Author's Note: Hello again, everyone! This story was requested on my Tumblr by an anon who wanted to see a Hetalia version of the stop motion film The Year Without a Santa Claus, so I had the nations put on a play version of it. The movie is on YouTube if you'd like to watch it, but I don't think it's necessary to enjoy the story (I tried to clarify some of the storyline). Hopefully, I didn't disappoint!

"Places, everyone! Places!"

"Stop acting like you're a real director."

"I am a real director as far as you're concerned, France," America says with an offended air, pacing back and forth across the stage, counting the actors and stagehands as he prances along. "Okay, looks like we've almost got everybody except...Wait, where's Mother Nature? Gimme one sec. I've gotta make a phone call and then we can get started with our very first rehearsal! Aren't you guys excited?"

"No," Sweden says from the back of the stage, shoulders slumped as Poland tries to get him fitted for his Mrs. Claus costume.

"Way to be optimistic, everybody. I'm loving the enthusiasm!" America encourages his cast, ignoring Sweden. He hops off the stage, walks to the other end of the school auditorium they've booked to perform the play, and pulls out his cellphone, prepared to give someone a good scolding. He goes through his contacts, finds the person he's looking for, and waits for them to pick up. Three rings go by, and on the fourth one, someone finally picks up.

"What are you doing bothering me at this time of day? Isn't it a little too early for this?" the other person grumbles, evidently in a bad mood—as usual.

"England, my dude! Where are ya? You're missing our very first rehearsal. You promised, remember?"

"What are you going on about?"

"The play, England. You know, 'The Year Without a Santa Claus' rendition that we're doing to raise money for the kids with cancer? Did you already forget?"

Suddenly coming to his senses, England swears colorfully, and it sounds as though he drops his phone on the ground before picking it up again and furiously shuffling about in the background. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"All right. We're starting without you though. You'll have a lot of catching up to do. See ya," America says before hanging up the call. It's strange that England would forget about something this important. Normally, he's always the one who's punctual and has to be the one to remind him that there's a meeting or an event to go to. He's probably still jetlagged and tired from the conference yesterday.

Not that it matters. He has a lot of work to do, and he can't spare another moment. He turns back to the actors, marches up to the stage again, and says, "Okay, you guys should all have memorized your lines by now, but I printed out copies of the script anyway for anyone who needs a refresher. Let's start from the top with Santa Claus, which in this case is Finland, and Mrs. Claus—Sweden. We start off with Santa lying sick in bed and being depressed because he doesn't think anyone believes in him anymore. He decides he's going to cancel Christmas and take a holiday. Then, Mrs. Claus says…"

"The world would soon know that it was to be the year without a Santa Claus," Sweden supplies in a gruff tone. "Did you ever hear of that terrible year, way back before you were born, when Santa Claus took a holiday on the night before Christmas morn?"

"Exactly!" America exclaims with a beaming grin. "Then, that's the cue for our first song. I think getting the songs right is going to be our biggest problem. No offense, but you guys all suck at singing, so just practice and try to make it work. Let's try it out. Austria's gonna be on the piano, and he'll start you guys off. Let's give it a shot. One, two, three, go!"

A tired group of voices rise and rumble about the auditorium, sounding dreary, lifeless, and out-of-tune. "It was the year without a Santa Claus, a Christmas Eve so sad…"

America sighs at them, disappointed. It's going to take a while to whip everybody in shape in time for the actual performance two weeks from now. Would it kill them to show a bit more enthusiasm? They are doing this for a good cause after all. Denmark looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Okay, stop!" America shouts, and Austria stops playing the piano. "I don't know how to put this nicely…but that was awful. You guys have to do better than that. Also, I think if we—"

His train of thought gets interrupted because, at that moment, the double doors at the back of the school auditorium come flying open with a bang and England storms in, shivering and shaking snow out of his hair as he approaches. He clears his throat, comes to join America's side, and mumbles, "I apologize for my tardiness."

America crosses his arms over his chest and takes advantage of the opportunity to chide England, as it doesn't happen often. "Nice of you to finally join us, dude. Join everybody else on the stage. Your part isn't for a while. Take a script if you need one."

