchman's elegant script onto the back:

Happy anniversary, mignon! I hope you appreciate my love present 3

–Love, Francis

PS: Would love to see your gorgeous face more at the parties. There's a shindig at my place next weekend; will you be gracing us with your presence, mon chaton?

Italy leaned over and read the note. He looked confused, and curiosity laced his voice. "Why would big brother France send you roses if he doesn't love you, Ludwig?"

Germany sighed heavily. He'd hoped he would never have to explain this to anyone, but there was no getting out of it now. "Do you remember what D-Day is, Italy?"

"Of course! That's the day the Allies started, er, invading…"

"The day that marked the beginning of the Allies' invasion. The day that they succeeded in pushing German forces back in Western Europe. The day that started my downward spiral into humiliating defeat." Germany looked progressively angrier as he talked, his fists clenching on the paperwork strewn across his desk and crushing them. "Yes, Italy. It was the day I got my ass kicked and handed to me, and sixty years later, the bastards still won't let me forget it."

"…Sixty years…?"

"Yes, sixty effing years. As if I didn't apologize enough afterwards, America, England and France still see fit to rub my face in it every year. I usually just burn the stupid things instead of opening them."

Italy felt slightly guilty forcing Germany to go through the extra humiliation of opening the mocking presents. But a present was a present, and he'd been taught by Austria never to waste anything! Least of all a perfectly new, shiny present. "Ve, I'm sorry Ludwig."

"It's fine. Whatever. Let's just get this over with." Germany spared a last glance for the photo of France, before ripping it in half and tossing it into the fireplace. He moved on to the next box, slightly smaller, flat and square. It was clumsily wrapped in wrapping paper with the design of the star spangled banner on it. Germany didn't have to wonder which of the annoying trio it was from. Opening it slowly lest it turn out to be a pie bomb or something and explode in his face (which would be so like America), Germany glimpsed inside to see…more red, blue and white. America had given him a honking huge American flag. Wonderful.

"Ve~ It's pretty!" Italy put down the roses and picked up the flag, rubbing his cheek against the fabric. "Oh! It's so soft, Ludwig! We should keep it!"

Germany turned the box over and the flag spilled onto the floor, taller than Italy and clashing hideously with the room's ambiance. A piece of paper fluttered out and Germany grabbed it. It was a photo of America, flashing his characteristic goofy grin and an enthusiastic thumbs up (godammit it, he's surrounded by narcissists). Turning it over wearily, Germany saw scribbled in chicken scratch:

Like, happy D-Day, dude! (get it? D-Day? Sunds like B-Day? ROFLMFAO) Keep rooking in the free world, man!

–You're Hero

Germany winced at the terrible mutilation of the English language. He wondered if stupidity came naturally to America or if he had to work at it.

"Well, Ludwig? Are you gonna keep it? Are ya? It looks pretty useful to me!"

"I guess I can leave it in the bathroom." Germany mumbled. "Could use it to wipe my ass. Would serve the bastard right." Germany grabbed the third present, smaller than the other two and almost as terribly wrapped as America's. It was heavier than the others and had a faintly weird smell emanating from it. Germany feared the worst. He unwrapped it. It was a plastic food container, holding what looked like it might have once been a casserole, in another life. It smelled a little like French cheese, or pig vomit. Same difference.

Italy looked hesitant as he reached out and took it from Germany. "Um…it could still be useful…I could toss it with some pasta and wine. It'll taste like new! At the very least, we could feed it to your dogs."

"You are not feeding that—that—monstrosity—to my dogs!" Germany shouted as Italy ducked behind the bowl for safety from Germany's sudden outburst. Germany sighed again and crossed his arms grouchily. "Throw it out, all of it. I hate the smell of flowers, the flag gives me seizures just looking at it, and the abomination to God is going to poison the air and kill us all. Then you can leave, and I can get back to work."

"Are you sure you don't want them, Ludwig?"

Germany glared at Italy in answer.

