Title: A Soft Reboot (6/?)
Rating: PG (Subject to change)
Warnings: Swear words
Summary: Once every couple centuries, the nations inexplicably disappear and are reborn as humans. But the memories and nationhood gradually return and they have funny ways of getting back to each other.

Russia is the first to react and swiftly draws out his gun. His face is loose and pleasant, but his grip is anything but that. The click of the revolver's hammer is deafening in the silent meeting room.

China rolls his eyes and slaps a hand to his forehead. "Put that away," he hisses. "Are you an idiot?"

"You say we're dying," Russia says, voice light. "Explain why and you won't be the first."

"Do we have to go through this every time this happens? Fine, perhaps that was a bad way to phrase it," China says. "Just think for a moment."

Russia does and realisation spreads slowly through him and it relaxes the tension in his body. He slips the gun back into his coat and retrieves instead a larger-than-normal hipflask. "Ah, the reboot? Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?" he says pleasantly, draining the water from the tumbler in front of him and replacing it with vodka. He holds the flask up and shakes it in China's direction. "Would you join me, comrade? It looks like we'll be in for a long night."

"Please." China grabs his glass and settles into the chair next to Russia.

"I'd prefer wine, but this will do, I suppose," France says and his resigned expression say that France knows what's going on as well, and Germany can't take any more.

"Excuse me," Germany says, desperately trying to keep his tone level. What he really wants to say is: Liechtenstein and Switzerland aren't answering their phones, Belgium's suddenly a puddle of wet clothes at the foot of Spain's stairs, Seychelles hasn't been heard from for a while, and you are suggesting that they sit around and celebrate with liquor? Have you gone insane?

Instead, he says, "What the hell is going on?"

China looks at him, dark eyebrows raised and head tilted in a manner that said, haven't you figured this out yet? But then he realises that he's the one who hasn't figured it out and his cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Ah, apologies, Germany. I often forget how young you are as a nation."

It's not meant to sound condescending, but it does and Germany can't help but feel a little affronted. He's about to protest when a small voice behind him says, "We're being reborn," Italy's looking down, fists clenched and shoulders trembling. "We're… going to die and then- "

"WHAT?" America explodes. He looks more confused than distressed. "But we're nations. Nations. We can't die! That's- that's-"

"Calm down," China says and rubs his face in frustration. "Aiyah, I knew I should have explained it first before telling you." He points at America and Germany in succession. "You and you are both young. The reboot, that is, our deaths, occurs every several centuries and the younger we are, the more easily we tend to forget that it happened. It's possible that you haven't even experienced one at all, America. And Canada, I suppose," he adds as an afterthought.

"What do you mean young?" America looks wildly about, hoping someone will tell him it's a cruel joke, that they're not just popping out of existence. "I mean, I know you guys have been around a lot longer than me, but I was there even before England found me…"

China shakes his head. "What I meant was that the current form your country is in now is young. Germany, when did you unify again?"

Germany frowns. "The reunification was in 1990, but I don't see-"

"And with the reunification, you became the country you are today, politically, culturally and economically." With that, he leans back and drinks, closed for discussion.

"So we're dying and you're okay with this?" America says, incredulous.

"America-san, it's meant to be a good thing," Japan tries, but it's too late. Panic has burrowed into America's consciousness and his vision is tinged with terror.

"Then- then- we need to stop it!" he cries, fearful of what he doesn't understand. "We can stop it, we still have time and together we could-"

"Don't you dare." The vodka has warmed China's blood and he grabs at America's tie, yanks him forward until America's staring straight into China's narrowed, bottomless eyes. France rises to help him, but Russia waves him back down.

"Aren't you tired, boy?" China hisses, heated and intense "Aren't you tired of just sitting around and remembering what we used to do? What we used to be?" He waves an arm around wildly and shakes America with the other. "We used to fight and scream and grow and love and fuck and bleed and care. Do you care now? When was the last time you checked what was going on inside you, ha?" He pushes America roughly away and picks up his glass again. "Don't you dare try and stop this. I want some feeling inside of me again. I want some hope."

America is stunned and doesn't say anything for a long moment. He thinks of the days when he would just sit on the porch, watch the kids run past and suddenly, somehow they're adults and have their own kids and they have their own and time just passes by in a neverending rope of people, constantly growing while America is static and stagnant and rotting inside.

But then he thinks of England, thinks of Arthur, who he has known for so long and their relationship is anything but stagnant and he can't lose it all. He just can't.

As if reading his mind, China says, a little more gently, "You don't need to worry. We're not going to disappear completely. We remain ourselves in essence, as long as our land doesn't change too much. And we always end up finding each other again.

"But-" China glances at the clock above the door. It's almost one. "If you have anything to say to England, then you should go find him now. He probably doesn't have much time left."

The calm that had just begun to settle over America instantly dissipates. "W-what? What do you mean?"

"The smallest nations go first. And England, well-"

America's out the door before China finishes his sentence.

Italy twists his hands nervously. "Shouldn't someone go after him?"

China turns away from the door. "He will be okay. You, however-" He looks at Italy, forehead slightly furrowed. "I'm not so sure about."

James takes in the bloodshot eyes, the acrid smell and the loose, floppy smile about to slide right off the boy's face, and James decides, right, Japan's friend is high as fuck.

"Hey," he says, his voice low and full of sleep. He shuffles to the side to let Mitsuru and James into the house. "Come on in. Mind the cats."

It seems like a stupid warning, but they actually do have to mind the furry bodies stretched out limply over every surface available. James steps carefully between the sleeping animals. It's dark inside, and smells slightly like cat litter and fish, but when James breathes in deep, it also smells like olives and wine, warm sunlight and thyme leaves.

