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Secrecy and Deception Chapter 47

Tear Down the Wall  (Wattpad | Ao3)

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Event: East Germany allows unrestricted migration to West Germany

Location: Berlin, German Democratic Republic

Date: November 9, 1989

Bezirk Potsdam hadn't believed it when he first heard. It seemed like an impossible dream. After so long of the government killing anyone who tried to cross the wall, the idea that they would willingly let them all through it seemed impossible.

If Potsdam had known this was coming, known that he would have had the chance to see his daughter again, he would have contacted Cottbus and Frankfurt, asking them to spend the week with him so he could take them to see their sister.

None of them had seen Allied Control Council in a very long time.

Potsdam would have invited Berlin, the only one of his children that hadn't met Allied Control Council, but the Stasi watched her closely, and even if the government was allowing them to travel to West Berlin…Potsdam wasn't sure if they would approve of Berlin leaving.

He didn't want to put Berlin in any danger.

While Potsdam primarily lived in the city that gave him his name, he had, by a stroke of luck, been in Berlin visiting his daughter when the news was broadcast.

Before, he might have called it an act of God. After everything that had happened this century, it had become hard to believe that a merciful god could be out there. The government promoting atheism for their countryhumans and banning them from going to church had certainly helped spur that belief.

Potsdam had been quick to make his way down to the wall, unable to help his growing anxiety that this would anger the Stasi and cause things to get worse.

But he couldn't help it. Potsdam needed to see his daughter again. He knew it would fuel the beliefs his government held about him, the ideas that had him closely watched by the Stasi for almost a decade after the wall first went up until they eventually decided he was loyal and cut back on the surveillance.

Only cut back. It had never stopped.

If you were a countryhuman in East Germany, you were watched. That was a fact of life. But frankly, sometimes it was a little hard for Potsdam to care. After all, the government had opened the wall. If Potsdam only stayed for a little while, hopefully, he could avoid any… serious repercussions.

But when he got to the wall, none of the border crossings were opened.

Pulling his wings close to him, nerves only increasing, Potsdam turned to the person beside him.

"What's happening?" Potsdam asked. "I thought Günter Schabowski said that the border was opening."

"He did. I don't know why it's not open," the woman beside him said, angry shouts coming from the front of the crowd as people yelled for the border to be opened as they were promised.

Considering they were yelling at the same guards that had murdered their countrymen for wanting a better life, Potsdam wasn't sure this was going to end well, and the tension in his body only got worse.

As more people arrived and the tension in the air grew, Potsdam noticed the looks he was getting, being the only countryhuman in the crowd.

Despite Germany and Berlin both living in the city, they had yet to arrive.

Not that Potsdam could blame them. The government had them on a much shorter leash than the berziks, and if either of them had tried to show up…Potsdam was sure their limited power would be limited further.

Not to mention how…downtrodden East Germany was on the best of days.

She had lost her fighting spirit a long time ago.

Potsdam couldn't blame her.

Then, the border opened, and people began rushing through. Much to Potsdam's surprise, no one's passport or identity was being checked, as if the crowd had become too much, and the government just wanted them all to get through.

Potsdam let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. The border was open.

After twenty-eight years, the border was open.

And crossing over into West Berlin was…so different.

The thing that stood in the most contrast was the wall.

Back in Germany, it had been a symbol of death, a reminder to Potsdam and the other countryhumans that they were trapped in their country (well, the communist bloc, but it was to the same effect when the government had banned that one Soviet magazine after Soviet had begun his reforms).hat

In West Berlin, the wall was covered in graffiti. No guards, no death strip, just a wall that separated the city, a reminder of what the country—the government of the country—that surrounded them was like.

Something about seeing that graffitied wall made something in Potsdam's chest hurt.

Why had this wall been so important to the government?

Potsdam knew he should be looking for his daughter, but it was almost like he was entranced by the way people from both halves of Berlin came together, the way it felt as if an invisible weight had been taken from his shoulders.

Some days, Potsdam had thought he would never see the end of the wall.

With the border now open, he knew he was going to see it, as there was no way tha—were those people climbing onto the wall?

Potsdam did a small double take, stamping down the instinctive fear that came from seeing that, as he knew the guards were not going to shoot anyone, not today, but…people were climbing on the wall.

From this side, it felt less like a symbol of death and oppression. It was just a wall, albeit a divisive one.

Knowing that he might not have another chance to visit West Berlin, not if the government had its say, not if Potsdam had angered them enough, Potsdam walked to the base of the wall and climbed up.

