'There are no unwanted children. Just unfound families.'

England was snapping at his younger ones again, holding them by the ears, Gibraltar and Hong Kong if he remembered correctly. Russia watched with fascination.

Wy had been very nice to him, but he decided to leave her when she took out a very strange pack of cards and offered to play 'Exploding Snap' with him. He bumped into Australia, who brushed his presence off, asking Russia to help him find a (killer) koala bear. They found said bear with Canada's polar bear, the two playing together, Russia taking and sending a few pictures to Australia. He almost stepped on a small child as he left Australia, who claimed to be Northern Ireland, with ginger hair, freckles and an adorable smile.

France enlisted his help in the kitchen. Here he felt more comfortable, chatting to France like an old friend, laughing at jokes and innuendos. France had warmly told him that he was very welcome here, and England was the grump referred to in the welcome mat. There was some light arguing between England and France as England entered the kitchen, when France screamed 'Save the food!' before the milk next to England burst into literal flames. Russia frantically put it out while England bonked France on the head, muttering curses not too loudly as he had Northern Ireland on one hip, jutted out in a manner very effeminate. He looked faintly worried as his parent-nations argued.

BANG! "I win!" came Wy's victorious scream. England immediately looked harassed.

"I told you not to play Exploding Snap in the house, you'll scorch the furniture!" yelled England, disappearing.

"Um," Russia said.

"Exploding Snap is very safe, just loud and slightly fiery," France replied. Russia just nodded, bemused. Little did he know, these happenings would become very common for him...

A long while later, everyone was tucked in bed. England had (conveniently) forgot to mention that this seemed to be an overnight thing. The man himself had insisted quite ferociously that Russia stay the night. "What kind of parent would I be if I let you walk out in this cold?!" he exclaimed, taking Russia's coat off again, stowing his pipe away as Russia tried to pick it up. France seemed to be in on it too, shoving a croissant in the taller nation's mouth before he could protest.

"Last snack before bed!" he sang quite cheerily.

"I've told you not to feed them before bed, they'll turn into little gremlins!"

"That's before midnight, mon lapin, qui?"

Russia had decided he didn't want to part of the fight cloud that was most certainly going to descend upon the parent-nations, and quietly slipped upstairs to look for a room. He found one next to Northern Ireland's, who was very excited to have someone next to him, and took him through the various escape routes/weapons hidden in this particular room. (Russia spied a pipe in the weapons cabinet, and his heart warmed at the thought England must have consciously placed it there for him.)

So there he was, not quite sure how he managed to get there, mulling over the day's events. He was bone tired from all the running around he had done with the little ones - because he was very good with children, despite what some might think - and he had been ready to go home. Northern Ireland had camped up next to him, almost as insistent as England (well they were related). He was fully conked out, curled into Russia's side like a tiny kitten. Russia was half afraid to fall asleep, in case he rolled over and crushed the tiny boy in his sleep.

A creaking at the door made him turn his head. England slipped in, wearing a long dark green robe, making his way over to the bed. "Can't sleep?" he murmured on seeing Russia awake.

"Afraid to," he replied, gesturing to the tiny boy. England tutted lightly.

"I'll take him back to his room," England said, gently lifting the young child into his arms. Russia watched him rock the boy for a moment, a gentle expression on his face. Once again, he was hit with longing for that type of warmth. North was so lucky, so blessed, to have even one parent.

England's eyes turned to him, a little hesitant, before he reached out and pet Russia on the head. Russia pulled away. "I'm not your son. I'm not even a child anymore," he said quietly.

"No," England agreed, and let his hand fall. There was a little more silence before he continued. "But people can get families at any age, at any stage in their life. I might not carry someone as big as you to bed or hold your hand when you cross the street. But do I stop being North's mother when he is grown? Do I stop being Canada's mother when he makes his own food?"

England looked away suddenly. "Have I stopped being America's mother, even though he is not my son anymore?" he whispered vulnerably. Russia wasn't sure what to say, and when England opened his eyes again, he seemed composed.

"No, I haven't. Motherhood is something completely abstract, and manifests itself in many different ways, for many different people. It's not limited by blood, or age, or circumstance. It is a driving force that goes beyond the limitations of humanity. It's accessible to everyone, however they need it."

England reached out again, and stroked Russia's hair (He was right - it was soft). Russia did not pull away this time, instead gazing up at England with apprehension and hope. "I can't be the mother who holds your hand and calms down your tantrums. But if you let yourself... You can have a family, Russia. It's never too late, especially for nations. We've still got thousands of years ahead of us. Thousands of years to start, don't you think?"

"Yes," Russia whispered, and shut his eyes as England began to sing a now familiar tune. North stirred in his arms, but snuggled further into his mother-nation as England's voice carried through the house, beautiful and soothing.

That night, in his field of sunflowers, there was a quaint English cottage on the horizon.