"Ve~ I'll put the flowers in a vase in the living room. And I'll leave the flag on the couch in case you ever want to take a nap and get cold. And…um…" Italy looked around nervously, before setting the food bowl on a nearby shelf. "I'll figure out something to do with that later! I'm sure we can still salvage it, somehow. You should never waste food."

Italy picked up the flowers, and started to leave the room. Just as Germany thought he could finally get started on his work again, Italy turned excitedly in the doorway and said, "Hey! I forgot! I came to ask you to play with me, Ludwig! It's such a nice day and it's all warm and sunny. You should come play football with me in the park!"

"I already told you no, Italy. Now please leave."

"Oh. Okay, you're busy. I'll come back later and—"

"No, Italy! You will not come back later and bother me some more. I'm very busy, and I will still be very busy this evening. So don't come running into my house, naked, and barge in on me when I'm in the shower, or sleeping, or working, or—or—just stop barging in on me, period." Germany didn't bother looking up as the dejected Italian left the room, his metaphorical tail between his legs. Germany felt a stab of guilt, but he stomped it down hard and resolutely ignored the feeling. He didn't have time for this.

As Germany sorted through his ruffled papers, he saw a note that had escaped his attention earlier. It had England's handwriting on it. Thankfully, there was no obnoxious photo, just a simple white sheet and England's curt words on it:

Enjoy. That took effort to make, so appreciate it.

-England

PS: Haven't seen you outside of EU meetings in months. We do have socials for a reason, you know. If you ever decide to drop the scrooge act, you're welcome to come share a beer.

Germany balled up the paper along with America's photo, and threw them both into the fire. He really, really didn't have time for this.

XXX-XXX-XXX-XXX

He worked for a long time, blissfully undisturbed, until the ringing of his telephone broke through his concentration. He huffed angrily and picked it up.

"Allo. Deutschland."

"Hello, Germany-san." A soft voice answered through the receiver.

"Hello, Japan. Is there something you needed?" Germany didn't want to sound rude, but he needed to get back to his work and he didn't want to deal with whatever problem his friend had.

"Um, yes, Germany-san. We are planning a surprise party for Hungary-san. Her birthday is in 2 days, as I am sure you are already aware." Huhn. Germany wasn't aware. He must've forgotten.

"And?"

"And I am currently extending invitations to all her friends. You would honor myself and the other organizers if you were available and so inclined to be in attendance."

Germany sighed tiredly. "Just why are you organizing this, Japan? I wasn't aware you even knew Hungary."

"Um, yes, well. That is a very interesting question, Germany-san." The rest of Japan's response was uttered in a fast mumble, and Germany only caught a few words, like "fangirls" and "bishies" and "cameras". Germany had no idea what Japan was talking about, and he decided he didn't want to know.

"I'm sorry, Japan. I'm very busy these days. I'm buried under tons of paperwork, and I just can't spare the time. I'll just call her and wish her a happy birthday. Give her my apologies when you see her."

"I see. I am sorry to hear that, Germany-san. I hope you are not too over-stressed."

"I'm fine, Japan."

"You are a hard worker, Germany-san, but even the Japanese know that we all have our limits. You should try to relax more, take better care of yourself."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you, of all people. It doesn't matter. Thanks anyway, Japan. Goodbye now." Germany barely heard Japan's soft goodbyes as he slammed down the receiver.

Again, Germany returned to his work. After a while, however, he felt a tingling in his spine. He had the disconcerting feeling that he was being watched. He scanned the room discreetly, his eyes darting from side to side, and his hand hovering over the pistol he kept in his desk drawer. There was a slight movement behind him, and he whirled around. Three faces peeked back at him from the darkness outside his office window. One of the figures squeaked as Germany growled and stomped over to them. There was a brief tussle, before Germany flung the window open and glared at the three intruders.

Spain, Ireland and Greece gazed back at him. From the looks of it, Spain had lost whatever hurried fight there'd been while Germany was marching over, and now the other two tried subtly to hide behind the hapless nation.

"Oh, hi Germany! What a surprise to see you here. Are you lost? Where am I? Oh, you mean this isn't the bullfighting ring? Silly me, I'll just be on my way then."

