Wttt Pennsylvania - Tumblr Posts

Pennsylvania: if we lose you’re out of the will.

Gov: ?? I’m in the will???

my pennsylvania design <3

this took so long bc i couldnt decide on a hairstyle and facial hair style, and then i went and did a ton of research to find out what other characteristics i could give him that relate back to the state- and i settled on carhartt

i have a headache rn so i didnt go much further with rendering or anything-

The Ultimatum

What caused the OG13 to pull away.

———————————————————————

It was in 1814, January to be specific, when the Original 13 States were summoned by the President. No other State, just the thirteen of them.

They enter the meeting room, the one saved for meetings between them and the President. Though, they notice, Adam and Robin’s seats are suspiciously empty. Those seats are never empty. They’re always involved in meetings with the Presidents.

Something’s wrong.

Very wrong.

But, that’s probably why they’re here, so they swallow their concern and take their seats.

President Madison clears his throat, and lifts his papers.

“My fellow Congressmen, my fellow Senators, my fellow Representatives, and the Supreme Court have been engaged in rigorous discussion these last few years.” he says, “And we have agreed it is in the Nation’s best interest that you refrain from interacting with Continental Congress and Executive Assistant outside of business.”

You could hear a pin drip in the silence that ensued.

“I’m sorry, President Madison,” Virginia said with a strained smile, “I’m afraid I might have misheard. Surely you’re not asking us to stop interacting with our children.”

“I’m not asking.” is the unwavering response, “Failure to comply will lead to…unpleasant consequences.”

“You can’t do anything to us that hasn’t been done before.” Delaware raises his brow, “What could you possibly do?”

“Congress and Assistant will be permanently terminated, and new Personifications will be formed in their place.”

The only way to ‘terminate’ a personification, especially a government…

Is to kill them.

“You’re humans.” Pennsylvania’s voice doesn’t shake, but his eyes are narrowed, “You can’t kill a personification. Nor can you form a new one.”

The President smiles.

A cold, cruel smile.

“You think no one’s figured out how in the last million years?” he asks, “The notes are hidden, yes, but there are ways to kill a Government Personification. Ways that have been documented, documents we have found.” he’s grinning now, “And, if those methods don’t work, we can simply lock them up. Keep them here and make them work until they drop dead from it. No sleep, no meals, only work– and dire consequences if they ever stop working.” Madison tilts his head, “I’ve heard that Personifications can take quite the beating; I wonder how much it would take to keep them down?”

There’s nothing they can say. Because they know: know how cruel humans are, know how greedy they are, know how far they’re willing to go– and they’re still so new. Maybe not in age, but as States. As people with power over the humans that live on their lands.

It won’t be for a few more decades that they learn they can cause their own natural disasters without affecting themselves, that they can influence the minds and opinions of their people without saying a word, that they learn they can say no.

So they agree.

They answer letters marked as business and avoid Ad– Congress and Rob– Assistant outside of meetings and nothing else. They vanish after meetings– though they do interact with their grandkids as best as they can, it’s hard when they’re still young– and call them by their…proper names.

Continental Congress. Executive Assistant.

Congress and Assistant.

They see the confusion, see it melt away into hurt, see it fade behind walls and locks and chains within burning green and stormy blue eyes.

They feel the worst sort of pain when they’re no longer called Pa or Papa or Pop or Uncle, and instead are summoned by their State Title.

The weekly letters end not long after that, gifts sent only on the gifting-sort of Holidays. The mail Postmaster brings always entails business, or the names of their newest grandchildren (even those stop eventually, and they’re left to figure it out from newspapers or the first meeting they attend)

They don’t learn about the Fire of Washington until weeks after it happened, when A–Congress attended a meeting with a bandaged throat, face and arm, with a dull look in his one visible eye as Ro– Assistant spoke for him.

…

The letters from the Civil War were the hardest to read, with blood and teardrops smeared on parchment and Congress’ elegant writing– the handwriting he had been so proud to master when he was a boy– devolving into frantic, desperate scratches on paper.

And when DC appears, when he tells them that Congress– their boy, their nephew, their son– couldn’t do it anymore…they assumed the worst.

