Chapter Text
Prologue ~
December 7, 2002
America knew that she’d ask him some day.
They had all asked him eventually. All 48 of them.
Mama, when can I meet Papa?
They had all asked him at different times, in different languages, with different words. All looking up at him with those wide, bright eyes. That pleading, insistent pout on their faces. That innocent, hopeful glow lighting up their cheeks.
Hey Ma, ain’t ya gonna tell me about my Pa?
I would very much like it if I could meet Father. Just once, Mother. Please?
Pouvez-vous me parler de papa, maman?*
Every time, America had dreaded it. Every time, he had been prepared for it. Every time, he had been ready with reassuring stories and sweet words.
Your daddy is amazing, Noah. His smile could light up the world, no joke! He’s loud and funny and so passionate about things! And his music is so awesome…
Aw, Lizzy, I’m sure you can go visit him someday. He’s just going through a tough time right now and he needs to be ultra-focused. But I’m sure he’ll be so excited to see you…
Bien sûr chérie. De quoi commencer? Eh bien, ton père est gentil et sage et tout à fait charmeur. Et sa nourriture est à tomber par terre…*
But not this time. This time, he was taken off guard. Because Hawaii was only six years-old, physically, and his states had always, always been at least ten when they asked him.
But then again, Hawaii was an anomaly, so really, he should have expected it.
“Do you think he’ll go surfing with me?” Hawaii tilted her head, eyes sparkling with hopes and possibilities, “Or maybe he’ll watch ‘Lilo and Stitch’ with me? Everyone loves Disney!”
America simply hummed non-committedly, not really listening. At the moment, his daughter’s voice was nothing but a fading echo, background noise, as soft as the sound of distant waves crashing against the shore.
Maman, can you send my mud pie to Papa? I made it especially for him! Massachusetts told me Papa loves mud pies!
Oh Lucy, I don’t think it would survive being sent to France. But it’s a shame, your daddy does love…mud pies…um, actually can you send Benjamin over? I need to talk to him…
Mum, please tell Father that I wish him a splendid birthday! Oh, and can you give him this blanket? I knitted it myself! It has all the things you said Father simply adores. Rabbits, Tudor Roses, Robins-
Oh yes, of course, darling! I-I’ll make sure he gets this. I know he’ll love it…
Mamá, tía México me dijo que papá la lastimó a ella y a sus hermanos. ¿Es verdad mamá? ¿Les hizo daño?*
N-No, cariño. No creo que haya sido él, probablemente alguien más. H-Hay muchas naciones europeas después de todo… *
America had felt guilty afterwards. He always felt guilty. Even though he had tried to put as much honesty into those conversations as possible, he sometimes had to bend the truth a little, had to make things up, had to lie through his teeth so he wouldn’t hurt them, his precious children.
After all, how could he tell them the truth when their very existence was a lie, a secret? The biggest secret of the United States of America. Something he tried to believe wasn’t a lie because no one ever asked him. And if no one ever asked him, he couldn’t lie about anything…right?
“Mama?” Hawaii whispered, jolting America from his thoughts. He looked down at her, eyes softening as she clutched her Stitch plushie closer to her chest. America absentmindedly noted how it was old and worn and had some threads coming loose. He would have to replace it soon, if he could ever get Hawaii to give it up.
Her little face scrunched up in worry. “Mama, are you ok?”
“Y-Yeah,” America said, letting out a bright, easy laugh, “Just thinkin’ about some things, Lilo.”
Hawaii nodded, accepting the response. She waited patiently as America scrambled to remember what she had asked him, her big brown eyes blinking up at him serenely, and for a moment, America forgot where he was, who he was talking to. He saw another pair of soft brown eyes, older and calmer than Hawaii’s.
He remembered those eyes when they had been filled with love, when America had held his hand and dreamt about all the things they would do together, all the places they would go, the things they would create.
And he remembered those eyes when they had been devoid of all feeling, two empty vacuums set into a bone white face, when America’s heart had shattered along with all the hopes, all the memories, all the dreams.
“Mama?”
Hawaii was too young to understand America’s distant gaze, too young to see through his mask. Not like the original thirteen, who could read America like a comic book. But that came from years upon years of being together, of watching as America smiled through pain and through heartbreak, of seeing their mother break down in the dead of night so no one would hear him cry.
