usa-manors-library

[usa-manors-library]

Reblogging here because it’s mine, I just posted it on the other blog. 👍

America, how did you react when west Virginia asked for and then obtained the funds to repair a damaged bridge from the Soviet union?

Whoopsie daisy, my hand slipped and I wrote a 3000+ word short story for this ancient ask. Well. It’s old, I just got around to proofreading it now, but—

Psst! You can also read it on Wattpad.

West Virginia Robs His Father Blind and Almost Starts a Nuclear Armageddon

"What'd they say?"

For a long moment, the only answer she received was the sound of nature moving around her. The songs of bugs humming, the trees rustling with a warm breeze, and the pitter-patter of critters racing about the tree branches. Get rekt, nature. Unfortunately, Vulcan wasn't talking to you.

Vulcan's company took his sweet time processing her words before offering a very lazy: "...Hn?"

Exasperated, the town flicked a beetle off of her sleeve. Sometimes she wished the stories she heard of the states being somewhat snobby yet professional were true, "...West. What'd they say?"

West Virginia paused, staring into the drink in his hand as he leaned against the wooden fence. Not the most comfortable position in the world, given the chipped paint scratching into him. He knew for sure he'd be picking the pieces out of his shirt for the next couple of days, but he supposed it was better than the alternative tree. He preferred chipped paint to splinters, it was easier to spot. Plus, less free acupuncture, thank you very much.

Of course, not that he minds leaning against a tree every so often, especially on a summer evening as nice as this. Besides, trees didn't always give you splinters. But the last time he did, he got this one splinter in his arm that he couldn't see so it was stuck with him for at least a week before he had to complain about it to Tennessee and-

Wait. What were they talking about?

"Who?" He asked, giving Vulcan 2.37/4 of his totally undivided attention.

Vulcan stifled a sigh. She dully wondered how frustrated she could get with him before it caused some sort of an issue. He was technically her boss. Well, boss's boss. Couldn't forget her county, Mingo. Especially after Mingo went through all the trouble of cornering the state and getting him in contact with her.

"Your folks in the government?"

West Virginia looked up, giving her a bit of a squint as he tried to recall, "...No more spite dying?"

"Ye- What? No," Vulcan blinked. She chose not to question that little tidbit of information and went on, "The money."

"Ah..." West nodded slowly, as if he completely understood, "...What for?"

"Cat fur, to make kitten britches- The bridge, West. I want to know about my bridge," Vulcan huffed, "The railroad company's been plastering anti-trespassing signs on their path now, we can't use it much longer! We need to get our access to Kentucky back."

"Ew, you actually want to go to Kentucky? Your life, I guess..." WV sighed, "Right. That bridge..."

That darn broken bridge. The same topic he's been dancing around for one and a half hours. Not his record time of three decades, but he supposed he should get to the point.

Truthfully, West Virginia was overjoyed when she came to him for help. Sure, a certain unnamed older sister of his to the east insists that he's a no-good hillbilly- which may or may not be true, depending on who you ask- but he likes helping people. He likes being useful. Ish.

I mean, not that he feels like he does nothing now, with the mines and other main economic ventures of his rapidly becoming a thing of the past. Nope. No way. He's not a flameout trying to scrap his life together, he's just a helpful fella. The glory days aren't over. He knows that.

For sure.

"Yeah. Yeah," West Virginia waved his hand, "They said no."

Vulcan gave him a squint. A very judgy one. WV dully noted it and ranked it far below Rhode Island's, but certainly above Iowa's. Peppy little cornfield frolicker.

"What?" She prodded, hoping there was more to it. There had to be, right? The government of her own state wouldn't overlook an issue as easy to solve as this.

"In an... alarming turn of events," West Virginia scratched the back of his neck, letting out an awkward chuckle, "They won't pawn it over, and I... am dirt broke. In state terms, anywho. We uh. We need those funds for other things. Apparently."

Admittedly, West Virginia's financial situation wasn't as... boisterous as it once was considered. Whoopsies.

"How are you even out of money? What have you been getting?" Vulcan was absolutely flabbergasted, "I've seen potholes deep enough to bury my gran in them! You don't even spend that much on yourself! You've been wearing that same brown belt for the past two decades!"

"It's two-in-one, actually," West Virginia pointed out. After a long pause, he flipped it over a bit, "It's reversible. It has a black side."

"...Only for you to always keep it on the brown side-?"

"Only for me to always keep it on the brown side."

"Are belts that expensive these days?"

"$1.54. Inflation, amiright? Anywho," West Virginia gently plopped his empty cup onto a tree stump, "That's the sitch. The situation. The sitchy-wation. It's bad, I know. Sorry."

Vulcan turned away from WV, but not to find something to chuck at him like he thought she would. She paced for a good couple of moments, back and forth as the leaves crunched beneath her feet. She stopped and looked back to West Virginia, "...And what about your dad?"

West Virginia's eyes lit up, "Oh! Right, well-"

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"PA-!"

Pennsylvania turned around. West Virginia smacked a hand in his face and shoved him aside as he raced past.

"Not you, fuck you. DAD!"

A rather disheveled America spun around in his desk chair, starting his stopwatch with a click, "Unless you're dying, ten seconds, time starts now."

"Give me money. Bridge. Now."

"...No... no please, Gin?"

"'nO pLeAsE, gIn?'" West Virginia mocked, "That's what you sound like. That's what you sound like."

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"I tried my best," West Virginia sighed, "I presented my case with as much grace as I possibly could."

"That doesn't seem like much."

"Hey, it's harder than it looks! He's been overwhelmed lately," West Virginia shrugged, "Not by us states, which is shocking. Someone's trying to steal our title as the highest blood pressure raisers."

Their longest streak of maintaining it lasted roughly a century. It's awarded yearly and decided by seeing how close the land o' the free gets to blacking out.

"Then what unholy creature irritates him most?" Vulcan pressed, "We can always ask 'em to bully him into it."

"Irritates him most?" West Virginia blinked, "We already asked my dad?"

"Oh. No, not- Other than him."

"England's busy."

"I wasn't serious, but- What about-?"

"Assume most of our extended family is busy."

"Aw. Is-?"

"I literally have no idea where the Department of Treasury would be right now, and I think he's still not going anywhere near Dad due to the 'we can't fund dogs in bathrobes' tiff. That got... That got heated."

"Dammit. H-"

"The IRS can't be summoned by our mere mortal forms."

"...Do we have any form that isn't our 'mere mortal' ones?"

"Kentucky has Colonel Sanders."

A distant Kentuckian 'whoop' sounded faintly across the gaping trench, on the other side of the close state border. Far too close for comfort. He's lurking.

Vulcan tugged at her hair, "...Nobody else?"

"Someone who ticks off the USA? Who has a looming and- dare I say- cold presence? Causing disturbance that can alter the world? In the 1970s?" West Virginia shrugged and shook his head, "Nope, not that I can think of. Bye, Vulcan! See you around. Nice chat."

"Ah, bummer. Bye."

CAST

Vulcan - Vulcan

Kentucky's Voice - Kentucky

America - America

West Virginia - Mountain Mama

Kevin - Steve Carell

Pennsylvania - Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson in a Wig with 99.999% of our Budget—

"HOLY SHIT," West Virginia screeched, busting down Vulcan's bedroom door three days later as the clock read a bright and early 11:52PM, "THE USSR!"

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"So," West Virginia bounced in his office chair excitedly, "I did a thing. I found an in. I planned a plot! We're getting you that bridge!"

Vulcan patted the desk, observing the environment of West Virginia's 'workplace.' It was a simple office, nearly a clone of the governor's, but smaller. It had a distinct smell of 'I don't actually know how to use cleaning chemicals but my janitor's on maternity leave so I'm just going to use every bottle I find and let nature take its course' clinging to it, but Vulcan would take that over the stench of cigarette smoke any day.

West Virginia was shuffling a stack of papers. They really didn't need to be shuffled, but he figured it added some level of importance to them. How to Look Professional When You're Actually Doing Nothing: a set of skills passed down to him by a random assortment of politicians he didn't care for very much. I'm not saying names, it's open to your interpretation. However, regardless of your political standing, we both know you just thought of at least. Three current politicians. How dare you! This is the 70s, be historically accurate while reading my story about personified countries with whimsical flag faces and overdramatized emotions inserted into world events that impact billions of lives.

"I wrote to the USSR! It took a couple drafts to get what I wanted to say right," He waved dismissively to the crumpled papers on his desk and floor. Vulcan spotted one that just said 'PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE-', but what works works, she supposed, "And he's willing to take a crack at the bridge issue!"

"You wrote the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and he just... responded? How'd you go and get him to agree?"

"I'm a very skilled diplomat."

"..."

...

"...Of course, the condition of where we would discuss the issue did come up, but-"

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"Why is that whore on my newly mowed front lawn?"

North Carolina rubbed his face tiredly as the coffee machine finished its job, caught off-guard by America's sudden tone change. 

"Dad, you can't keep disrespecting your own postal service, it's-" North Carolina glanced over his should stopped short, "Oh. That skank."

America stood inches away from the glass- mildly fogging it up with his breath- and looking at the country as if the visitor were a hissing, rabid naked mole-rat foaming at the mouth with rabies.

"My day has been irrevocably ruined."

"Is there anything happening for him to need to...be here?"

"There's nothing that can happen for him to need to be anywhere. At anytime," America mourned as he stared out of the window for another silent moment, "...We need to burn the front yard."

"We don't need to burn the front yard."

"I don't care about my landscaping that much," He took his coffee mug from NC, "I'm going to throw this at him."

"Don't- don't. Don't...?"

"Are the children safe?"

"Uhm... Yes?"

"What about the international children?"

"International children?"

"West Germany, South Korea-"

"You mean the grown adults? The grown adults running their grown countries with grown politicians?"

"I don't like your tone."

"Sure. Sure, Dad. I'm sure they're fine-"

"Dammit, he's knocking on my door," America exasperatedly rubbed his eyes, "We need to burn that, too. Shame. I liked that one."

"We don't need to burn- It's fine, it's locked," The state assured, "It's locked, we can pretend we didn't hear him, play dead, and I know damn well none of the others are going to-"

North Carolina paused as West Virginia politely welcome USSR in with a firm handshake. America's eye twitched. Shocked. Betrayed. Possibly gobsmacked.

"Well. Well then..." NC started to make another pot of coffee. He's sure it'll be needed it, "I hope you know it's unethical to burn him...?"

America sulked back over to his seat. He rested his head on the table. The lifted it. Then rested it again. Then- Oh. No. He's just banging his head on his desk while being mindful of his health insurance.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

It was surprisingly easy for West Virginia to get the entire personification of the Soviet Union into the house. He just walked right in.

It's not like they were discreet, either. Virginia was reading on the couch in one of the sitting rooms when the strange duo passed by. She barely even moved. She glanced up once, squinted at them, then looked back to her novel. She was off the clock.

They passed Secret Service in the hallway, too. All he accomplished was borderline tackling DC and dragging him into a nearby dark room. That didn't help anyone. Especially not the capitol's spine.

When they finally got to the door of USA's study, West Virginia's knock was greeted by a muffled groan of pure agony for thirty seconds. Somehow, less discreet than their entrance. It got louder and more pained as it dragged on. Soviet didn't seem remotely fazed. It eventually subsided, replaced by a shuffling WV could only assume was shoving everything his father wouldn't want who he considered the #1 threat to life on earth to see into his desk drawers. The Mountain State vaguely wondered if that included the gag gift dartboard with the face of a certain union to the left of him on it from Australia a good couple of Christmases ago.

A couple of unintelligable whispers later, America open the door. He had a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. Looking past him, Gin concluded that he did not, in fact, hide the dartboard. Or cover the crude phrases written on it. It was moved to a more central location.

"Good afternoon, Sovyetskikh!" USA grabbed the guest's hand a shook it firmly. Maybe a little too firmly. He was white knuckling the handshake, "I wasn't aware you were stopping by today! What an unwel- unexpected surprise! And West Virginia...! You're. Also here."

West Virginia waved enthusiastically. America gave him a tight smile only a parent who wants to act nice in front of company but will raise hell once they're gone could give.

"Hello," USSR tilted his head to look a little further into the room, still stuck in the lengthy handshake, "Hello, Texas."

It was a miracle that North Carolina didn't jump out of the window right then and there.

"Well, come on in! I certainly hope you're not here to tell us any bad news," America laughed. He didn't seem to be breaking the handshake anytime soon, so Soviet maintained it while the two awkwardly shuffled into the study together. WV was quick to follow.

"I have one like that," The Euroasian absentmindedly nodded to the dartboard, "From Australia during the 1964 Olympics."

"Ah. I'm sorry to hear that."

"My face is not on mine."

"We got ours in 1964, too," West Virginia recalled, "Aussie must've had a discount somewhere."

America's second betrayal of the day. Third, counting the time he went 'pspsps' to his cat Laundry this morning resulting in her staring at him then walking away. Somehow, that wounded him more than the other two.

"To answer your question: no bad news." Soviet paused to think, "...Yes, no bad news. For you. Today."

America nodded. NC put down the baseball bat he was holding behind his back and nudged it behind a nearby chair. USSR ignored it for the most part, trying to prompt the dissolution of the handshake. It wasn't working.

"I expected a sawed-off shotgun," He mused.

