'The only love that I truly believe in is a mother's love for her children.'

It was night time once more, and England did his usual rounds, feeling the piece of paper crinkle against his pocket. He spotted Ukraine down the corridor, dressed for bed, who smiled tiredly at him and disappeared after Belarus. Once again he felt a sense of understanding (and dare he say it, motherly affection) towards the girl. He shook himself out of his musings, slipping into Canada's room, where France was in the process of tucking the nation in. He shoved the nation out of the way and corrected the tucking in, so that poor Canada was very much sleeping in a burrito by the time they were finished.

"Wine bastard, get out of my face," he threatened.

"I think your eyebrows are blocking my way," France shot back, dodging the slap that followed and finding refuge in Seychelles' room, where he knew England would not start violence in front of his colony. England scowled at his (perceived) cowardice and went to Russia's room, who looked up.

"England?"

"Russia, get yourself to bed right now," England ordered, taking his pen from him and shooing him towards the bathroom.

"But I need to finish these reports!"

"If you go to bed now, you can get a good eight hours in and start again at 6," England said persuasively, then added, "I'll throw those reports at your president the next time I see him if you don't go to bed right now. Making a nation stay up so late, I don't know what he's thinking..." Russia yawned at the thought of bed, making England raise an eyebrow. Feeling sheepish, he went and washed up, coming back to find his bed ready for him, and a steaming cup of...

"Milk?" asked Russia, taking it from him.

"It helps soothe the organs," England said wisely.

"Um, is that even factually correct?"

"Oh just drink it!" and Russia did, feeling a lot sleepier afterwards. He lay back, curling into his pillow and relaxing, feeling England start to...

"What are you doing?" he murmured sleepily, forcing an eye open as England pulled the covers around him.

"I'm... I'm tucking you in..."

"What's that?"

England swallowed past the lump in his throat. "It's just something to make sure you're warm," he said, grateful he didn't have to speak up, as he knew his voice would crack. "Just go to sleep, Russia..." But the nation had already fallen asleep. He slipped out of the room quietly, shutting the door behind him.

"Angleterre?"

"Do you know that boy has never been tucked into bed in his life?! Or had warm milk before sleeping?! Who does that kind of thing to a child, a child, France?!" He hissed suddenly, hands curling into fists.

France smiled sadly.

"I swore, I swore, when I grew up I would never, never in my life treat my colonies - treat any child - with any hate or anger, the same way we were treated... I swore to end that cycle of abuse and - and all this time! All this time, I thought I had achieved that goal, when actually..." He took a deep shuddering breath. "I failed. I failed as a nation. I failed as a mother, France."

"No, no you did not," murmured France, taking England into his arms, who gripped him tightly. "We are not too late for him. We can still do this, just like we have done many times before... And now we will be better parents than ever, for we have the benefit of hindsight and centuries of experience. With the right amount of TLC, Russia will put that past behind him and move forwards."

"I should have left America to you, and gone east," he said, his voice muffled in France's shirt. "That way we could have protected everyone."

"Oh mon lapin," sighed France. "You cannot protect them all the time, just as you cannot protect everyone. The only thing we can do is pick up the pieces, and love him better now."

"I will. I will. He's mine," declared England to France's chest. France let this declaration sink in for a few moments, knowing this miracle was working it's magic already. There was a light snore from his chest, and he looked down to see England asleep. He smiled - England always did overwork himself, even as he preached others not to.

"And you are mine forever, my love," France murmured tenderly, picking his longtime partner up, and walking off to bed.

In the morning, everyone would be awakened by a loud screech, and the sound of a French nation being pummeled into the ground.