Oh, Maine I Have A Little Bit On Him;

Oh, Maine 💙 I have a little bit on him;

Maine is the 23rd State and the 10th State to be raised by Adam and Robin; Gov and Assistant. Granted Statehood March 15, 1820.

Now, despite him being raised by a younger Gov and Assistant, he’s still very much a Northeastern State. He’s just better about talking through his feelings than the Oldest of Old Men, the OG 13.

Like most of the older children, he can get protective of the younger ones when they form, because they’re all incredibly small children when they form as State personifications.

This does not mean he sees them as siblings, it’s more like…the bond kids raised in a tight-knit community have. Not to say some States don’t have sibling-like relations, Gov and Assistant just never forced them to see each other as family.

The only ones who are by blood are the Carolinas and Dakotas. It’s why they always say ‘the other kids’ instead of ‘my siblings’ in my stories. Gov and Assistant are their parents, but that does not mean they see each other as family.

They aren’t human nor are they ‘born’, there is only blood relation between the Dakotas and Carolinas.

For a long time, mostly his youth, he didn’t really have any form of contact with the OG’s; especially since the younger States usually stick around Gov and Assistant until they’re at least 15-in-body. This is the age they usually attend their first meeting, as well.

The thing about the Northeastern States is that they’re very protective of their loved ones, and Maine came around after the OG’s pulled back from Gov and Assistant, and, by association, the younger States and Departments. Vermont, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Ohio are really the only States who got the Grandparents the OG’s are. Louisiana, too, but he was really young and barely 2-years-a-State when the Ultimatum went into effect.

Maine is very much that one kid who doesn’t want anyone near his parents.

They’re too nice to be friends with you, so shove off! — Little Maine to nearly every human he’s seen his parents interact with. Not swearing because it makes his parents upset when he does.

Maine was one of the few who took the change from Optimistic Congress and Forever-Smiling Assistant to the ever-exhausted pair of Stoic-but-caring Gov and Always-Worried-but-hiding-it Assistant the best; it took the rest awhile to get used to, but Maine got used to it quick.

They were still his parents, after all. He loves them and knows they love him.

A few more little extras about him!;

—Congress and Assistant made each of their kids a stuffed toy based on any animal of their choosing, even stitching the doll’s name somewhere on the toy. Maine’s is a blue lobster named Ebenezer, because he was an old man even at five. The name is stitched in red on Ebenezer’s left pincher.

—He most definitely owns a lighthouse and uses it to hide when he’s done dealing with people.

—He has a Maine Coon named Persephone and she’s Satan in disguise. She will eat your socks while they’re on your feet. He will hear no word of her wrong-doings.

—Maine, Louisiana, Hawai’i and Alaska have fist-fought bears together. It is not good for Gov or Assistant’s health. They don’t do it as often anymore, but they do hang out a lot.

—Massachusetts is Maine’s favorite Grandpa and Maine is one of the favorite grandchildren.

—Do not believe the OG’s when they say they do not have favorite grandchildren. They are liars.

—He’s very ‘Maim First, Ask Later’. He gets it from his Mama, except Robin is more likely to murder as a warning.

—One of his Cities got him a shirt with ‘Maim First, Ask Later’ printed alongside a Moose. It’s one of his favorite shirts.

—Very much has that ‘lumberjack’ aesthetic. Alaska would too if it wasn’t almost always freezing. The cold doesn’t bother him but it’s become habit to bundle up for the cold weather.

—He enjoys hiking and camping, and takes at least two months every year to just vibe in the woods.

—He was a lobster fisherman in the mid-1800’s to and everyone on the docks adored his Ma whenever she came by, even if they never really remembered her face. Most likely because she made the best blueberry pie any of them ever had.

—He’s not entirely sure, but any food his Ma and Pop makes is more delicious than anything else he’s ever had. Other states agree and so do the few humans they make friends with. At this point, the consensus is either magic or a blood deal.

—He’s sure it’s probably because they grow and make most of their food by hand, no matter how busy they are, or buy from local farmers. They once said its relaxing and they always seemed to have fun, so even Baby Maine didn’t make a fuss like he usually did when they were overworking themselves. (Probably because they bribed the toddler with homemade blueberry jam. They taught him how to make it when he was older. His never tasted as good as his parents.)

—He doesn’t do the fishing much anymore, but he still goes out on his own boat once in awhile for fresh fish, crabs, oysters and lobster.

—He, like all states, can play instruments. Most States know piano, taught by Gov and Assistant, along with whatever other instrument they chose. Maine chose the acoustic guitar as his second favorite.

I’m still doing these 😅 for my WTTT AU

~ Headcanon Asks ~

Send me a character’s name and an emoji and I’ll share one headcanon I have related to the emoji’s topic.

*

Emotional

🟡 - Happy

🔴 - Angsty/Sad

🟣 - Romantic/Sexual/Shippy

*

Lifestyle

🏡 - Home

👪 - Family

🍜 - Food

👔 - Clothing

🧵- Hobbies

🌑 - Sleep

🗣 - Social

🐈 - Pets/Animals

🎼 - Music

🗡 - Fighting

Doors

The States try and open the door. Gov starts to have a breakdown.

———————————————————————

Florida stares hard at the front door of the Statehouse, expression serious.

Louisiana side-eyed him with concern, and everyone else stayed a few feet away.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout, sha?” Louie asks, but Florida doesn’t turn away.

“Papi’s here, right?”

They know it’s him, know that Gov is the Father and son they thought they lost, but they’re not ready— they’re not prepared to bring it up. Not yet.

“Yeah, what of it?”

