The Sound Of Silence

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.

Tea

Robin’s feelings on tea.

———————————————————————

Robin Jones hates the taste of tea.

She’s tried many flavors from all around the world. Keeps her tea bags stocked in case of guests or emergencies. Drinks it at meetings with the politicians.

It reminds her of her fathers, the atmosphere quiet and calm as it so rarely was as they offered her a seat.

It reminds her of her husband and the times they would sit and enjoy a cup.

Reminds her of those early meetings, where, despite the matter at hand being War, they all had a cup of whatever blend was made that day— used to soothe nerves and allow speakers the chance to regain their thoughts and calm themselves when it got too heated.

…

It reminds her of England and his beady eyes.

Reminds her of the Revolution, with its gunshots and blood and the bodies of thousands.

Reminds her of years where it was the only thing they had, most of their food going to the children.

Reminds her of 1814, where she made it for DC and her Adam to help relieve their pain.

Reminds her of when she would brew it when those she loves were ill or injured.

Reminds her of the Civil War, when she had to force a special blend down her husband's throat so he could sleep through the agony in his body.

Reminds her of the humans and their greed, their expectations, their laziness and cruelty to those they see as inferior; even when they were the ones talking down to her, she- who is something they can never hope to imagine in her entirety. Something not even their beloved Gods could conjure.

She drinks tea in meetings with other Government Personifications, drinks tea with her children- several of whom enjoy it-, drinks it with her fathers and uncles- even if they rarely did.

Cold tea or hot brew. Matcha or Earl Grey. Jasmine or Green. Homemade or store bought. She’s tried every blend, every brewing style, every mix and match at every time of day in every State and every Country she’s ever visited. She drinks it with poise and grace, with a smile and a ‘thank you’…

She likes the tea pots, the tea cups and their saucers. She doesn’t like leaving something to just gather dust when it has a practical use.

She uses her teapots back home for homemade cider or hot chocolate, or— on certain days— the strongest alcohol in the house.

She enjoys having guests, having parties, enjoys making food and drink for those she loves; almost nothing culinary that she dislikes.

She dislikes the smell of tea. She loathes what it reminds her of and she’s annoyed by most of the humans that invite her for a cup. But…

…She hates the taste of tea.

You sent in two, so they’ll all be here!!

🔴 (Angsty/Sad)

Colorado’s one of the few States that gets attached to humans. He sticks by those he sees as friends for decades, always around to see them age and eventually die. The end for all mortal creatures, but it still hurts.

Colorado’s biggest fear is those he loves dying, and seeing so many of his friends— mortal human friends, people he knew would die long before him— pass upsets him more than it would other States, States who get used to people they know dying. States who can grieve for a day or so and move on.

Every time, he goes back to Mom and Dad’s house, he stays there for days. He brings his dogs, because he knows they’ll leave him too, one day, and wants to spend as much time as he can with them.

At Mom and Dad’s house, there are no expectations. He doesn’t have to work, can just curl up in his childhood bedroom and grieve. If it hurts too much, he’ll even lock his Mom and Dad out of the room. They won’t force themselves in. Just remind him to eat, and leave food at the door. They don’t quite understand, they’ve never really cared about humans, but they do their best to comfort him.

Sometimes, he and his human friends will grow apart before it gets to that point, but they still pass away all too soon. It still hurts, but it’s not as bad.

It hurts more when he looses a pet.

He’ll grieve pets for years, has kept all their collars and favorite toys, even when he eventually finds another stray and takes them in.

...He has a lot of pictures, all the way back to when he was a child himself, playing in the streets with the human children while his Mom was in the markets. He has hundreds of photo albums full of friends and pets, and they all have one thing in common...

They’re all someone he lost.

🌑 (Sleep)

When he was younger, he slept horribly. Always too hot or too cold. It was always too loud or too quiet. Definitely one of those babies that kept his parents up for hours before they finally figured out how to get him to sleep.

Thinner shirts, thinner blankets, but combined they were warm enough to keep him from getting sick. A quiet music box he still has to this day, and even used with his own Cities.

As he got older he grew out of his pickiness with sleeping conditions, and can pretty much sleep wherever. He can’t nap though, he just can’t sleep during the day.

The marijuana definitely helps, though.

👔 (Clothes)

Very much a black cargo pants man. He loves the pockets. Perfect for holding everything the local weed dealer needs…not that he’s a dealer (Don’t tell Mom or Dad—).

Hiking boots, he may love to ski and snowboard, but he loves to hike in the warmer months— he’s often invited to join Oregon and Washington with his dogs.

Puffer vest, one with a hood. I love vests and he seems like the type. It’s his State flag colors and the funky little ‘C’ and circle they have. I love it, it such a weird (affectionate) flag to me.

In colder months, he’ll wear a white sweater, a thicker black beanie, and his ski goggles.

In the warmer months, he’ll wear a white t-shirt underneath the vest. He also has one of those thinner beanies made for summer, also black. In place of his goggles, he’ll have those sporty sunglasses.