It was too crowded to even attempt flying to the top.

Potsdam could see the looks he was getting, but he didn't care. He had learned long ago to make the best of what he had, and he was doing that right now.

From the top of the wall, the difference between the two sides seemed all the more stark.

The halves of Berlin looked as if they were different cities—not two halves of a whole, but two cities that had just happened to come together.

Berlin had been his capital, his heart, for so many years, so long ago. It was familiar to Potsdam, and he knew it well, having lived there for hundreds of years.

Both sides seemed unfamiliar now.

It was strange how things could change.

Not wanting to get caught up in his past and reflecting on what had been, Potsdam got off the wall and set off to find his daughter.

Although West Berlin had changed, Potsdam was still able to find her old home. While he wasn't sure if she was in Bonn or West Berlin, at least this would tell him, and Potsdam was sure he could find some paper to leave a message on.

Potsdam knocked on the door, waiting for an answer, waiting to see his daughter again after twenty-eight long years. There was a smile on his face and nervous, hopeful excitement in his chest.

All those feelings came crashing down in an instant when the person who answered the door wasn't his daughter. If she was in Bonn, no one would be in her house. But…

"Can I help you?" the human asked. Potsdam stared at the man in shock for a few moments before coming to his senses.

"I was looking for my daughter. She lived here before the wall went up. Do you know where she is now?" Potsdam asked. He hadn't expected things to stay the same after the wall went up, after he and his family, and all the other East Germany berziks remained trapped in their country under the ever-tightening noose of their government, but…

The world had passed by without them. It hurt, even though Potsdam had known it was inevitable.

"I don't, I'm sorry. I bought this place ten years ago, and it was owned by a man living by himself before me," the human said. Potsdam swallowed, ignoring the feeling growing in his gut.

"Thank you," Potsdam said before turning to leave, walking back to the street and sitting on the edge of the road, putting his head in his hands.

Was Allied Control Council dead?

Potsdam knew she had lived past the day she was supposed to, knew that she had been living for far longer than anyone expected, even with her inability to function due to the Soviet Union.

Potsdam had expected to be informed when she passed. But had his government kept that secret from him because they didn't want him thinking about the family he had on the other side of the wall, the family that he shared with America, who they hated so much?

Had his daughter died, and he hadn't known, hadn't been able to attend her funeral?

Potsdam didn't know.

And he didn't know how he was meant to get answers. He couldn't talk to West Germany or America, not without getting the Stasi to target him and Potsdam…he didn't want them to be any more aware of him than they already were.

Although Potsdam was protected from them a little by being a statehuman…well, he knew the government wanted their loyalty and didn't care if they had to force it.

Potsdam sighed. Even with the wall slowly disappearing, he still felt trapped in the bindings and hands of the German government.

Potsdam stood up, watching as people from both halves of Berlin celebrated. Potsdam smiled. At least it wasn't all bad.

Hopefully, some of the people would know what happened to Allied Control Council.

But considering how obscure she was in life, Potsdam didn't know if anyone would remember her in death.

[weirdestbooks]

There is a chance that I will be archive-locking my fics in the near future. I do not want to but since this is continuing and I really love my work, I am considering it. If you read my work on Ao3, I am very sorry for the inconvenience, and if you do not have an account, I suggest you make one.

AO3 has been scraped, once again.

As of the time of this post, AO3 has been scraped by yet another shady individual looking to make a quick buck off the backs of hardworking hobby writers. This Reddit post here has all the details and the most current information. In short, if your fic URL ends in a number between 1 and 63,200,000 (inclusive), AND is not archive locked, your fic has been scraped and added to this database.

I have been trying to hold off on archive locking my fics for as long as possible, and I've managed to get by unscathed up to now. Unfortunately, my luck has run out and I am archive locking all of my current and future stories. I'm sorry to my lovelies who read and comment without an account; I love you all. But I have to do what is best for me and my work. Thank you for your understanding.

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Worry, Worry (Wattpad | Ao3)

Bonus Oneshot for the Consequence of Loyalty

North Carolina loved being a naval aviator. There was nothing like flight, and there was nothing like the excitement and freedom of flight on the water.

Even with the war.

As she and Ohio got the news, North Carolina added another benefit to their list of reasons why they loved naval aviation.

They weren't trapped on their ships.

They could get to the Philippines, see her little brother, and see Kentucky again.

For Kentucky had been rescued only a few hours prior, and Ohio and North Carolina had made it clear on no uncertain terms that they were flying to the Philippines and seeing him.