They follow him upstairs and he when he opens a door, a dark shadow shoots past and makes Mitsuru jump and James swear. The boy chuckles and flops on to his bed, stares at them with hooded eyes.

The boy is Kit Papadopoulos and he's from Greece and, if Mitsuru is right, he's different. Like them.

At first, James has his doubts. He doesn't sense anything peculiar about this tall, stoner boy with shaggy brown hair. But then he looks at Kit's eyes, looks properly, and he has the same vastness inside him, the same deep, deep holes into his head.

"Guess you're here to talk about nationhood then," Kit says. His accent is thick and slow like syrup, and his smile is even slower. "That's what the visions told me at least."

James frowns. They had dreams of the past, but never of the future. "Visions?"

"Yeah. They're not really clear most of the time but I'll take what I can get." And he puts a blunt to his lips (When did he get that?) and inhales, takes the smoke down to the bottom of his lungs, into his blood, and everything about him suddenly smudges and smears. He stares at them, glasslike, while Mitsuru and James glance at each other, unsure of what to do.

"So you're the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and you're Japan," Kit finally says, something that James and Mitsuru have only suspected but never said out loud. "Nice to meet you, I am the Hellenic Republic, or, if you prefer, Greece. "

It's absurd, really. You can't say that someone is a country, that someone is a place or a landmass or anything like that. A person is a person. James is James and Mitsuru is Mitsuru. That's how it should be. Yet, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland fits round James' shoulders snugly, like a tailored jacket. And it fits him well.

"How- how did you know?" James asks, confused at how unconfused he is about the entire thing.

Kit sits up, raises the joint. "There used to be temples and priests and priestesses in Greece called oracles. They would sit and breathe in the gas from the ground, which would send them into a stupor and allow them to divine the future." He takes another drag, blows the smoke out and it rises and curls the same way the temple incense would have so long ago. "This might not be methane, but it seems to work pretty well."

"So, we're… we're countries," Mitsuru says, still unsure even though he's known it all his life. It's just strange to actually talk about it. "What does that mean for us?"

"It means a whole lot of things," Kit says. "It means that we should be standing at the shoulders of our leaders and taking active part in our growth and evolution. It means that we should be meeting regularly with other nations and regulating our relationships.

"Your people's joys will become your joy, their pride your pride."

James doesn't like this. Kit's talking about them as if they're important on an international scale, as if they have the power to control the way the world works. That's a lot of responsibility for someone who is only just about to turn eighteen –

Except he's not really eighteen, James realises. He doesn't even know how old he is. Hundred's of years old? Maybe even thousands? This, more than anything else, makes him feel sick. It's real.

He really isn't normal.

He thought that after all those nightmares of wars, after the magnetic pull he feels towards his land (which is actually him somehow), after always wondering, finding out what he was would be a relief. It isn't.

"So that's it then," James says, with more venom than he means to reveal. "That's our future decided. Go work in government as some official and play politics like some dating game and then die."

Kit blinks slowly at him. "Die? Who said anything about dying?"

"What?"

"We're nations. Not human. How are we supposed to die?"

It takes a moment. But then the air around them solidifies, turns thick and heavy and James can't breathe. "We're… we're…" But he can't say it. He laughs instead, hysteria creeping in the undertones. Mitsuru's silent and pale and still as if covered in frost, and Kit is humming tonelessly, rolling the blunt between his fingers.

What are you supposed to do when someone tells you that you're immortal?

They leave pretty quickly after that. James doesn't think he can handle any more revelations about himself. Kit says, "Later James, Nekojirou-san." and Mitsuru sighs long-sufferingly.

They're almost out the gate, when Kit shouts, "Wait! I forgot to tell you something." He moves towards them, and James is struck by how out of place Kit, tall and suntouched, looks on this grey suburban street.

"You're not immortal yet," he says, and James wants to kick him for forcing him think to about it again. "We're still human, kind of. We're still missing something."

"What?" James asks, before he can stop himself.

But Kit shakes his head. "I'm not sure. I just thought I should tell you before you try running into traffic to test it out or something."

James turns and stalks off without a word and hears Kit's deep laughter behind him. "Your friend is a prick," James says when Mitsuru catches up.

"Why? Because he's forcing you to face the reality of what we are, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland?" Mitsuru says placidly.

"Don't-" James sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if trying to ward off a headache. "Fine, yes. Just, it's a lot to take in, alright?"

"Hmm."

"I mean, immortal? How the fuck am I supposed to explain to my parents why I'm not aging? You think no one's going to notice?"

"Maybe it doesn't work that way. Also, we're not immortal."

"Yet."

"Yet."

James kicks at a rock and watches it skitter away on to the road. "Also, he could have offered us some of his weed," James grumbles and Mitsuru manages to look disapproving and humoured at the same time. "So? What about you? What do you think about him?"

The question takes Mitsuru by surprise, but he thinks carefully. "We have a good relationship," he says. "He's very interested in Japan and he's not very excitable. I suppose we're quite similar."

"Except you don't go getting yourself high as a kite."

"No," Mitsuru admits. "But, I believe that Greece does not smoke for fun. I think he's trying to find out more about us and what we're supposed to be doing. We should probably do the same."

James grudgingly agrees but as they walk home together, he decides to put off thinking about this huge responsibility he's suddenly been heaped with for just a while longer.

AN: This was really horrible to write. I guess it's just one of those off chapters or something. It's got a lot of dialogue and exposition, two things I'm not really that great at so apologies for the drop in quality. Also, guys I did pass my exams so I'll be going to Germany next month to help teach English at a school and oh my goodness it's all very exciting and I'm going to be such a terrible teacher. But I guess this also means I may be inactive for a while. Or it maybe not, I might be resorting to writing more as a coping mechanism? Who knows.

So wish me luck! Thanks for reading!