But Hawaii, sweet, young Hawaii, was blissfully unaware. It was only her and her little brother Alaska. The last of the 50. The only ones who didn’t know who their fathers were. Didn’t know what their fathers had done.
“Do you think he doesn’t like me?”
America snapped out of his daze again, blinking down at his daughter with wide, blue eyes. “Wh-What? What could possibly make you think that, sweetheart?”
Hawaii shuffled her feet, squeezing the plushie self-consciously. “Y-You weren’t saying anything…” She sniffled once, and it broke America’s heart, “I-I thought maybe you were trying not to hurt my f-feelings…”
Oh, if only she knew .
“Oh God, I’m so sorry, Meli* ,” America crouched down to Hawaii’s level, reaching out to gently wipe her tears away, heart clenching painfully, “Mama just has a lot on his mind right now. I promise that your Papa loves you with all his heart. Ok, Lilo?”
Hawaii nodded, scrubbing at her face with that unique frustration that only little-girls-who-want-to-be-more-grown-up have.
“Th-Then when is he gonna come over?” Hawaii pouted, eyes slightly red rimmed, “Doesn’t he wanna come see me? Doesn’t he love you? If he comes over, we can be a big happy family! Ohana just like in the movie!”
America gave her a blinding smile. To anyone, it would look genuine. The same curve of his lips, the same crinkles next to his eyes, the same tilt to his head. But the original thirteen would be able to see the frayed edges, the bittersweet softness, the sliver of pain because America knew .
The Ohana Hawaii was dreaming of wasn’t going to happen any time soon.
And then there was the idea of “Daddy coming home,” which added a whole other layer of complexity that made America’s head spin. Because there was no “Daddy.” It was more like…
…Dadd ies .
America tried to shove it all to the back of his mind as he tucked a strand of dark hair behind Hawaii’s ear, determined to just enjoy these few moments with his youngest daughter. But unwanted images kept resurfacing, dancing to the forefront of his brain and then spinning out of reach before he could catch them, before he could try to wipe them completely from his mind.
England stood on his porch, blond hair sprinkled with raindrops, green eyes luminous even in the black of night. His coat was soaked through in certain places and, for a moment, America thought the wet spots were blood stains and that they were on that battlefield again and that America would have to break both their hearts a second time. “Alfred…A-America I…please…please just once. Let me hold you just this once…”
France pulled him closer as the sun peeked out over the horizon, reds and golds and pinks chasing out the deep violet of the night sky and gracing the world with their dazzling hues. His eyes were on America as he crooned softly in his ear, voice velvety and soft and promising so many things that America so desperately wanted. “All of this, it could be yours Amérique. Just think of it. You could extend beyond the horizon. I could help you…”
Spain strummed his guitar lazily under a tree, legs tangled with America’s, the canopy of leaves making a pattern of light and shadow over his tanned skin. He flashed America a slow, sleepy smile and leaned over to press a kiss to his temple, long fingers curling around America’s waist, breath warm and soft against his cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy, mi amor. You make me feel things I thought I wasn’t capable of anymore…”
Prussia, Germany, Japan, Russia…the list went on. America had been with them all. Had belonged to them all. He had loved each and every one of them, for all their flaws and all their strengths. He had held them while they were crumbling, whispered sweet nothings to them while they were sleeping, laughed and loved and lived with his heart in their hands, hoping to God that they wouldn’t drop it.
But they did. They all did, eventually. They had all left him sooner or later, some with apologetic good-byes, others without a trace. Like they had never even existed. Like their love had never even existed. Some came back, yes. Some came back many, many times. But then America would roll over and they would be gone again, evaporated like mist under the morning sun.
And none of them knew what they had left behind. Who they had left behind.
“I think I’ll give Papa some pink hibiscuses when he finally comes over,” Hawaii exclaimed, reaching up to touch the flower in her hair as she bounced up and down excitedly, “Do you think he likes pink? Hmmm...I could give him yellow if he likes it better-”
America kissed her nose, making her break off with a giggle. “No worries, Lilo. Your Papa loves pink! In fact…” America trailed off, smiling mischievously when Hawaii’s eyes lit up with anticipation, “Papa sent me something for you…”
“WHAT? HE DID?!” America’s eyes widened as he pursed his lips to hide a laugh. It constantly amazed him how loud she could be when she was excited.