Their commander gave in, knowing they had more influence than he in the end.

North Carolina was glad. The wait for their brother was agony. Knowing he was free but knowing nothing about his condition, with the censor's war put in place around them…she needed to know.

North Carolina and Ohio were taken to the field hospital, where New Mexico was waiting, a frown on her face.

"How is he?" Ohio asked. The look on New Mexico's face said everything. The news wasn't good.

North Carolina's heart sank.

"He's alive, but…badly hurt," New Mexico said, before swallowing harshly, "He was tortured. He was delirious when we were getting out of there, barely conscious. It was…horrible."

North Carolina's heart sank, and bile rose up in her throat. Next to her, Ohio was letting out a long string of curses in a variety of languages.

"Is he awake?" North Carolina asked. New Mexico shook her head, something solemn in her eyes, as she gestured for them to follow her.

"I can take you there, if the doctors don't kick us out," New Mexico said as they followed her past emancipated men, lying in hospital beds, to a more private area of the hospital.

It was there that North Carolina saw Kentucky.

He was so…little.

He was so skinny, his bones visible, his skin gaunt. There were dark bags under his eyes, and bandages around his body. His body was hidden under the blanket, and North Carolina was sure there was more damage underneath it.

"He looks better than he did," New Mexico said, her hand brushing over Kentucky's. "A lot of bruises are hidden, and his knee…"

New Mexico shook her head, her voice fading away. Ohio put a hand on her shoulder, anger and sadness in his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Ohio asked, his tone soft and concerned. New Mexico nodded, her eyes hard.

"I will be. I'm going…I'm going to fight like Hell to get revenge for what was done to him," New Mexico said, her voice hard. Ohio nodded.

"We will do," Ohio said, turning back to their brother. "Oh…Ken."

"They're going to take him to Hawaii soon, for the hospital there," New Mexico said, "He's too badly injured for the field hospital."

"He should be out of the way of the war," Ohio said, "I'm glad they're putting his health first."

North Carolina nodded.

"He…he needs to heal," North Carolina said, her voice breaking, "Torture."

Kentucky had been tortured. Her little brother, tortured.

North Carolina was so, so angry.

North Carolina and Ohio stood there, watching over their brother, hoping he would wake up before they were to be ordered back to the ship.

Then, Kentucky let out a low groan.

"Ken? You awake?" North Carolina asked. And then, slowly but surely, Kentucky's eyes slowly fluttered open. They were foggy and clouded, but they were awake.

"Oh, thank the Lord you're okay!" New Mexico said.

Kentucky blinked, looking vaguely unaware of what was happening. North Carolina took a cup of water that had been placed there by a nurse and pressed it to Kentucky's lips, as Ohio helped him to lift his head to drink it further.

The water was quickly gone.

"Where…?" Kentucky asked once the cup was removed, his voice slurred, and North Carolina felt herself relax at the confirmation that Kentucky was aware of his surroundings, knowing they were there for him.

"Field hospital. Xico rescued you from the POW camp. Said you were barely conscious and delirious when she got you out. You've been out for a day now, but the doctors said you're going to heal so long as you take it easy," Ohio explained, taking Kentucky's hand.

"Phil…he safe?" Kentucky asked. North Carolina exchanged looks with Ohio and New Mexico, knowing that the answer wasn't the one that Kentucky was looking for.

"Philippines is still Japan's prisoner," North Carolina said. Kentucky nodded, something hard entering his foggy eyes, and North Carolina sighed and prepared to curb her brother's more impulsive decisions.

"Gonna stay," Kentucky slurred, trying to sit up. New Mexico shook her head, pushing him back onto the bed, and Kentucky fell back limply.

North Carolina swallowed hard. She knew it was going to be heartbreaking for him to be sent back, but…he had to be. He couldn't fight like this, and North Carolina knew that Kentucky knew that.

"You're going to Hawaii for medical treatment." New Mexico said, her voice stern. Kentucky shook his head, and North Carolina's heart sank a little more.

Oh, Ken, why do you have to be like this?

"Gotta stay. Wanna help Phil. Promised to protect him," Kentucky said, his voice weak and small. Ohio shook his head, lips pursing into a frown.

"Ken, you're in no condition to do anything," Ohio said. Kentucky shook his head again, and North Carolina…she didn't want to fight with him over this. She couldn't.

But Kentucky wouldn't live if he stayed, and New Mexico and the few doctors she had spoken to said as much. He might be able to, but it was too much of a risk.