“He does this weird thing, watch.” Florida springs up, approaching the front door with sure, confident steps.

Before he can grab the door handle, another hand appears to pull the door open. A body blocking the entryway, but he hadn’t come in from outside, had simply stepped in the way.

Gov hadn’t been there a second ago.

“Where are you off to?” The man asks, raising a brow as he opens the door.

“Nowhere!” Florida grins, “Just wanted to go out!”

“Hm.” Gov studies him for a moment, scrutinizing. Florida can feel himself start to sweat, before the man turns away. “Alright, don’t cause any trouble.”

And the man’s gone, as if he was never there, leaving the door wide open.

Florida turns back to them all with a grin.

“See?”

“Has he always done that?” Montana asks with a furrowed brow.

“Come to think of it, I don’t think we’ve ever opened the front or back door.” Iowa reclines on a couch, staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded over his stomach. “Pa’s always shown up to open the doors, but only when we’re going out? He never opens it coming inside unless it’s a building other than the Statehouse? It’s kinda weird.”

“I think we’ve gotten used to it. I mean, I know I’ve started waiting for him to open other doors too.”

A few moments of contemplating silence.

“First to open the front or back door before Papi shows up wins.”

And that sealed it.

.1.

Florida, of course, was the first to try it. Multiple times in the span of several hours, in fact.

He’d reach for one door handle, wait for it to twist and wait for the Static to fill the air as Gov starts to teleport, before he bolts to the other side of the house to the other door.

It doesn’t work, and Gov looks more tired each time.

Gov snatches him up in the middle of one of his sprints, hand holding the back of the Southerner’s shirt to look him in the face.

Amber meets grey, and Florida grins- somewhat nervously- at the blank expression on the man's face.

“Stop that.” Is all the man says, lowering him to his feet, and patting his shoulder twice, “It’s late. Go to bed.”

Florida scurries off, feeling very much like the young Ian Jones who stayed up past bedtime.

That doesn’t mean he stops though.

.2.

Idaho and Iowa thought they’d be the ones to win, being two of the most often forgotten States.

Idaho had gone to the back door, and Iowa to the front. They were going to try and open them at the same time, or as close to the same time as possible.

When Iowa heard the back door swing open, he reached for the door handle— only for the front door to swing open from the outside, revealing Gov— Pops— with a disoriented Idaho held under his arm.

“You were both planning on tending the crops today.” The Statehouse properties are expansive , a lot of it used for things to keep the States entertained; such as farming or animal care. “They are next to each other, you do not need to leave out two separate doors.”

Iowa shuffles his feet as Idaho is straightened to stand on xir own once xe was put down.

Xir face flushed, “Papa!” Xe says, slightly whiny, “What was that for?!”

Gov merely raised a brow.

“Makes it easier,” he says, leaning to press the side of his head against Idaho’s hair— the younger personification squirming slightly— “Call if you need anything, Gem, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Xe mutters, squirming out of the smug man’s grasp and hauling Iowa out the door.

The Hawkeye State felt…jealous. That Noah could have what Caleb himself craved.

.3.

West Virginia and Nevada, Boe and Cassian, were quite the odd pair of friends; a retired coal miner and a ex-mobster-turned-showgirl.

But they were formed little more than a year apart, and stuck together through thick and thin.

Sure, their plan may involve Boe taking off his prosthetic leg– but, really, it was his idea.

Nevada sets the prosthetic against the porch rails before he trots back inside, shutting the door behind her. West Virginia leans against the back of the couch, and the Silver state nods. They lean against the front door carefully, not making any noise.

“Pops!” the man yells, and the air fills with static, a sign that the man’s listening, “Left mah leg out on the back porch earlier, mind grabbin’ it for me?”

It happened more often than one would think. He usually took the leg off later in the day, but it wasn’t unusual for him to take it off and leave it somewhere without thinking– someone always around to assist without a second thought in grabbing it or helping him get to it.

He’d forgotten to take it off last night, and that’s what birthed this plan. The need to let his nub breathe.

The static shifts to the back as Nevada carefully reaches to the front door handle…

It turns in his grasp, and the door opens behind her. They stumble back, their shoulders falling against the person behind them, who holds them up with one arm.

She looks back, spying his father looking at them both with a raised brow— Boe’s prosthetic leg in his hand.

Nevada smiles nervously, “Hi, daddy…”

“Hello, Cassi,” Gov returns the greeting as the Silver State shifts to stand back up. “Boe is still in the sitting room, yes?”

“‘M here, old man.”

“Good, then. Help me with him, Cassi?”

“Yeah— sure.”

Their father looks…tired. More so than usual as he helps strap the prosthetic back in place— Boe’s fond of the older models— patting the Mountain State’s shoulder as he heaves himself up.

“Please behave,” he sounds so tired, “and please remember to grab your leg before you leave it in the middle of a street.”

Boe snorts as his Pops strong hand ruffles his hair, and Cassian grins.

They’re fine with losing.

.4.

To be completely honest, Connecticut hadn’t wanted to be involved in it. He saw how tired Gov looked, and how he only seemed to grow more haggard as each day passed with several States trying to open the doors.

But he had been a pirate, once. Mischief and the want for chaos carved in his bones.

“Davie.” he whispers with a grin, leaning over his husband's desk chair. “Davie, let’s go open the door.”

“Henry…” Delaware plucks his glasses off his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know it won’t work.”

“If it doesn't, we can get Johnny or someone to hold him still while we open it.” The Constitution State shrugs.

Delaware sighs again, “Fine.”

Connecticut gives a small ‘yesss’, hauling Delaware up and tugging him down the stairs.