She’s normally so quiet…just like her father.
America shook his head, refusing to dwell on that thought. Instead, he focused on the way Hawaii reached up on her tippy toes to see what America had behind his back, the way her copper colored skin glowed with an inner light. America brought his hands forward and Hawaii gasped, Stitch slipping from her hands to land forgotten on the ground.
Japanese Cherry Blossoms. A whole bouquet of them. All fragile petals and delicate pinks and touches of white. Every petal curving just the slightest bit inward, blossoms bunched together like their own little families.
Hawaii took the flowers as if they were made of glass, eyes growing to twice their size. Carefully, she brushed her fingers against the dainty blooms and breathed out murmured words that America could barely hear.
“He sent these...for me?”
“Yes. I told him how you loved the color pink, and he told me he simply had to send them to you. They’re all over his nation, you know,” America replied smoothly. As if it wasn’t a lie. As if he hadn’t had these flowers secretly imported from their home country. As if Japan actually knew that Hawaii existed.
Hawaii’s lips trembled and America knew that she was going to cry. He swept her into his arms, kissing away the tears at the edges of her eyes.
“Forget him coming here,” Hawaii giggled softly, shakily, “I wanna go over there. I wanna see where these come from. I wanna see him .” She turned to America, as if he had the power to make all her dreams come true. “Can I, Mama? Can I go visit him? Please? If he’s busy and can’t come here, then I’ll go over there and keep him company! It’ll be perfect!”
“O-Of course, sweetness, I’m sure he’d love to have you over there.”
America tried to ignore the way his heart twisted painfully when she let out a jubilant shout, burying her face into the cherry blossoms as if to memorize their scent. So she could find more of them when she went to her father’s country.
America smiled. It was just one more lie. One among a hundred thousand he had said over the years. He would figure it out somehow, he knew he would. He could delay and delay and delay that promise until one day there was no such thing as war and pain and secrets and then Hawaii could finally meet her father. And it wouldn’t matter that years ago, that same man had hurt her. Had hurt her so badly that her skin was forever marred with burn scars, her mind still plagued with nightmares of planes and sinking ships and people screaming as they were gunned down in the streets. It wouldn’t matter anymore.
Maybe then they could be a big happy family. Maybe then they could be an Ohana.
✦ ✦ ✦
January 21, 2003
America sighed as he closed the door to his house, raking a hand through his hair. He dropped his briefcase with a dull thud, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as if he could physically push back the tears.
You’re disgusting! How can you even physically eat that shit? No wonder you’re so fat and stupid, all that grease probably destroyed your brain. That is if you had one in the first place…
You’re a monster! People are dying and you’re just standing there! Aren’t you supposed to be the world superpower? Why aren’t you using all that money to help people instead of funneling it into your goddamn fast food chains and cartoon characters?!
Some hero! Don’t you understand that no one wants you? No one wants your crappy “help,” all it does is mess everything up! Can’t you just leave other nations alone instead of meddling into everything like a daft child?
America chuckled bitterly, leaning against the wall as he wrapped his arms around himself. They probably didn’t even realize how hypocritical they all were. Why aren’t you helping people? Why are you meddling so much? What did they want him to do? Tear himself in half and have one part of him help them and the other stay out of it? What did they want from him?
America didn’t know. Because they all looked at him as if he was the only nation in the world who interfered in other countries’ affairs. As if he was the only nation in the world who tried to avoid war. As if he was the only nation in the world who hurt people.
America knew that he’d caused pain. So much pain. To so many countries that it’s a wonder he hadn’t lost count. But he remembered. Despite their belief that he was nothing but a ditzy, arrogant young upstart, he remembered them all. He remembered all the nations he hurt, all the people he killed, all the mistakes he made.
And they acted as if they didn’t remember theirs.
America clenched his jaw. He refused to cry. At least, not here, not in the hallway where his children might hear him.
The bedroom then. He just had to stay strong until he reached his bedroom. If he could manage it through the entirety of that failure of a meeting, through the hissed insults and harsh glares and condescending voices, he could manage it for three more minutes.