He also has a silver chain necklace, and all his cities have a matching one. He also wears a watch to keep track of time, he’s very time blind— probably made worse by the marijuana. It’s an older model of watch, he gets a new one every few decades. But the first one he ever got was his Dad’s old watch, and he keeps that old thing in a drawer of his desk.

(Gov has tried to get him to throw the old watch out; “Joshua, it doesn’t even work anymore. It’s taking up space.” “I don’t care.”, he’s very sentimental)

🏡 (Home)

All the States have several homes throughout, usually apartments in major cities and homes in suburbs.

Then they have their Main House, usually wayy bigger than the others (most being manors) somewhere in their State.

Colorado has a rustic-style, manor-ish (not as big as a manor but close) home in the mountains, pretty far away from other people.

He likes humans, more than he probably should, but he likes having the big open space-- his doggos love it too. It’s perfect for when all his kids come visit, enough space for them all to have their own thing, yet close enough for them to be meshed together. He can’t have them all over at once, unless some want to share beds, sleep on couches, and camp in the yard.

There are plenty of natural trails he likes to take around, and its just a pop away from anything else!

🟣 (Romantic/Sexual/Shippy)

Panromantic Demisexual, not currently in a relationship.

He’s not really looking for a romantic relationship right now, but if it happens naturally...

🍜 (Food)

He’s a stoner. He’s got the munchies. He will eat pretty much anything edible thats placed in front of him.

But if Mom or Dad makes cinnamon rolls...he has to be held back from eating all of them. Like, literally restrained.

It’s ONLY if Mom or Dad makes them. He will not do it with anyone elses cinnamon rolls.

It’s not that strange, we’re pretty sure everything Gov and Assistant make is laced with something...the lab results have shown nothing weird, but we can’t be too sure. It might be magic.

🧵 (Hobbies)

Skiing, snowboarding, rock climbing...of course, those are expected. He will try everything outdoorsy once! Its fun for him and his dogs, and his kids often join him.

He also has a synthesizer and plays grand piano, though he usually only does the grand piano at Mom and Dad’s house. He also has a portable beatmaker. He likes the flashy buttons.

He does yoga and other exercises, and likes jigsaws.

Mom taught him to crochet, and he often does it when he’s stressed.

Most States know how to sew, Mom and Dad taught them so they could fix their own clothes if needed, but Colorado is one of few that wanted to crochet too.

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.

If We Were Younger

Magical Mishaps lead to revelations.

———————————————————————

It was…an accident.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

“HEY! Why do you think we did it?!”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE THE ONLY ONES IN THE DAMN ROOM!!”

“What’s with all the smoke?”

“Lou and I were looking through his Wizard Book–”

“Voodoo, sha.”

“-- and then Gov appeared, and then there was smoke! So we left!”

“AND YOU LEFT HIM IN THERE?!?!”

“He’ll be fine! We don’t know what it’ll do, but it shouldn’t remove him from the world, if that’s what you’re worried about!”

Really, they hadn’t planned for this.

It was agreed that Pennsylvania and Massachusetts would be the ones to retrieve the man from the smoke-filled room, but the air was clear when they opened the door, save for a cloud of dust.

“Gov?” Pennsylvania called, stepping into the room, eyes the walls and surveying the damage as Mass came up beside him. “You here?”

The door shut behind them, all doors in the Statehouse did, but the weight behind it was heavier and different, and Mass jerked his head around to see–

Nothing.

He saw nothing by the door.

Penn looked at him and shrugged a shoulder.

“Guess that one’s heavier than the rest.”

But neither of them believed it.

The room was dark, the lightbulb having burst in the small explosion that had rocked the house and drew everyone that had been home— not very many— to the scene.

The shadows seemed to stretch and warp, making the large room seem massive. They didn’t know why the rooms were so large, anyway, but they were.

They moved slowly, the blast had knocked over furniture and left a bit of it in pieces. Torn pages and lightly sizzling wood littered the ground, and they kept their steps careful as they searched.

What happened to Gov?

Penn feels something brushing in the air against his back, and he whirls in place—

Only to have a face mere inches from his, with burning green eyes and warm brown hair.

The face stares at him for a moment, eyes narrow as Penn sees a flash of recognition in his eyes.

“Congress…?” He whispers, chest suddenly filled with a sharp pain– one he can’t help but reach up to feel, but there were no injuries.

The eyes brighten, and with them the room.

“Pennsylvania?” the man’s head tilts as the eyes trail over to Penn’s companion, “Massachusetts?”

Mass’s eyes are wide, and they both notice the blood on the…younger Gov’s arms and front— he has no coat, simply his black trousers, white shirt, and blue waistcoat.

“Shit—” Mass hisses, pressing forward to gently, yet firmly, pull the boy’s partially mangled arm closer to him, “You got hit with something.”