There was no plan, they were banking on Gov being too busy with…anything. They were just going to try and open it, no special plans or strategies involved.

And, of course, it didn’t work.

The handle twists from their grip and a body shifts to block their path as the door opens outwards.

Once again, Gov blocks their way. He stares at them a moment, back straight despite how utterly exhausted he looks.

“Please…” his voice is quiet and gravely, and both Northeasterners cringe inwardly at the sound. “Please, stop trying to open the doors…”

“Gov,” Delaware's voice is careful, “When’s the last time you slept?”

The man twitched, “Last night.”

“Did you sleep…well?”

“No- no.” The man sways a bit, “Too focused. Ia— Florida tried to open the door fifteen times in the span of two hours.”

They notice the slip, it makes their chests ache, but they have something more important to worry about. They’re uncles, after all, and their stupid, self-sacrificing nephew needs to go to sleep.

“C’mon, buddy,” Connecticut comes up to the man's side, carefully closing the door with one hand, the other going across the man’s shoulders, “We gotta spare room you can have for the night. Davie’ll message Ro for ya.”

As the First State pulls out his phone, they guide Gov to one of the guest rooms. They watch him fall onto the bed with a slightly pained grunt, and watch as he near immediately passes out.

They look at each other once the door is shut.

“Intervention?”

“Intervention.”

They need to show Gov that nothing will happen if someone else opens the door.

And what better place to do that than at the Legislative building? Where security is tight and no one there will hurt any of them?

..5..

Gov’s has one office in Washington, DC. Much like their home in Pennsylvania, the door can open to any of the government buildings.

The office itself is lined with bookshelves that go up and up until you can’t see the top. A hand drawn map of every state and territory on the wall behind the grand, mahogany desk.

On either side of the desk were two archways, leading further and further into the maze of bookshelves that never seemed to end. The space was larger than it had any right to be, and stretched further than the buildings themselves seemed to. It was never the same when you looked back, the pathways always changing.

Only Gov and Assistant were allowed in the labyrinth unattended, as they were the only ones who could find their way out again without trouble. Anyone else had to accompany one of them, or they’d never return. There were things in there no one should see, and only the presence of one of the government personifications would keep those things away.

From the noises that sometimes echoed from within the bookshelves on occasion, not everyone heeded the warning.

But it was a familiar, safe space; perfect for them to intervene in Gov’s ridiculous habit of opening the doors of their own home.

Only three of them had shown up for this, they know that anymore and Gov would possibly grow defensive; just the three of them would be enough to make him suspicious.

Georgia and Maryland, there to hold him back, and Kentucky, the one to open the door.

They knock on the door to the office, always so obvious that it leads to Gov’s office with the aura it gives off and the ornate gold details on dark wood.

They don’t wait for a response, as usual, and simply shove the door open. Gov had always said his office is open whenever they need him, after all.

The man jolts in his seat, blinking at them as they enter.

“Hello,” he greets, body relaxing when he sees who it is, but he furrows his brow when he sees the serious look on Georgia’s face, “I wasn’t expecting you today, has something happened?”

“Nothin’s happened, hon.” Maryland says as he rounds the desk, Georgia coming around the other side, “Just wanted to visit ya for a bit.”

Gov purses his lips.

He’s suspicious.

Georgia settles his hands on the man’s shoulders from behind the chair as Maryland holds onto one of his arms.

Gov looks to Kentucky, who’s stayed resolutely by the door. He wants to reach out and call his son to his side— no, no. Not his son, they don’t want to be his children, they don’t want any relation to him. It’s why they only call him Gov.

He sees the southerners’ hand reach for the door handle, and he shifts to stand– he needs to get the door– but the hands on his shoulders go firm, and he finds he can’t move.

Panic grips his chest, as Kentucky turns the doorknob. Everything tunes out– the hands on his shoulders, the weight on his arm, the voices of Georgia and Maryland trying to soothe him. All he can hear, all he can sense, is the presence of a loaded gun behind the door–

He pulls himself out of their grip, faster than they can stop him, the jerking motion pulling his shoulder– and the metal that holds it– out of place. He grits his teeth at the feeling, tugging Kentucky out of the way as the door falls open–

BANG!

The bullet strikes him in his dislocated shoulder, and he grimaces silently, staring the politician, who now eyes the States behind him with fear.

He never often cared if they shot him, it’s been happening for centuries– less so now than in the age of dueling, but humans rarely change– but they never got away with it when any of his States were present.

He moves to do what he always does, close the door and handle it– but there’s a pair of hands on his arm, another body coming around to his front as a third tears into the hallway with a loud bellow– like a bear mauling those foolish to get too close to its cubs.

“Sit down– sit down.” Maryland hisses as Kentucky flutters next to them.

In this office, Gov has several loveseats and armchairs in front of his desk, and he soon gets pushed into one. He grunts at the jostling in his arm, confused for a moment, before he waves their hands off.

“Drawer– bottom left.” he mutters, “Gotta medkit in there.”

Maryland freezes for a moment, but Kentucky scurries off to grab the kit as told.

“I’m sorry, hon,” Maryland says, too sweetly, as Georgia hauls the bloodied politician into the office and chucks them a few ways down into the labyrinth. “Did you just say, ‘I have a medkit for things like this’? As in, this is a normal occurrence.”

Gov can feel Georgia glowering from behind him as he shifts, preparing to pop his arm back in its socket.

“Ignore that.” Gov says as Kentucky props the medkit open at his side, “Eli– Kentucky,” the man says, muttering under his breath, “Nein, nein. Kentucky, get the tweezers ready, alright?”