Ireland grabbed Spain before he could flee, berating him in angry whispers. Greece watched on indifferently, though his brows were creased and a worried look marred his usually peaceful face.

"What the hell do you all want?" Germany barked at them.

Spain cringed and Ireland gave up trying to make the man grow a backbone. He threw the Spaniard to the ground and glared back defiantly at Germany. "We want that freaking stimulus package, you cheap ass! When the hell are you gonna fork up?"

"Let me think. How about never!" Germany crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, giving Ireland the dirtiest look he could muster. He didn't see the fiery redhead often, and was slightly unnerved at how much he looked like England with those bushy eyebrows. He had more fire than England in him though, and even less courtesy.

"Fuck you, jackass! Europe's going to hell in a hand basket and you're too cheap to even notice! It may be us today, but wait till it comes round to you! Even your precious fatherland can't escape the recession, y'know!"

"Save it for the soup kitchen. Now get the hell off of my property before I call security." With that, Germany slammed the window shut in Ireland's face and jerked the curtains closed. Those three were the headache of the month for Germany right now. All of their economies were failing, and they'd turned to the EU with upturned palms. Germany was damned if he'd give them a handout like in some communist paradise. If they were failing, it was because they hadn't worked hard enough; they'd been lazy and were now suffering the consequences. Germany wasn't their mother. He wasn't going to just bail them out. They'd have to find their own solutions to the mess they'd gotten themselves into.

Wanting to go back to work yet thoroughly distracted now, Germany resolved to take a shower and head to bed instead. It was later than he'd thought, well past 2am. His stomach growled in protest. Damn. He'd forgotten dinner. Again. Maybe Japan's pleading had merit, maybe he really ought to take better care of himself.

Germany trudged to the kitchen and opened the fridge door. He blinked. It was completely empty. He threw open the freezer and was met with the same sight. A quick dig through the shelves revealed that every last can of food was gone. Suspicious, Germany went into the dining room. His eyes fell on a note left haphazardly on the table. In chicken scratch nearly as bad as America's, Prussia had scrawled: "Ran outta food. Get off your lazy ass and go do some grocery shopping. Gonna crash at Francis's till you wise up."

Germany sighed heavily. Dammit, when had been the last time he'd done some grocery shopping? Apparently, he and Prussia had been digging through their supplies without his noticing, and had finally ran out. Of course his lazyass brother wasn't going to do anything useful, like buy food. Instead he'd just left to mooch off of someone else.

Germany's stomach growled again. It was late, and he didn't know the numbers of any 24 hour restaurants. He briefly entertained the idea of calling up Italy. But no. The Italian was probably still licking his wounds after the little blow-up Germany had had at him today. And Germany was too proud to crawl to Italy when he'd kicked him out just earlier that day. That left two options.

England's Frankenstein was still sitting in his office. And, provided Prussia hadn't been desperate enough to devour everything, there was still dog food.

Germany weighed his options. His brain was screaming at him to just suck it up and go to bed, but his stomach was loudly protesting the idea. Loudly. And hungrily.

Germany headed for the living room to retrieve the dog food.

Dammit, he wasn't that pathetic! Halfway there, he switched course and entered his office. Everyone might tease England for his cooking, but it couldn't really be that bad. I mean, England probably ate his own cooking all the time, and he was still alive and functioning. Barely.

Germany remembered Italy's suggestion to cook it with wine. He strode to his desk and retrieved a can of beer from the secret compartment. It may not be cold beer, but it was the only way to prevent Prussia from stealing everything. He only wished he'd had the presence of mind to stash some food away too. Somehow beer had seemed more important at the time.

Opening the food container to reveal the aberration—along with a plastic fork that England had helpfully provided in the hopes anyone would actually eat the thing—Germany took a huge gulp of beer and dug in. He got through a few large bites before he ran out of beer. Well that wasn't too bad. He'd had worse. Eighty years ago, he'd once been stuck in the trenches and had killed a rat to stay alive. Certainly even England's cooking couldn't match a raw, freshly killed rat. With that comforting thought, Germany headed to the shower and then to bed.

