An Enchantment

Russia wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck and smiled to himself. How odd, he thought; I have come all the way here to see a bear.

"All the way here" was Ashdown Forest somewhere in England's house; the "bear" was, well, a bear. A very fictional one.

America had once chided England for his "childish fairy stories" - it was a good thing, then, that America hadn't chosen this time to visit his former colonizer.

He's so lost in the absurdity of his thoughts (why, this might trigger a Cold War if Alfred ever finds out) that he doesn't notice something soft and yellow bump into his lower leg.

"Ah! Oh-oh bother, sir, um, I'm sorry."

Violet eyes flicker in recognition of that little voice, and Russia's face glows into a forgotten smile. "...Винни-Пух?"

"Veenee Poow-ch?" The bear kills the Russian name - his Russian name - with the accent Alfred gave him (though he does sound a bit more British these days), but Ivan doesn't seem to mind. "I don't know of anyone by that name, sir, so if you may excuse me-"

"W-Wait!" Russia squeaks out, and his hand flies to his mouth  - "wait", he'd never asked anyone to wait for him, in that little voice; he'd never had to, since he grew up - as the bear crooks his brow and tilts his head. "Mi-Mister Christopher," - he rolls the name, one of England's, off his tongue with little difficulty but a bit of distaste; no wonder he'd made his own version - "he sent me here, to, ah, look for you."

Suddenly he finds himself hoping that Pooh Bear's brain hadn't increased in size over the years.

"Ah, ah, Christopher Robin?" The bear clutches the little glazed pot of honey to his chest, as his eyes glow in that special way that Russia remembered he once had when he'd look up at Ukraine, when he was still little Vanya. "Then he sent you over here to, ah, Come Visiting for him, sir..."

"Ivan Braginski."

"Ah, umm, sir..." he unclasps the cover from the honey pot, shoves his hand in, unearths some honey and inhales a mouthful of gooey mess. "Mmm not too good with long words. Yummy honey~"

Russia sighs. Of course. "...you can call me Russia, little Bear."

Pooh licks his paw, looks up at the Nation with utter disbelief. "Ahh, Christopher told me about you once! You're from Eastern Europe, right, Mister Russia?"

Ivan stoops down to the bear's level (he only reached his mid-thigh) and ruffles his fur. "Of course, you silly old bear...and just Russia's fine, thank you."

~

He didn't know how it had come to this, but all he knew was that they had gone halfway through The Poohsticks Bridge, Pooh Bear had told him all about the Hundred Acre Wood (because after all they weren't supposed to be talking to strangers but since Christopher knew him he wouldn't be a stranger, right?), and he had raised the little bear over his head to ride on his shoulders.

"You mmm-" Bear had his paw stuck in his mouth; Russia wondered lazily if Nations and Bears had bottomless food supplies (if Pooh and his 'hunny' were like him and his vodka). "Piglet told me he once had a Grandfather. Do you have a Grandfather too, Russia?"

Ivan nudged the falling honey pot back on top of his head, and murmured. "No. I have sisters, though."

"Christopher told me about Sisters before he left - they sound nice."

Russia shivered, remembered his little sister and the you think? died out of his tongue when the Bear said, "I wish I had Sisters too."

He took Pooh off his shoulders and carried him in his arms.

"You have Christopher, da? Surely he would count as a brother."

The Bear curls into Russia's scarf, reminding the Nation of a time when he carried his little sister like that, when she was less of a stalker and more of a cute little thing. "Are Brothers like Sisters too, Russia?"

"Da. Brothers are like male Sisters. I never had an older brother, like how Christopher is to you, though, so I'm not sure."

Pooh sighs, and his forlorn look escapes the Nation, who tilts his head at the sound of footsteps. "Could Russia be my Brother too?"

"Absolutely not."

The Bear frowns, dissappointed, before realizing that it was not Russia's voice, but-

"Christopher!" Pooh hops down from Russia's arms, and runs towards the newcomer. "Christopher Robin!"

Russia's jaw drops, but he gains control of himself in time to glare at the man before him.

"America's Christopher isn't blond,"

"Russia, shush."

"His eyebrows aren't that large either."

"..."

~

Somewhere along the way, Pooh falls asleep, leaving the two Nations in the van and their own brand of awkward silence.

"How dare you-"

"It's been years, Russia," England turns the steering wheel with one hand and fastens Pooh's seatbelt with the other. "Do you want me to tell him Christopher was ridiculed, mocked, tormented because of his existence? Do you want me to tell him-" A harsh whisper, "-that he's dead?"

Russia looks down, on his shoes, and tugs on his scarf. "So you've been taking care of him ever since?"

A flush forms on England's cheeks; he looks ahead, continues navigating. "America took him, but I was certain even this little glutton would die of that much hamburgers." He pulls over, offers Russia a hint of a smile. "He is only eighty-four, after all."

When Russia mumbles a thanks and gets off - it's his stop, the airport - he feels a little fluffy paw tug on the trailing ends of his scarf.

"Russia, can I visit you next time?"

Purple eyes widening, Russia turns to the Nation on the steering wheel.

"Oh bloody h-all right, Russia." England glares at the two...bears, he thought he understood why America called Russia a bear, they got along so bloody perfectly. "Just don't let him near your sisters."

Russia turns around and laughs - the old bear actually laughed, now that was a rare sight - before entering the airport.