Warning: Political views may offend some readers.

I DON'T OWN HETALIA.

Now, Enjoy~!

China wandered through the halls of his simplistic house, wallowing in the dead silence like a ghost that clung to the walls.

He knew it wasn't healthy or normal to aimlessly wander the house in the dead of the night, but he couldn't help it.
It wasn't always like this.

He wasn't always like this.

This house had not always been empty.

Yao stopped to stare down a hallway covered in scars.
This is where his life had started- from the hundreds of tribes who had found him and brought him back to their home- apparently the only thing they all unanimously agreed on.

They never got along, of course, but even so, there was an atmosphere of loving chaos. Qin Shi Huang had briefly forced to get everyone to get along. China- still a toddler- felt the hatred during that time and remembered the day when his older siblings fought and locked themselves into their respective rooms, refusing to see anyone.

Forcing himself the move on, China found himself entering a different wing of the house that still had toys strewed all over the floor.

He had barely been more than a boy during the Han Dynasty when his older siblings went out of the house and came back bearing Vietnam, Mongolia and the Koreas with them. Yao had been ecstatic, awed by the softness of their skin, the size of their tiny bodies and vowed to care for them.

For a fleeting moment, they lived together.

The peace was broken when Mongolia became reclusive, locking himself in his room while the Koreas sulked and –China cried long and hard- Vietnam left the house. Then came the Three Kingdoms, the trio who fought and bickered- and eventually faded away like all the other nations and tribes that had lived in the house, leaving nothing behind but fantastic legends and stories of great generals like Caocao and strategists like Zu Geliang.

When they disappeared, he panicked. The house seemed deserted and the only thought that kept Yao from utter despair was the knowledge that the Koreas and Mongolia still emerged from their rooms from time to time.

Yao stepped out onto the porch to enjoy the fresh air and the sight of the moon caused tears to form in his eyes. He had still mourning for the Three Kingdoms when he stumbled upon Japan in the bamboo forest.

He had been so delighted- yet scared of another rejection- to find the tiny nation and quickly decided to be Kiku's care-taker. The days were once more filled with laughter and delight. Raising Japan seemed to open the floodgates to his heart and those centuries were filled with pure joy.

He often would wake up in the middle of the night- filled with knowledge that someone in the land had made a fantastic invention or discovery. He and Kiku lived blissfully through the Tang and Song dynasties.

Yao ruefully remember the An Shi Rebellion that brought the end to the prosperity and caused him to break down in front of the still tiny Japan- terrifying the tiny nation, who had never seen Yao cry before. Turning his back on the ever-glowing moon, he entered his kitchen and eyed the cupboards still stocked with medicines and bandages.

Mongolia- almost forgot in his silence- had burst out of his room and took over the house while China was still torn by this people's separation. For a brief period of time the boy reigned over the house before China rallied his strength and kicked Mongolia out, somewhat regretfully.

The old nation stepped closer to the cupboard and gently stroked the ink blossoms that were stained into the wood by tiny clumsy hands.

Yao never fully recovered but by now Kiku had grown up to be a quiet, thoughtful, young man. One morning, they were both surprised by a timid knock on the door. Two tiny children stood in the doorway- holding hands and dressed in red and pink respectively.

China remembered instantly collected the tiny nations in his arms while choking back the tears of joy. Around this time, South Korea reemerged from his room and joined in the chaos and fun. When asked about his brother, he told them that North Korea decided to leave and live on his own.

Reminded of the departure of Vietnam, Yao became determined to raise the nations just as carefully as he did with Kiku; he devoted his time to nurturing Hong Kong and Taiwan- telling them stories about Sun Wukong, the monkey who emerged from a rock while Kiku and Yong Soo bickered playfully. There was constant pitter-patter of little feet along the floorings, the hushed giggles of youth, the calm and measured silence of the elders.

Those were the days that Yao missed most in his long life. Yao inhaled deeply and found he could still smell the acrid stench of fire.

The smell of death and war.

China had fallen ill again, greatly weakened by the political disorder of his people. He fought with Kiku, which eventually drove Kiku out of his house leaving nothing behind except origami animals abandoned in dusty corners and a long scar down his back- Nanjing.

Taiwan and Hong Kong both tended to China as well as they could but not for long. Kiku came back to rip Taiwan out of his arms, armed with dreams of unification while Arthur kidnapped Hong Kong as a bargaining prize. Drugged on opium and the pain wrecked upon him, he almost faded away- until Ivan found him, half-dead and sick.

Nursing him back to health and clearing the opium fumes out of Yao's head, the northern giant cared for the frail nation. Upon China's recovery, Ivan handed him a gun and eventually left- his home country was in turmoil again and he was needed.

Yao fought back hard, driving the foreigners off his land and stabilizing his country. A

fter they were driven off, Yao tried to fill the empty void in his house with others- Tibet namely.

Yao padded back to his bedroom, filled with regrets and nostalgia. So many things that could have gone differently...

Kiku and he were repairing their relationship but Taiwan- pretty, adorable Taiwan- never came back to live with him as he hoped. North Korea was even more estranged from his family, ceasing to speak with even South Korea.

He had wrestled Hong Kong back from Arthur, but found the boy had grown up without him- he would never be able to fully forgive the Brit for that.

Tibet was the victim of one of his cruel attempts to gather family around him again and now hated him.

Even Ivan, the nation who saved him had changed- twisted by the cruelty of Stalin's reign and tortured by his memories.

The only two left -Hong Kong and Macau- only slept over occasionally.

Finally sliding into his bed, China let a single tear slip down his cheek as he curled under his covers, eyes squeezed shut to block it all out. Before he drifted off to sleep, Yao felt the tiny furry body of a panda crawl under the covers with him and felt a faint glimmer of hope.

And Wang Yao dreamt of happier thing- of laughter, of chaos, of sunlight and of family.

Fin.

I have no idea where this came from. Seriously.

Anyways, let me know what you think! Tell me if it was too rushed, too cramped, etc considering how I cramped over 4000 years of history into 2 pages of fanfiction.

Also! I am a Chinese-Canadian, so I know my point of view is biased. I didn't write this to offend anyone, I just wanted to explore the idea of a "house" always being there, accommodating civilizations and countries as they come and go.

Wang Yao always struck me as a fatherly figure, but it was weird to me how it seemed like he was the beginning of East Asia (in Hetalia). As old as China is, it is nothing like we know it now.

Anyone who is familiar with Chinese history will know I mixed up the timeline. I did it to make the story flow better.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed!

Lotsa Love,

Lian

P.S- I have ideas for similar stories in the point of view of Austria/ Hungary, England and the Canada/America. Do you guys think that I should bother?