North Carolina didn't want to take that risk, not after everything. Maybe he would come back…but death was a poor solution to healing injuries.

North Carolina flagged a nurse over and quietly whispered to her.

"He's going to fight to stay here," North Carolina said. The nurse nodded and left the room before reentering with something in her hands.

"Don't care. Need to stay. Can…can find something to do to help," Kentucky slurred, his head bobbing.

The nurse then injected it into Kentucky's wrist, and the fogginess in Kentucky's eyes seemed to grow stronger.

North Carolina put a hand in Kentucky's hair and began whispering softly to him, trying to soothe him back to sleep before he tried to drag himself out of bed.

"Can…he'l…here. Prom'sed…prom'sed m' brod'r," Kentucky slurred, his voice fading to a quiet whisper. New Mexico took Kentucky's hand, rubbing small circles in it, and North Carolina knew she was just as tangled up about this decision as North Carolina was.

"We can't treat you here," New Mexico said.

Kentucky fell asleep shortly after that.

North Carolina then began to cry.

She had seen a lot in this war.

Somehow, this was worse than all of that.

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The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 51

Naval War (Wattpad | Ao3)

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September 5, 1781

Réunion placed down another box, supplies for the American and French soldiers besieging Yorktown, rolling his shoulders as he rose. The repetitive movement of moving the boxes on and off the ships was starting to get to him.

He didn't like doing this, but this was important to the ongoing siege of Yorktown, keeping them well supplied in what they needed to pin General Cornwallis down until he gave in and his army capitulated, leading to the capture of a British Army—and Britain himself.

Réunion had written a letter to his mother, knowing she would be pleased with that news, gloating about her sworn enemy being trapped in a siege by his son and one of France's colonies.

Réunion had been offered by the United States to join him and the generals on the siege lines, but Réunion had politely refused. Any land actions he had taken before had been out of necessity, and he preferred the sea and navy.

United States didn't seem to mind, wishing Réunion well and telling him to give the British Navy hell, something that surely originated in his lack of a navy for himself, reliant on Réunion and his mother's ships to protect the siege and preventing any British supply or rescue ships from reaching the trapped British troops.

Réunion walked back towards the ship to unload more supplies. Maybe once this was over with, he could ask the admiral if he could meet with United States to discuss plans and continue building a positive repertoire with his mother.

Then, a call went up, and people began to scramble for ships, the supplies they had been unloading being left haphazardly across the ground.

"The British are at the mouth of the bay!"

It took the many decades of experience under his mother's thumb to bite down the curses that bubbled up. This was the worst possible time, while they were unloading their ships when no one was prepared for battle.

Réunion ran to his ship, boarding and immediately searching for Admiral de Grasse.

"Where are they? Do we have time to intercept them?" Réunion asked as he walked over to the man standing beside him.

"We have time. We spotted them early enough," Admiral de Grasse said. Réunion nodded, watching with growing nerves as the ships were prepped for battle, slowly casting off from the riverbank.

Réunion's mother had drilled into time the importance of being prepared, to never let yourself be caught off guard, to know more than your enemy, to always have the advantage, so when he was caught off guard, Réunion hated it, anxiety pricking up and feeling as if he was facing a punishment from his mother, one that he would have to take, or else.

For even as the ships were cast off, Réunion could see the confusion on some people's faces, men on this ship that were meant to be on others, and he knew that some ships were understaffed or not ready for this battle.

Réunion folded his hands in silent prayer.

Do not let this be the reason they lose the battle. This siege could allow them to capture one of the British armies, leaving New York City to stand alone, and it was essential that they take it.

If Réunion and the navy failed here, the siege could break, and the war would drag on.

Everyone wanted the war to be over soon, even the British, the people who had the power to end it by packing up, going home, and leaving United States to his independence.

Réunion's anxieties didn't leave as they approached the British fleet, as he waited for the battle to begin.

That was at noon. Four hours later, Réunion's nerves had faded somewhat, replaced by annoyance, as he wished that something could happen, as their ships couldn't just sit here staring at each other all day.

Someone had to give.

Then, as if God were listening to him, the British ships fired, and Réunion hopped up, coming to attention as the battle finally began.

The battle raged on, cannons firing and ships splintering as Réunion's eyes darted around the ocean, keeping track of which ships were unsalvageable, which ships had been taken out of action.

The battle seemed to me stalemated, something that Réunion didn't want, as they needed to stop these British ships, not let them wear down the naval defenses.