They knew it had all been in vain. Even after Madison had long passed, the boy they were trying to protect still died. The girl they were trying to save from a broken mind left with a broken heart.

But in 2021, with the flurry and worry around DC’s condition, Gov appeared.

He seemed older than a new personification usually was, he looked far too familiar– though many hardly noticed at the time. With dull grey eyes belaying walls and locks and chains they had once seen in Congress’ eyes.

They learn– it takes too long, they should’ve seen it– that their boy never died.

He changed, they all had, but he hadn’t died and he’s back with them once again. He brings their girl with him, still such a spitfire with the determination of a bloodhound.

They decide the Ultimatum they were given had an expiration, one long since overdue.

They were going to get their kids back, even if they had to drag Madison out of Hell, just to kill him all over again to do so.

Gunshots

This was not part of the plan!

*Mass disassociates, Gov gets shot*

———————————————————————

“Gus said there’s something under his suit.” Massachusetts leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and glaring at the ceiling, “Said it felt like a sheet of metal, said something similar was under his skin— in his shoulders.”

“He was tense as a board, Mass.” Virginia said, the the concern in their eyes countered their dismissal of the accusation. “Louie probably thought he felt something, with how stiff he was.”

“He winced,” New Jersey practically growled, “From falling on the softest things in the house. Not even a wince of surprise, eitha’.”

“He looked in pain.” New York finishes in a grumble.

Georgia broods in his seat, glowering into the distance, and Maryland keeps a hand on the larger mans’ arm— they know that, at this point, the Southerner would simply break down Gov’s door if they let him (He did the same thing when Congress got hurt and didn’t tell them. Would haul him downstairs and they’d fix him up (if he hadn’t already done so) and scold him for his recklessness. He did that often— no matter what they tried to get him to stop).

They’re not at The Table, but it’s one they have for when the 13 of them want to get together, discuss the Younger States and their kids and grandkids. And now they often discuss Gov, and his similarities to their Congress.

“Not much we can do about it, hun.” Maryland says, patting Georgia’s arm a few times, “He ain’t gonna show us, you saw how hard he tried to hide it.”

“So we just have to deal with knowing somethin’s up!?” New Hampshire throws his hands up to his hair, “What if it gets worse!?”

“It’s all we can do without forcin’ it.” North Carolina mutters, head buried in his hands.

“And forcin’ it will drive ‘im away.” South Carolina finishes.

Grumbles of concern, discontent, and frustration fill the room— with a heavy undertone of reluctant acceptance.

They could only wait, and hope they get a chance to see.

———————————————————————

When they said ‘wait and hope to get a chance’, they specifically didn’t want Gov to get shot!

Mass doesn’t know why someone would have a fully-loaded gun in public— scratch that, they’re in America. He couldn’t claim to expect any less, not even from NYC.

He barely remembers seeing Rhode Island, tiny twat that he is, barreling into the gunman’s back like a rabid dog—- the now empty gun falling several feet away. He didn’t pay attention to it, eyes wide and focused on one thing—- just like the rest of the State’s that had come to the City for the day.

Blood on the ground— continuing to drip drip drip even as he sprinted as fast as he possibly could in the direction of his injured fellow soldier— red red red spraying from their lips—

One of the bullets struck straight through Gov’s throat, barely missing everything important but with enough force to nearly tear his head off— and Mass can faintly see vocal cords beneath shredded skin.

Four struck his chest, around his lungs, though the one that went for his spinal cord didn’t seem to have an exit wound from what he could see.

The final bullet, the first one shot, had skimmed the side of his head, blood pouring down Gov’s face as he held a hand to his throat and chest, dripping from his lips as his lungs tried to stitch themselves back together inside— but it’d be awhile before he’d cough up all the blood. His eyes are half-lidded and dull, as if this is a normal situation as Penn tears off his Eagles jersey and shoos Gov’s hand from his neck, his own taking its place even as the fabric grows soaked with blood in mere minutes.

Mass skids to a stop in front of them, shoving Gov’s hand away from his chest to get a better look, other hand pressed against the side of the man’s head. There’s shouting, people are yelling and there are sirens in the distance. He vaguely hears the Carolina’s hauling Rhode Island off the bastard over the rushing in his own ears. He can hear his voice, barking something at Virginia and Maryland—

“Go get a place ready at the House! He’s losing too much blood!”