"Soviet. I believe that the usage of those kinds of national stereotypes are very harmful to society as a whole," America remarked, "Now then. If you're here for diplomacy, do you. Do you want some vodka, or...?"

"He's not here for diplomacy," WV cut in.

North Carolina started to reach back behind the chair. 

"We need to borrow your study,"!West Virginia continued, "My office has water damage."

North Carolina's hand slowly retreated.

"Oh! Yes, of course, and-" America squinted, "...Why?"

"Well, the pipes burst on the floor above me. Leaked down through the ceiling," The West Virginian rattled on, talking with his hands, "Not ideal, but the damage should be fixed within two weeks or so. I blame Weirton. We were talking about the weird sounds from the walls before, and I said we should contact a plumber, but he was all like 'no, maybe it's rodents,' but I knew it wasn't the rodents and-"

"That's not- No," America's smile faltered for moment, "No. Not that."

"I agree," Soviet nodded solemnly, "Rodents sound much different than plumbing issues."

"You would know how rodents sound you little ra-" United States interrupted himself and looked back to his lazily named son, "Why do you need an office to talk to the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics?"

"Because the diner was too loud."

"Gin. Do you like being in my will?"

Now's the right time to spring it, West Virginia supposed. From the twitching in America's stars, he could tell he might make the poor man have an aneurysm. Goodness, he doesn't want to kill his dad! He just wants to extort an exuberant amount of money from him with questionable ethics!

"He's going to help me fund a bridge for the town of Vulcan. You know? The one I asked you about? The one I asked my own father to help me with? In my time of need?" West Virginia feigned innocence, "That one? The one you refused to help me with getting? It's alright though, Soviet Union wants to help. He'll hear me out on funding bridges for the troubled folks in my state."

"I will be more than happy to help him," Sovyetskikh assured, "Seeing as a simple bridge is... inopportune for you."

America vaguely wondered what his life would be like if he never had children. Not that he doesn't love them, but he imagined his blood pressure would be much healthier.

Speaking of blood pressure, North Carolina was helpfully making note that the award of Highest Blood Pressure Raiser must go to West Virginia this year. The trophy's finally back in the hands of the states! This year might even be a contender for breaking the record, if America manages to get into cardiac arrest.

Quite frankly, America has no idea what the hell West Virginia was talking about. He had already forgotton about the request. He vaguely remembered some sort of rambling from him a good while ago, but he's not the best listener when he's practically alive by the grace of an IV of caffeine.

Still. Fake it 'til you make it.

Too bad he was a terrible actor.

"The bridge?" America gasped loudly, "Wh- Oh! The Vulcan bridge? What do you mean? You're getting three hundred thou-"

West Virginia shot him a look of unfathomable sadness.

"...Three hundred thousand and one million dollars for it," USA swiftly finished, "It was. It was in the works since you've asked me. These things just take a bit of time."

The swindler's smile grew. North Carolina, upon realizing there were going to be no heart attacks today, shook his head at how easily his dad caved under embarassment and giddily slipped out of the room to inform Florida that his score had been beaten this year.

"Oh, right, of course," WV nodded, "I should've guessed you were up to something like that! Your notice was probably ruined with the water damage before I could read it!"

"Ehm- Yeah! Probably! Those- Those darn water pipes, amiright?"

"Looks like I don't need you anymore, Soviet," West Virginia turned and waved, "Welp! Thanks, you two! Off to tell Vulcan. Try not to start a nuclear armaggedon. It'd ruin my new carpet. And bridge."

With that, he was gone in a flash. His cheering for his successful scam could be heard in the distance. Then tripping over a lump in the carpet in the distance. Then silence.

He.

He's probably fine.

It was quiet for a long time afterwards.

"Well, looks like that settles everything..." America reasoned.

The long silence restarted as soon as it was broken.

"...You should," America began, "You probably have. Work. To do. People to see. So..."

The two unions stood in an uncomfortable silence for a couple of minutes.

"...Oh, to hell with it," America patted USSR on the shoulder, finally breaking the handshake, "You disgust me on a professional, personal, and spiritual level so I want you to leave."

"Never touch me again."

[usa-manors-library]

Toledo: Prologue

Wattpad Link for your convenience!

"Pout, pout, pout," Rhode Island mused, retrieving the discarded pillow off of the room's green carpet-decorated floor, "...That seems to be all you want to do today, eh?"

The victim of Rhode Island's comments continued to— you'll never guess what— pout, face buried behind his hair and in his pillows.

Rhode fluffed the cushion thoughtfully, taking a seat on the edge of the sulky boy's bed. He glanced down at his younger brother, wondering how on earth he was saddled with the responsibility of comforting him on this brisk afternoon. It was December for crying out loud. Shouldn't the kid be frolicking in a winter wonderland? Eating ice off the ground? Chucking snow at everything, inanimate or not? Contracting hypothermia? Whatever it was, he knew damn well that there were better candidates than him for the job of convincing the boy.

Alas, it would be admitting defeat if he left to find one right now. Especially if the only other soul he could discover was New York. Ew. Disgusting. Repulsive. If Rhode had a thesaurus on hand, he'd keep going for the rest of the chapter's word count. I can't allow that. I'm not that desperate yet. Besides, it's 1816. The first official thesaurus wouldn't be published for another 36 years.

"...Michigan, you shan't be carrying on like this at the old age of eleven if I can help it," Rhode Island joked light-heartedly, "Look at you. Lying here like a sack of flour. You should have a wife and children by now, if you had a shred of respect for yourself."

Curiously, the territory peered up from his bedding, "...Where are yours, then?"

"I gambled away my dignity years ago in a game of—" Rhode Island paused, having a small flashback sequence to a series of Virginia's threats regarding stories she saw unfit to tell the younger siblings. Traumatizing, "...None of your business. Now. That does it. Get off of the damned bed."

Michigan plopped his head right back into the pillow cave he made for himself, "...No."

Shoot. That was a convincing argument.

Rhode Island started to drag the child off the bed. Unfortunately, little Michigan had a grip of steel to the frame. Which was very disheartening yet impressive for Rhode Island, who (like many of his siblings) couldn't help but notice Michigan's serious lack of right arm since the War of 1812. He had to give the kid credit, losing a limb didn't make him any weaker. Or less stubborn.

What the fresh hell had Georgia been feeding this kid...? He'll never know. It might be crack. Actually, he's met Kentucky. It's definitely crack.

Rhode Island stood, grumbling a few not-so-Virginia-approved words to himself before huffing and turning back to Michigan, "You're being an addle-plot."

A very muffled voice responded with a little; "Your mother's an addle-plot."

"And your father's a whore."

"We have the same father."

"Well, you see, that's funny because—" Rhode Island raced over to the room's door and poked his head out, "OHIO!"

Listen, listen, listen. Calling someone in to take over the second he recognized their footsteps in the hallway wasn't quitting. No. He wasn't bested by a tween. It was calling in reinforcements. That's nothing to be ashamed of. He lasted about one minute and thirty-two seconds longer than he usually did, and he didn't think about smacking a child. He's a warrior. He's a leader. He's—

"Are you beefing with the 11-year-old again?"

He's moving out. He needs his own place. He doesn't need to get disrespected like this. How could they do this to him. It's not like he helped raise them or anything. It's not like he was the one to teach them certain rude hand gestures at the age of six. He knows he already has a spot in his state he could go to. It's a humble little mansion. He can move there permanently instead of using it exclusively for business. He can throw parties and not invite any of his siblings. He can—

Ohio whooshed past Rhode Island as the older continued plotting his escape to freedom. Taking Rhode Island's former seat on the edge of the bed, Ohio patted Michigan's back. Michigan responded by kicking his legs into the mattress.

"...You know you can't talk to him like that," The Buckeye State sighed, "He's little."

With that comment as a sharp slap of reality Rhode Island swerved around and squawked indignantly, "I—!"

Ohio blinked and glanced over his shoulder, "I don't believe I was talking to you."

A small, muffled giggle escaped from the pillows. This was just bleak. He was 0-4 right now. 

"I don't need this," The oldest grumbled, retrieving a book of his off of Michigan's small desk, "I have people to spite. Grudges to carry."

"Shelves to not reach?" Michigan's muffled voice suggested.

One day.

One. Day.

May the good Lord give him an abundance of patience, because if He gave him strength there would be lawsuits.

With Rhode Island gone, Michigan flopped from his stomach to his back and offered Ohio a nod, "Morning."

"Morning," Ohio greeted casually, "What's today's tragedy?"

Michigan lifted his head up ever so slightly, "Can't a territory around here act overdramatic and on the cusp of a devastation for fun...?"

Silence. The answer was definitely 'yes'— it's been done many times before by territories, states, and the country himself alike— but saying that wouldn't improve the situation at hand.

Michigan's head flopped back down, "I'm short."

"Devastating," Ohio deadpanned, wondering how he'd break it to his little brother that he was, in fact, a child, "What else?"

"No," Michigan rolled his eyes, "I'm shorter."

Ohio blinked, blank expression on his face. As of right now, Michigan was shorter than a lot of things. Not quite as short as South Carolina's attention span, but still, a lot of things. "...Than who?"

"Than ME."

"You're you. Who's this 'me'?"

"You're Ohio."

"Then who's you?"

"Me? I'm Michigan," Michigan offered a handshake, "Your favorite sibling. Nice to make your acquaintance—"

"That's not— No. Who's shorter?"

"I'm shorter."

"Than who?"

"Than me!"

"Who's taller?"

"Me!"

"You're you!"

"Right!"

Ohio took a deep breath, trying to channel his inner Virginia, "Territory of Michigan, I swear on the grave of New Jersey's hopes and dreams—"

Michigan wailed, quickly getting up to his feet. He grabbed Ohio by the left shoulder and shook him to the best of his ability, "Look at me! Just look at me!"

"Before— before you give me whiplash," Ohio managed to get out, somewhat playing along with Michigan as he pretended to be incapable of pushing back the shakes, "What- What am I looking at?"

"Brace yourself," Michigan released him and looked at him gravely, "Are you ready?"

Ohio nodded, attempting to smooth the wrinkles the territory's grip had left in his shirt, "As I'll ever be."

"I," Michigan solemnly confessed, "Have lost a whole ten miles."

Ohio paused. He glanced around on the room. He looked left. Right. Up. Down. And, if I may be so bold; all around.

"...Where'd you put them, then?" He joked lightly, pretending to check under one of the many pillows.

Michigan threw his left hand up, nearly hysterical, "This is a grave matter, Oheeo!"

"Gesundheit."

"I woke up shorter! I am a VICTIM of ROBBERY!" The younger declared, slapping his thigh for emphasis on each over-pronounced word.

Ohio raised his eyebrows incredulously. Michigan looked perfectly healthy, with his room in perfect order. Nothing seemed out of place, except... "The only thing you're a victim of is that haircut."

Don't judge him. It was his brotherly duty to bully the child. He was doing his job as an upstanding American citizen. All in a day's work.

Michigan guffawed indignantly, trying not to be obvious as he glanced in the mirror beside Ohio. Smoothing down his unkempt mess of waves and curls nonchalantly, the territory resumed his sulking, "Don't you realize what this means for me?"

"You need to hire a new barber?"

"YoU nEeD tO hIrE a NeW bArbEr?" Michigan mocked, scrunching his nose, "Shove over a couple of steps, I need to fling myself dramatically onto my bed again."

Ohio obliged, letting Michigan partake in his moment. A mere handful of seconds passed before Michigan scrambled off of the bed in a hasty movement.

"I didn't like that one," The younger one said quite decidedly, storming past Ohio, "Let me try that again!"

Ohio shrugged, remaining in his spot as Michigan backed up to the door of his room to get a running start this time. Bolting with the grace and agility of a diseased yet well-meaning gazelle, Michigan flopped back onto his bed. Ohio made a mental note to ask where his father got the set of furniture for this room over dinner. Obviously, it was high-quality and sturdy if it survived the little Mitten this long.

Michigan, after surveying how many pillows the force of his landing knocked off, deemed the fall acceptable. He knew his theatrics well, given his familial connections. I cannot conjure up a single name in this family who isn't some variation of a theatric mess. That could be the curse of personifications. Or humans. Or any of the subjects of my writing, for that matter.

Oh no.

I may be the problem.

"O.H.," The child continued, ignoring whichever sister echoed 'I.O.' in the hallway as she passed, "You don't seem a quarter as invested in this as I imagined you'd be."

Ohio shrugged, "You seem far more invested than I imagined you'd be. Weren't you in the room when everyone was talking about this?"

"So we are in another war?"

The state stared at the wide-eyed, disheveled territory. He'll take that as a 'no.' To the misfortune of Michigan's vocal cords, Ohio wasn't able to correct him before the kid screamed into his mattress with the force of a thousand dying seals.

"I knew it!" Michigan groaned, "Oh, Canada! It hasn't even been two years since the last one!"

"That's not—"

"Pack your bags, we're going north," The child grumbled, trudging over to his wardrobe and throwing it open with gusto. He took random articles of clothing, piling them up on the floor, "We're going to kidnap him this time. Perhaps our hands will slip and he'll lose an arm. Maybe both. A leg, perchance. Who knows? I'm can be clumsy—"

Choosing to ignore how concerning that thinly veiled threat was, Ohio grabbed the bunched up mess of clothes from Michigan's hands before he can put them in his growing pile, "We're not at war, Mitten."