England pulls off his soggy gloves, stuffs them in the pocket of his coat, and takes a copy of the script before awkwardly asking, "Uhh, what is it we're doing here again? As in, what's this play about anyway, and what do I need to do?"

"God, we talked about this, England."

"That's not true! Your exact words to me were as follows," England pauses for a moment to do his best imitation of an American accent, "Yo, dude, the other nations and I are doing a play thingy for some kids, and I need another actor. It's for charity, can ya do it or are you too lame? Also, you didn't RSVP to my Christmas party."

The nations on stage snicker.

"And that's all of the information I was provided with. Furthermore, for the record, I did RSVP for the Christmas party. I sent you a letter."

"Dude, who sends a letter in 2017?" America asks, quite exasperated. "Send an email or text next time. Anyway, even though I'm positive I already explained this to you, we're doing a rendition of the 1974 stop motion movie called 'The Year Without a Santa Claus' to raise money for cancer research for kids. A bunch of the kids are going to come to the show, so we can't let them down, got it?"

"I've never heard of that film," England says with a frown.

"It's one of my films. Made in America, dude. Get with the program. That's why I'm directing this thing. Get on the stage already, so we can keep going."

"But I still don't know what my role is or what this play is about!"

America rolls his eyes and groans dramatically. "It's basically about how Santa—Finland—gets sick and decides to skip out on Christmas one year because he doesn't feel well and doesn't think anyone has any Christmas spirit or cheer anymore. Mrs. Claus—Sweden—and his elves, Jingle and Jangle—played by Denmark and Norway—try to prove him wrong. The elves go out to look for people with Christmas cheer so they can make Santa happy again, but they run into a bunch of problems, and the reindeer they take with them, Vixen—Sealand—gets captured. In order to free Vixen, the elves go to the mayor of the town—France—but he doesn't believe in Santa or reindeer and says Vixen won't be freed unless they can make it snow in Southtown—which is a town where it never snows because it's under Heat Miser's control, which is me, and I don't want it to snow because I don't like the cold. I get into a fight with my brother, Snow Miser—Canada—who controls the North Pole and basically all things related to winter, and that's when you come in, England. You're Mother Nature, which means you stop the fighting between me and Canada so it can snow in Southtown and Christmas cheer can be brought to the town again."

England furrows his brows and shakes his head. "Wait, why am I playing your mother?"

"I thought it was fitting since you yell at me all of the time anyway, and besides, I wanna see you in a green dress," America jokes.

"Absolutely not! If I knew this was what I was getting myself into, then I would have never agreed to such a thing!" England fumes, cheeks brightening to a fluorescent shade of pink.

"Aww, come on, man," America pleads, pulling out his cellphone again. He opens up a picture and shows it to England. "This is Maria—she's got lymphoma. Isn't she the cutest thing ever? She's coming to the play and is really looking forward to it, and I'm going to make sure she smiles if it's the last thing I do, so you'd better get the hell up there and start showing some of that Christmas cheer and be a believable Mother Nature, got it?"

England blinks, stares at the picture some more, and lets out a long, long, long sigh. He flips to his lines in the script and angrily stomps up the steps of the stage, joining the group. America knows this is England-talk for, "Fine, you idiot, I'll do it for the good of the children but not for your benefit. I'm not heartless enough to deny sick children some Christmas joy."

"Great, now that everyone's here we can really get down to business!" America says with a bit more peppiness to his voice. He claps his hands together and says, "Let's start from the top of that song again! Hit it, Austria!"

"Why am I doing this? Why am I doing this? Oh, God, why am I doing this?"

"Stop complaining. You're giving me a headache," France mumbles, straightening out his own costume. "That green dress brings out your eyes."

"I already have a headache," England moans, rubbing his hand over his temples. He looks out of sorts and a little unlike his usual self—a result of his growing migraine. "This is degrading. I should have stayed at the hotel, but instead, here I am with all of you, my least favorite people on the globe."

France scoffs and teasingly pokes at one of the daisies on the matching green sunhat England is wearing in addition to the horrendous dress. "We all loathe you as well, but put a smile on for the children."

England squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again, and hopes his raging headache will relent a little. No such luck.