He took a deep breath and stepped into the living room, his excuse to retire to bed early already on the tip of his tongue.
He exhaled in relief when he saw only Delaware, passed out cold on the couch, blond hair sticking up everywhere, long, lanky limbs splayed awkwardly over the cushions. America laughed as Delaware let out an obnoxiously loud snore.
His oldest had always been the flighty type. Restless and impulsive and never liking to stay in one place for long. So America often found him like this. Curled up in random places in the house, coming and going as he pleased. He didn’t fault his son for it. In his family, freedom was more than a drug, it was who they were. And as long as Delaware didn’t hurt himself, America would always be supportive of that.
America lingered, abandoning his original plan of making a beeline for his bedroom. He strayed over to his son, carding a hand gently through his ruffled blond locks, smoothing down all the strands except for the little cowlick he inherited from his mother.
Delaware stirred, mumbling something under his breath that America couldn’t quite catch. His heart swelled when Delaware nuzzled into his hand, the stubborn wrinkle between his brows smoothing until his face was completely relaxed. America’s breath hitched. In that moment, Delaware reminded him so much of England, it physically hurt. They both had that sweet, young look on their faces when they were asleep, the same faint smile tugging on their lips, the same slow, rhythmic breathing. America pulled away as tears pricked his eyes, slipping quietly up the three flights of stairs to his room, limbs heavy with a mixture of exhaustion and longing for something he couldn’t even name..
In the safety of his room, his facade came apart slowly. The first few times, it dropped immediately, just plummeted to the floor and broke into a million pieces that America had to gather and put back together again. But recently, he had to peel it off, like peeling off a layer of his own skin. Painful and slow and sometimes America thought that he was stuck like this. With that megawatt smile on his face and that carefree light in his eyes.
He barely noticed his body sliding to the floor, back against the door. The first few tears started to trickle down his cheeks, burning a salty path down his face. His mind spun with hundreds of voices, spewing dark, toxic, hate-filled words.
You’re nothing. Worthless. All you can do is hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt until everything’s broken and you’re all that’s left…
I know.
They’re better off without you. The other nations, your states, the world. They’d all be happier if you just disappeared. Why can’t you just disappear and make all their lives easier?
I wish I could.
What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you do anything right? Why can’t you just stop? Stop living, stop breathing, stop being. Just erase yourself and be done with it!
I don’t know how.
There was a loud bang downstairs. America blinked, scrubbing at his eyes and wondering just how long he had been holed up in his room. Seconds? Minutes? Hours?
There was another crash, he heard it, felt it making the wooden floor shudder underneath him. His ears pricked as he caught muffled voices, some sounds like a movie being played, and then screaming so loud he could hear them from three floors up. His children arguing over something.
America groaned.
I swear, if Massachusetts and New York are duking it out over baseball again, I’m disbanding the Yankees and the Red Sox.
He figured he should intervene, before things got too violent. He didn’t want a repeat of last year. America shook his head in exasperated fondness as he made his way out of his room and down the stairs, taking care to wipe the tears from his eyes and school his features into a relaxed, easygoing grin.
He knew something was wrong the second he entered the living room.
New York and Massachusetts weren’t facing off in the middle of the room, their usual supporters egging them on: California, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania with New York, and Rhode Island, New Hampshire and Vermont with Massachusetts. Connecticut caught in the middle trying to deescalate the situation while most of the other states looked on with amusement, annoyance, or disinterest.
No, this was different.
The States were gathered in a ring around the TV. Shoulders stiff, faces downcast, eerily silent. From what America could see, there were only about 40 or so in the room, mostly his older states. The younger ones must have gone to sleep.
They all turned to stare at him as he entered, and the looks in their eyes only deepened his foreboding.
Anger. Despair. Hurt. Betrayal.
Alarm bells went off in America’s mind, his motherly instincts rising in his chest. Something had hurt them. His babies. His sweet, sweet babies.
“What-”
“Why didn’t you tell us it had gotten this bad?”
America blinked, turning his head to face the speaker.