And it feels like he’s hearing the news of Congress’ death all over again— but this time, he’s watching it. He’s watching the boy’s eyes go dull by the second as blood spills over his hands.

So when he feels the tug, he goes— dragging the boy and Pennsylvania with him.

They land on a bed, one of the medical cots they usually keep in storage— soft and of the highest quality materials, made for comfort and ease of cleaning.

Gov’s eyes go wide and he lets out a silent pained gasp at the jostling, blood pouring from his mouth, covering his face even more with red red red.

He wonders faintly if this is what Robin, his daughter, had to see as her husband— his nephew, Continental Congress— ripped himself apart.

“Hold still,” he says sharply when Gov jerks in place, shifting to sit over top the man— he needs to see the wounds, needs to get the bullets out.

There’s a knife in his hand, his own pocket-knife, and sees himself cutting through Gov’s sweater, struggling to get the remains of it and his suit jacket off without moving him too much and risking further injury.

He sees a white undershirt, a compression top, sleeveless. It’s a thick fabric, made for support. He cuts through that, too.

He sees a scar, a four-pointed star across Gov’s entire chest.

He sees something black, reaching from his hip bones up to just under his rib cage. It’s thick and solid, with cotton padding. He’s used to such things being elastic, but this one seems solid, similar to the corsets all his daughters once wore. Beneath the fabric, between the padding, is a stiff weight— boning, he thinks. It’s custom-made. He doesn’t touch it.

“When did you get a facking back brace?” He hears himself hiss down at the man, blood roaring in his ears making everything dim. He hears intakes of breath, and hears Virginia trying to shoo away the States crowding at the door— the commotion drawing ears and eyes.

Gov looks too much like Congress for Mass’ grandkids to see him like this, and the man’s own children don’t need to see him like this either.

“Shut the damn door!” Pennsylvania shouts, sounding like he’s underwater as he tugs the cart of medical supplies closer, easier for Mass to reach. “John, JOHNNY! Help me out here!”

Gov was thrashing beneath them, as much as his own body and Mass’ weight would allow— but he was moving too much, eyes too afraid, he’s looking straight through them, at something far off.

Massachusetts hears the door close roughly, notices several of his fellow Original Colonies not in the room, likely keeping the younger States from coming inside.

Georgia presses his weight carefully on Gov’s shoulders, just enough to keep him from moving his upper half— one hand resting on the man’s forehead to keep his head still as well. Maryland’s state merch, specifically the flag he wears and his hat, is thrown across the room as the Old Line State starts to stitch the wound on his head, before moving onto his throat as Penn carefully pulls the ruined jersey away.

Mass can see his hands, steady despite how detached he feels as he pulls out a pair of tweezers to dig for the only bullet that lodged in Gov’s body.

Millimeters from his spine.

He’s careful, but then the tweezers pinch something solid and smooth — not bone — and Gov throws his head back and arches with a warbled, pained — pained cries, pained words, pain pain pain — scream.

“Masshole!” New York snarls,— he’s afraid, Mass can hear it in his voice, he’s lashing out because they’re all terrified of the scene they’re dealing with—climbing up to put pressure on thrashing legs, “Careful!”

“He’s got metal in his spine.” He hears his own voice hiss, finally getting hold of the bullet and pulling it out. It’s practically thrown across the room and he drops the tweezers, hands reaching for something he can’t see, coming back with a needle and thread. Virginia finishes with the disinfectant, each of their movements swift and purposeful.

He starts stitching.

Pennsylvania crouches down next to the bed, close to Gov’s head, and he’s whispering to him, muttering something— Gov looks so much like Congress, Pennsylvania can’t help but comfort the same way he does his kids.

“It’s okay, you’ll be okay. Just hang tight, Mass’ll be done soon, I promise.” There are more words, ones Mass can’t hear, ones Gov can’t seem to hear either.