"We're about to start! Break a leg out there, guys!" America says, strutting about backstage again as he puts the final touches on his own costume. "I know you'll all be great."

On the bright side, England doesn't have to show his face until the very end of the play, so he's able to sit on a wooden stool beside the stagehands and enjoy the first half of the show.

When the lights come on and the other nations start running around to begin the performance, he sits back and sulks, wishing this would be over already.

"Great North Star, but I'm tired. Painting wagons red and bright, sharpening ice skates after night, wrapping presents in ribbons and gauze has worn me weary. Crick in my back. Cold in my nose. Aches in my fingers and all ten toes…" Finland says, dressed in his Santa costume and playing his part with incredible skill. The first scene is just him moping around, sick and lethargic.

"We'll have you back on your feet in no time. I've already sent for the doctor," Sweden replies, hovering about Finland and pretending to help him into the makeshift bed.

The children in the audience giggle and laugh, clearly amused that Mrs. Claus is being played by a large Scandinavian man.

The "doctor" comes sauntering in, and it's Poland dressed in a lab coat. "No wonder you've got the shivers and shakes. Probably never got over the case of near pneumonia you picked up last year, gallivanting around the world in your open sleigh. And for what? Just to deliver presents to a bunch of folks who don't give a hoot in the first place!"

"What about all that Christmas spirit and good will?" Sweden asks Poland.

"If you had any sense, you'd give it up and stay home in bed this year!"

Sweden narrows his eyes. "If Santa stayed home, there'd be no Christmas!"

"Who cares? Nobody cares about Christmas anymore. Wouldn't surprise me if no one even believes in you anymore!"

The children "aww" and frown when they see the disappointed look on Finland's face and how he seems to have given up on Christmas. Sweden assures him not to lose heart, but it doesn't seem to do much to cheer him up.

"You know, I had that same feeling myself, but I just wouldn't admit it. Nobody really cares anymore," Finland says dejectedly. "I'd better call the boys and tell them to cancel Christmas."

Then, Sweden gives the cue for the first song of the show, "The world would soon know that it was to be the year without a Santa Claus. Did you ever hear of that terrible year, way back before you were born, when Santa Claus took a holiday on the night before Christmas morn?"

England tries not to wince and grimace when he hears the sound of some of the nations' voices float through the air and echo off the walls. It's not that they're singing poorly—America has made them practice day in and day out—but the loud noise aggravates his migraine, and he lowers his head into his lap, devoid of any Christmas spirit.

Then, Denmark and Norway come hopping out, playing the role of the elves. Sweden approaches them and gives them the task of going off to find some Christmas cheer to encourage Santa that there are people who still believe in him.

"Make sure you don't get lost! Vixen's made the trip. He'll take you!" Sweden assures.

At that, Sealand comes ambling out in his reindeer costume, looking quite adorable, and gives a little neigh—not too sure what a reindeer is supposed to sound like in the first place. The children are beside themselves with joy and excitement.

Finland, of course, isn't too pleased when he finds out what Denmark and Norway are up to shortly after they leave, and so, he decides to climb out of bed and follow them.

Sweden introduces America and Canada's characters, the Miser brothers, by saying, "The Miser brothers, what a pair. Snow Miser, who controls the northern part of the world, trying to turn everything to icicles, and his nasty brother trying to keep the South so hot with nary a snowflake a year. Thanks to me, Vixen and Jingle and Jangle were headed right between the two."

Canada and America come popping up onto the stage. Canada launches a fake snowball at America, and America pretends to strike Canada with lightning. In the midst of their fighting, Vixen and the elves manage to get away and safely make it into town, where they struggle to find a hint of goodwill to bring back to Santa Claus. No one seems to have any Christmas cheer anymore, not even the children of the town played by Italy, Spain, and Prussia.

Sealand—Vixen—suddenly gets snatched up by a dog catcher—the Netherlands—and is taken to the pound, and Denmark and Norway run after them but don't make it in time.

One of the children from the town, Italy's character, runs into Santa on his way home and tells him about what happened to Norway, Denmark, and Sealand. They have a conversation about love and Christmas, but England's mind is muddled and unfocused with pain, and he honestly couldn't care less. At least the audience seems to be enjoying the show thus far. Finland goes off to save Sealand, and England tries not to fall asleep in his chair, ignoring the annoyed look France shoots him.