As Germany was climbing under the sheets, he began to feel slightly nauseated. Maybe it had been a terrible idea after all. Maybe the casserole really was going to off him. Wouldn't that be a dignified way to die. And his gravestone would say: Here lies Ludwig. He was a good man and died eating casserole. May England get sued so he can rest in peace.

Germany snorted. He was getting more and more childish by the minute. The food was definitely responsible. He lay back in bed and resolved to get some sleep. In the unlikely event that he survived the night, he'd go kick England's ass tomorrow.

XXX-XXX-XXX-XXX

Germany tossed and turned fitfully in his sleep. Then he heard the faint sound of chains rattling, and was pulled awake. The first thing he noticed was Prussia's face inches from his, staring intently into his eyes. Germany jerked back in surprise and banged his head against the headboard.

"Wha—what the fuck are you doing!" Germany rubbed his sore head and opened his eyes all the way. Prussia was sitting on his bed, straddling him, and waving a silly link chain in his face.

"Ugh! Finally! You're fucking awake. God, West, you sleep like a brick."

"You could've just woken me up like a normal person!"

"And where'd be the fun in that, huh?" Prussia had a huge shit-eating grin on his face and Germany wanted to smack it upside down.

"Just tell me what the fuck you want. Do you even know what time it is?"

"Of course! It's midnight, the witching hour!"

"You're delirious. It's…" Germany glanced at the digital clock on his bedside table. It flashed midnight. Huh. "…The fuck…"

"Alright, all jokes aside, listen to me, West." Prussia dropped the chain and lightly slapped Germany on both cheeks with his hands. "I'm here for a reason. You're in terrible danger—"

"What the fuck have you been drinking?"

"—of living a sad, lonely existence for the rest of your fucking life. Of course that's already been happening for a while, and this revelation is coming a bit late, in my awesome opinion."

"Gilbert, just get the fuck off me and let me sleep. It's been a long day and—"

"Fucking listen, will ya!" Prussia slapped him again and Germany growled. "Listen. This is a warning. If you keep being the totally unawesome grouch-meister that you've been for the past couple months, you're gonna end up totally alone. Like, totally, no joke. Even Feli's gonna drop your ass like a hot potato."

"…And you're telling me this…why?"

"Because I'm your awesome ass brother and I give a shit, believe it or not. Now you gonna take my advice or what?"

"Why would I listen to you about anything?"

"Because, you dumbass! Because I know what it's fucking like, okay? Like, well, not firsthand, cause I'm completely awesome unlike you. But I've lived a long time and I've seen it in others."

"Are you sure it isn't because you've lived it with Austria and Hungary?"

Prussia growled. "Who needs those losers. I'm perfectly happy on my own. Perfectly happy! Fuck yeah!"

"So…you're warning me that if I don't change my ways, I'm going to end up lonely and pathetic like you."

"Shut your fucking smart mouth! But, uh, something like that. Except the part about me."

Germany considered his brother for a minute. It was quite possible Prussia was completely off-his-ass drunk. "Fuck you, Gilbert. Just let me sleep."

"Fine! You ungrateful ass! If you won't listen to me, maybe you'll listen to them. Listen, three ghosts are gonna visit you tonight—"

"Okay, screw drinking, what the fuck have you been snorting?"

"—and they're gonna teach ya the meaning of Christmas. I mean, the meaning of, erm, not being an ass to everyone. They'll come at 1am, 1am and midnight."

Prussia cuffed him on the side of the head as Germany opened his mouth to protest, and leapt out of bed before Germany could retaliate. Laughing maniacally for no reason, he threw open the nearest window and jumped out. Germany heard a loud thump, followed by a weak "I'm okay! Kesese!"

Germany thought he should take a moment to ponder the crazy that was his life. Then he said screw it, and went back to sleep.

As always, all reviews are much loved and appreciated!

I've already got this story's plot totally laid out, so it shouldn't be too hard to finish writing.