Grey eyes are wild and flickering from side to side, hazy focus on each of them as they crowd. His lips are moving, like he wants to say something, like he’s repeating himself over and over again— and once Maryland finishes stitching his throat, setting to work on cleaning the remaining blood off his face when raspy words finally leave him—

“You’re killing me— why are you killing me?” The words are nearly silent, Mass can barely hear anything outside his own head, but he feels how they all suddenly tense at the phrases, “Was the War not enough— why’d you have to come here? Wanted to make sure I would die— that’s why— why else—“ Gov still has that far off look in his eyes, but the fear that radiates from him permeates the air like a thousand pound fog, and he continues mumbling.

Mumbling thimgs Congress— Adam— had written in his last few letters to them.

And Mass hears more voices, three joining Pennsylvania’s muttered comforts as Georgia starts running a hand through the mans— the boys— hair, and Gov finally goes limp, eyes sliding shut.

For a few minutes, all that’s left is having them lift the man so he can stitch up the exit wounds.

Once Mass hears himself give the all-clear, Gov is lifted, whisked away into the adjoining bathroom— they’d long claimed this room as their medical facility, and the bathroom reflected that.

He hears the shower start, faintly, realizing Georgia and Virginia had been the ones to take Gov away.

They have to clean him properly before they can bandage him. Maryland reappeared outside the bathroom door— another compression top and other clothes in his arms— they didn’t own any of those, he either found where Gov lives or just swiped them from the store or one of the younger States. He sees the clothes belong to Pennsylvania, the Eagles green that would normally piss him off just another thing his brain struggles to process as he stares down at his hands and the medical cot.

Red red red, so much red, so much blood— is he going to die? Did Mass not do enough?

Hands settle over his wrists, and he looks up.

New York and New Jersey look at him, brows furrowed in the exact same pinched expression.

Mass can only blink.

And he’s out of the cot, standing on two feet and feels two other hands scrubbing at his own under hot water, hears another person cleaning up the medical cot. He can’t tell which is which, but the grumbling from behind him tells him it’s New York cleaning the cot.

Soon, they’re all in new clothes, staring down at the sleeping Gov where he lies still in one of the beds in the room. They hooked him up to a few machines, they need to be able to know if something goes wrong.

Gov’s phone, thrown to the floor but undamaged, starts to ring.

The sound makes them jump, and they all turn to stare at it.

Virginia’s the one to pick it up, going pale at the name on the screen, “It’s Assistant.” They croak, before they click accept and hold the phone to their ear. “Hello.”

Mass doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation, but he sees Virginia speaking, reassuring, but he also sees the defeated look when the Old Dominion knows it’s a lost cause.

The air sizzles and crackles, and suddenly she’s there— eyes wide and near feral as Assistant shoves her phone back in her pocket.

She stares down at Gov, and they see her shoulder start to shake.

Mass can’t move— he hasn’t seen his daughter in over a hundred years, he wants to hold and comfort her because she’s— but New York does it for him.

The Empire State rests a hand on the woman’s— she had been a girl last they saw her— shoulder. She shakes more, and Mass can finally— finally— move.

He turns her, she can still look at Gov resting on the bed but it’s not the focus of her attention, and holds her to his chest. She’s taller than he remembers, but that doesn’t stop him from tucking her close like he had when her birds— her first birds— had died from age. New York and New Jersey are by her shoulders, and it’s just the four of them. They pay no mind to everyone else in the room, just as the rest ignore them.

She’s shaking, but she doesn’t cry. She simply stares down at the man lying in the bed and says, quietly,

“Thank you.”

And his chest erupts with a pain so sharp, he can only hold her tighter.

———————————————————————

Gov and Robin are gone the next day, not a single trace of them anywhere beyond a message from Gov, in the same style he always wrote in.

‘Thank you for the assistance, though unnecessary to burden yourselves. The next Meeting is set for 2 p.m on Monday, list of required attendees attached.’

Mass can hear Penn’s threats to ‘beat that stupid, reckless man’s ass’. He snickers to himself when he hears Georgia’s quiet agreement, and it feels almost like back then when their kids would vanish for hours on end, only to return injured.

Robin was perfectly fine to let Mass properly tend the injuries, but Adam always had to be held down by someone, no matter how small or grievous the injury.

The ache in his chest hasn’t gone away.

A Nightmare

Pennsylvania has a nightmare, and there is only one thing that can calm him down.

———————————————————————

It’s dark.

The cobblestone roads are old and worn by use, the streetlights illuminating the area around him.

