12-28-1845

12-28-1845

The Day the State of Texas was formed.

———————————————————————

The Republic of Texas. A country between the United States and Mexico, young still. The Government, or Country– depending on the place, the Corresponding Personification would be called one or the other, but they were one in the same– still barely in the body of a teenager.

Carlos, Adam knew his name to be, looked…well, he looked young. Covered in bruises and scrapes and blood that he wasn’t quite sure belonged to the personification or not. He was gaunt and thin, and looked at the older man with such desperation.

It’s December 28th, 1845. The boy– for that’s all he really was– having nearly begged for Adam to meet him.

He had said, then;

“Señor, no puedo– no puedo hacer esto. No puedo ser un país.”

Sir, I can’t do this. I can’t be a country.

The boy had stumbled, body too weak to hold himself up on his own feet. Adam moved forward to catch him, holding the dirty, ragged teenager– his clothes torn and eyes wide with a primal sort of fear, the boy had no shoes– thin fingers clutching to his coat.

“Por favor, señor, no me envíe de vuelta al Maestro— a España. Por favor, haré lo que quieras.”

“Shhh,” he soothes the boy, hand coming up to brush through wavy curls, not as tight as Louisiana’s, not as loose as Florida’s. “No volverás con él, muchacho. Te quedarás aquí conmigo. Haré todo lo posible para mantenerte a salvo, ¿de acuerdo?”

I’ll keep you safe.

“Sí, sí señor, por favor–”

“Shhh..” the body in his arms grows weaker, fading, and Adam can feel the grainy feeling of his skin fragmenting, “It’s alright…”

It takes a minute, maybe two, for the teen in Adam’s arms to shatter, only the be pulled together once again– smaller, younger.

Different.

He catches the toddler, drapes him in the blanket he had over his shoulder since he arrived. He knew it would happen when the paperwork was finished, the Republic of Texas annexed, becoming the new State of Texas.

He shifts his hold, looking down at the small child.

“I think Gabriel is a suitable name.” he says softly, thumb running across the young fat of the boy’s cheek. “Let us go, then. Your mother will be happy to meet you.”

And he turns on his heel, walking away from the empty clearing– the gravesite of a nation unable to be, unable to grow.

Hopefully, this child– his son– will not face the same fate.

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.

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.

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.

Family Ties AU Human Names

Gov = Adam Jones

Exec = Robin “Ro” Jones

IDC = Abigail “Abby” Jones

DC = Daniel Jones

USDA = Elizabeth “Liz” Jones

DOC = Mary Jones

DOD = Robert Jones

ED = Rebecca Jones

DOE = Christopher Jones

DHHS = Barbara Jones

DHS = Zachary “Zach” Jones

HUD = Mark Jones

DOI = Emma Jones

DOJ = Jack Jones

DOL = Jason Jones

DOS = Gideon Jones

Treasury = Oliver Jones

DOT = Timothy “Tim” Jones

VA = Matthew “Matt” Jones

Alabama = Lucas Jones

Alaska = Ivan Jones

Arizona = Eric Jones

Arkansas = Theodore “Theo” Jones

California = Brooklyn “Brooke” Jones

Colorado = Joshua Jones

Connecticut = Henry Jones

Delaware = David Jones

Florida = Ian Jones

Georgia = John Jones

Hawaii = Mikala Kameāloha

Idaho = Noah Jones

Illinois = Walter Jones

Indiana = August Jones

Iowa = Caleb Jones

Kansas = Evan Jones

Kentucky = Elias “Eli” Jones

Louisiana = Gustave “Gus” Jones

Maine = Jackson Jones

Maryland = James Jones

Massachusetts = Edward Jones

Michigan = Samuel “Sam” Jones

Minnesota = Jasper Jones

Mississippi = Rylee Jones

Missouri = Owen Jones

Montana = Felix Jones

Nebraska = Maxwell “Max” Jones

Nevada = Cassian “Cassie” Jones

New Hampshire = William Jones

New Jersey = Jacob Jones

New Mexico = Camilo Jones

New York = Thomas Jones

North Carolina = Anthony Jones

North Dakota = Andrew Jones

Ohio = Arthur Jones

Oklahoma = Eugene Jones

Oregon = Miles Jones

Pennsylvania = Patrick “Pat” Jones

Rhode Island = Stephen Jones

South Carolina = Benedict Jones

South Dakota = Aiden Jones

Tennessee = Richard “Rickie” Jones

Texas = Gabriel Jones

Utah = Micah Jones

Vermont = Isaac Jones

Virginia = Laurence “Lauri” Jones

Washington = Sebastian Jones

West Virginia = Boe Jones

Wisconsin = Chester Jones

Wyoming = Dexter Jones

Puerto Rico = Mateo Rivera

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.