“Put your hands down.” Maryland shoves the younger entity’s hands to his sides, “You stay focused on telling me why you’re acting as if this is normal! Elias, Eli! Put those down and go get your Gigi and your Grandad. Now!”

The younger State pops away, and Georgia immediately takes his place.

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Gov tries to shift away from their hands, “I’ll call Robin and it’ll be fine. It’s not the first, nor the last time, a politician has shot me.”

“Gonna need you to explain that, boy.” Georgia rumbles angrily, “You should be gettin’ shot never, preferably.”

“It happens,” he keeps trying to brush them away, barely grimacing when Georgia’s hands pop his shoulder and the metal plates back into place, “They can’t shoot each other, so they shoot me. They’re always behind the door waiting for me to open it, but it’s not every time.” he chokes on his breath when Maryland checks the wound, digging out the bullet with the tweezers, “Nearly shot Daniel once– just started opening the doors. Rather be me than the kids.”

“Jesus,” another voice speaks up, a new set of hands lifting his face to meet theirs. Pennsylvania, “Fuck, kid–”

“He says this is normal!” Maryland hisses as his suit coat is removed by Virginia, “He says it’s been happening for centuries!”

His sweater is pulled up over his shoulder so the bullet hole can be cleaned and wrapped.

Gov feels four sets of protective, furious eyes on himself, and he’s even more confused.

“It’s fine,” he assures, exasperated, “I’ve been shot far worse than this over things so minor I wasn’t even informed of it. At least I know this time it was over a legal dispute.”

He tugs his sweater back down over his arm, but leaves the suit coat off for the time being.

“They shoot you over things that don’t EVEN CONCERN YOU?!” Virginia near shrieks, and Gov flinches at the sound, “Why are we just now learning this information?!”

“It’s not important,” Gov stresses, but they just don’t seem to understand, “It has not and has never been important. It’s just something that happens.” he shoves himself up off the couch and past Pennsylvania, nearly stumbling– he’s so tired. “Thank you for your help, but it is incredibly unnecessary to take on such a chore–”

He’s tugged back by a hand on the back of his shirt, a snarl building up behind him.

“A chore?” An enraged voice asks as he’s pushed back into his seat, the four of them glaring at him, “You think patching up our son, after he’s been shot, is a chore?”

There’s a sudden tugging on his ear, and he flinches at the feeling.

“Young man, if you ain’t have metal in yer spine and just got a bullet put in ya, you’d’ve just earned yerself a whoopin’!” Virginia snaps, their thumb and index finger holding firm on the man’s ear for a moment before they let go, hands going to their hips.

The brunette rubs away the stinging feeling, grimacing as he glares straight back at them.

“I said it’s fine, how many times do I have to repeat that?” He snaps in response, baring his teeth in a snarl. “None of you are listening.”

“We ain’t gonna listen when you tell us gettin’ shot is fine.” Georgia growls.

“Because it is fine, when it’s me.” he goes to stand back, “Let me go, I have work to finish–”

“Adam Jones, if you take even one step close to that desk, yer age won’t stop me from dragging you down to the southern house.” Pennsylvania barks, crossing his arms as he speaks, “See if you can ‘get back to work’ after I kick yer ass.”

Gov freezes in place the moment he started speaking. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak– just stares straight ahead.

He stands there for so long that the anger starts to fade, replaced by a growing concern as the man doesn’t even twitch.

Georgia is the first one to step around to look at the man’s face, orange-brown eyes going wide when he sees the wetness in Gov’s grey ones.

“Oh, kiddo.” The large man brings the other close to him, pressing his face to Gov’s hair and letting the other hide in his windbreaker as the other three crowd around them, a flurry of concerned movement as Georgia feels a wet spot growing on his shirt. “What’s wrong, Adam?”

Gov’s shoulders are hitching, he doesn’t appear to be breathing properly, Georgia runs a hand through his hair in hopes to calm him down enough to get him to speak.

“You called me Adam…” the man says in heaving breaths, “You called me son.”

And suddenly, it made sense.

They haven’t called him either since 1814.

“Oh, baby…” Maryland runs his own hand across Gov’s shoulders, “It’s okay, hon, it’s okay…”

“You didn’t want me as your son–”

“No, no.” Virginia soothes, “You’ve always been our son, sweetie, it’s okay.”

“You left–”

“And it was the worst mistake we’ve ever made.” Pennsylvania snarls quietly from where he leans on Georgia’s arm, “And we’re so, so fucking sorry, kiddo.”

“My kids—”

“Miss you so much.” Georgia rasps, “They want nothing more than for their papa to come back.”

Gov makes a strangled sound, before he goes completely silent.

“Kiddo?” Pennsylvania whispers, “What’s up?”

“Please,” is the only response, “...just stop trying to open the doors… I can’t sleep with them always trying to…”

“Okay, okay.” Georgia kisses the top of his head, “We’ll stop, we’ll stop the kids too. Don’t worry buddy.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Virginia hums, “Just rest now, baby.”

Gov mumbles something, in response, before he goes limp with exhaustion.

The four of them look at each other over the top of his head.

They had to talk to the other States.

The Sound of Silence

Gov is a father, but not many seem to remember that.

———————————————————————

Adam Jones has been a father since 1789, when the first four Executive Departments were established. When he still went by the title ‘Continental Congress’. He had 37 States, 15 Executive Departments, several territories, and Washington DC he considered his children. His house was always full of children, his children, even if they were in no way related beyond considering him their Pa.

But, after the Civil War, only his Departments, territories, and a few States called him any variation of ‘Dad’.

21 of his former 37 States fought in the Civil War and nearly killed him. Avoided him. He only saw them again when he took over Meetings in 2021, after the attack on DC left his child comatose— and they didn’t even seem to remember him.

