If We Were Younger

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.

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.

Tea

Robin’s feelings on tea.

———————————————————————

Robin Jones hates the taste of tea.

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

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

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

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

…

It reminds her of England and his beady eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…She hates the taste of tea.

Not Congress

He looks like Congress. He acts like Congress.

But he’s not Congress.

———————————————————————

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

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

Because, yes— he looked a lot like Congress.

But they knew he wasn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

They could wait a few months.

———————————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———————————————————————

“Mary–!”

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

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

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

———————————————————————

“What do we do? What do we do–”

“What did we do–?”

“We can’t do anything anymore–”

“We killed our Pa–”

“We forgot the others—“

———————————————————————

…

…

DC had never been fond of lying to family members.

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

Besides, it wasn’t really a lie…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The piano is played a lot more, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six nervous glances, shuffling feet, before,

“Ok.”

Pop!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few more little extras about him!;

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cali...ok!! Thanks, Lovely Anon!!

🔴 (Angst/Sad)

California was 14-in-body and 11-years-a-State when he ran away from home to join the Civil War. He was the last State to leave, the last State personification to join the war itself.

He was still young when he thought his father died. When he, and the others, started to avoid their mother; they thought she’d hate them for it (she would never). His self-esteem plummets, mostly due to his own thoughts than any outside interference.

In the 20’s through the 80’s, he was an alcoholic who did any drug he got his hands on. New Jersey and New York ended up staging an intervention, and he’s been mostly sober- aside from the occasional, supervised drink- since the 90’s.

Figuring out his dad isn’t dead, and learning what the Civil War did to his body and his mom’s mind... makes him want to start drinking again.

🏡(Home)

Like other States, he has several homes scattered throughout the State, but his main home is a literal mansion. Literally enormous, way more space than one man needs.

But, he’s a Material Gurl 💅💅, so it makes sense.

Former Hollywood Star in the 50’s and 60’s who retired with favourable reputation and vanished off the face of the earth, basically.

He has a fat cat all famous people have, his name is Alfonso and he is the sweetest cat to ever exist. It’s actually Alfonso’s house and Cal is just the roommate. <3

Pic of Alfonso’s house: (not really but its what I envision)

🌑(Sleep)

Literally the opposite of Colorado. As a kid he could sleep anywhere, anytime, and hardly wake up from anything.

Now he has very specific rituals and conditions for him to be able to sleep. When those specific conditions aren’t met he doesn’t sleep that night, and thus ends up passing out at 3 p.m in the middle of the kitchen floor.

👔(Clothes)

The black skinny jeeeeaaans. He’s got legs and he’s gonna show em off.

White shirt, it’s simply, easy, goes with everything.

Has a lot of jewelry, mostly gold and silver. Gold Necklace with a flat pendant, a poppy carved into it with the day he became a State enrgaved on the back. Silver chains and bracelets, another gold bracelet with the silhouette of a California Grizzly carved in. Ears most definitely pierced, at least three in each. Maybe an eyebrow piercing. A ring on his right middle finger, with beniliote embed, but like; a family crest type band with a big piece of beniliote instead of a crest.

So, I know the flannel is ✨there✨ (jk I love flannels) but listen-- listen!! A different type of flannel. Like, the same colors but- an Actual jacket. I don’t know how else to describe it so I will include a pic.