"Don't call me that, it's undignified."

"Apologies, Mr. Mitten."

"Thank you. However, it's Mr. Dr. Rev. Mitten to you."

"Right, Mr. Dr. Rev.— Since when were you ordained?"

Michigan stared at him blankly.

"...No matter," Ohio decided to pick and choose his battles today, "As you know, Indiana became a state rather recently."

"Rather off topic, but good for her. I'm very proud," Michigan feigned a sniffle, "They grow up so fast... I hope she remembers to write me every couple of month..."

"...She was given a smidge of your land on her way out—"

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"I imagined I was getting KIDNAPPED!" Michigan screeched, slamming his hands on the table, "Again!"

Massachusetts patted the kid, who couldn't quite pinpoint if he was shaking from relief or the fear he finally processed from this morning, on the back. He had no idea what was going on, but, to put it bluntly; the small homeboy looked traumatized.

With a slight hint of sympathy, Indiana apologetically patted the territory on the head, "My sincerest apologies, Mr. Dr. Rev. Mitten."

Michigan shot a deadpan stare at Ohio for half a second. Ohio pretended to not notice it, staring off into the existential void. AKA the window that overlooked the backyard. AKA the joys of the great outdoors. AKA Florida— who was the only adult among the outside crowd and shouldn't technically be condoning that kind of behavior— dangling from a tree while 15-year-old Louisiana was preparing the hit him with a sizable branch as 7-year-old Illinois held 4-year-old Missouri's hand and watched. AKA another unavoidable doctor's bill to America, from his feral offspring, with love. Love, and a little spite. Deserved or undeserved, who knows?

"Ten miles isn't quite much," Indiana continued, ignoring the very loud *THWACK* followed by a Floridian with way too much confidence in the resilience of the human body insisting 'AGAIN!' from outside, "I wouldn't mind if you wanted to reclaim—"

"The land? The land...?" The territory scoffed, "Are you kidding me? I'm happy it turned out to be you. Keep it. I don't care, I haven't the slightest need for it. Happy statehood. But Indie, I had so many revenge plans! Tomfooleries! Shenanigans! Now I can't execute them against the British! My justification is out to sea...!"

Michigan buried his face in his hands, entirely devastated. It was a bit of a shoddy excuse— he will most definitely try to carry out his schemes anyway—, yet he refused to be thought of as a coward. Especially in front of the older siblings. Ew. Yuck. Disgusting. Blegh.

Cowardliness is reserved for the weak. The weak, and when his father gets home from work. In which Michigan will be clinging to him like a stubborn koala and claiming he had something in his eyes. America wouldn't believe him, primarily after getting the day's synopsis from Ohio, but he would make a comment about allergy season and pretend he did nonetheless.

"Michigan," Massachusetts gently reassured, "Connecticut still exists. You still have people to torment. And for good cause."

Michigan sniffled, "...What cause?"

"He exists," The eldest brother tilted his head, "And that's very, very sad."

Michigan slowly took his face from his hands, meeting Massachusetts's genuine, earnest expression.

"...Very well," The territory sighed heavily, shoving his chair back, "I'm going to go bury his shoes in the snow out back. If I'm not back by sunset, assume I moved a single garden pebble and New Jersey is preserving my remains to fertilize the plants come spring."

Indiana's eyebrows climbed up, "Just like that?"

"Consider the matter forgiven," Michigan shrugged as he stood, doing his best to sound like an adult. A Virginia impression, to be exact. It was thoroughly believed among her younger siblings— for better or worse— that she feared nothing on this piddly mortal plane of existence.

As if he were going off to work a regular nine to five, the child sauntered to the doorway of the almost vacant dining room. Looking back at the small assembly, his facade wavered as he pouted— Er. Made an expression that conveyed a serious complaint. "Not forgotten, though. Next person to move my borders without telling me is experiencing bodily harm."

Amused, Ohio watched as his little buddy went off to cause havoc and turmoil.

The issue of Michigan's land was solved, and will never come up again.

...

Yep. No reason to continue following this novel. I told you it was short. That's it. Nothing else happens. 

...

Click off of this story. Go read some of NewLostIslands's instead. Shoo, now, shoo.

...

You can go. The show's over. Thank you for your time and— Why is this chapter titled 'Prologue'?

...

Oh, Heckerberry Finn. I have to commit now, don't I?

[usa-manors-library]

+.•*COMING SOON*•.+

You can find it here or on Wattpad via the username above (@TheEverlastingOne)!

[usa-manors-library]

.... .- ...- . / .--. .- - .. . -. -.-. .

41.651031, -83.541939 

ZDU FKDSWHU ERRN

👍⚐💣✋☠☝ 💧⚐⚐☠

01001001 00100000 01110111 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01100101 00100000 01100010 01100001 01100011 01101011 00100000 01100001 01100110 01110100 01100101 01110010

[usa-manors-library]

You Are _____ The Father

(A/N: This is an answer to an ask on my ask blog, @ask-the-usa-manor , but it got pretty lengthy! I wouldn't say it's the best quality since I intended it to be a much shorter blog post and not a full length oneshot, but at least it's fun. Enjoy the crack. So much crack. A substantial amount of crack. A boogie woogie amount, if I may be so bold. But. No real crack. Don't do crack. Do water. Stay hydrated. <3

Ft... LIGHTHEARTED WRITING BY EVE!?! 😱🤯🔥🥣🦆***NOT CLICKBAIT***)

America sighed, content with his world as he picked up his bowl. It was a perfect afternoon. Life wasn't always this easy, but right now, everything felt perfect. The silence was golden, and this quiet peace was a rare escape. One that he normally didn't care for, as he didn't usually like to hear his busy mind. But for whatever reason; right now he was content with it, and he was grateful.

Sunbeams. Silence. Serenity. Soup.

"IT'S HERE!!!"

...South Dakota.

From where he was in the kitchen, America heard a series of crashing noises follow the distant announcement, trailed by a string of Virginia's indignant scoldings.

America cringed inwardly as he heard Dak wave her off with a quick 'sorry.' 

Bad move. He must be really high spirited about something if he's brushing off Ginny's annoyance. A peeved Virginia was a force to be reckoned with. Everyone knows that.

Especially me, America shuddered, perhaps a little too over dramatically as he returned to his lunch, Some days it feels like she's my parent, not the other way around...

He heard the scolding intensify.

...Welp, not my problem, He shrugged, Godspeed, Dak.

If it were anyone other than Ginny, he might've stepped in. However, believe it or not; he was a smart man. Deep down. Deep down. Very, very deep down. Wayyyyyyyy deep down, there was a little. Tiny spark of intelligence. Shocking, he knows.

Smart men didn't get under Virginia's skin. There are less painful ways to murder your soul.

While America shuddered at the thought, the nearby garden door swung open.

"Dad!"

"Don't care, eating soup," America shrugged, taking another spoonful, "Do whatever. Just don't die."

New York (that's odd, he's never in New Jersey's territory- er, 'the garden') kicked his shoes off, "Was that Dak who pulled into the driveway?"

"No, it's your other brother who has a shrine of bumper stickers to Badlands national park and an eerily accurate bobblehead of Mount Rushmore on his dashboard."

New York looked like he was about to shoot something back, but stopped short as a muffled chant started up;

"York, York, York, York."

America slowly lowered his soup. The chanting was getting louder. New York was... seemingly fine with it?

"York, York, YORK, YORK!"

America let out a shaky sigh, "Why is it getting closer?"

"YORK, YORK, YORK!"

"What's happening?"

New York just grinned.

"...Will it harm my soup?"

New York shrugged, "Probably not."

"Good," America turned his attention back to his beloved lunch, "Then I don't care."

"YORK!" South Dakota threw the kitchen door open, waving an envelope in the air. Virginia was right on his heels, still glaring daggers at him.

"Dak! Dak-man. Cadilldak. Dakbook," New York grinned.

America's eyebrows shot up. New York smiling at the sight of one of his brothers screeching at him while bursting into the room?

...Who's going to die?

"It's here!" South Dakota repeated triumphantly, handing New York the mail, "The paternity test's here!"

America almost choked on his food as he broke into a coughing fit. Virginia stared at him.

"Great!" NY cackled, snatching the envelope and blatantly ignoring his dying father, "So, have you heard from Connecticut? Is everything ready on his end?"

"Don't ask me, I'm just the guy you bribed into picking this up."

"Smartass," New York shook his head, "Alright. Let's go, Dad."

"Pardon?" America wheezed out, placing his soup on the counter.

"What? All those wars and you're going to let a soup take you out?"

America knows flipping off his own son is wrong.

But damn.

Does he want to.

"I have several questions," He started, uncertain if he really wanted to have that knowledge.

"And they'll be answered," New York assured, "If you come with us."

America paused and took a moment to process the situation. He looked to Virginia for help. She lingered for a moment, before shaking her head and walking away. Not her job, not her struggle.

Meanwhile, hesitation was the entirely wrong response.

"Dak," New York deadpanned.

South Dakota nodded, "On it, chief."

SD dashed forward and, to America's horror, grabbed the bowl of soup before swiftly returning to the opposite side of the room.

America gaped at him. After a long moment, he regained his voice;

"...Dak-"

South Dakota tilted the bowl ever so slightly, threatening to spill the bowl's contents. America froze.

"...You wouldn't," He said sharply, a look of devastation and disbelief in his eyes. Disbestation? Devastelief?

Dak stared right back at him, "Would I?"

"What is he paying you?" America bargained desperately, "I'll double it! Just hand me the soup."

"Sorry, Pops. New York's paying me in free entertainment. I doubt you could top it."

"This is how you repay me?" America hissed, the searing knife of betrayal at the hands of is own sons twisting into the gut, "After I fed you? Put clothes on your back? Raised you-?"

South Dakota tilted the bowl a little more, the soup right against the edge.

America immediately raised his hands in surrender. South Dakota and New York exchanged grins.

"...Alright, alright," He inhaled sharply, "You win this time. Where are we going?"

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

Some days, America felt like his children were walking 'practice protection' ads. Very convincing 'practice protection' ads. This, was one of those days.

"When did you even...?" America glanced around, "...Get all of this?"

He was fairly certain he was on a stage, one decorated like a stereotypical talk show set. A vaguely familiar one, might he add. They must of modeled it after a real show.

A curtain was separating the stage from what he assumed was an audience. It worried him at first, before he picked out the voices and realized that they definitely belonged to his own kids. Then, it no longer worried him.

It terrified him.

South Dakota stood on the left wing, offstage and still holding America's soup hostage. He even put it in a prop cage he found in the back... America wondered if he could take legal action and put the 'sue' in soup.

"Well, we were originally expecting to use it for you," New York admitted, "Clearly, we still are, just... in a different way than anticipated."

New York motioned to one of the armchairs. America accepted the offer and sat down.

After a couple minutes, he closed his eyes. Maybe this is all a dream. Maybe he's still at home, with his leftover soup still in the fridge and ready to be reheated. Maybe-

Hearing three sets of new footsteps, America cracked his eyes open. 

Nope, not a dream, He determined, A nightmare.

"Blackmail?" America questioned the newcomer taking a seat across from him.

England looked severely annoyed as he huffed, "Scotland."

"Thought so," America nodded. He glanced at the other, "And you?"

"Fear of Wales," Britain answered lightly, "And your offspring."

"Which one?"

"That's a rather loaded question."

"Now then!" Connecticut clapped his hands together with a smile on his face, "We can get started."

The three countries present were incredibly unsure if the wanted that. They didn't even know what 'that' really is. Of course, nobody cares what they want. At the end of the day, they were outnumbered 3 to Lord knows how many.

"Yorkie," Connecticut held out his hand, "The results, please."

New York stared down Connecticut, making no move to hand him the envelope.

"I had him first," NY stated sharply, "I knew him before you. I get to be him."

"I had him last," Connecticut huffed, "I had the latest version of him."

"I had the classic."

"He wasn't born there."

"He wasn't born at your place either!"

America and Britain watched the argument like a tennis match, eyes darting back and forth between the two states.

South Dakota was recording the ordeal on his phone, which in hindsight was pretty useless considering California set up cameras for 'the aesthetic.'

England was trying his best to dissociate from the entire situation, glaring at the wall and wondering what different life choices he could've made to prevent any of this from even existing. 

"Fine then," New York grumbled, "If we want to stay on schedule... Where was Maury born?"

In an instant, the envelope was snatched from New York's hands. The two formerly arguing states stared in bewilderment at the man who slipped in under the radar.

Eyes glimmering, suit still on from work, District of Colombia beamed.

"...It's my time to shine."

Crickets.

This can't be real.

"...You said you weren't coming," Connecticut blinked, "You're always 'too busy' for this stuff."

DC shrugged, "A man's allowed to change his mind."

"So, you really want to host?" New York asked incredulously, looking DC up and down, "...You?"

"I can have fun too, dammit."

Connecticut and New York exchanged glances.

"...I mean," Connecticut conceded, "I don't see a problem with it." 

New York shrugged, "If there's one thing you've shown us through the decades, it's that sometimes your only gift is entertainment."

"Thank you," DC nodded curtly, "...Bi-"

"But," Connecticut cut in, "We're co-hosting."

"Sounds fine-"

"Don't even argue," New York interrupted, "We're older."