New York stood in front of him, spiky blond hair ragged and mussed up as if he had been tearing his hair out, not perfectly coiffed like usual. His sleek, elegant black trench coat was abandoned on the floor in a heap of fabric, his shirt sleeves rolled up. His hands were clenched into fists by his side, but America could still see them trembling. His entire body was taut with barely suppressed rage and when America met his gaze, his heart skipped a beat when New York’s normally hazel green eyes flashed a murderous blood red.
“I don’t…” America trailed off, glancing at the other States, noting the way they all reflected New York’s fury. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t act like it’s nothing!” America took a step back as New York roared, his entire body visibly trembling. “I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them all! I knew it was bad, hell, we all knew it was bad, but I thought they had some shred of decency in their pathetic, goddamned selves!”
America’s worry flared. New York was normally so composed. He was aware of his son’s occasional anger management issues, but it had never gotten this bad before…
America finally noticed the traces of melted snow in New York’s hair, the camera sitting alone on the coffee table, the paused video on the TV.
Oh God…
It’s him. America. At the world meeting. With half the other countries yelling at him for one reason or the other. Some glaring with evident hostility, a few carefully averting their gazes, others staring at him like he’s a worthless piece of trash.
America, with that oh so obviously fake grin on his face and the pain in his eyes and the hunched curve in his shoulders as if he’s trying to make himself small enough to just disappear.
And all his children could see it.
“Where did you…” America could barely talk around the mounting horror, mouth completely dry, eyes wide and disbelieving and oh gods please let this be a nightmare, please tell me they didn’t see their fathers-
“The World Meeting was in New York City,” Delaware said bitterly, his face contorted into a disgusted scowl, green eyes awake and glinting with cold fury, “New York said that it wasn’t fair that you never let us sit in on meetings so he decided to go to this one and record what happened…so we could all see.”
Please oh please oh please oh please…
“We’re such idiots,” Virginia whispered, rubbing her forehead as if she could erase the image of America flinching away from England’s barbed insults, “We know this. We know what they do to you. What our...our fathers do to you…” She looked up at America with furious tears glimmering in her green eyes, and all he wanted to do was to take her into his arms and whisper stories about how her Daddy could make flowers bloom and books come to life. “And we still ask you to invite them into our home , the only place where you’re safe from them...”
Her voice cracked and she turned away from England’s frozen face like she couldn’t bear to look at him anymore.
No, no, no, no…
“Do they always treat you like this, Ma?” Texas murmured faintly, as quietly as America had ever heard him speak, “Has this happened before?” Texas turned his brown eyes on America and they were blank, so blank and America just couldn’t hold onto the mask anymore, it slipped from between his fingers and shattered as it hit the ground.
“Yes.”
There was complete and utter silence.
Then, faster than America thought possible, Texas was on his feet, face as hard as stone. Almost magically, a rifle appeared in his hand and he stalked towards the door with such a dark expression on his face that America knew exactly what he planned on doing with those bullets.
“No!” America lunged for him, slipping passed him to block the door. His heart squeezed when Texas looked at him again with that gut wrenchingly neutral expression, like his son was long gone and there was some unfeeling demon possessing his body.
Texas had always been such a passionate state, had always worn his heart on his sleeve, had always expressed his feelings so openly. But this…this scared America. He had never seen his son with that cold, emotionless look in his eyes.
“Ma, move ,” Texas growled, and insanely, America remembered a time when Texas had been much, much younger. When his face had still been round with baby fat and his smile had had a few missing teeth and he had worn an old, weather-beaten hat that America had said was from his father.
In those days, they used to sit under the night sky and dream together. And Texas would reach up a single chubby hand and make grasping motions at the stars.
I promise I’ll get you them stars someday, Ma!
Aw Tex, that’s sweet, but it’s not possible. Don’t you think we’d have figured it out by now if it was?
Well…Well I’ll make it possible! I swear to the Lord Mama, imma get on up into the sky and bring you back the moon and the stars and everything else!
Well, be sure to leave some of ‘em for other folks, mkay? Maybe there’s some other strong little boys who wanna make their mamas proud of ‘em. Just like I know you will…
America suddenly realized that Texas was nearly a head taller than him.
His baby boy was all grown up.
“Please, Noah,” America whispered, leaning forward to bury his face into Texas’s chest, “Please don’t go.”
And that’s when he remembered another thing about Texas.
He had never been able to say no to his Mama.