“It’s fine.” Gov’s– Congress’s– voice is soft and kind, yet dismissive of his injuries as he seems to take in the room, “It will heal.”

Mass snorts, “Not properly if we don’t get ya cleaned up!”

“I assure you, Massachusetts, my body is perfectly capable of—”

“Kiddo.” Penn’s voice is strained as he approaches, grabbing his stupid, stubborn son by the shoulders, “C’mon— ya can’t– can’t walk around the Statehouse with blood all over ya.”

It was too much like when Gov got shot– when his boy got shot and he wasn’t even aware it was his boy.

They had thought Gov to be another personification created after DC went comatose back in 2021, but he had always seemed older. Far too old, Government Personifications don’t appear knowing all that Gov knew when he arrived. He looked too much like Congress— body shape et all. His hair was shorter and his eyes were grey, but even his voice was the same.

Green eyes– they had been grey just an hour ago– soften, just slightly.

Congress sighs, “Alright, then. Lead the way.” and they knew he wasn’t happy about it.

They guide him out of the room, easily shoving others out of the way as they rush to clean off the blood and patch him up, but—

“What the fuck—”

“Language—”

“Shut it, is that—?”

“How—?”

“Stop hoverin’!” Pennsylvania barks angrily, Mass turning his glare over as well, “Can’t ya see he’s got blood all over?!”

Without their full attention on keeping him close– on holding him there so they could administer medical treatment– Congress bolts.

“FUCK–!” Mass yelps as the sudden jerk from his grip.

“CONTINENTAL CONGRESS, GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE—!” Pennsylvania roars, taking off in a sprint to give chase.

———————————————————————

Congress had always been fast, especially when running away from furious, concerned parents or chasing his own stubborn children, but he wasn’t actually trying to avoid them.

No one had seen Georgia sprint like that since the Revolution, or seen him so awake as he carried Congress over his shoulders in a sort of fireman's carry– despite the younger’s protests and the blood soaking into his clothes.

As the OG 13, as the Original 13 States are often called, haul the man upstairs, the remaining States are told to stay downstairs– and to call the others.

No one needed to be blindsided by their father being alive.

———————————————————————

“It’s really not that bad.” Congress protests as he’s forced to lie still on the bed, Mass’ hands steady as he carefully cuts away the clothes that were starting to clot to his skin, checking to be sure there was no debris left in the wounds before he started to clean and stitch him back together, “I’ve had plenty worse.” The last part is muttered, possibly not meant to be heard or even spoken– but blood-loss often loosens the tongue.

“Kid—” Rhode Island’s voice is strained, eyes wide like the others as they can only gape and stare, “You’re practically disemboweled, your left arm is shredded, and you nearly lost your jugular— what could possibly be worse?”

Congress blinks, “Oh,” he mutters, “Did I say that out loud?”

“Ya sure did, hun.” Maryland carefully pats his shoulder, handing the disinfectant to Mass when the other State reaches out for it, “Ya mind explainin’?”

“It’s nothing.” the younger dismisses with a wave, before his hand is shoved back down, “Simply a slip of the tongue. A new State was just inducted, you see, and is rather easily frightened…it’s been a rough month for sleep, indeed.”

A new State hadn’t been inducted since the 1950’s, but Gov was wearing something closer to what they remember him wearing in the 1850’s.

“Congress…” It’s New Hampshire who thinks to ask, “What year is it for you.”

Green eyes blink slowly, tiredly– but he can’t sleep yet, not until his wounds are patched and he’s stable.

“Not this year.” Congress grins, wide with teeth— Congress never grinned with teeth— showing off long canines that reminded them of snake’s fangs, with a slight curve. “You look…close enough, yes– but far too different—”

“What year, Adam.”

The man finally seems to relax at his human name— and they suddenly feel terrible. For years, Congress and Assistant referred to them by their names in meetings and they did the same, and the two continued to do so even after the States stopped (The Ultimatum fresh on their minds and forming a habit they couldn’t break), until they just…stopped. Con— Adam, hums, a pleased purr-like sound.

“It’s nice to know you remember my name…” he mutters, voice growing quieter and quieter, “Only my Ro calls me that anymore, besides the humans…”

“Adam!” Virginia’s voice is loud as the younger man starts to doze.

“It’s February…” he says, blinks growing slower and longer, “1846…”

Massachusetts taps his face roughly, “Stay awake, kid. Stay awake!”

But Adam doesn’t seem to hear him, doesn’t even seem to process the tapping, and his eyes fall closed.

“ADAM!”

———————————————————————

When Adam wakes up, he’s in a bed– a bed not his own. He’s dressed in clothes he doesn’t recognize, bandages wound tight around his midsection and one of his arms.

The room he was in was a deep blue-green, with dark wooden furniture and bookshelves lining one wall. A desk sits between the bookshelves, covered in books and papers and pens. An old recliner, one he faintly remembered sending his Pa Pennsylvania as a gift several years ago. Like all the other gifts he sent the States, it did not elicit a response, but he had gotten used to that particular heartbreak no he didn’t, he never did.