"I didn't-"

South Dakota checked his watch, "And we're on in three, two...!"

The stage curtains opened, revealing an audience mostly consisting of family members with nothing better to do today. Applause prompted by the blinking 'applause' sign eventually died down. It was relatively quiet, except for continued rapid clapping from...

America squinted, eyes still adjusting to the stage lights.

Iowa.

"Woo!" Iowa cheered. He leaned over to the seat right to him- Nebraska- and whispered, pointing to America, "I knew that guy in college, Neb."

"That's our father," Nebraska deadpanned, "You've known him since you were born."

A hand from the row behind them took advantage of the exchange and stole a clump of their popcorn unnoticed. Cayman Islands was now completely prepared for the dumpster fire of a show to start.

This caught Arkansas's eye, and he leaned over to the popcorn thief.

"What's your name again?"

"C-"

"AndcanIpleasehavesomeofyourpopcorn?"

"-ayman."

"Thanks!" Arkansas smiled brightly, taking a quarter of his cousin's spoils.

Cayman stared off into space. He has to stop falling for that crap one of these days.

"I'd applaud, but," Michigan shrugged apologetically as he stared at Britain, who offered him an awkward smile and tried not to make eye contact with his nephew's clear lack of right arm, "You know how it is."

"Hello ladies, gents!" Connecticut greeted, "All of you who don't deserve such respectable titles! Welcome to tonight's trash television episode, Are You the Father? to avoid copyright infringement! Thanks for coming out! Who's in the house tonight?"

"Well, Colorado's here, higher than the waist on DC's trousers, " New York jabbed, ignoring his the capitol's glare as a spotlight briefly shone on Colorado. Colorado simply threw a peace sign before the spotlight went to another person in the crowd, "England's dad Wessex is here, somehow still not dead. Great job, Gramps. Keep making England wish you were for the res of ust."

"Speaking of Wessex," DC added, "What a perfect way to Segway into business! Now, 1,096 year old England claims to be the father of 5,258 month old United States of America. But America's younger half-brother, Britain, has some doubts about the validity of his father's words."

"...I do?" Britain muttered to himself, confused.

"Yes! You do," Connecticut prompted, "Why is that, Britain?"

"Oh... Uh..."

For once in his life, Britain seemed reluctant to insult someone.

New York nudged him, "...You won't hear a peep from us for a month-"

In a flash, UK pounded the arm of his chair with his fist.

"F%^* THAT YANK," He bellowed, "THAT'S WHY."

A bleeping sound via Utah with a censorship button echoed from the stage speakers. He's not even supposed to be there, he volunteered 5 minutes before the show and when nobody answered him he made himself comfortable.

New York nodded his head, as if to say; 'Keep going.'

"...Well then," Britain continued, "He's a total piece of—"

Utah kept the bleeping up until it was all you heard when Britain opened his mouth. At this point, the country wasn't even swearing. He was just reading his grocery list aloud.

"@%*% +^%{%]* +#^]*^{^[+ *]+}+!|]!,¥\+[+@&/!" Britain finished, "If that wasn't bad enough, he's a TWO DOZEN EGGS—"

"Thank you, Britain. I think that's all Utah can handle for now. He gets physically sick when he has to censor someone," DC elaborated.

"I mean, just look at him," New York motioned to the offstage unnaturally pale Beehive State, "Frail Victorian child lookin' mother—"

Utah shot him a warning look. 

"—'s favorite child who we all appreciate. And who might need to hand the remote to Nevada before he passes out—"

"So. England," Connecticut moved on, "You're the only person here who currently knows if America's your real son, or if you just snatched him Russian-Empire-and-Finland style. Anything to say on that?"

"Thank you for giving me the final push I needed to decide that a restraining order's mandatory," England solemnly answered.

The three hosts exchanged glances. They really didn't have the legal team to handle this. At least they didn't think so, considering their legal team was Rhode Island with a baseball bat.

"America," DC immediately continued, looking at the third victim- Ehm, 'guest'- his father.

America's eyebrows climbed up as he slowly turned to face DC, "...What did you just call me?"

"Right, sorry," DC quickly backtracked, "Terribly unprofessional of me Mr. United States, sir."

"That's not what I..." America gave up halfway into his sentence and simply sighed, "...Never mind. When can I get my soup back?"

"How does it feel to possibly be fatherless?"

"When can I get my soup back?"

"Want to expand on your answer?"

"When can I get my soup back?"

"I see. How does that make you feel?"

"Hungry. When can I get my soup back?"

"Is that hunger for the truth about who your father is?"

America stared at him like he was an idiot. To be fair, we don't have the evidence to disprove that claim.

"It's hunger," He explained at a tortoise's pace, leaning forward in his chair, "For. Soup."

"Interesting."

"Chicken. Noodle."

"Ah," DC awkwardly nodded, "That's a good one."

"I ask. For so little."

America held eye contact with the capitol for an uncomfortably long amount of time without blinking.

NY leaned over to Connecticut.

"...I can't believe I'm saying this," He muttered, "But we may need to cut the musical number."

After a couple extra moments of watching the scene in front of him, Connecticut acquiesced.

"Cut the musical number," Connecticut approved, "This is only a pre-show, I doubt the audience would care. Get to the results before he starts crying."

"Which one?" New York huffed, "They both look pretty friggin' close to tears."

"Yes."

On the edge of them, really. Neither of them looked like they wanted to be in this situation, and District of Colombia came here willingly. 

"Washdistbia!" New York called over, "Stop trembling like a half-drowned kitten and wrap it up!"

Somehow, DC was able to drag himself out of the numbing paralyzation he found himself in and managed to look away from the haunting stare of America.

"Right," He answered shakily, "On to the results. In the case of 5,258 month old USA-"

"It's okay to say 438 years old, I can take it-"

"Englad, you are..."

Everyone watched in silence as he made an effort to open the letter.

It took him a solid three minutes.

It was a regular paper envelope.

"...Missing out on our new discounts! Get a brand NEW Ford F-150 for 30%-" DC blinked.

He read the paper. Then reread it. Then read it once more.

He glanced in the envelope again. Nope, nothing else. Just amazing deals for this autumn brought to yOU BY THE EVER AMERICAN [EAGLE SOUND] FREEDOM INFUSED-

Utterly lost, he looked to the others.

"...What the hell is this?" He asked, lifting up the 'results' in question.

A murmur of 'don't look at me's fell upon the stage and audience. Backstage, South Dakota cursed under his breath.

"I knew I should've asked them to stop mailing me my coupons," Dak sighed.

What.

"You get your junk mail from..." Connecticut took a deep breath, "The paternity testing lab?"

"Yeah," Dak admitted nonchalantly, "My grandma lives there."

America looked up hopefully, "Mom?"

"NO-"

Abruptly, the outro music started blasting. Without uttering a sound, England stood and walked away stage left. He hates you all. Especially Aili.

"...Well, that was... that," New York checked the time on his phone, "I'm going to take my seat and... pretend like I didn't just waste my afternoon."

It took America 0.5 seconds to practically hurl South Dakota out of his way so he could reclaim his soup. 

Britian rushed... away. Simply away. He is gone. He will not return. Everyone wave goodbye. Goodbye, Britain. He's free. Freedom. He's free. F r e e...

Ish.

"Goodnight everyone!" Connecticut bid with a wave, following the others off the stage, "Enjoy Florida on I Can't Believe It's Not Dr. Phil!"

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"...How'd you get my DNA, anyway?"

"You're a heavy sleeper after you cry. Pretty easy to get after Homeward Bound."

(A/N: I want soup.)

[usa-manors-library]

The Mystery Visitor

Breathlessness. I'm not even sure if it could be considered an emotion, but... It felt like one. It felt like one crushing me as I stood in front of the manor. The manor that looked almost unrecognizable after so many years.

It was nighttime. Not a single light illuminated the world, except for the silver rays of the moon, partly obscured by passing clouds.

The sounds the soft wind caused were all I heard other than my heart pounding. They were welcoming noises. The tree branches swaying and the grass rustling reminded me that this was real. That this wasn't a dream.

It almost felt like one. The scene was idealistic enough to be a painting displayed only in establishments as distinguished as the Louvre.

I stared at the house in complete silence. 

I promised myself that I wouldn't tear up. Reminding myself of that, I wiped the trembling back of my hand against my watery eyes and took a single deep, shaky breath. I couldn't fathom what I was about to do...

But I knew I had to get moving before dawn and... well, I was already here. It would be a waste to not follow through with it. With another deep breath, I went forward on my journey.

As stealthy as a hunted mouse, I circled around the house. Anyone and everyone inside the building should be fast asleep by now, but I didn't want to take that chance...

I couldn't quite find what I was looking for. All the windows and doors were locked... It seemed like my mission had run into a wall.

Quite literally, I thought to myself as my gaze traced up the unfamiliar structure. Shaking away my doubts, I began my ascent to the top.

A small smile bloomed on my face as I climbed over the stone garden walls. The rumors were true. New Jersey grew up to love gardening, that much was obvious by the condition of the walled-in paradise. I could see it was cherished dearly, almost as if my little brother dedicated himself to making it the sequel of the Garden of Eden.

After sliding my legs over the top, I dropped down in the soft dirt below quietly, fulfilling my goal to miss the nearby flower bed. The dirt smelled damp and fresh, most likely watered the previous evening.

I took in the sight for a moment more before creeping my way to the main garden path.

It wasn't long before the kitchen door stood before me. I softly wiped the dirt off my shoes as I reached for the handle.

I abruptly paused as my breath hitched.

It was left unlocked.

After all these years, the family still hasn't quite mastered the art of remembering to lock the kitchen door.

A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I processed the fact. It was such a tiny detail, but... it was enough to make me want to tear up again.

I stood in the open doorway, staring into the dark kitchen. My legs were trembling.

I hovered in the doorway for a moment more as I tried to gather my thoughts, my emotions... Myself, essentially.

Swallowing my bitter doubts, I shakily stepped into my old home. Suddenly, the song of the wind outside wasn't enough to convince me that this wasn't a dream.

Feeling as if I were in a trance, I drifted across the floor mutely.

Despite the renovated appearance of the kitchen, everything felt the same. The scratches Virginia's old cat left on the sides of the door of the kitchen were still there, now joined by some new ones. I wondered how many more she owned after the one I knew passed.

Everything was a blur. The rooms, the thoughts, the memories, my eyes... I vaguely realized in hindsight of the ordeal that the blur might of been tears. 

Before long, I was in the dining room. I didn't even know that I walked away from the kitchen until I stood by a chair.

His chair. It was in the center of everything.

I felt my hand trace over the chair and the scratches on it. It was the same one he sat on when he placed me on his knee when I was small. The same one he prayed a blessing over the food from before every family meal. The same one he lectured us about food fights from.

The old portrait of Britain and the even older portrait of England still sat on either side of the dining room's fireplace, although they've since been vandalized. Most likely at a post-Revolutionary War party, considering the messages scrawled on the paintings.

I looked down at the long table. Yet again; it was the same, despite the two new ones joining it looking like they were made more recently. At least more recently than the 1600s.

I pulled Dad's chair out slightly and crouched down. I crawled under the table and looked up at the bottom of it.

Names. So many carvings of names. Familiar and unfamiliar.

I laid on my back and looked up at them. There was my name, right where I left it... There were carvings of flowers around it this time. That was new.

All the new names checked out with the family members that have been added since my departure. Even one that was mostly scratched out read 'Dixie.'

I crawled out from under the table and stood once more.

I don't exactly remember how I got there, but soon I was in Dad's study.

It was the same as always; bookshelves and paintings lining the walls, a nice carpet laying over the wood floor, and two seats facing Dad's dark oak desk, illuminated in the moon's glow by a large window behind his desk chair.

As always, the desk was disheveled. I remembered he always tried his best to keep it neat, but he had trouble with that when he was working.

Folders were scattered, three empty mugs were collecting dust, crumpled notes were tossed to the side...

The only thing that seemed to be in order were the two framed pictures. 

One seemed to be a recent family photo taken on the front steps of the manor, including everyone from the territories to West— Ehm, regular Germany. Getting everyone to pose for that picture must of been quite a feat.

The second was a smaller pencil drawing of all his other children who never had the chance to get in the family photo. Popham, Saybrook, West Jersey, and... You get the idea.

The room smelled faintly of vanilla and smoke. I had no idea if it was recent or not... I wondered if he ever quit smoking.

Quickly and quietly, I tidied up his office for him. I told myself going into this that I wouldn't touch anything, just look, but... I couldn't leave without showing him I still cared, even if he would have no idea that I was the one to clean up.

Softly closing the study's door as I left, there was only one last room I wanted to see before bolting; my own.

I was almost certain they turned it into something new. I couldn't help but be curious on what it might be now.

It was a stressful trip to get there. It was right in the middle of a hallway where some of my siblings' rooms were located, and I had no way of knowing who was there or not. My heart was pounding like a drum as I crept through the dangerous zone. A single noisy floorboard would be this situation's equivalent of a land mine.

Miraculously, I made it without having a heart attack. Resisting the urge to breath a sigh of relief, I turned the handle and entered the room, quietly shutting the door behind me.

I turned around and faced my small, old room. I felt my heart freeze.

I was expecting it to be storage, a sitting room, possibly a guest bedroom...

But nothing could've prepared me for it to look exactly like it did when I left it.

My wardrobe. My bed. My books.