But France can't glare at him for long because suddenly, it's his cue to come out on stage. Denmark and Norway show up at the City Hall to plead with the mayor to release Sealand from the dog pound, and France sashays from behind the curtains and regards them both with a tantalizing smile.

"Ah, hon, hon, hon," France laughs exaggeratedly. "Now, let me get this straight. You two are elves and that dog down at the pound is a reindeer? And you want to take him back to Santa Claus? Hon, hon, hon!"

"At the North Pole," Denmark clarifies.

Francis continues laughing, twirling around the stage with glee.

"You see, Your Honor, we're here on a special mission," Norway adds.

"A secret mission 'cause Santa isn't coming this year," Denmark says. "He wants to take a holiday."

"Reindeer? Santa Claus? Elves?" France asks, pretending to wipe tears of laughter from his eyes.

"But we are elves, we're serious!" Norway says with a frown. "How can we convince you?"

"What kind of fool do you think I am? You do not have the chance of a snowball in Southtown of convincing me one-tenth of your story is true."

"A snowball in Southtown?" Denmark asks.

"Conjure up a white Christmas right here in Southtown, and I will believe every word you say. I will even give Santa an official national holiday this year!" France jokes with dripping sarcasm, laughing and laughing some more as the elves take his words to be true and go off to come up with a plot to make it snow.

But France isn't done yet. It's time for his musical debut. He whips his hair back with a proud smile and sings, "It's going to snow, hon, hon, right here in Dixie. All will be white. Overnight it will be cold!"

Then the other nations start singing along with him, "We'll build a snowman! Our very first! Take down the straw-man, and bundle up our winter's worst!"

England rolls his eyes as France happily comes strolling backstage again.

"Wasn't I absolutely stunning?" he asks.

"No," England says coldly before checking his watch to see how much longer he has to suffer through this.

Finland rescues Sealand from the pound, and in the meantime, Sweden comes up with a way to make it snow in Southtown after Norway and Denmark explain their dilemma. They're going to have to consult the Miser brothers again, and England takes in a deep breath because he knows his part will be coming up soon, and he's not looking forward to it.

Norway, Denmark, and Sweden traverse to Snow Miser's den, and now it's Canada's moment to steal the show. And, my goodness, the boy is a natural! He comes parading out and raises his voice as loud as he possibly can, which is louder than England ever thought he'd be capable of, and then, he breaks into song.

"I'm Mr. White Christmas, I'm Mister Snow.

I'm Mister Icicle

I'm Mister Ten Below

Friends call me Snow Miser

What ever I touch

Turns to snow in my clutch

I'm too much!

I never want to see a day

That's over four degrees

I'd rather have it below zero

Let it freeeeeze!"

The crowd erupts with cheers at the end of the song. Since when has Canada been such a theater star? England can't believe his eyes and ears.

"Well, Mrs. Claus, how's your hubby?" Canada asks Sweden, oozing confidence.

"I'm afraid he's got a pretty bad cold, Snowy."

"Aww, that's a shame, the poor fellow—he should have come to see me! I'd've given him a good one! HO HA HO... a little chilly humor, there," Canada says, smiling, and the children in the crowd laugh. "Now, what can I do for you, madam?"

"We need a snowstorm."

"Sooner said than done, my little icicle! Where do you want it?"

"In a town called Southtown, USA."

"What? Hold it. HOLD IT! No can do, Mrs. C. The South is under the control of my stepbrother, Heat Miser, and every time I try to send a little refreshing snow down there, what does he do? He turns into rain. And who needs that?"

"Well, if I get his okay, will you make it snow?" Sweden asks.

"Sure thing! But don't get your hopes up. You'll never get anywhere with that one," Canada warns.

And with that, Norway, Denmark, and Sweden go to visit Heat Miser's den next, which means America arrives, peppy and functioning on about three different kinds of energy drinks. Soon, he's belting out a song as well, just as his brother was moments ago.

"I'm Mr. Green Christmas

I'm Mr. Sun.

