WARNING: I have changed the majority of the "official" Hetalia character names. One of my favorite things about writing fanfiction is that you're free to put your own spin on things. If you don't like the name changes, just please don't leave me a review telling me to use their official names after I've given you advance notice.

This story is a mix of serious self-reflection mixed with humor and silliness. It's mostly friendship-focused, and there will be little to no romance (because it's mostly children). It's dialogue-heavy and most chapters are twice the size of the first one.

That said, please enjoy!

Had he really been around for 4,000 years? No, probably more. It wouldn't come as much of a surprise if it had turned out he'd lost track of a few years… Or maybe a few hundred. Give or take.

But after so long, even he didn't know who they were, as "countries." Who they were, what they were, what purpose their ageless presence was for… Those who the country leaders would refer to, carelessly, as "embodiments of the nations." Somehow he felt that was too simple of a definition, and it sounded more important than he actually felt sometimes. He was a single person, and a single person could not control the unraveling history of the nation he was believed to represent in physical form.

He had been thinking about these things more and more lately, especially after how the meeting today had unraveled.

It had been the United States' turn to host the meeting this month, so the chaos hadn't been all that surprising. But he hadn't quite expected America and Russia to get into a heated argument so quickly. Sure, they had their history, but "America" was usually easygoing, and "Russia" really wasn't the grudge-holder he seemed to be.

But somehow that had created more arguments in passing. By the end, America was accusing Russia of war crimes, somehow World War II had been brought up and England and Germany (of all people) were arguing, and all the rest had either left from being extremely uncomfortable or annoyed. Thank God for Canada and Japan trying to keep the peace, anyone left acting mature would've been out the door, too.

China had almost been dragged into it, but he bit his tongue several times. (The last time actually hurt.) Then he took a deep breath. Standing out of his chair while over half of the meeting members were involved in the arguments, he slammed his fist down on the table. The sharp crack of a noise won everyone's attention… and the table cracking in half kept it there.

Japan muttered under his breath in Chinese, "I do not believe that was necessary."

"Are you sure?" he replied back in Chinese with a sigh. Then he addressed the table. "Now that you've all shut your arguing traps," he said loudly in English, "I want to say something."

"It's not about food, is it?" America asked sullenly, glaring at Russia out of the corner of his eye. "'Cause I could go for a lunch break right about now…"

Russia did not reply, but simply glared back.

"No, not about food." China took another deep breath, trying to contain the patience he had left in his body, and began once more. "You are all children. Every single one of you."

"Children?" England repeated, crossly at being lumped together. "Excuse—"

"Every single one of you," China said again, giving them all a look. "Yes, that includes you. And Germany. Russia. All of you. You know nothing but how to act like temperamental children."

"I wasn't the one who brought up an old war," Germany contended, crossing his arms. "Of all things. It has absolutely nothing to do with the meeting."

"You are right," China agreed. "But do you even remember who started that argument? Because I don't." He had been trying to tune most of them out, but that was beside the point.

Regardless, his actual point seemed to hit its mark, as both Germany and England paused at him with a blank look. "I thought so. No one ever stops to think about what your arguments are really about. Or what you're really saying. America, lately, you want to blame Russia for everything because of a few isolated incidents. But how is that really his fault?"

"Well—what, you're kidding, right? I mean…" Then America crossed his arms, not wanting to admit that, maybe, that did sound a little ridiculous. "W…We can at least blame him for the 'isolated incidents…'"

"If you want to try that," Russia argued, with a smile full of warning, "I will find a way to blame you for everything. It wouldn't be difficult."

"Wait," China interrupted before they could continue, "that is exactly my point. Look at each other for a moment, and ask yourselves, 'Why am I angry with this person? What did he do to me?'" Russia and America then stared at him, obviously not understanding. China sighed. "You didn't do anything to each other… idiots. Not personally. You're blaming each other for what the people in your countries are doing."

"We are essentially our countries," Germany interrupted, bearing his usual strict code of honor. "We hold them on our backs. We take pride and responsibility for what they do."

"I don't know about that," China said, folding his arms thoughtfully. This new train of thought was certainly keeping everyone's attention. "We're individuals, aren't we? We have our own minds, our own bodies—we're just as human as anyone else. If you set aside our aging."

After a moment, he added, as if struck with a realization, "And we have names." Names. Of course. It was so important to feeling simply human. His brain felt lit up by the idea. "But most of us have never taken the time to actually know each other and ask, have we? We're too busy blaming each other and treating each other as nations."