The sight I saw before me was the same sight I saw before running away to save my family's reputation...

Unmoved. Undisturbed. Untouched. 

Almost untouched, at least. There was a fresh vase of roses left on my desk... Someone's been in here recently. 

In addition to that, a piece of paper was peaking out of one of the drawers.

Curiosity overtook me and I went over to the desk, feeling like I was floating in a hazy dream instead of walking in a very real room. I opened the drawer and felt a lump in my throat as I realized what was inside. A smell of paper filled the room.

Dad's written me letters. Hundreds of them.

'Dearest Haven.'

'Good Morning, New Haven.'

'Happy First Independence Day, Haven.'

I stumbled back ever so slightly, unable to control my surprise. 

'The Country Is Split, Haven.'

'God End Me Now, Haven.'

'The World War's Over, Haven.'

I sat at my bed, eyes darting from one random title I saw to another.

'Prohibition Sucks, Haven.'

'Haven You Would Not BELIEVE Which War's Getting a Sequel.'

'You'd Laugh At Me If You Saw Where I Was Now, Haven.'

It was the same thing he did with Poppy... With Saybrook...

'Haven, Pardon My French But Soviet's a Little B**ch.'

'AYYY! HE'S DEAD, HAVEN! :D"

'Happy Birthday, Haven (2022).'

The letters started to blur and swirl together as a heavy feeling of guilt and bitterness overwhelmed me.

He missed me. Gosh, he missed me so much.

I knew he did something similar after Popham and Saybrook died. He must of did the same thing for West Jersey and I.

It was his way of coping. Whenever Dad needed to clear his mind, I would see him writing letters to his deceased kids. He'd write them advice, updates, stories... as if they were still with him.

I felt terrible. I didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve any of this mourning. I wasn't dead. I was only hiding...

I used to be the embarrassment of my family, when I lived with them. A colony without even a mere charter. Easily pushed around by Connecticut's larger forces.

I was ashamed of myself. I hated that I embarrassed my own family's reputation, so I ran.

After a couple of decades and some desperate searching... They finally assumed me dead. 

I didn't show my face to anyone until my colors changed, when I could finally pass myself off as a new person; Connecticut's city of New Haven.

I've been living a lie for years now. The only relative I've seen since is Connecticut, who thankfully can't seem to see past my newly made appearance and mannerisms.

I was a coward. I was a filthy coward, and it resulted in me giving my father extra pain to burden over the years.

I thought he would've been relieved to get rid of the family's weakest link... What now?

I stared at the drawer filled to the brim with letters as dozens of ideas and scenarios rushed through my head.

I could tell the truth. I could go back to my family... My home, which I've longed for since leaving.

But... would they even let me back in?

I've hurt them... My Dad, at the very least. I gave them all this pointless grief. They'd be angry if I came back now, especially when I take back my role of being the family disappointment... Everyone else would be states, territories, federal districts... And what am I? Another random city of my brother's? One that isn't even the biggest? 

I can never face my family now. My return would cause more harm than good.

I love them, though... I love them to the point that it hurts. Watching them grow and flourish on the sidelines has been difficult for me, but I don't want to be selfish and go with the alternative.

I stood from my old bed, eyes locked on the letters. I was itching to take them. At least a single one. I wanted to hear what my Dad would've told me if I was around. It was the closest thing to talking to him in person I'd ever achieve now.

I felt a stab in my heart as I realized I couldn't. He might look back on his letters. One shouldn't be missing or crinkled.

I looked at them longingly as they disappeared into the desk once more as I shut the drawer.

I smelled a single whiff of the flowers (roses; Dad's favorite) before backing out of the room. Yet again; the hallway was barren of other life.

I noiselessly rushed back through the house, pushing down the memories this time. It didn't take long for me to get back to the kitchen door.

I couldn't help it. I started running.

I slammed the door behind me as I practically jumped over the garden wall. I slid off the stones this time. It seems like the clouds covering the moon before had finally started a storm.

The second I was back on my feet, I bolted. Away from the house, away from the memories, away from my family. The ground was slick, but I didn't know if I kept slipping because of the weather conditions or if the night had stressed and exhausted me to the point of my knees giving out.

I raced out the large, unlocked front gate. I raced down the road. I raced and raced until I found my car where I left it; hidden behind some bushes.

I immediately got in, started it, and sped off. The storm raged outside as I took some deep breaths to calm down. I shakily turned on the radio as I drove home.

I had a hard time finding a song that wouldn't make me break down immediately. Fed up with all the lyrics, I switched to a piano station. The slow version of New Home by Austin Farwell filled the car. Not exactly cheery, but... I guess it

With a sigh, I shook my head and drove off into the night.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

Connecticut had no idea who that shadow of a man was, or what he wanted... But he didn't seem to hurt anything. It was probably just one of his brothers, collecting something he left at the manor after a visit.

Despite agreeing with this conclusion, Connecticut lingered at the window for a while more. For whatever reason, he felt the need to... follow it... As if something precious was escaping him...

He didn't move an inch. He stayed at the window until the mystery visitor disappeared into the rain.

[usa-manors-library]

Go COMPLETELY overboard with sad Alaska. I yearn for angst!

Maksim’s Lookalike

(A/N: First requested oneshot! 

Sure, why not? But I get to shove a cute scene in there or so help me—

Also, I’d like to put a warning for severe hatred of one’s own looks. Be aware that this oneshot revolves around that.

I’m attempting first person, too! Bear with me, I’m not used to it.

Also everyone’s beautiful in their own ways and if anybody tells you otherwise feel free to slap them, or I will for you. Don’t test me. I got twig arms and I’m not afraid to use ‘em! (ง'̀-'́)ง)

☆ Alaska’s POV ☆

Look, Amerika, it looks just like you!

Papa’s voice and harsh laughter rang through my head, as loud as the wind in a blizzard. 

His words repeated in my mind as I poked, prodded, and squished my nose until it hurt. It didn’t do me any good. When I tried to imagine what I would look like if it were smaller, it would morph back seconds after I removed my hands. It was frustrating. 

With an infuriated sigh, I dropped my hands and thought back to the creature Papa showed me before.

The rat.

Big nose. Beady eyes. Gluttonous.

I had gluttony covered. I mean, I ate behind Papa’s back all the time! Regretfully, I don’t think that’d ever change. I try not to do it, but I get so hungry… I must be gluttonous.

Beady eyes? I’m not sure if I had them or not. How could I tell, anyway? 

Big nose… I definitely had one of those. But unlike the two formerly mention issues, I think I can change that.

Noses barely had any bones, right? That’s why they’re so soft and flimsy. That’s why Mama’s people could pierce them. From the sound of it…

I stared down at the borrowed kitchen knife I held.

Noses seemed pretty easy to cut through. They were just meat, right? Thinner than the bites I take when I get food.

Turning this fact over in my head, I lifted the blade, letting it hover a centimeter above my nose as I tried to decide where to carve.

It’d probably hurt, but I think I could handle it. I know how pain feels. 

Obviously I didn’t want to start from the middle. If I misinterpreted my starting point, I could butcher my face. Make it worse than it already was, if such a feat was even possible.

Starting from the bottom would be wise. Starting from the bottom, and whittling my way up bit by bit.

I think that’s a rather good plan! So good, a smile tugged at my face as I pricked my nose with the knife and—

“Alyeska!”

I could barely process Lietuva— Litva’s voice before the 15-year-old slammed into me, sending my knife flying. I was knocked onto the ground with a thump.

Chert voz'mi! I almost had it!

Ignoring the rude interruption known as my big brother, I crawled toward the blade, reaching out for it.

The handle brushed against my fingertips, sending a surge of hope through me. I was looking forward to getting this done. Maybe I would’t be such a burden on Papa’s eyes if I  fixed myself!

Sadly, my spark of excitement was diminished the second Litva kicked the knife away. What a suka.

“Gadina!” I groaned as he dragged me to my feet, “You can be such a bully sometimes!”

Litva firmly held on to my shoulders and turned me around to look at me. 

I stared right back at my brother. He seemed shaken up. Perhaps he was feeling guilty about interrupting me?

Litva raised his hand. I widened my eyes and  ducked my head. Maybe calling him a gadina wasn’t my best idea… I don’t recall ever getting really disciplined disciplined by Litva, but there’s a first time for everything.

I studied the floor and our feet, waiting for the blow. It never came.

I heard Litva heave a heavy sigh. He gently lifted my head up. Instead of the whack I was anticipating, he used his shirt sleeve to wipe the blood trickling down my face from the little puncture mark I managed to prick on my nose.

No! He can’t do that! No no no no—

“What do you think you’re doing!?” I cried, shoving his arm away, “Papa can’t see you ruining your shirt! He’d— He’d hate that!”

Papa would have to discipline Litva! I couldn’t— It was too awful!

“Alyeska—”

“Don’t call me that!” I sobbed, terrified. Surely Litva remembers how Papa dislikes us using anything other than the names he gave us under his roof!

“It’s alright—“

 “He might hear you, Litva! I’m Russkaya Amerika! While we’re in this house, I’m Russkaya Amerika! And— And you’re Litva!” I reminded earnestly, “Oh, blyat… We shouldn’t even be talking right now! Did— Did you ask for Papa’s permission to talk to me?”

“Otets isn’t home,” Litva assured, attempting to sooth me (like an idiot who doesn’t realize the depth of the situation!) by gently wiping away my tears, “He just left for the week, remember? The only people here are the staff, you, me, and that thing.”

Litva nodded his head to the doorway of the room. I followed his movement with my eyes and caught sight of a toddler, leaning against the doorframe as she sat on the floor. Litva must’ve been holding her before deciding to set her down and tackle me like a total jerk.

“Heh!” Finlyandskoye greeted.

“Tch. No need to get political.”

“Bsha!”

“Well, that’s certainly a hot take on Napoleon.”

“Doodoodoooo!”

Litva gasped in mock offense, earning a maniacal giggle from the little one, “Suomi, there’s no need to drag my mother into this—!”

“Don’t call her Suomi!” I snapped, “Finlyandskoye shouldn’t be here either! What— What if Papa found out? What if he’s not really gone? He’ll have to…! He’ll…! This isn’t right, Litva! Go away! Just… Go away and let me do this!”

I shoved past Litva and went for the knife again. I managed to grab it, but of course my bad influence of a brother grabbed my hands and started to try to wrestle it out of my grasp. Finlyandskoye whimpered in the background.

I fought my hardest, but at the end of the day I was only eleven. I was shoved to the ground once more as Litva took the knife. Typical weak, little Russkaya Amerika…

“No!” I exclaimed, eyes widening in terror as I realized what he was doing, “Don’t—!”

He threw it out the open window. All I could do was watch as I saw the blade I smuggled out of the kitchen and past the staff disappeared.

He walked over and crouched beside me.

“You suka!” I wailed, punching his arm as hard as I could. That’ll show him. “Now what am I supposed to do? The kitchen’s been locked up for the day!”

Litva winced and rubbed his arm. He lifted his sleeve to check on the preexisting bruise he sustained from Papa, the one I just whacked   again. It looked worse.

I stared at it for a moment, surprised at myself.

A wave of shame and guilt overtook me. I shouldn’t of done that. Only Papa can decide who gets disciplined.

“…I’m… I’m sorry, Litva,” I apologized quietly, bowing my head, “I wasn’t thinking, I swear! I… I don’t like seeing you… hurt.”

Litva slowly nodded, seeming a little distant. His mind was somewhere else.

Silence feel upon the room. Even little Finlyandskoye was quiet, looking back and forth between her older brothers with concern shining in her blue eyes.

“…I don’t like seeing you hurt either,” Litva eventually spoke up, “That’s why I tackled you.”

“Don’t… Don’t worry about it, I forgive you.”

Litva shook his head, “That wasn’t an apology. I’m not sorry. What on earth were you trying to do, Alye— Amerika?”

☆ Lithuania’s POV ☆

Alyeska squirmed at my question. He glanced around, possibly trying to look for a distraction or an escape route. Realizing there was none, he hesitantly met my eyes.

I gave him my best look of ‘you’re not getting out of this.’ I wasn’t used to giving it, but it had to be done. I’m too worried about the situation to let him get away.

Reluctantly, the story came to light.

Less reluctantly, I envisioned pushing our terror of a ‘father’ off a cliff. Then lighting him on fire. Then feeding him to a pack of wolves.

Who needs therapy when you have a vivid imagination?

Still, the story that was told made me see red;

Alyeska was hungry. He said it was his own fault, but I know that’s not true.

An already ticked Rusja found him. His shouts scared a rat out of the pantry, but before he threw it outside, he chose to bully Alyeska with it, comparing his own son to a rat.

Understandably, it upset Alyeska. He was  terrified of rats, and Rusja holding it inches from his face certainly wasn’t helping. One thing led to another, and…

“‘Rika,” I sighed, wrapping my arm around Alyeska. I liked doing that, the opportunity rarely came around. Surprisingly, Alyeska didn’t protest. He leaned against me, seeming to be too in need of comfort to recite Rusja’s rules, “There’s nothing wrong with your looks.”

Alyeska— The poor kid— shook his head vehemently, “Papa compared my appearance to a rat’s, remember? He’s usuallyright about those things!”

Po velnių. He’s going to be hard to convince…

He won’t listen to me if I try to negate Rusija’s words; he’s too scared. I don’t blame him.