I'm Mr. Heat Blister

I'm Mr. One Hundred and One

They call me Heat Miser

Whatever I touch

Starts to melt in my clutch.

I'm too much!

I never wanna know a day

That's under 60 degrees.

I'd rather have it

80, 90, 100 degrees!"

Then, America folds his arms across his chest and says, "If it isn't Mrs. Claus! Where's your husband? Out doing another commercial for my brother?"

"Oh, come now, you know Santa isn't on your brother's payroll," Sweden assures.

"Well then, he's grossly unfair, that's what! Traipsing around in that stupid sleigh of his! Stirring up cold winter breezes and causing everyone to think fondly of snowball fights and sleigh rides and—ugh—ice hockey!" America protests, sounding very petulant to the point where England instinctively feels the need to step in and tell him to behave because, for a moment, he forgets they're acting.

"I assure you it's not intentional," Sweden continues.

"Well, why doesn't he wear a bathing suit and drive a sand buggy?"

"We live at the North Pole!"

"And he could sing the praises of heat and rain!" America goes on, ignoring Sweden's placating words.

"I'll see what I can do," Sweden mumbles. "In the meantime, will you do us a favor?"

"I don't see why I should. No one ever does anything for me. What is it?"

"Could you let it snow in the South for one day?"

"WHAT? SNOW IN THE SOUTH?" America roars.

"Just for one day?" Sweden pleads.

"NEVER! Unless…there was…you know…something in it for me?"

England scoffs. Typical America. Even the character he's playing is similar to how he behaves in real life.

"Like what?" Sweden asks.

"Like, for instance, if a little bit of northern territory were turned over to me. Shall we say, the North Pole?"

Well, he's not getting any northern territory, England thinks. They've already had this discussion centuries ago and fought a war over it, and—wait, it's just a play. Silly him. He's getting ahead of himself now.

"That would be up to your brother."

"Well, why don't you give the tutti-frutti snow cone a buzz and a hotline? See what he says."

Why—! That's no way to talk about Canada! England stands up from his stool and silently fumes behind the curtains, waiting for his cue so he can tell the boy off once and for all!

Sweden calls Snow Miser, puts him on speakerphone, and says, "Hello? Snowy? This is Mrs. Claus."

From the other side of the stage, Canada pretends to pick up the call and says, "Hi, there, sugar plum! How'd it work out with the hothead?"

"I heard that, you snowball!" America shouts.

"Oh, my goodness. Speak of the devil," Canada sighs.

"Madam, kindly state your business with that drippy snowman and get him out of here!" America demands, glaring at Sweden.

"Mind your blood pressure, hot cakes. Mother warned you about that low boiling point of yours," Canada goads him and the crowd roars with laughter.

England smirks from behind the stage. Maybe this'll be fun after all.

"You think you're hot stuff just because mother likes you best!" America bellows, losing his temper and stomping his feet in place like a child that isn't getting their way at the toy store.

Sweden sighs and says, "Boys! Boys! Now, please! Don't fight!"

"Well, if I can't have a little fun, I might as well leave," Canada jokes.

"Your brother agreed to let it snow in the South," Sweden explains.

"He did?" Canada asks, shocked.

"But there has to be a small concession."

"Oh, really? What does the flaming fool want this time? The North Pole?"

"Uhh…Yes."

"WHAT?" Canada cries out.

"I told you he wouldn't cooperate," America huffs.

"Cooperate? Surrender the North Pole—you call cooperating? I have a good mind to chill your embers for you!"

"Oh, yeah?" America challenges, ready to fight.

"All right! Enough of this. I hate to do this to you boys, but you leave me no choice. I'm going over your heads," Sweden says decidedly, leaving no room for argument.

"See what you did you old blizzard?" America shouts at Canada. "She's gonna tell mother!"

Canada shakes his head. "What I did, you hot dog? It's all your fault!"

This reminds England of all of the times he's had to separate the boys and punish them for fighting with one another when they were still just his colonies. Sometimes, it seemed as though they couldn't go two minutes without clawing at each other's necks.

The scene changes, and suddenly, France is pushing England out onto the stage, letting him know that's his cue. Stumbling, England walks out from behind the curtain and tries not to glower when the children in the audience start to laugh and point at how he's dressed. Honestly, why couldn't they have changed his character to Father Nature? That would have been a bit more bearable.