He shifts, finding himself unable to move.

He’s lying in the middle of a large bed, with two people on either side. He listens, allowing his eyes to turn back and forth to study the ones that had brought him here. Not his wife, not his children…

His parents.

On his right, Virginia slept pressed against his side, face buried in Congress’ hair. Pennsylvania was next to them, arm reaching across the Old Dominion to hold onto Congress’ arm. On his left, Maryland lay just a few inches away from his injured arm, one of his legs tossed over Congress’. Georgia on his other side, hand reached across to rest on Congress’ bandaged torso.

The way they positioned themselves was to discourage any movement for whoever they held onto, and would allow them to wake up if there was any attempt to get out of the bed. A perfect position, and it would work…

If he wasn’t Congress.

By 1846, Congress has so far raised 20 children, with his 21st arriving little more than a month ago. They all still live in his house, and his bed is often overrun by the younger ones when they grow afraid– be it nightmares or storms or their own memories of their past lives. Congress and his dear Assistant have many decades of practice of getting out of much heavier holds without waking anyone up.

He moves slowly, gentle nudges here and there and subtle shifts of his body. Even when they grumble and twist and move closer, he stays patient, and soon he’s standing at the edge of the bed, feet on the rug, and looking down at his sleeping parents.

Georgia (Pop), Virginia (Mapa), Maryland (Papa), and Pennsylvania (Pa).

It’s…a strange feeling. He hasn’t slept in the same bed as his parents since he was still young, sick with the Government’s ups and downs during the revolution. Always so sick yet so busy. They had to hold him down so he’d actually rest, because Robin was busy as well, taking over his responsibilities until the Revolution ended and so did his illnesses. It left a mark, though, and now when he gets sick, he gets sick. His immune system never quite recovered all the way.

He shakes his head, looking down at the clothes they had managed to put on him; a pair of long, soft trousers in a dark plaid pattern, with a white shirt several sizes too large for him– likely Georgia’s.

He moves carefully, making sure he doesn’t step too loudly or on any creaky floorboards. He turns the doorknob slowly, sliding through the thin opening and closing it all the way before releasing the knob– he didn’t need the click of a door shutting, possibly waking them up.

He gazes into the dark hallway, an incredibly dim glow from his eyes— unnoticeable to the naked eye at a casual glance. He sees perfectly well, no matter the light, and he makes his way to the banister he sees in the middle of the hall. It leads to a staircase, one he walks down gingerly– if he made too much noise, he’d wake someone. They deserved to sleep.

He finds himself in a sort of sitting room, filled with long couches and end tables, with a massive, flat, black slab hanging on the wall. He studies the area, wandering through connected rooms– a large kitchen, dining room with a long table, several more hallways leading to rooms he’d explore later– before he finds himself in the sitting room once more.

He’s about to head off down another hall, when a sharp gasp cuts him off. His head snaps to the sound, and the person jumps with a near-silent, “Shit—”

“Language.” he says nearly automatically, voice still quiet as he studies the other.

The man in the doorway is tall and broad, leaning against the doorframe with a hand to his chest in surprise. He’s dressed in dark red pants and shirt, a set– Congress thinks. He has a wide-brimmed hat that couldn’t be comfortable to sleep in, and familiar grey-blue eyes, though in a slightly lighter shade than his wife’s own. His hair is brown, and reminds him of Georgia’s own hair color, if a little lighter. He has a short beard, slightly rounding out a sharp jaw.

“You must be another State.” Congress observes, entire body turning to face the other.

“Yeah–yeah, I’m—” the man cuts himself off, clearing his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “Uh, nevermind– what’re you doin’ down here?”

Congress smiles at him as the man takes a few steps closer, “I woke up.”

The man looks to be expecting Congress to continue, but he just smiles.

The man sighs, “Christ. Well– ya shouldn’t be down here. If the old men up there wake up and you aren’t there? They’re gonna freak on ya, Pa–” he cuts himself off suddenly, but Congress heard.

Ah.

“You’re one of my States, then.” he observes, words slow on his tongue as the large man seems to shrink. He recognizes him, now. The State of Texas, the Lone Star State. The same face that would hide in his wife’s skirts or in Congress’ coats. “One of my sons…”

Texas. Gabriel Jones.

“Dunno what yer talking about.” Texas grumbles, looking away, “My Pa is dead. Don’ know why ya look like ‘im now, but— but ya ain’t him. Yer too different now, ya can’t be him.” he crosses his arms, a scowl on his face. He doesn’t look like he believes his own words.

Congress steps in front of him, frowning. a hand coming up to the taller man’s shoulder, and the other– his injured arm– raised to touch the opposite wrist.

“I recognize you.” he mutters, and Texas’ turns his gaze down to meet his own, “You’re quite different now.” The State’s brows scrunch up, lips pressed thin, but Congress smiles, “I’m proud to see you all grown up, Gabriel.”