His parents and the rest of the OG13 were in a similar boat, they didn’t even seem to recognize him. It hurt, but their presence hurt since the early 1800’s, when they left he and Robin behind. He got used to that hurt, and he’d get used to this one.

He refused to stay in the ‘Statehouse’ as they call it— it was clear they didn’t want him there— but he still made use of the office space. He left everything DC had where it had been originally, it was simply a space for him to do his work unbothered. He wouldn’t bother his son’s belongings, though some of the States seemed confused by it at first. He didn’t explain himself or his choices.

Now it’s the dead of winter, he’s been holding the Meetings for almost a year, and the entire nation has been faced with a cold front. Gov doesn’t mind, he’s used to the fluctuating temperatures of the entire nation– everyone being cold is easier to deal with than having to deal with so many different temperatures at once– even if his body ran hot externally, internally his temperature was a constant mess.

But it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

The cold makes the Southerners lethargic, so their silence is expected, but it also makes the Northeast argumentative (more so than usual), makes the Midwest cranky (in a way they can’t hide behind manners), the West fume with chattering teeth and pure passive-aggression. Alaska is the only one he expects to experience no change, but sometimes the cold gets to him and he either sleeps for days or gets extremely aggressive.

So forgive him for expecting some noise.

But there’s nothing, not for the last several hours, as if everyone in the house suddenly vanished.

Gov feels his chest squeeze at the thought, and shakes his head. No, the States were responsible. They could get themselves out of trouble if they had left— and perhaps they simply chose to be quiet today.

…

Unlikely.

He prepares to stand up and search the house for them, he could sense their presence in the building and knew they were all here, but the sound of footsteps allows him to relax. Two sets of them, one almost sounds like stomping while the other seems more casual. He relaxes, this tells him they’re here and fine, he doesn’t need to check.

He can go back to work—

He nearly jumps out of his seat when his office door bursts open, almost torn off its hinges, to reveal New Jersey and Louisiana.

The Garden State looks pissed, more so than normal, but that’s to be expected. Louisiana looks tired, mostly, but his body is tense with something Gov can’t quite name.

He remembers his office door had been locked, but knows that both States in the doorway have picked more locks than he could possibly count.

Gov’s brow furrows, and he opens his mouth to ask ‘what the fuck’—

But he blinks and is suddenly thrown over a shoulder, and they’re halfway down the hall to the sitting room.

“Got ‘im.” New Jersey calls from ahead of him– so he’s over Louisiana's shoulder, for some reason– and Gov finally knows where the States’ have been all day.

The couches are pushed together to form a barrier, mattresses and blankets in the floor between them all. It’s a sort of nest, he understands, where every State– save for Hawai’i, she only visits for big holidays– is huddled together.

There’s grumbling and shifting as State’s move to allow Louisiana into the center of the pile, where he unceremoniously drops Gov onto his back and flops down next to him.

The sudden pressure against his back and his brace, no matter how soft the surface, makes him lose his breath in a flinch– not helped by Louisiana’s weight suddenly on his left side, nor the clambering of sluggish States fighting to claim his right.

But soon they’re all situated, and Gov is biting back swears as the metal bars in his back and shoulders press against the sensitive bone they’re meant to be holding in place.

One thing he never liked about all the States being cold is that it made his internal temperature cold, and thus affected the metal holding his body together. The freezing material sent shocks through his nerves, but he held his tongue and fought to control his body’s reactions to the pain.

The result was a very tense Gov surrounded by tired, cuddly States.

He knew most of them wouldn’t notice, or wouldn’t care, but he did his best to stay still and quiet for those that would notice his pain if he moved an inch–

“It’s too quiet,” a sleepy Florida complains, “Someone should sing!”

“E’ryone’s tone deaf about now.” is a mumbled reply in Gov’s shoulder from Louisiana, “Too cold.”

Silence, and then there’s a wave of nervous energy as Florida asks,

“H’w ‘bout Gov?”

If his body could tense further, that's what did it.

Before he could respond, there were several sets of eyes on him and he pursed his lips.

He has work to do, work he can’t do if he’s stuck at the base of a State pile because they figured he’d make a good heat source.

But he sings for his kids, and his States haven’t wanted to be his kids since the Civil War…but there are 18 of them here that still call him Dad. Hawai’i included, but she’s not here.

Besides, they had been his kids and parents at one point– and even if they no longer wanted to be considered such, he would move Heaven, Hell and the Infinite Planes of existence for them.

“Fine,” he says with a heaving sigh, shifting his tense body and barely holding back a grimace– none of them seem to notice, “But I have to go back to work, after.”

Multiple protests, Louisiana curling tighter against his body, and Ohio digging his nails into his right side. There were other hands on him, other bodies pressed against him trying to steal his body heat, but those two managed to latch on the most.

His brows furrow once again, “Either you let me up to work after, or we sit in silence.” he says sternly, “Your choice.”

The tone of his voice makes them quiet, a few mumbles here and there– and he realizes he used his ‘Dad Voice’, as IDC once eloquently said. A subconscious response to his kids being brats, he supposes.

There’s a groan, “Let ‘m up.” Pennsylvania’s voice is firm in a similar sort of way– one Gov had heard him use when his first Departments were still young boys. One he heard regularly around the Statehouse from any of the OG13 towards the younger states.

A ‘Grandparent Voice’.

Gov doesn’t know the exact difference between a Grandparent or Parent Voice, but his kids seem to differentiate them, and that’s enough for him.