England swallows hard, wetting his dry throat, and squints a little at the bright lights because they serve to make his migraine worse. He's just about ready to yell at someone, and so, this scene came with perfect timing. He tries to remember his lines, and when Sweden approaches him, he takes a deep breath and gives himself a moment to find the right words. Sweden explains how rowdy America and Canada have been, and England pretends to listen attentively.

"Oh, so they gave you trouble, did they, Mrs. Claus?" he asks, picturing his lines on the script.

"I'm sure they didn't mean to," Sweden tries to defend them.

"Oh, yes they did," England says, unamused. "They're nasty little boys, both of them!"

The crowd laughs, and even the fellow nations snort and chortle.

"I'll straighten them out for you," England promises. "Children!"

America and Canada appear on opposite sides of him, looking equally unhappy.

"What is it mother, dear?" they ask him in unison.

"Now, Mrs. Claus made a very simple request," England says before turning to Canada, "You let a little snow fall in Southtown."

America frowns.

"And you," England huffs, turning to America next. "You let there be just one nice spring day in the North Pole."

For added effect, England pinches America's cheek, hard. That'll show him.

"Santa needs an example of the Christmas spirit, and we must set a good example for the people down there to follow. So boys, do as I say!" England demands, raising his voice impressively, and he swears he sees Canada shudder.

"I won't do it!" America shouts.

"Me neither!" Canada says.

"Stop! Stop it!" England scolds them both, and the sound of lightning striking fills the room as the speakers around the auditorium blare to life thanks to the stagehands.

Canada and America hunch their backs and say, "Yes, mother dear."

"They're nice boys, Mrs. Claus," England says unconvincingly. "Sometimes they bicker, but you'll have no further trouble with them."

Sweden thanks him heartily, and England goes sweeping off the stage, glad that's over with and that the show is just about almost over. Liechtenstein comes out and sings a song about how sad and unfortunate Christmas will be without Santa, and just about everyone in the room oohs and ahhs at how cute she is.

"I'll have a blue Christmas, without you

I'll be so blue, thinking about you."

And because of her tearful song, Finland discovers that people do still care about Christmas after all. Christmas is back on, and it snows in Southtown for the first time in ages! Everyone lives happily ever after.

England, personally, can't wait for Christmas to be over. His Christmas cheer hasn't been restored, that's for certain.

He goes out on the stage one last time so all of them can give a final bow, and the children and their parents, family, and friends in the audience give them a standing ovation. The company sponsoring the event makes a large donation to the children's hospital they'll be funding for cancer research, and once the ceremony is over, England changes out of his horrible costume, grabs his things, and starts making his way out of the auditorium so he can go back to his hotel. He doesn't get very far though because America stops him in his tracks.

"Great job, Arthur! You were totally in-character. I thought you were about to give Mattie and me an early bedtime."

"I'm in a rush," England murmurs, trying to push past the boy but failing.

"Hang on a sec. There's someone I want you to meet."

England lets out a heavy breath and is about to yell at America for real this time when suddenly, a familiar-looking little girl appears from behind America.

"This is Maria! The girl in the picture! She says she loved your performance. Right, Maria?" America asks, lifting the girl up and letting her sit on his shoulders.

"Yeah! It was really funny!" Maria agrees, and England feels part of his icy heart melt.

"Here, give us some high-fives," America suggests, holding his hand up to the girl.

She obligingly gives him a high-five and then does the same to England, smiling from ear to ear.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," England tells the girl, taking her hand and bowing a little like a true gentleman.

"I was thinking maybe I would take Maria and her family out for some hot chocolate. Want to come with? You were her favorite character in the play after all."

The boy's guilt-tripping him, and while he can get back at him later, he can't say no in front of this child and risk breaking her heart.

"I'd be honored," England says with a smile, watching the girl's face light up. He's noticing that the older he gets, the more of a pushover he becomes. It's horrid.

At least his headache has finally worn off. Maybe he has some Christmas spirit left in him after all.

"Let's go, then!" America says, already running off and leading the way.

England sighs.

He can always lock himself away in his hotel room tomorrow.