It was a bit jarring, that the whole room was silent. They almost seemed shocked with him; he was usually distracted during meetings or bored, at least lately. And here he was scolding them like an old man would scold his grandchildren.

Importantly, as if symbolizing himself head of the group now, he set his hands on his hips. "I've decided. I am not a country or a nation. A country is a piece of dirt defined by boundaries and governments. I am a human. And I don't care how sudden and whimsical you all think that decision is."

He scanned the room carefully, reading their eyes. "My name is Zhu Ling. And I will encourage you all to think about giving up your own names during the meeting in my hometown next month."

As China… No, Ling began to walk out of the building, on the way to the hotel, he found himself thinking about history, as far back as he could remember. There must've been some point in time when he'd fought with everyone. No, when China had fought with everyone. He may have held China dear in his heart, but he was his own person.

But he didn't hold grudges against anyone. He didn't blame any of the other "embodiments" for their countries.

He quickly became lost in his thoughts, which he tended to do when he thought about the past, when someone stopped him on his way back, a hand on his shoulder. Startled slightly, Ling whipped around, but was relieved to see it was just Russia.

That statement would sound odd to the others, "It was just Russia," but, really, people just assumed he was scary because people assumed all Russians were scary. Russia—or rather, this man known as Russia, though guarded, and maybe even a bit broken, was very kind.

"Sorry," Russia said with a sheepish smile, "I did not mean to scare you."

Ling muttered in Chinese, scratching his head, but digressed. "Ah... Yes. Did you need something?"

"Ah, not especially…" After mulling over his words, Russia sighed softly. "I suppose I just wanted to say… I think you have a point. About our identities…"

After getting over a bit of surprise, Ling smiled to himself and nodded. "Nice to have someone on my side. Though, we'll probably just get dubbed the 'communist team,'" he almost muttered with a click of his tongue. But he sighed, and addressed Russia again. "So…"

"Hmm?"

"If you really do agree with me, then you'll tell me your name, won't you? We've known each other for a long time, haven't we?"

The Russian man seemed like he may have had second thoughts about it for a moment, looking pensive. But Ling stood firm even as he saw the other "nations" pouring out of the building and leaving for their vehicles. Some didn't pay them any attention, exhausted, and some seemed vaguely curious. Though they all left for home, not sparing more than a glance.

Meanwhile, the man known as Russia looked up to the cloudy sky and chuckled to himself for some reason. In all these years, something as simple as a name had been such a guarded thing—how silly it suddenly seemed, and all from what was probably a whimsical speech.

Beside himself, he looked back down and smiled with a little weight lost from his shoulders, and replied, "Of course… My name is Aleksandr Kolosov."

"Aleksandr," Ling repeated, grinning and holding his hand out. "A good name. Alright. Let's all start fresh, then. You can call me Ling."

Aleksandr shook his hand, "Very well, Ling. Also, I was thinking. Next month, I'll bring my sisters. I'm sure I can convince them to introduce themselves as well."

Ling gave him a skeptical eyebrow-raise. He wasn't so sure about that. "Hmm. Even Belarus?"

"Yes," Aleksandr said with a slight laugh, "Even Belarus. She's not so dark when you get to know her. Or I should say, 'if'."

I guess I'll take your word for it." Ling nodded firmly before turning to return home. "I just hope the others are as open-minded as you. See you next month."

Nodding along, Aleksandr wished him luck, "Udachi… Ling."

Maybe his speech had been on a whim, but he was starting to feel better about it. Like things had already been set in motion to change. It was something about the wind. It felt soft and calm against his face as he stood outside his house the next day, already planning the meeting out in his head.

He knew he had Kiku on his side, and now a somewhat unexpected ally in Aleksandr. He wasn't completely sure how Aleksandr's talking with his sisters would go, but it was something. He thought of the other "nations," and considered a few more that might be open to change…

Things could change… It was very possible. Though he figured they would still need some of Aleksandr's good luck.

"I'm actually looking forward to the next meeting," he mused to himself, smiling out aimlessly at the waters.

A/N: I originally wanted to occasionally write characters' dialogue in their own language, but I don't want to sloppily use Google Translate and butcher it. That's not to say the characters won't be speaking their natural languages, but it will be written in an assumed manner, such as:

"Don't tell me that whelp thinks he can beat me?" Gilbert bragged to his brother in German, crossing his arms.

It's not as immersive, but hell, I don't know German.

For what little I do have: "Udachi" is Russian for "good luck," as I tried to indicate with the text following it. I'll leave clues for that unless it's not supposed to be understood in the moment.