He’s sitting on a bench, alone. The wind chills against his neck.

And then there’s someone next to him. A few inches shorter, but with his hair. Long, light brown hanging to his shoulders and tied back. There’s a tricorn hat on his head, a familiar black suit with golden details– a gift from himself and his partners to the man.

To their son.

Congress is still, stiff, not even looking at him– green eyes focused and staring straight ahead. His skin is pale, an ashen color that worries him.

Patrick Jones furrows his brow, but still greets the boy.

“Adam,” he says, “Are you alright? Yer lookin’ a bit grey.”

No answer.

“Adam?”

Not even a fidget.

Patrick huffs, growing annoyed at being ignored– though also concerned, Adam never ignored them.

“Continental Congress–” he says firmly, sternly, but the boys head jerks to face him before he can continue.

His jaw drops, and he can only stare in horror at his boys’ face.

Half of it, the half he hadn’t seen before, is nothing but sizzling skin and muscle and filthy, rotten bone. His entire right side is torn apart, clothes shredded and his body ripped apart– ribs splintered open like a cage around his still beating heart, revealed to open air.

The skin of his hands is peeled and torn away, revealing blood-soaked bones with bits a flesh on the ends. The wounds on his body are shaped odd, as if Congress tore out chunks of his own body himself.

The blood is dry and rotten, the smell suddenly hitting him, but he can’t move. Not when Adam stares at him with one, focused, burning green eye.

“..Pa…” is the hoarse, broken voice that comes from a torn throat – bullets, blood, stitches, barely missed his vocal cords. Teeth grey; blood, bugs and dirt pouring from his lips.“Why?...”

Patrick breathes, “...Why…what?”

“Why would you…kill me..? it hurts, Pa…”

The world shifts, and Patrick– he can’t breathe, he can’t see anything besides his son’s rotting corpse— he did that, oh god he killed his baby boy—

Rotten, broken hands reach out to him from the darkness, grabbing him- holding him down, and there are more hands, more bodies, and he’s—

———————————————————————

Pennsylvania wakes up with a muffled scream, shooting up into a sitting position.

Georgia, Virginia, and Maryland are awake, but he doesn’t see them– he’s struggling to stand– he needs to find his boy–

“Patrick!” Virginia says frantically, stepping in front of the Keystone State, “Honey, honey– it’s okay, it was a nightmare–”

“Adam–” is all Pennsylvania can gasp out, hand clutching his chest, “Where–? My boy– he’s–”

“He’s fine.” Virginia soothes, trying to guide the other back to bed, “He’s with Robin, alright? They’re perfectly fine.”

“No, no–” is all the Northeasterner can mutter, still trying to leave the room, “He’s– he’s not– he’s hurting– where’s my boy–”

Virginia throws a pleading glance over the other's shoulder, and Maryland nods– whipping out his phone and dialing a number they had never called outside of emergencies.

The receiver picks up almost immediately, and Maryland immediately starts muttering into the device.

It takes only a moment before he hangs up.

Virginia is still trying to keep Pennsylvania from leaving the room-- the other State seemingly unaware of where he is, or even when he is.

The air feels static around them, a tell-tale sign that lasts only a few seconds, before there’s a small crackle and a knock at the door.

Pennsylvania’s head jerks at the noise, and the door swings open.

Light brown hair– narrow, worried eyes– a small, grim frown– his boy shouldn’t be frowning, why is he upset?

Pennsylvania ducks out of Virginia’s grip, not even realizing it, before he’s practically wrapped around Congress. The boy is still shorter than him, but he’s a bit broader than he remembers, a few inches taller, but just short enough for Pennsylvania to bury his face in his son’s hair.

When had he cut his hair?

When had he grown so much?

When had he gotten so pale, was he growing ill again?

He presses his cheek to the boys temple, feeling for his temperature just to feel nothing out of the ordinary. He feels the boys chest rumble as he speaks to the others behind him, asking questions.

“You said there was an emergency?”

“Figured you’d rather come here than have him break down your door.”

“Hmm.” Adam’s arms wrap around him, and he does his best not to sag against his boy. He’s the Pa, dammit, his son shouldn’t have to take care of him. “It wouldn’t be the first time my door’s been torn off its hinges. I can stay if necessary.”