States grumble and shift, and soon he’s propped against the back of one of the couches, Louisiana’s head in his lap and Ohio’s face buried in his hip. He spots Wisconsin attached to one leg, at his knee, and Mississippi on his other leg, practically wrapped around it like a snake– he’d almost forgotten the boy was so flexible, but he supposed Jackson being the only city in the USA eligible to hold Olympic-Style Ballet competitions had something to do with it.

They are so close to his brace, something he’s sure they don’t even know about– he’s been so careful to hide it, only his wife and the children that stayed know about it— and he’s uncomfortable.

But he pushes through.

“Anything in particular?” he hears himself ask.

“Dunno, something nice.”

…

What a great request and incredibly helpful, he will be sure to take note.

“Then no complaining,” he huffs, settling further into the back of the couch, feeling the metal tingle along his bones as he tries to focus on something else. His fingers tap rhythmically on Louisiana’s shoulder, another subconscious attempt to comfort, but he doesn’t feel the younger entity tense at the feeling.

A song comes to mind, one he’d heard a good many years ago, back in 1964– if he remembered correctly. He really was no good with dates or times of such things.

“Hello darkness, my old friend…” he starts, chest rumbling as he keeps his voice low– several States had fallen asleep with the warmth and he didn’t wish to wake them, “I’ve come to talk with you again…” he feels Ohio tense against him, raising an arm to hold over the State’s shoulders- running a hand through his hair like he did when the Buckeye State was a boy in his home, not even thinking about it, mind completely elsewhere.

“Because a vision softly creeping

Left its seeds while I was sleeping,

And the vision that was planted

In my brain…still remains…

Within the Sound…of Silence…”

And suddenly, he’s no longer in the Statehouse, eyes glazed over as he finds himself in the streets of New York City, rain pouring from the sky and lanterns flickering beneath the downpour. He knows that, if he looked at his hands, his sleeves would be different.

It’s 1790.

“In restless dreams I walked alone.

Narrow streets of cobblestone.

‘Neath the halo of a street lamp.

I turned my collar to the cold and damp.”

Sleeping in a bed was still so strange to him and his Robin, four years of only existing as something vague and human-shaped before the Colonies' Willpower solidified their existence in Pennsylvania, 1774.

Even after two decades of sleeping in one, be it in his own home or one of his parents or Uncles’, he still oft’ found himself restless.

No matter the weather, he would creep outside and sleep in the branches. The shrubs and thick leaves never failed to conceal what his power couldn’t. His Robin would join him, always more of the outside-sort, further from humans than even he himself— because his basis was set in the Government created by humans, and she had no such construct in her creation.

“When my eyes were stabbed by a flash of a neon light,

That split the night

And touched the Sound of Silence…”

There’s a crash of lightning, and it’s 1860, tensions rising between the State governments, between his children as they feel as restless as their own people. Even if they disagree, even if they want something different than their government and their people, the opinions of their people hold great influence over them.

There’s a faint sound of snoring, as he walks faintly through the halls of their manor. He knows it means his children are asleep in their beds, where they should be where he can protect them from whatever may be out there.

“And in the naked light I saw,

Ten thousand people, maybe more…”

He’s killed many people, ten thousand would be on the low end of the blood on his hands, and he knows his wife’s are even more stained.

He feels no regret, though. Each and every one of them deserved what he did to them. He made their deaths swift– usually– and it was a mercy. Even if they didn’t see it as such, even if they died humiliated because he was a man who couldn't even walk.

Robin was not one to get it over and done, she preferred to take her time.

A sharp pain along his scar, a four pointed star across his chest. Perhaps it was growing irritated, he'd have to check it before he went to bed– whenever that would be.

The wheelchair mocks him, mocks who he was and who he knew himself to be.

It’s 1887.

“People talking without speaking…

People hearing without listening…

People writing songs that voices never shared…

No one dared…

Disturb the Sound..

Of Silence…”

It’s 1924, he’s been out of the wheelchair for almost five years, and finds joy in smacking idiotic people with the cane he’d been forced into using. The metal in his body is new and sensitive, but he grows more used to it day by day.

They stay mostly in the Northeast in these years, ignoring the Government– the thing they personify– to indulge in their darker habits.

Robin refuses to go into the drug business beyond alcohol, cigars, and cigarettes— but they sell the best of the best, and the price their stuff goes for more than makes up for the lack. Weapons are another thing, and the amount of bars and speakeasies in their pockets would make God jealous.

They don’t need the money, but it’s nice to have anyway– they have children and grandchildren to spoil, after all.

“‘Fools’ said I, ‘You do not know

Silence, like a cancer, grows

Hear my words that I might teach you

Take my arms that I might reach you.’

But my words, like silent raindrops, fell

Echoed in the wells

Of Silence…”

Every time he reached out to his parents was met with nothing, and Robin had similar issues with her Pas. None of the OG13 responded outside of work. They no longer called them by name.

His States tried to secede, tried to kill him, and then left.

Nothing he said worked, nothing he tried worked, so he simply—

Stopped.

“And the people bowed and prayed

To the neon God they made

And the sign flashed out it’s warning

In the words that it was forming,

That sign said…”

The world around him flickers in a mess of colors, of gunshots and explosions and noise– he feels an unholy rage at someone– someone hurt his States, but he doesn’t remember how bombs, airplanes, buildings crashing and boats sinking and nuclear threats from mere miles away–

He wouldn’t let someone who hurt his States get away with it.

There was only so much he could do to the politicians, but the personifications? No one knew about them.

The colors hurt, red red red red and blue blue blue blue and he thinks he can see other colors, but they’re so much smaller, take up so much less space– and there are stars, so many stars– and he feels like he’s looking into the gaze of Infinity, looking into the eyes of his wife in the Linear Plane of Existence between reality and unreality, the place they came from.