The boy breaks.

He leans into Congress, and the man holds his weight easily, uncaring of his injured arm even as his son tries to be mindful as he buries his face in the shorter’s shoulder.

“Most of ‘em don’t like me.” Gabriels’ voice cracks and Congress is reminded of the chubby-cheeked boy that this man once was. “Think I agree with what my politicians do an’ say– wouldn’t believe me if I said I didn’t. I know they wouldn’t, no matter what the 13 Papa’s say— cause we’re supposed to agree with ‘em.” The state burrows closer, and Congress is hit with the urge to hold him.

So he does. Picks him up like he does all his children, no matter how old or big they get. One wouldn't think Congress could pick someone Gabriels’ size up, despite the Government’s own bulk and height, but he does– ignoring the sharp pangs in his arm. His son needs comfort, his body can wait.

Gabriel curls tighter as Congress sits on the couch, sat sideways on the mans legs and pressed close to his chest.

“If I don’ agree wit’ ‘em, they get angry.” Gabriel admits, “I– I can’t handle angry.”

Gabriel had always been afraid of loud outbursts of emotion, especially when the were upset outbursts.

Especially when they were violent outbursts.

Congress lifts the boys hat off his head, setting it on one of the nearby tables, and hums– hand reaching to pet through the boys hair.

“I’ve learned,” he starts slowly, “That as a Personification, you don’t always need to agree with your Politicians. You agree with your People, and your politicians don’t always reflect the views of the public.” he presses a kiss to Gabriel’s temple, and the boy starts to relax, Congress’ shoulder already soaked wet, but he pays no mind, “We’re still our own entities, even with all the changing views and points of populations. We don’t need to agree with everything.” Congress purses his lips, “They made it illegal for me to openly disagree in public settings, but in the halls of Government Buildings I was allowed free reign of my opinions– and they knew it. They held their tongues because in those buildings, on those properties, I have all the power, and I am unafraid to confront them about their incorrect views— especially their views of my children and wife.” He holds Gabriel tighter, “I made it so they could never force any of you in such a box, unable to voice what you believe, like they did to me. So make no mistake, if they’re trying to do such things– force you to hold your tongue, force you to hide what you believe, tell me. I may not be able to do much as I am, but I’m sure the me that belongs to this time won’t let it stand.”

Gabriel is quiet.

“...You don’t love us anymore.” he admits, and Congress’ heart goes cold.

“I’ll always love you.” he whispers fiercely, eyes narrow as he stares down at his boy, “I don’t care what happens between us, because it hasn’t happened yet.” he hisses, but his grip remains soft and comforting, “And if you try to tell me that I don’t love you again, I’ll have your hide, young man.”

“Ya’ sure?”

“Yes.” Congress says with confidence and finality, as if it’s the only possible truth, and Texas– Gabriel– can’t help but believe him.

The man shifts until they’re lying down, Gabriel’s head on his chest– and the weight is heavy on his injuries, but he doesn’t care in the slightest.

“Go to sleep,” he says gently, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

———————————————————————

He wakes to snickering, to the weight atop him tense and feels the heat of embarrassment from his son’s face through his shirt. He feels the weight, Gabriel, start to move, but he holds him tight. He won’t let his son be embarrassed by wanting affection from his Pa. He knows its a human social norm, but really– humans are so stupid most of the time. He senses three others to the side of the couch, watching them. Ohio, Indiana, and Alabama.

He knows it’s still dark, and thus none of the children should be awake.

He doesn’t even open his eyes when he speaks.

“Be nice to Gabriel.” he mutters, “You all do the same thing, even when I’m from.”

“Yeah– when we were kids.”

“You’re 42 when I’m from, Arthur. I do not want to hear the words ‘when we were kids’ in regards to something you still do.” he runs a hand through Gabriels’ hair, and feels the tension leave his son, “There’s no shame in it. So go back to your rooms or situate yourselves down here. You’re mother will be disappointed to find you awake at this hour.”

He hears shuffling of feet and grumbling, not reacting as a blanket is thrown over he and Gabriel.

He ignores the pain his body is in and falls back asleep.

———————————————————————

When he wakes up, he finds several more presences in the room, scattered around him.

But he can hardly tell who they are, not with the four affectionate, exasperated, concerned, and furious faces staring down at him.

“Nearly gave us a heart attack, boy.” Pennsylvania growls quietly, so as not to wake the other states in the room, “Waking up to find our injured kid not in bed, where he should be.”

Congress blinks up at him, “I got distracted.”

Virginia snorts, and Pennsylvania throws his arms up in the air, storming to the kitchen. Georgia settles in a nearby chair, and Maryland follows Pennsylvania into the kitchen.

Virginia crouches down, a little bit closer, running a hand through Congress’ hair.

“Ya alright, kiddo?” they ask, “You look kinda stuck. ‘M sure yer Pop wouldn’t mind—”

“I’m fine.” he replies, arms closing tighter around the State in his arms, Gabriel still fast asleep, “He’s fine where he is.”