 But… What if I don’t negate Rusja’s words?

What if I twisted them?

“…What’s wrong with looking like a little rat?”

Alyeska blinked at me, confused, “…Literally everything?”

“‘Rika,” I tsked, shaking my head, “Don’t tell me you think rats are ugly.”

“Litva…” Alyeska furrowed his brow, “What are you talking about?”

A smile spread across my face.

“Rats? The bigger and softer version of mice, right?” I chuckled, “Don’t tell me you think they’re ugly.”

Alyeska frowned and sat up straighter.

“Of course they are,” Alyeska argued confidently, “Nobody likes rats.”

I gasped, pretending to be appalled. Someone should give me an Oscar. And everyone won’t even know what those things are until at least 1929.

“Are you kidding me? People love them!” I exclaimed, “Some even keep them as pets!”

“Rats?” Alyeska scoffed, “Why?”

“Well, let me think…” I pondered out loud, “There’s the adorable little eyes.”

“You mean the beady ones?”

“Yes! They’re so cute, don’t you agree?”

Alyeska seemed to think back, most likely visualizing the rat Rusja showed him.

It took him a second, but he slowly nodded.

“I guess they were big and curious,” He admitted, a ghost of a smile visiting his face, “Like Finlyandskoye’s.”

There we go.

“See? Now you’re getting it!” I encouraged, “Don’t forget their tiny ears!”

“Those were pretty cute,” Alyeska recalled, “And— And their noses aren’t… huge. They’re… actually pretty cute!”

“Exactly!”

“Their paws were funny, too! Like little hands, almost.”

“Don’t forget their fluffy fur,” I reminded, ruffling Alyeska’s curly hair. He giggled, trying to fix the hair I was messing up. He was failing miserably.

He eventually pushed my hands away playfully, desperately trying to save his hair.

He glanced in the mirror, seeing what I messed up. His neatening hands soon slowed to a pause.

“But…” Alyeska frowned, looking away from the mirror, “Why does Papa think they’re ugly, then?”

Šūdas. I didn’t know Rusja called him outright ugly. That really throws a wrench in the plan. I need to find a way to sway his thoughts.

“It’s just his opinion,” I shrugged, “But not everyone thinks that way. Beauty is relative.”

“Isn’t it a bad thing not everyone thinks like Papa?”

“I mean, Otets likes Russian salo…”

Alyeska couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. Understandable. That dish should be burned with fire.

“He says I’ll grow into liking it,” Alyeska weakly protested, “He also says that unless you’re listening to him, you’re wrong most of the time. I mean, look at what you’re wearing.”

I blinked and looked down at my outfit. For a colony that was covered in ice, that was pretty uncool of him.

Even more distressing than the 11-year-old roasting my attire; was the fact that I was losing him. He was shrinking back to his previous beliefs.

What could I say to him? As much as I hate it, I know I can’t sway him against Rusja’s beliefs. 

Maybe I can strike up a deal— or at least plead— with the country to take his words back. But until then, I was helpless in this situation. Mostly. 

I think I might be able to spare some physical pain, even though I can’t do anything on the emotional front.

“‘Rika… I don’t think you’re not ugly in the slightest,” I stated, earning a hurtfully doubtful look from my little brother, “I know you don’t believe me, but your opinion on your looks is no reason to hurt yourself. It’ll be painful and messy, and I’m positive it would permanently screw up your nose. No matter how you look at it, it’s not a good plan.”

I waited for Alyeska’s response, hoping, praying that this would be the one thing he agrees with me on.

I watched the poor little conflicted one debate with himself. A minute or two later, he hung his head in embarrassment.

“…You’re… probably right. Not about the looks, but about the practicality…” Alyeska confessed, making me heave a sigh of relief, “It’s a… It was an idiotic plan. I’m… I’m glad you stopped me…”

“Trust me, I’m glad too.”

“Thank you, Litva. You might not have much common sense, but I guess a broken clock’s right twice a day.”

I nodded, electing to ignore the latter sentence. I knew those were Rusja’s words, not his.

Scooping up a yawning Suomi, I glanced out the window. A blanket of darkness was falling over our home for the night.

“Listen, it’s getting late. I need to get Suo—“

Alyeska’s eyes widened.

“Finlyandskoye,” I corrected, feeling the sleepy Suomi’s grumpy glare piercing me. Sorry little lady, I don’t want to scare your older brother, “To bed. You should head to sleep too.”

“I will,” Alyeska nodded, “Goodnight, Litva.”

“Goodnight, Amerika,” A small smile appeared on my face, “Sleep well.”

“Hvaaaa… ta!” Suomi nodded firmly to Alyeska, patting my arm twice.

I chuckled, departing to the hall, “We really need to work on your swearing.”

☆ Alaska’s POV ☆

I will go to bed. Eventually. 

Not yet, though. I had to find it first.

Luckily, the winter moon was full and beautiful, illuminating the outside of Papa’s home.

I trudged through the snow, searching through the bushes.

Where was it? Where did he throw it?

After fifteen more minutes of searching, it caught my eye. It was right under the window of the room Litva and I were talking in.

I crept over quietly and crouched down.

I stared at it, trying to decide if I should go for it or not. I was honestly scared, but it had to be done.

I slowly reached for it, hand passing over something glittering in the snow. That’s probably the kitchen knife. I’ll have to remember to return that tomorrow. But for now, my priority was the fuzzy creature in my shaky hands.

The rat looked up at me curiously as I wrapped it up my scarf. I offered it a little wave.

“Privyet,” I greeted nervously.

The rodent stared back in silence.

“…I’m sorry for picking you up out of the blue, but I wanted to apologize,” I admitted, realizing that just staring at it wasn’t polite, “I was scared of you before, but now I’m realizing you were probably scared of me, too. I’m sorry.”

The rat blinked. I’ll take that as forgiveness.

“…It’s cold out, isn’t it?” I asked, starting to make my way away from home, “You’ll be cozier in the stable. There’s hay and food in there, you’ll like it! I’d let you be my roommate, but I don’t think Papa would allow  that… But I’ll try to visit you! We can be friends! You know, some people say we’re a lot alike!”

The rat squeaked.

“Great! I’ll name you Maksim. It’s nice to meet you!”

[usa-manors-library]

The Death of West; The Life of East

(A/N: I'll write something cheerful one day.

But that day.

Is not today. :D)

"EJ?"

That voice. He couldn't get himself to place it. It was too fuzzy. Too drowned out by the ringing in his ears.

"East...? Are you alright?"

He looked at the speaker, but his vision was blurred. He couldn't make anything out but smudges of color.

He leaned against the doorway (Doorway? Wasn't he at the cliffs?) for support as he tried to calm down and take a deep breath, but he was too choked up to manage anything.

What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he breathe? Why couldn't he stop shaking? Why was his face wet? Was he crying? He didn't cry.

A worried Connecticut put down the muddy shoe he was cleaning and approached the distressed colony standing in the front door.

"What happened?" He asked, thoroughly concerned as he guided his little brother to a chair, "Where's West?"

West. West was just with him, where did he go?

East Jersey thought back and tried to recall.

He remembered going with West to Elias Green's tavern an hour and a half ago.

Then they were thrown out thirty minutes later for... EJ got into an argument with Abner, right? It broke into a fight? West got involved and tried to break the two up. Elias thought he was joining in, so he threw all three of them out before they destroyed anything.

EJ was livid. He wanted to get some fresh air and clear his head, so he asked WJ to come with him to the...

Oh God, East's eyes widened as his face paled, The Palisades.

The final memories came rushing back to him;

West agreed to come. The two were talking. Joking around. Goofing off and walking by the edge. The sun was setting.

East was in the lead, ranting about the fight and how he was sorry for dragging his twin into it.

West was listening, saying it wasn't a big deal, and then... he cried out. EJ thought he was joking, since the two often did that to try to scare one another, but when he turned around to give his twin an incredulous look, he was... gone.

And that's when East heard the impact of the fall.

He made himself look over the edge, and... and... 

East hung his head and sobbed. He killed his brother. 

He killed his brother. It was his fault. 

If he just sucked up his bitterness and went home with West, none of this would of happened.

If he was simply more mature about the argument and walked away to enjoy his night, none of this would of happened.

If he never suggested to go to Elias's in the first place, none of this would of—

"...East."

That uneasy voice. Those footsteps. The shoes entering his field of vision. None of them were Connecticut's. They belonged to someone else.

Someone who started feeling distressed the second West fell, despite being oblivious to the entire situation. Someone who felt that unexplainable despair three times before.

Eyes overflowing with tearful remorse, EJ looked up to his father.

"...Vader, I... West..." East choked out, "H... He's..."

EJ trailed off and let out a shuddering breath. The colony couldn't even bear the thought of saying it, much less get it out. He dreaded the words too much. He couldn't do it. It would make everything... real. 

He didn't want it to be.

Luckily, he didn't have to. His shred of an answer confirmed Roanoke's fears.

The retired colony crouched down by his son and gently wiped his tears with a trembling hand, not noticing his own starting to fall freely in silence.

After a long moment, he found his ability to speak.

"...I know," Roanoke admitted, broken voice scarcely above a whisper, "I... I felt it..."

EJ tried his hardest to fight down his sobs. He failed. It wasn't long until he was on his knees and crying into his dad's shirt, clinging to him as if letting go would make him disappear into the wind.

Roanoke sat on the floor and wrapped his arms around East in a tight hug, bowing his head and shaking with his own cries as he held his mourning son close.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

Roanoke stood watching from a distance, pulled to the side by Kingdom of England.

He was shaky and as pale as a ghost, rueful eyes tinted red from prior tears while his kingdom spoke to him in hushed tones with a cold expression.

It looked almost as if England was lecturing him. As if Roanoke was a bratty child needing a stern talking-to, instead of being the mourning parent in need of comfort he was.

Connecticut looked away. It hurt to watch. It's not like the view of West Jersey's freshly covered grave in front of him felt any better to observe, but there was nothing he could do to help his father in that situation. As an English colony, he'd only make it worse. Connecticut could only listen while England grieved his grandson in his own screwed up way by blaming his son.

"An accident? I couldn't care less about it being an 'accident.' I care about you keeping my grandchildren alive!"

"I... I care about that, too!" The other argued, "You know I do! More than anything—!"

England cut Roanoke off by jerking his hand up, earning a wince from his son before he motioned to a distant hill covered in poppies, decorated by a single carefully crafted gravestone. 

He then jerked his hand in the other direction, towards a perfectly lovely spot under a large willow tree. Or at least a spot that seemed perfectly lovely, until you see the tombstone marked with the lifespan of nine years. 

Finally, he pointed to a garden about fourty yards away, yet another tombstone peaking through the flowers.

Popham, Saybrook, and New Haven.

"Then start acting like it, Ro. It's a simple task! It's incredible how easy it is for you to mess things up!" England snapped, glowering, "I can't believe how irresponsible you are! Without me, the rest of your children would of been in the ground years ago."

"I..."

"You, what?"

"It wasn't my..." Roanoke continued, seeming unsure if he believed his own words, "I don't see how this is my fau—"

"Of course it's your fault! Who else is there to blame? The cliff? East?"

Connecticut glanced to the twin of the deceased beside him, feeling a sting of sadness at East's cringe of guilt.

Without a word, East Jersey's older brother took his hand and guided him away from the one-sided argument, the sounds of England convincing their father he was to blame growing distant.

He was a little happy New York wasn't listening. Connecticut wasn't sure if he could've held him back from fighting with England, a scenario that would've worsened Roanoke's situation. 

Instead, the spitfire of a colony was comforting New Netherland— Connecticut, New York, and the Jerseys' own mother— as she adorned her late son's resting place with flowers. At least, he was trying to. The retired Dutch colony was justifiably inconsolable.

Once the gravesite, weeping mother, and arguing relatives were out of view and earshot, East... Province of New Jersey yanked his arm out of Connecticut's grasp.

"...East—"

"I'm fine," New Jersey snapped, rubbing his wrist, "You don't need to worry about me like a mother hen. I know what I did, there's no use in ignoring it."

"It wasn't your fault," Connecticut insisted, "You know how Grandfather gets, he was just going off on a tangent and spewing bull—"

"I'm not say it was Father's fault, I'm saying it was mine."

"That's not what I—"

"Then shut up!" New Jersey hissed, "Just... leave me alone!"

"Ea—"

New Jersey held his hand up with a glare, silencing Connecticut before turning and storming away.

"East, please—"

New Jersey shoved between and past Massachusetts and Rhode Island, who were walking side by side in Connecticut's direction.

"The hell...?" Rhode Island muttered, glancing behind him, "Why's he so livid all of a sudden? What happened, River?"

"I... " Connecticut replied, feeling lost, "...I think I ticked him off?"

"How?"

"I don't... know."

Rhode Island seemed unsatisfied with the poor excuse of an answer.

"...Well," RI reasoned, "There had to be something—"

"Or nothing," Massachusetts finished calmly, straightening the sleeve New Jersey messed up when bumping into him.

His younger half-brothers looked to him, eyes imploring him to elaborate.

"He's... His temper is a little unruly today," Massachusetts went on, "He yelled at me over putting his shoes in his room instead of leaving them by the back door this morning."

"Yell?" Rhode Island asked incredulously, "Are you sure? East never yells about trivial things like that."