The place that formed their bodies and their souls, where their human forms fall away and they can truly be.

When they dissolve, they will return, Infinity and Eternity.

“‘The words of the prophets

Are written on the subway walls

In tenement halls.’

And in the Sound…

Of Silence…”

He blinks.

It’s 2022, New Years just passed.

States are curled asleep around him, grips limp against him but tucked close, as if trying to keep him there.

But he cannot stay.

He has work to do.

He slowly detangles himself, creeping over the back of the couch. Once he reaches the hallways, he sighs heavily, rubbing his back.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, voice coated in a haze of NorthEastern, New English, and Southern. “Gonna have Ro check that– fuck the winta, I’m too old for this shit.” he makes his way to his office, grumbling the entire way.

He didn’t notice a few States had remained awake, didn’t hear Louisiana mumbling about something solid beneath his suit. Didn’t hear Rhode Island’s hissed swears or Georgia’s rumbled concerns.

He didn’t hear any of it.

But they were planning something.

They just didn’t know what.

The Fire of 1814

Assistant’s view of the Burning of Washington

———————————————————————

She hadn’t been expecting the burst of heat she felt across her torso.

Robin grimaces, hand coming to press against the burning sensation. There’s no obvious wounds or injuries,

They were spending time in Washington DC, there are things going on that they had to be close by for.

At this time at night, she’s long since shut the curtains, but the beaming orange-red light that slips through them causes her brow to furrow.

She slides the curtains open, and she can feel her eyes widen.

…

The buildings will bear no damage or scars, bear no pain in the time it takes to fix them.

But the fires she can see rage across the city line will not be as kind to her husband or son.

She doesn’t even bother with shoes, allowing the world to wrap around her as she starts to run, appearing in the streets of Government Buildings. The heartbeat of her love beat solidly in her chest, stuttering once every few minutes, leading her to him. DC was with his brothers, War– Robert– and Treasury– Oliver–, she could sense even from so far away, while State– Gideon– and Attorney General– Jack– were with the younger children back in Pennsylvania.

The three children were just slightly off the ocean shore, but Congress– her dear Adam, her Eternity; such a stupid, reckless man— was in the middle of it.

So she trusts her children and runs to save their father.

———————————————————————

Her knife cutting through clothes, matted by blood and stuck to skin like scabs.

The faint burning from her sons arm, wrapped in bandages she soaked and cooled to battle the temperature, even as he squirmed and writhed at the pain as she cleaned his blackened, bloody right arm. The injury had crept up to the side of his neck, but not far. Easily covered by clothes.

The sizzling skin along her husband's left arm, along the side of his neck, blackening the side of his face.

He doesn’t move, hardly shifts as she cleans the injuries and wraps him in the cold bandages.

War, her little Robert, is so much help when it comes to changing their clothes into something softer, less irritating on their skin.

They’re soon tucked into bed, and Robin leaves them for a moment, just a moment, to check in on her other children. To comfort and hold as they worry for their father and DC.

———————————————————————

26 hours.

That’s how long she had to hold her husband just under the ocean’s surface.

How long her sons had to hold their brother.

That’s how long it took the fires to go out, both on the streets and on their skin.

That’s how long the fires raged an not one State– not even Maryland, whose home is within eyesight of DC— showed up.

She knows they know about it. She knows they’d feel it if Congress passed, feel a sharp, sudden pain in their chests. She knows this, but she doesn’t know if they know it. For all she knows, they could think he’s dead.

But as she sits between the beds of her husband and son, gently cradling their youngest State, Louisiana, in the rocking chair…

…

She finds she can’t bring herself to care.

It’s been a few months since their parents and uncles stopped responding. She knows it hurts her Adam, breaks his heart, and he’s spent many nights in their bed wrapped into her embrace, crying, asking her why they were leaving them behind, why they no longer used the names they had gifted them– Adam and Robin?

It breaks her heart to have no answer for him. It shatters her heart when her Poppa, the one who gave her the name Robin, calls her Assistant. When her Pa, who built her birdcage, the one she still uses even after her first birds have passed, won’t even look at her outside of Meetings. When her Pop, who helped her name her birds, who taught her to care for them, won’t speak to her unless it’s a matter of business.

When they’re so quick to leave when they used to love staying for hours, visit her and her husband and her children– their grandchildren.

But…it’s fine.

It’s fine.

…

She’s fine.

Not Congress

He looks like Congress. He acts like Congress.

But he’s not Congress.

———————————————————————

The Meetings in the years following the Civil War were tense and few in amount.

But the ones they did have involved every State, and thus everyone knew something was wrong.

Because, yes— he looked a lot like Congress.

But they knew he wasn’t.

His voice was higher in pitch, he was a few inches shorter and a little bit thinner.

Congress had a kind, tired expression— this man had a bright and optimistic one.

They still called him Congress, and he answered to it. He did everything Congress had done, work-wise.

He was similar, but it was the little things that Congress did and he didn’t that made them feel…concerned? Worried? Uneased?

They never brought it up, though, perhaps Congress was busy.

They could wait a few months.

———————————————————————

There were new States, 3 of them: West Virginia, Nevada, and Nebraska.

They and the Not-Congress, along with Minnesota, Oregon, and Kansas, seemed to have an unspoken agreement; if the three’s confused glances and the Not-Congress’ stern and imploring gaze were anything to go by– whenever one of the others referred to him as Congress through pinched teeth.

It wasn’t until 1874, nine years after the Civil War ended, that someone brought it up.