Virginia and Georgia look at each other, before the Old Dominion State shrugs his shoulders, joining the others in making breakfast for the household.

“Lemme know if ya need up, kiddo.” Georgia drawls, “I know he can be heavy, and ya still injured.”

“I’ll live.” it’d been so long since his parents acted like his parents, how does he act like a son?

Georgia just shakes his head, “Not the point, kiddo.”

“My son needs comfort and I am providing it. My body can wait.”

“Yeah– well, my son is grievously injured and snuck out of bed.” Georgia raises a tired brow, “And now he’s barely 200 pounds with over 300 pounds of full-grown man on top of him despite that. Let us worry.”

Congress scoffs, “My children are babies. I don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘full-grown man’. Nonsense.” he dismisses.

Georgia seems amused. Congress had always been quick to confront when he just woke up.

“And my son is also a baby, I’ll have ya know.” he leans over the arm to poke at Congress’ forehead, “A soft, squishy kiddo. Cutest kid, I tell ya.”

“Impossible, my children are angels. No one’s cuter than they are.”

“I dunno, buddy. My kid’s pretty cute…”

“I will continue to ignore your declaration, as you are incorrect.”

Congress feels a shift in his arms, looking down to find Gabriel starting up at him with a red face.

“‘M full grown, Pa.” the southerner mutters, but Congress just hums.

“Lies. You are but a boy.”

“Shuddap.”

“A sweet little boy—”

“Pa.”

“—one I love so dearly—”

“Stop.”

“—one who deserves the world.”

Gabriel relents, simply burying his burning face back into his Pa’s torso, mumbling disagreements Congress doesn’t mind.

———————————————————————

Congress enjoys the looks on his children's faces, as that morning’s conversation led to him refusing to call any of them adults.

“I’m an adult, Pops! I’m allowed to use the ‘big kid words’, as you put it!”

“No. My babies don’t need such vulgar language.”

“We ain’t babies!”

And it annoys them to no end.

He loves it.

———————————————————————

Betrayed by his own parents and uncles , he finds that none of them listen when he protests being forced back to bed upstairs. He avoids their grasp as best the can– but then, they do something unforgivable.

They sic his children on him!

“Please, Papa?” Illinois says, hands held together and eyes wide.

“Papere?” Louisiana has a soft grip on his uninjured arm, eyes furrowed— always too grown, always too worried for his age.

“Papá!” Florida tugs on his shirt, just like he did when he was a smaller boy.

Several sets of wide, worried eyes— and he knows some of them are being dramatic for the effect it has on him. His dear Infinity taught their children the Art of Emotional Manipulation in order to get him to care about himself more. He hates it.

But he loves his children and he’s the one meant to be worrying about them, goddammit.

So he lets himself be herded upstairs by the firm hands of his Uncle Will New Hampshire, and lets Uncle Eddie Massachusetts check his injuries and rebandage them. He will never admit being grateful for no weight on the injuries, because he was more so grateful to hold his children.

Nor will he admit to falling asleep when Mapa Virginia runs their hand through his hair, the Old Dominion humming something Congress didn’t recognize.

“It was on one winter day from my home I went away

Far away from friends and home I longed to roam

But tonight I’m lone and sad just a little homesick lad

And I’m longing for my old Virginia home…”

And he’s asleep before the first verse is over.

———————————————————————

He awakes back in the room with blue-green walls and dark wood furniture. White curtains shut, letting in little light. The clock on the wall tells him it’s 1:00 p.m. The bed has deep brown sheets and a white quilt, with a pale green/brown/white plaid comforter and two pillows of the same color. A chair had been moved to the bedside,

He sits up, throwing the fabric off his legs and shifts to stand—

“Congress, no!” Pennsylvania’s stern snap makes him pause, looking up to the door where the man steps into view, carrying a metal tray with a steaming ceramic bowl, glass cup, and a small bottle of…something Congress doesn’t recognize.

The Keystone State sets the tray on the side table, herding Congress back into the bed and fixing the comforters.

“You’re staying right here for a while, boy! Gave us a heart attack this morning, and ya still injured! Yer not leaving this bed until Eddie says so!”

“I’m not— it’s unnecessary—” he tries to reassure, but raises his hands placatingly and clamps his mouth shut when Pennsylvania glares.

“You stay right here,” The State demands, an accusing finger pointed directly at him, “Until I get back, alright?”

Congress nods his head dutifully, and tension eases from Pennsylvania's shoulders.

“Good,” he says, voice soft in a way Congress hadn’t heard in years– hadn’t heard since he was so often ill— as his hand comes up to ruffle his hair. “Alright, kiddo, yer Mapa made ya soup and sent up some painkillers.” he takes two small tablets out of the unfamiliar bottle and holds them out, “Take em with the water and eat ya food, I’ll be right back.”

The tray is settled over his lap, but Pennsylvania doesn’t leave the bottle of small tablets.