"He... has a lot on his mind. For him to have to see West... to see... Lord Almighty, I couldn't imagine..."

Massachusetts trailed off, but the others understood.

"He's..." Rhode Island spoke up after a brief pause, "He'll be fine, right?"

"...Grief comes in many different ways for everyone," The Bay Colony explained, "At the moment, East's way is anger. Just... give him some space. He doesn't really want to offend or hurt you. He's just... getting over something. We all are. Be patient with him."

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

Patience. That can get used up quickly.

Everyone tried their best to stay patient with Jersey. Many tried to comfort him to no avail, so they resorted to walking on eggshells around him while he mourned.

For the days that followed, everyone fought down the urge to hold a grudge with him when he lashed out. The weeks that followed were designed with the same pattern. Then the months. Then the year...

It wasn't long until the one and a half years mark struck, when someone's well of patience finally dried up.

"Can you please shut the hell up already!?" New York exclaimed, shooting up from his seat and slamming the table, "We get it! You're a total ass! Now eat your damn porridge before I do everyone a favor and shove it down your throat!"

After he broke the ice, one by one, the colonies slowly stopped spending all their patience on New Jersey.

"It's been months. I really don't think he's mourning anymore... I'm starting to think he's simply gotten used to walking all over us," Rhode Island ranted to Delaware, "I'm sick of letting him. He's fine, probably more than fine with the way we've been inflating his ego."

In truth, New Jersey wasn't alright. At all.

He still tormented himself over West Jersey's death. He hasn't had a single good night's sleep since it happened. He was still angry. Mostly at himself, but his self-hatred seeped into the way he interacted with others. By the time he realized what he was doing and reigned it in, it was too late.

His siblings looked at him differently, and not in the good way. Whenever he approached one of them, they seemed prepared for an argument. Every time he tried to show some kindness, they were suspicious.

Whether they realized it or not, they treated him like he was a terrible person. It didn't take much for him to start believing them.

He didn't feel like East Jersey anymore. He felt like some sort of irredeemable monster. 

Maybe that's all he can be.

He was tired of trying to prove them wrong.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"There's no way."

"There is! I swear, that's what Massachusetts said!"

"Then I want what Mass is smoking," North Dakota joked, cutting vegetables for dinner, "Jers was never cuddly, even when he was a colony."

"How do you know?" South Dakota retorted, putting some bread in the oven, "You weren't alive when he was a colony."

"Because I asked Georgia. She says he's always been the same."

Connecticut listened to the two as he washed a couple recently used measuring cups, back facing them.

It was odd for him to remember pre-1702 New Jersey. He was a totally different person back then, one Georgia never got to know. She was born in 1732, thirty years after the Garden State's jarring personality shift.

He almost wanted to speak up and explain that to the Dakotas, but he knew they wouldn't believe him. None of the younger states ever did.

He guessed it was a little unimaginable to them, to think that the quickest to anger state they knew their entire lives was once one of the most huggable people in the world.

Connecticut glanced out the kitchen window above the sink, getting lost in his thoughts as he watched New Jersey weed his garden.

He missed the brothers he lost in 1702. Both of them.

After a moment of zoning out, a tap on his arm brought him back to reality. 

"Uhm... Uncle Nutmeg?" Central Jersey asked, timidly pointing to the measuring cup in Connecticut's hand, "It's clean now. You don't have to keep rinsing it."

"Oh! Right," Connecticut realized sheepishly, handing the kitchenware to the self-appointed dish dryer, "Sorry CJ."

The kid hummed happily as he finished drying the measuring cup, placing it in it's drawer.

"All done!" He smiled, "Is there anything else I can do to help?"

Connecticut turned off the faucet and shook his head.

"Nope! That's it," CT said, ruffling the little one's hair, "Thanks for the help!"

Central Jersey gave a little laugh at the hair ruffling, filling Connecticut with a sense of nostalgia.

A scene of East and West Jersey giggling the same way played in his mind. They were about Central's age at the time, helping Connecticut take care of the horses. After a couple hours of work, the two proudly went up to him and declared that they were done. He remembered thanking them with a grin before reaching out and ruffling the two rascals' hair.

The bittersweet memory sent a pang of longing through Connecticut's heart. He missed them. He missed them so much.

Having Central Jersey around was a blessing for everyone, in that regard. He was just like his father when he was his age. It helped... stifle the pain, a little. CJ helped patch up whatever holes the Jersey twins left behind in everybody's hearts.

Speaking of which...

"Central! I didn't know you were dropping by today!"

Central's eyes widened at the sound of America's voice, spinning around and rushing into his grandpa's outstretched arms for a hug.

"I thought you were out today!" The boy exclaimed, hugging the tall country.

"Out of my mind? Probably. Out of the house? Nope!" America grinned, "So, what brings you into our neck of the woods?"

"Mom has some work to take care of tonight, so she's picking me up tomorrow morning!"

"Ah, so she dropped you off with your old man?"

"She...! She... dropped me off with my old man," Central Jersey agreed, excitement seeming a little dampened at the mention of his dad. 

America exchanged a knowing glance with Connecticut.

"Have you seen him yet?"

Central Jersey hesitantly shook his head, "...I don't think he'd want to see me."

"...Aw, c'mon. I'm sure that's not—"

New Jersey opened the kitchen door and kicked his muddy boots off, trudging in with a basket of tomatoes. He placed them on the counter and turned around to go back out to the garden.

America cleared his throat.

New Jersey paused, hand hovering over the doorknob. He gave an annoyed, drawn-out sigh as he turned around, "What did I do this—?" 

He stopped short and stared at Central Jersey.

"His mother," America answered, motioning to CJ, "You did his mother this time."

CJ offered a small wave.

An awkward silence fell upon the group.

"...Heyyy, CJ," New Jersey eventually greeted, seeming extremely uncomfortable, "How's it... going?"

"I'm... alright," Central Jersey smiled shyly, "You?"

"Fine, fine. Just... screwing around. And... stuff. So, your mom's still alive?"

"Uhm... Yes?"

"Ah. Cool, cool. That's... that's always nice..." New Jersey slowly opened the door, "Well... I'm gonna go. Seedlings don't water themselves. It was... nice seeing you."

"Yeah... It... It was nice seeing you too. I love—!"

New Jersey practically slammed the door on his way out.

"...You."

North Dakota crept up beside Central Jersey and wrapped an arm around him.

"Hey, kiddo," She started gently, "How about we let Dak finish up in the kitchen, and we can go see if anyone's up for a card game?"

Central Jersey's eyes lit up at the thought, "Cards Against Humanity?"

"I really shouldn't be letting someone your age play— Aw hell, why not? Everyone needs a bad influence in their life. Cards Against Humanity."

The two strolled away giddily, off to play a game Utah definitely banned from family game night.

Connecticut and South Dakota looked to their father.

"...I know, I'm... I'll go talk to him," America sighed, "Being a deadbeat father is a job for England, not a job for one of my sons."

With that, United States left through the door New Jersey just slammed.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"What was that?"

"A basket of tomatoes," New Jersey mumbled, not looking up from his weeding, "They're fruits. Italians worship them. You might recognize them from pizza sauce?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

New Jersey bit his lip and continued weeding, trying to ignore the presence of his father.

"...New Jersey."

"I'm busy."

"Jersey."

"Not now."

"Jers."

"I have to get these—"

"East.”

New Jersey froze.

"..." He stood up and brushed himself off, "...There's a name I haven't heard in awhile."

America followed New Jersey as he attempted to escape to the garden shed, "Why are you so against being there for Central?"

"I'm not... against it."

"Then why aren't you?"

New Jersey grabbed a watering can and trudged out of the shed, "...It's complicated."

"It's your son."

NJ turned on the hose.

"Unfortunately..." New Jersey muttered after the watering can was full, shutting off the hose and trudging to a group of seedlings.

America's eye twitched. He snatched the watering can from New Jersey and set it down beside him firmly, slapping NJ's hand away from it when he tried to reach for it.

New Jersey slowly withdrew his hand and looked down, not meeting America's eyes.

"Do you hear yourself right now?" America snapped, "What the hell is wrong with you? Inside that house is a kid who loves you more than anything, despite you not giving him a single damn reason to! All he wants is to have you in his life! If you keep this up, that's going to change."

"F%>k, I hope so."

"What the hell is wrong with you? You love him, don't you?"

New Jersey eyed the watering can in silence.

"...You love him," America tried again, attempting to control his frustration, "Don't you?"

"...Shut up."

"Jersey—"

"Shut the hell up!"

"You don't have to—!"

"I love him more than anything on this earth, dammit!"

"Then why—?"

"Because he doesn't need me! Because I'm the kind of person I want staying the hell away from him! Because I'd screw him the f%+k up! I'd ruin his life!" New Jersey exclaimed, "He doesn't need to know the... the monster of a person his dad is! I couldn't bear the thought of burdening someone as wonderful as him with me!"

America, taken aback by New Jersey's outburst, stayed silent in surprise.

"Lord, imagine if I actually influenced him? Imagine if he grew up to be like me?" New Jersey shook his head, full-on ranting now, "I couldn't live with that. He can't— He can't! I love him, dammit! I want to keep egotistical, selfish, awful, br— brother-murdering assholes away from him! I want to keep myself away—!"

America reached out to his distressed son, "...Jer—"

"I love him, I do! I'm so proud of him and everything he does! It— It hurts, having to stay away from him like this, but it has to be done! I don't deserve him! I'm- I'm irredeemable! Everyone knows this! This is all I can b—!"

America pulled New Jersey into a tight hug.

The Garden State trembled like a leaf in the wind, but made no moves to free himself.

"Th... This is all I—" He choked out, "All I can..."

"No. That's not— That's never been true, Jersey," America denied, gently rubbing NJ's back as he cried.

"You're— You're lying," New Jersey stuttered, "It's— It's always been... Since..."

"...Since when?" America asked gently, "How long have you felt...?"

"Since— Since I killed West..."

Oh Lord. West's death was 320 years ago. 

America felt like an absolute idiot for not noticing sooner.

Was he really too wrapped up in getting over England's accusations to realize that he might not be the only one feeling guilty?

"You didn't... kill West."

"I did."

"Did you push him off?"

New Jersey's eyes widened, "No, of course not!"

"So he fell off by himself? With no outside interference?"

New Jersey nodded.

"So you didn't kill him?"

"Ye— No!"

"Let's say, hypothetically, Michigan invited Ohio on a walk. On the way, Ohio tripped and fell into a pit of piranhas and was completely consumed, bones and all—"

"That's morbid, Dad."

"—Was it Michigan's fault?"

"Michigan probably put the piranhas there for revenge."

"Assuming he didn't, did he murder Ohio?"

"...No."

"So, when West Jersey fell; it wasn't your fault."

"That's different."

"How?"

"It just... is?"

"..."

"...Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"I can feel your stupid eyes judging me. Listen, if it wasn't my fault, who's was it?"

"...Nobody's," America sighed, "Sometimes, bad things happen, and as much as you hate it; there's no one to blame."

"I don't... That doesn't sound right."

"I know," America admitted, "But it's true."

"So what?" New Jersey huffed, "Let's say I didn't kill West, that doesn't change the fact that I'm a total piece of—"

"Hey! Don't talk about my son that way."

New Jersey's eye roll was almost audible.

"Like it or not Jers, you're redeemable," America decided confidently.

"Redemption?" New Jersey gave a mirthless laugh, "Please, I haven't even been able to get my grief about something that happened over three centuries ago to shrink."

"Grief doesn't... shrink."

"...What?"

"Trust me, it never does. It... It stays the same size forever. Life just grows around it."

"Life just... grows around it?" New Jersey looked up to America, "How can I make it do that?"

"I think... Therapy. Therapy might be a good start for you."

New Jersey snorted.

"What? I'm serious!"

New Jersey studied America's face.

"...Really?" He asked incredulously, "You're serious?"

"As the plague."

"Which one?"

America shrugged, "Any of them, pick your favorite."

"Black Death."

"Sure, I'm as serious as the bubonic plague."

"You..." New Jersey hesitated, realizing that America wasn't joking, "Really think it'll help, don't you?"

His father nodded, "I do, Jersey. I really do."

"Then... Maybe... For you, I'll... For— For Central, I'll..."

"It'll be okay, Jers. You'll be okay."

New Jersey nodded and took a deep breath.

"Alright," He said, giving a small, hopeful smile, "I'll go."

[usa-manors-library]

Food Stash Finding

(A/N: Heyyy let me give you a warning real quick, guys, gals, pals; Alaska abuse! If you want to pass it, scroll until you see the text divider.

Also; I'm Latinizing most Russian words for the sake of my English speaking audience. Obviously the Russian language uses a different alphabet, but I thought I'd make it easier for most of  you readers to pronounce in your heads.)

"Russkaya Amerika," Imperial Russia demanded in a stern, disapproving voice as he threw open the door.

The colony jumped, startled by the sudden entrance of his father. He turned away from his window and offered a shaky smile.

"Zdravstvujtye, Papa," He greeted, "How are you?"

"How am I? Syn, you're a fool if you think I'm here to talk about feelings," The Russian scoffed, tipsily stumbling into the room, "We both know no son of mine can be a fool. So. Where is it?"