“Who’re you?” The voice is stern, but few remember who brought it up— though the general consensus is that Connecticut was the one to speak up.

Not-Congress looked up from the paperwork he always had spread across his section of the Table, looking as if he’d been expecting the question— Kansas, West, Nevada, and Nebraska suddenly looking nervous.

But they’d asked this question, and he told them his name was Continental Congress— they knew he’d answer the same, so Connecticut continued before he could.

“We know you’re not Congress, so don’ bother with that. Who are ya?”

Not-Congress stares at him for a moment, before he sighs, reclining further in his chair and setting his pen down.

“I suppose it was foolish of us to think you’d never notice.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck, a small popping sound coming from his joints as he shifts. “My name is Washington, District of Columbia: you may call me DC, or Daniel. I was left in charge of these meetings for…the foreseeable future.”

“Where is Congress?” Virginia’s voice is stern, like none of the newer States- those formed after the Revolution- had heard, - like a concerned, furious parent– “Why isn’t he here?”

DC’s gaze goes far off, ceasing all motion until he’s so still he looks as if he were stone, his voice is soft, but able to be heard in the silence of the room.

“A Civil War is one of the worst things that can happen to a Government, especially the personification.” He says, “They often tear their own bodies apart with their bare hands, until nothing is left behind– most cases end with a new Personification, no matter the outcome of the War.”

Bodies tense and breathing stops, and all attention is on the Not-Congress, on DC.

“What about…Assistant?” Mass’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet, “What about our girl?”

“My mother is still around.” DC replies, “She has decided to remain behind the scenes, however. Due to my Pa’s…condition, she had to take on his work as well. My mother may be a miracle worker, but there is only so much she can do before she breaks as well.” DC’s fingers are tapping on the wooden table, “My siblings and I decided that she will be taking a break, both to recover from the War and to deal with..familial affairs. Her responsibilities are taken care of by others for the foreseeable future.”

“Y…you said ‘most cases’, right?” Maryland’s voice is shaky, his eyes wide and slowly growing wet, “So there’s a chance…?”

“I watched my Pa, Continental Congress, tear himself apart for four years. Watched as his body split down the middle in a scar; a scar shaped like the border between the Union and Confederacy” the voice is dead, monotone, no longer soft and quiet but just…there, and several flinch at the tone, “I have seen him do many things, fight in wars and take fires onto his own body to prevent it from harming others, surviving injuries no one else could and still manage to keep that smile on his face for everyone he met, no matter how exhausted he was.

“I watched as, in his rare lucid moments, he burned and destroyed every map and flag he came across, in the few times he was accompanied out of house. This map is the only survivor of any place he’d visited; the edits made by my mother.” the massive, hand-drawn map on the wall taunts them- something they knew Congress had drawn out with all the love he had freely given them.

There’s a pause, a shuddering breath, “...I suppose he simply couldn’t do it anymore...”

There’s silence as everyone takes a moment to process.

———————————————————————

“Mary–!”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Maryland shrieks from where he’d fallen to the floor, kicking and scrambling away from Virginia’s outreached hands, Georgia crouched just over his shoulder, “WE KILLED OUR BABY!”

Pennsylvania is kneeling on the floor next to him, holding the Old Line State and glaring, eyes suspiciously wet but no one points it out.

Not only had they killed their son, but they had grandchildren— grandchildren they forgot.

———————————————————————

“What do we do? What do we do–”

“What did we do–?”

“We can’t do anything anymore–”

“We killed our Pa–”

“We forgot the others—“

———————————————————————

…

…

DC had never been fond of lying to family members.

But his mother had asked him to, and his Pa was in no position to face the States in any capacity.

Besides, it wasn’t really a lie…

His Pa refused to answer to the name Congress anymore, and he wasn’t the same as DC knew him as, though he was still his Pa and remained the same in most of his parental abilities– it was luck, then, that they had enough older siblings when the New States came around during and after.

Minnesota is the only one of them that remembered Pa as Congress.

Oregon, Kansas, West Virginia and Nevada never really knew Congress besides the man who had to be restrained in bed to protect himself and others; they knew he was their Pa, but being in the same room as a man trying to rip himself apart wasn’t good for them, and so their mother limited their visits to his bedside for more peaceful moments.

Nebraska hadn’t known anything besides the Angry-man-in-the-Wheelchair his Pa had become, a change that had been so wrong– their Pa had rarely been an angry man; confrontational, sure, but hardly angry– but one they had grown used to.

Besides, in the privacy of their home- their Pa was only really angry when he drank, which he only did when all but he and their mother had gone to bed.

And he was never angry at them, would never raise hand at them– though sometimes he had to yell to be heard over them all, he never spoke in anger– only ever at himself and his perceived failure. At the states involved in the War.

He was more stoic and stern the rest of the time, but was still glad to read them, especially the three Young States’– most of them had grown out of it by now–, stories and play the piano for them, teaching them to dance from the sidelines so that their mother could still dance as she pleased, but DC knows it pains his parents both that they can’t dance together as they used to.

The piano is played a lot more, though.

So yes, his Pa may be alive still- but he’s not Continental Congress anymore.

So was he really lying when he said Congress was no longer with them?

DC sighs heavily as he exits the meeting room, the three States following close behind.

“You aight, D?” West asks, “We know ya don’t like talkin’ ‘bout it.”

DC smiles at the three of them, a sad, strained thing.

“I am fine.” he reassures, though he knows it won’t soothe them entirely. “Let’s go, then, Ma wanted us back immediately after the Meeting.”

Six nervous glances, shuffling feet, before,

“Ok.”

Pop!