Congress swallows them as he was told, drinks a bit of the water, and stares at the soup.

…

He…never eats much. They only ever go to the market twice a month, and can only purchase so much so the humans don’t get suspicious. He and his wife often go without during food shortages so the children can eat as much as they need.

Most of their food comes from hunting in proper seasons, but it’s dead of winter and the temperatures have caused many of his more Southern children to grow sick. It’s all hands on deck, in his time. There’s no period he can go out, nor would he send his children out in the freezing temperatures.

Just a moment later, the door creaking open snaps him out of his staring contest with the broth.

He looks up, spotting three faces peeking into the room.

Maine, Vermont, and a face he doesn’t recognize.

“Hello.” he greets, carefully moving the tray with the uneaten soup back to the bedside.

“Hey…” Maine’s the one to speak, shuffling his feet as they step into the room, “You busy?”

“Of course not.” Nothing could stop him if his family needed him, not work, not the humans, not even God himself. “Is something wrong?”

Maine shakes his head, but Vermont and the Other are far too quiet– gazes not looking at him and scuffing their feet on the floor.

He knows that look.

It’s the same look Gabriel had last night.

“Jackson.” he says firmly, eyes focusing on the other State, “What’s wrong?”

Maine’s shoulder scrunch up, and there’s a shuddering breath.

“...We’ve missed you..” he says, “Even those of us you haven’t met yet– it’s just…” he chokes off, “It’s been a long time…”

Congress relaxes a bit, brows still furrowed in worry as he stares at them a moment. They stare back, half-hearted and concerned.

He smiles, and opens his arms.

———————————————————————

Pennsylvania comes back not even five minutes later, staring at the scene in his room.

Congress running hands through Vermont and Maine’s hair, with California practically buried in his abdomen.

His son just smiles at him, unrepentant.

“I stayed, didn’t I?” he says.

Pennsylvania’s eyes narrow when he catches sight of the untouched bowl, resting innocently on the side-table.

“I’m gettin’ yer Pops…” he says, “and yer gonna eat the fucking soup, boy.”

They end up having to force him to eat it, with Pennsylvania and Georgia holding him still so Maryland can feed it to him. Virginia in charge of herding the three younger States out of the room.

He’s hungry, yes, but he’s not used to eating when he’s hungry!

Sure, he feels better once the bowl is empty— if tired— but still!

———————————————————————

The day continued much the same after that, being cornered by States– even ones he didn’t recognize— with tears in their eyes. Tears he would wipe away and soothe with soft words and strong hugs that made some of them cry more.

And by 10 p.m, his children are all sent to bed— despite protesting their grandparents.

“Sleep is important.” Congress had said, silencing their protests, “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Even if not in this body, but the one they know now.

“If I’m simply de-aged, does that mean my Ro is still here as normal?” he hums his question as his parents start to settle in.

All bodies, save for his, go tense.

“Shit.”

Virginia scrambles out of the bed, pulling a small, thin slab from the table– the front of it lights up like the large slab in the sitting room!– and tapping their fingers on the light.

They presse another button, and a ringing fills the room.

It only rings for a moment, before it stops.

“Hello, Virginia.” Congress perks up, even through the thin static device, his wife’s voice was one he would always recognize, “Is there something you need?”

“Um– no,” the State chuckles nervously, “But—there’s been an…accident.”

Silence.

“What sort of accident?”

“Well, Florida and Louie were messing with Voodoo—and, well…Gov got caught in the middle of it.”

“...These children will be the death of me…” is a near silent mutter, before she clears her throat, “Do you require aid?”

“No– no! We have it handled! It just…de-aged him…a little bit…”

“How old is he?”

“Well, uh— from what he says, it’s February, 1846 for him.”

Assistant hums through the device.

“I was wondering why he wasn’t answering my calls… Alright, just after Gabriel then. Make sure he sleeps, make sure he eats— knowing him, he’ll forget both— and call if you require help. I’m currently on a trip for business, but I can cut it short or send one of the boys if need be.”

“I’m alright, Ro.” Congress says, “Everyone here seems sad, though. We’ll have to work on that.”

“Of course we will, Adam.” Robin’s voice is softer now, “Behave, would you? Let me know when it wears off.”

“Of course.” he agrees easily, not even thinking. His Ro asked it of him, he’ll find a way to do it.

The static ends with a click.

“That was nice,” he mutters, “I miss her.”

It’s quiet as Virginia crawls back into place.

“Just a few more days, Kiddo.” Pennsylvania says, ruffling his hair soothingly, “You’ll see her soon.”

And Congress is asleep.

———————————————————————

On the third day, they wake up to an empty space.

“Why does he keep doing that?” Georgia groans.

“Kid wouldn’t stay down if he was bolted to the floor.” Penn rolls off the bed.

Virginia mutters something into the sheets as Maryland stretches his arms with a groan.

The house is silent.

Not a single noise beyond their footsteps.