The boy's smile wavered, mind running a million miles per second to figure out what his father was talking about, "Where's what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, you thief," Russian Empire huffed, starting to shuffle through his son's things, "There were twelve loaves of Kalach bread yesterday morning. I ate one, and today when I went to get a pre-supper snack, there were nine. Tell me, you little pig, how does that math make sense?"

Russkaya Amerika paled.

"I don't recall permitting you to eat breakfast today. In fact, I wasn't home to allow you to have dinner either. I also sent you to bed without supper last night..." Imperial Russia continued, "So I have a theory. I believe, we have a rat in this house."

"A... rat?"

"You heard me. We have a fat, gluttonous rat roaming these halls. A filthy rat that must've been hungry, after missing three meals..." The empire eyed a bit of crumb on the bookshelf, "A rat that was so hungry, it didn't bother covering its little tracks..."

"...Papa. Papa, wait—!"

Russian Empire went to the bookshelf and brushed off the crumbs. He turned to glare at Alaska.

Russian America's eyes widened as he covered his mouth.

"Izveeneetye, izveeneetye, izveeneetye!" He tearfully apologized, bowing his head, "I— I didn't... I was hung... Izveeneetye! It slipped out, I didn't mean to—!"

*THWACK*

"You do not have the authority to tell me what to do, rat," The Russian hissed, lowering his throwing arm.

His son nodded without looking up, trembling as his hot tears fell off his face.

"...And for the love of God, stop being so pathetic," Russian Empire gave an exasperated sigh, "It didn't even hit you."

He's right. The dictionary flew past the boy's head. Papa wanted to scare him, not hurt him. But that would change, the second he turned around. 

10-year-old Alaska wasn't crying over the crumbs. He was crying over the food stash, formerly hidden behind that book.

He felt the blood freeze in his veins as he heard the country look behind him.

"Russkaya Amerika... Stealing your own father's food?"

Russian America was very grateful that the heaviest book was already thrown.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"Alaska?" America called, softly knocking on his new territory's door, "May I come in?"

Alaska's eyes widened at the sound of his country's voice. He almost tripped over his own feet as he rushed out of bed and to the door, quickly opening it for America.

"Да— Yes!" Alaska nodded, "Of course."

He mentally cursed himself for taking so long. If he had only watched where he was stepping, he could've gotten to the door sooner. There was also the language slip-up. What kind of idiot forgot the language spoken in his own country?

He watched America's face (and hands) for a reaction, but... nothing happened.

America took a step forward.

Alaska braced himself for whatever was coming.

America simply walked into the room and smiled.

"Ah, alright! I just wanted to make sure Indiana replaced your pillows and sheets. The ones that were in here before were made to be uncomfortable," America chuckled, "We used this as a guest room— specifically for guests we didn't want to hang around too long, so we sabotaged the bedding in hopes of making them want to leave sooner."

"She already replaced them then," Alaska confirmed, "They're very nice. Uhm... Maybe too nice? Are you sure I have the right ones?"

America laughed, much to Alaska's silent confusion.

He was serious. Surely America didn't mean to give something that well-made to him, right? At home— Well, at his former home, he didn't even have a pillow.

But this isn't Russia, Alaska reminded himself, And I have no right to question America's decisions, even if they aren't very... normal.

"I'm glad you like them! Now, I also came here to see how you're doing."

Okay, this had to be a trick.

"I know this whole thing's probably... odd for you, to say the least," America continued, "And this house can be a bit loud and... rambunctious, at times—"

Alaska gave a small nod, pretending to know what 'rambunctious' meant.

"So I wanted to check in on you. Is everything alright?"

Govno. Alaska didn't know how to answer.

If he said no, America would be angry— 

Upset, He corrected himself, Countries... Countries never get angry. They get upset.

He would be upset with Alaska for being ungrateful of his hospitality.

If he said yes, America would think that's— That's egotistical, right? To say you're alright when so many other people aren't? Papa told him it was.

"It's different, but everything's fine," Alaska answered dryly, hoping that was neutral enough.

Apparently it was, since America seemed semi-satisfied with the answer.

"Good," The American nodded, "If there's ever a time when you don't feel like it is... you can always tell me."

'So I can discipline you for being a whiner,' Alaska mentally filled in the blank.

Instead of vocalizing his conclusion, he simply nodded.

"Yes sir."

"Great." America made his way to the door, "By the way, supper's going to be a little late tonight. Ohio started a fire in the kitchen by making flammable... tea? He seems to be really good at lighting water on fire. Anyway, it took a while to clean up, so I'd say it'd be— What, thirty minutes late?"

America thought for a moment before shrugging, "I'm not certain. I'll just call for everyone, so keep an ear out, alright?"

Alaska nodded once more.

"Nice. See you then!"

*BANG*

*THUD*

America accidentally slammed the door, making Alaska jump as a heavy, insecure portrait fell off the wall.

Alaska felt his heart stop.

That was the portrait he hid his new food stash behind.

"Ti Durak...!" Alaska quietly insulted himself, frozen in fear as his eyes went to the stash scattering across the ground to the turning doorknob.

"Sorry about that! I guess I don't know my own... strength..." America surveyed the scene, "...Alaska?"

Alaska fearfully dropped to his knees, trembling as he attempted to clean up his mess with his shaky hands.

"Iz— izveeneetye! Izveeneetye, izveeneetye!" A terrified Alaska blurted out, "Izveeneetye! I'm... I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, sorry!"

"Alaska..." America carefully approached the territory, crouching next to him.

"I'm— I'm sorry! Izveeneetye, iz-izveeneetye!" He continued to apologize, "I... This... I was hungry, I'm sorry!"

America lifted his hand. Alaska responded by wincing and bowing his head, heart hammering and mind racing.

Would America's hits hurt more or less than Papa's?

I mean, Papa was my father, surely he held back a little, since I was his son. To America, I'm just a random territory. He doesn't have any reason to weaken the blow.

How can I be a burden to him already? I haven't even been here for a week, and I've already screwed up! Looks like Papa had the right idea...

Will America sell me? When? Would the person he sells me to sell me, after they realize what a waste of space I am? What about the person they sell me to? The person that sells me after the other?

Will I just be bought and sold over and over again until I'm old and gray?

America brought his hand down, gently resting it on Alaska's as a sign to stop.

Alaska paused and looked up to America with bewildered eyes.

"You don't have to apologize. It wasn't your fault," America carefully explained with a softened expression, "It was mine, really. I was the one who slammed the door. I'm not mad."

"You're not... Countries don't get... mad. You're— You're upset."

"No. Not with you," America negated before motioning to the mess on the floor, "Now. Do you feel like telling me what all this is about...? It's completely alright if you want to catch your breath first. I won't make you tell me if you don't want to."

"I... It's... I'm sorry for being such a little... little rat... I stole— I stole from your pantry. I ate without your permission!"

America studied Alaska's face and frowned.

...That can't be good—

"Alaska... you're not a rat. You don't need my permission to eat. You don't need it to get something from the pantry either. You live here. It's your pantry too..." America furrowed his brow, "Have you... Have you been skipping meals? Since I haven't been... 'permitting' you?"

Alaska hesitantly nodded.

Yep, now America's definitely worried.

"So you haven't had breakfast since...?"

"Ehm... A couple days before I left Russia."

"Well then, I'm certainly glad you 'stole'," America made sure to dramatize the air quotes, "From the pantry. Is... Was asking for permission normal for you?"

Alaska nodded once more.

"And if you didn't?"

"I... I, uhm, got disciplined."

That word made the country queasy, for some reason.

"What did that... entail?"

"Just..." Alaska rolled up his sleeve to show off a couple bad bruises, "This and yelling. Discipline."

And now America's pissed. 

"How long had he been... 'disciplining' you?"

"I don't... remember the first time...?"

Russian Empire's very lucky they're both countryhumans. Beating the crap out of him could destroy thousands of lives. Otherwise, he and America would have some words.

Some very long words. 

Some words that may or may not be eternally solidified in his mind via punches.

And I'm not talking about the word 'discipline.'

"Alaska... That's not... good. Or normal."

"I— I know! I should've been better! I should've been less of a burden! It— It was my fault! If I was... If I was a better person, than he wouldn't of had to... to—!"

"No... no... That's..." America shook his head, "That wasn't your fault."

"But it was!" Alaska snapped, "It always was!"

His eyes widened as he realized his own tone.

"I'm— I'm sorry!" He bowed his head again, "It— It slipped out, I...!"

"You're okay, Laskie," America reassured, placing his hand on the territory's shoulder softly, "You don't... you don't need to apologize for emotions."

Alaska seemed unconvinced, but his string of apologies trailed off into silence.

America took a deep breath. He could do this.

"Alaska, do you know what abuse is? Izbiyeniye?"

"Of course I do," Alaska spoke up, "But I don't see how that's relevant."

"What's your definition of abuse?"

"Beating up somebody. Maybe starving them or yelling at them for no reason."

"So you were abused."

"No," Alaska shook his head, "No... That's different."

"How so?"

"I... I was being disciplined. Punished. Taught a lesson. It's the only way I learn anything."

"...Follow up question; have you ever heard the term 'gaslighting?'"

"Yes, but..." Alaska's head jerked up with realization, "He didn't do that! He never would! I'm his son! Who's ever heard of a somebody trying to gaslight their own family members!?"

America slowly raised his hand.

"I... That..." Alaska stammered, "That's— That's not fair. England and Britain don't count."

America slowly lowered his hand.

A brief period of silence fell over the room while Alaska tried to gather his thoughts.

"Your... Your dad tried to gaslight you... You and your uncles... And maybe even your siblings, right?"

"Mhm," America nodded.

"...How were you able to tell? To— To realize what he was doing?"

"I realized that his lies didn't add up."

"And... And you did that by...?"

"...What did Russia 'discipline' you for?"

"Stealing food, naturally," Alaska replied, inwardly cringing at his accidental rolled 'r.'

"Taking care of a basic human need that he refused to provide?"

"Ehm... Getting in his way. Like standing in a room or hallway he didn't want me in."

"On purpose?"

"No... I didn't go into the closed-off rooms."

"So... Just existing in your home?"

"I... Yes. But, but there were times when I was obnoxious and made too much noise!"

America looked at Alaska doubtfully, "You don't seem to be the 'loud and obnoxious' type."

"When... When I was goofing off, or laughing at something stupid, or rambling about something I liked, or—"

"Just being human?"

"But I was an attention seeker, too! I got scared, sometimes I got angry, sometimes I was sad—"

"So... Just being human?"

Alaska paused and furrowed his brow.

"But... But when I was little I had nightmares and woke him up! I... I bothered him with imaginary stories and tried to get him to play! That was selfish—!"

"That's... That's just being a kid, Laskie. A kid who..." America's gaze turned sorrowfully nostalgic for a moment, "Wants his father."

"I...! I..."

Alaska couldn't think of any more examples.

The fragile hallucination of his Papa being a perfect father was shattering before his eyes.

"Listen... I'm not claiming to have gone through something as bad as you have," America started, "I mean, I always had food. Fath— England wasn't as physically violent as Russia sounds. At least when I was growing up as a failure— *Ahem*, failed colony."

Alaska's ears perked up at that. He didn't know America used to be a failed colony too.

"But... Our situation's share a little common ground. I know... I know how hard it can be to come to terms with the fact that your dad... might not be the hero you made him out to be growing up," America disclosed, "I know what it's like to worry about left behind siblings... What were their names?"

"Litva and Finlyandskoye. Or... Or Lietuva and Suomi. Lithuania and Finland, for you."

"Lithuania and Finland... I'll remember that," America filed away before continuing, "I... also know how difficult it can be to get through when you feel alone, and... I don't want that for you, Alaska."

"What... What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm... I'm here for you," America stated, "Realizing how abnormal your life was before can be... a scare, a migraine, a blessing, a curse, a... a jarring change... And I want to help you sort it out. When you're ready to, of course. I just... I want you to know you can rely on me for help.

For support, talks, my opinion, or whenever you just need to be around a friend... I'm here. I don't want you to feel utterly alone like I... Like some people feel, when they're untangling a mess like this."

"...Really? You'd do that for...?" Alaska looked down, "I... I don't want to burden you with..."

"You're not a burden, Laskie. You've never been."

"I'm... I'm not sure if I believe you about that..."

"You wouldn't, right away," America admitted, standing up, "But I'm hoping you'll believe it one day."

Alaska gave a small nod as America helped him up, "Maybe... Maybe one day."

Not today, but...

Maybe one day.

[usa-manors-library]

Hello guys, gals, all my pals!

Welcome to the official library of @ask-the-usa-manor ! AKA; My (@the-everlasting-one ’s) writing blog!

Just a lil’ place to show off the incredibly rare occurrence of me writing!

Now, two more things before I wrap this up:

• Everything’s going to be cross-posted on my Wattpad; TheEverlastingOne and my Ao3; TheEverlastingOne (wildly different name, ik)! So if you feel like reading these stories in a different format, or just want to comment on a specific part, head to there!

Just… Just don’t look at ‘Where Did You Hide These Kids, The Basement!?!’ We don’t… we don’t talk about it. My HCs have changed a lot since writing that, so it’s probably never going to get updated.

• Requests are open…! Just not for people who want to ask for NSFW or other problematic stories. I can and will deny those asks.

Welp… I’m pretty sure I got everything, so…

Stay hydrated and don’t do drugs?

<3, @the-everlasting-one