“Sorry, Gov, but he wasn’t listening.” there’s guilt in the tired voice, “He…doesn’t seem to be aware of where or when we are.”

Adam’s fingers tap against his back in a simple rhythm, and Pennsylvania feels himself start to droop with a sudden, bone-deep exhaustion.

He hears more muttering, the creaking of a bed as someone stands.

He feels hands around his waist.

“He seems to be asleep enough. We’ll take him so ya can go back home– sorry for troublin’ ya.”

The arms start to pull– pull him away from his boy who’s right there, he can feel his boys breath stutter and his boy is upset and hiding it—

He tears himself out of the grip like a man possessed, wrapping his boy up in his arms entirely. He herds the two of them closer to a wall– fewer openings for someone to try and drag either of them away– and glares at the three blurry figures as he tucks Adam’s head tight to his chest, blocking the boys vision.

He can feel his boy trying to peak over his arm at the figures, sees the figures trying to creep closer, and he growls. He feels his heart pounding against his ribs, feels his grip on his son tighten– before there’s a hand at his back and on his arm, and Adam is whispering– so quiet that no one but himself can hear what he says, and his growl goes silent so he can listen.

“Pa,” the boy says, and Pennsylvania closes in tighter around him, “It’s alright. It’s Mapa, Pop, and Papa. They won’t hurt you–” that’s not what he cares about, and he huffs. His boy pauses, seeming to think, “...they won’t hurt me.”

Pennsylvania glances back over his shoulder, and he slowly starts to relax. There are no faceless figures trying to take his son, just the faces of his concerned partners. He relaxes further, they’d help keep their boy safe.

He crouches, just a little, just enough to get a firm grip on his son in a way that won’t cause him any discomfort or pain, and he lifts.

Hands shift to grab at his shoulders, and there’s a small noise of surprise in the chest against him.

He takes long strides back to the bed— past Georgia, Virginia, and Maryland— and falls back onto it, pressing Congress’ head back to his chest and curling tighter, putting himself in the way of whatever may want to hurt his son— and there were so many people, so many things, that want to hurt Congress.

“Suppose I’m staying,” his boy says apologetically, “I apologize for intruding.”

Maryland rushes to assure him, “No, no, hon. You’re perfectly fine!” the other three take their time climbing back into the bed, keeping Congress in between them, “We’re sorry for gettin’ ya in this mess.”

“It’s fine,” Congress assures, “I’ve dealt with worse– this situation is actually strangely pleasant.”

“Shhh…” Pennsylvania mutters, shifting just a bit to hold Adam tighter, to cover him more, “Babies need to sleep…”

Congress must make a face, because Pennsylvania feels Georgia chuckling against his back, can hear the quiet snickers from the other side of the bed from Mary and Virginia.

“I assure you that I’m far from a baby—”

“Shhhhhhhh…” he says louder, into the boys hair, “Sleep.”

There’s a huff, some squirming, but he pays no mind as he falls asleep— his partners around him and his son– one of his babies, his Cities have missed their brother— safe, wrapped up in between them.

He lets himself drift.

———————————————————————

Gov is gone by morning, slipping from his Pa’s hold and carefully closing the door. He pops back to his home, leaning against the wall tiredly.

He sighs.

It’d been nice to call Pennsylvania his Pa– the man completely unaware of the date, unaware of whatever made them no longer wish to be his parents. He made sure Georgia, Virginia, and Maryland didn’t hear him when he called them those personal titles, he’s sure they would’ve been furious at him. He’s sure that they are, anyway, for Pennsylvania dragging him into their bed— even if they tried to reassure him that it was fine.

He runs a hand through his hair.

He’d have to send them a proper apology for the intrusion.

…

He wonders what Pennsylvania dreamt about, to have Maryland call him so late at night…

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.

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.

🥺

More doodles of le petit bebe Continental. PA does not know how to hold a child someone educate this disaster.

Do Cat!States have a paternity test? Either way, Penn isn't accepting kitten Con as his even though Virginia is about to whoop his ass

Hello 👋. Its 4 a.m and I can’t sleep. Have five of my Family Ties States.

@freshwolfhell

They can take turns beating him up :)

Based on