The last few days, the house has been a cacophony of noise– a joyous kind of noise, one that reminds them of children at the park with their parents. Congress was all too willing to indulge what his States want from him.

Something’s wrong.

Georgia takes the lead after a silent near-physical brawl to keep Pennsylvania behind him, as they take a glance over the railing.

The sofas are full, and through the archway they see more States in the dining room. They’re all staring at someone in the kitchen, muttering amongst themselves. Some of them spot them, putting fingers to their lips in a shushing motion.

Gov stands in the kitchen staring blearily up at the tallest cabinet, one near everyone needed a stepstool to reach. It was where they kept their energy drinks, to avoid the States that shouldn’t be drinking them from getting them.

“Ivan.” Gov calls, voice loose and tired, and Alaska shifts to face him, “Why are they on the top-shelf?”

“Aakaq said you’re not allowed to have those anymore, Aata.” Alaska says easily.

Gov just humphs.

“I will climb the darn counter, then.” he says, and they know he will, even with the full coffee pot they hadn’t noticed in his hand.

Congress had appeared in clothes from the time he was from, but it seems the clothes Gov had been wearing didn’t return– still dressed in the pants and shirt they had given him. But, even through the loose fabric, they could see the faint outline of his brace.

Climbing that counter was a no-go for his health, and they all knew it.

Just as he gets a knee on the counter, North Carolina appears behind him, hands under his arms and lifting the Government clean off his feet.

Gov lets himself dangle, not seeming to process the situation.

“No.” is all the Southerner says, taking a few steps back from the cabinet.

Gov processes, huffs, and chugs the entire contents of the coffee pot still in his hand in mere seconds.

“GOV?!” Virginia appears in front of him, hands hovering, “WHY?!”

“Ro’s not here to regulate my caffeine.” is all he says as North Caroline slowly sets him down, the shock and horror on their faces not on his mind, “This is the third pot I’ve had today.”

“IT’S EIGHT IN THE MORNING?!”

There’s a sigh from the doorway, before the coffee pot is carefully taken from Gov by a very unimpressed Assistant.

“I regulate your caffeine because your body doesn’t process it properly.”

Gov mumbles something, leaning into her as she sets the pot on the counter.

Robin sighs again, turning to face them with a smile.

“Sorry about him,” she says, “He’s never been a morning person when sick or injured.”

“I’m fine.” he protests, but Robin just pats his shoulder.

“Yer really not.” Michigan crosses his arms with a huff, but Gov waves a hand at him.

“Quiet, Sam.” he mutters, and the State goes tense– Gov never called them by their human names, only Congress did—

But Gov was Congress, wasn’t he? Before the war.

“Be nice to the kids.” Robin huffs, shifting his weight, “They’re just worried.”

“Kids shouldn’t be worried about their parents.”

“Well, it’s a long way from that.” she raises a brow, despite the fact that he can’t see it, “The departments have been worried for years, and don’t get me started on the agencies.”

“Ugh.” is the only response.

Robin smiles, gaze focusing on Virginia, “I’ll take him back home.” she says, “I’ll send updates on his recovery, he’s not going back to work like this.” she makes a vague motion to his bandaged arm.

“I can work…”

“But you won’t.”

Gov sighs, “But I won’t…” he relents.

“Good.” she hums, “I would hate to have to call the children to keep you in bed.”

She gives them another smile, before a soft sizzle and pop marks their disappearance.

It’s silent.

———————————————————————

“Gov is Congress.” is the blank observation. “He’s…he’s not dead.”

“But how?”

“DC never outright said he died. We just assumed based on the information he gave us…”

“And then we never tried to check.”

“Christ, no wonder he’s so closed off— we nearly killed him and never checked up.”

“And we never talked about Congress, so he never knew we thought he was dead.”

“Fuck.”

The OG13 Table is full, confused and concerned and angry faces in every seat.

“And we weren’t exactly receptive in 2021…”

“How did we not see it? He looks the same.”

“It was more than a hundred years by then, there were some changes…”

“Hair style changes for everyone–”

“‘Cept Jersey.”

“HEY!”

“–‘Cept Jersey. And his eyes were a different color.”

“He was paler too, sicker when he showed up.”

“Still, he was our boy and we didn’t recognize him. We were downright hostile at times!”

…

“What do we do now?”

“We gotta figure out what happened to our baby. Talk to him, figure it out.”

“But the Ultimatum—”

“No longer matters. Because I guarantee Ro and Adam would kill them if they tried that shit. Our kids got hurt because we were too afraid to go against the humans back then. But there were only thirteen of us then, and there’s more than 50 of us now—”

“There’s only 50 States—”

“—And the territories are counted. Don’t forget the Departments, Agencies, or Cities either.”

…

“You’re right.” a sigh, “The Ultimatum had an expiration but we were still too afraid of losing them to do anything about it after.”

“And now we gotta make up for it!”

They would figure out what happened to their Kiddo and Birdie, if it killed them or not.

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.