At the very least, they weren't losing.

Then, there was a stroke of luck, an act of God, as the winds shifted.

The wind shift had impeded the British's ability to sail and was making it easier for them to first at their foe.

Yet, despite their many clear advantages, the battle still seemed to be locked in a stalemate.

Réunion mentally muttered curses that would have made his mother's ears bleed as he prayed for the stalemate to break. The winds were already in their favor, and if the stalemate broke, they just might be able to drive off the British for good.

The battle still raged at a stalemate.

Then, as the sun began to set, the British ships began to fall back, sailing out toward the ocean, leaving behind their burning ships.

Réunion sighed in relief. He wasn't sure if they had actually won the battle, but they had driven off the British ships. Hopefully, their fleet wasn't too damaged by it. If those British ships came back…they needed to be prepared.

Réunion left his station, walking over to Admiral de Grasse to report to him.

"Sir, when we return to land, I can report the results of the battle to United States and the generals at the Yorktown siege," Réunion said. Admiral de Grasse nodded sharply.

"Wait until damage has been assessed for our ships. Then you may," Admiral de Grasse ordered. Réunion salted.

Hopefully, the damage wasn't too bad. Réunion didn't know what his mother would do if he hadn't managed to instill more pro-French sentiments in United States, if he failed.

And Réunion was ready for this war to be over just as much as anyone else was.

[weirdestbooks]

Bringing Him Home (Wattpad | Ao3)

Bonus Oneshot for the Consequence of Loyalty

New Mexico knew this was the most important job of her life. While she didn't know what camp her brother was in, she knew that any prison camp they raided, any American lives they saved, that was the most important thing they could do.

Even if New Mexico cared more about saving her brother than anything else.

How could she not?

The horror stories from Japanese prisons—how they treated anyone who wasn't one of their own were horrific, and the idea of her brother suffering the same fate…New Mexico couldn't stand it.

She couldn't stand thinking of it, of the pain that he was surely suffering.

It scared her.

Entering the camp, New Mexico looked around at the emancipated forms of the men around her, feeling fear and terror roll through her as she looked around, knowing that her brother had to be in a similar condition.

New Mexico had elected to wear her flag, knowing that many of her people were prisoners here, knowing many of them had been suffering, and knowing that the sight meant they hadn't just been rescued, but rescued by their state, would do wonders for their morale and hopefully help strengthened the weakened men.

New Mexico didn't bother to hide that she was looking for her brother. Like many soldiers in the Pacific, she listened to some of those Tokyo Rose broadcasts and had heard her brother on them.

New Mexico didn't know if he was here, but it was no longer a secret that he had been taken prisoner.

New Mexico looked, until a skeleton of a man grabbed her arm, pointing deeper into camp.

"Kentucky's in solitary," The prisoner said through a weak voice, but hard determination in his eyes, "He was separated."

"Thank you," New Mexico said, putting a hand on the man's arm and meeting his eyes, letting him know the full strength of her appreciation.

Her brother was here. He was getting out. Maybe it wasn't all of her family (Philippines was family, right?) that was being rescued, but it was some of it.

It was good news.

New Mexico collected a group of rescuers, unsure of how tightly guarded Kentucky was going to be, before making her way in the direction that the rescued prisoner had pointed her in.

New Mexico didn't know what solitary confinement meant here, and as it was dark, as they were so far behind enemy lines, she didn't want to risk falling into any traps.

But the dim light of the moon revealed a cage in the center of the camp, and a skinny little figure leaning against the bars. New Mexico moved to the front of the group, her heart dropping as the sight was confirmed to be her brother.

He looked, to put it simply, like absolute shit.

Even through the night, New Mexico could see the bruises and scars that littered his skin, the swollen, sickly color of his knee, and the blood that leaked from the wounds littering his body.

And the infections that were there, too.

But Kentucky, stupid, noble, loyal Kentucky, only looked up at her with a faint ghost of a smile on his face.

"Hey, little sister. How've you been?" Kentucky asked, clearly trying for a joking tone. But his voice was weak, and it was clear he was fighting to stay conscious, his right hand covering his side, as if he was trying to protect or hide a wound.

"Ken," New Mexico started, her voice breaking. "What did those J-ps do to you?"

It was too much, seeing him like this, and it hurt and ached to see her older brother, always so fit and confident, who she had rarely seen hurt before, just…broken and ripped apart like this.

"Wanted information, and don't like Americans or Dad. I was…I was a good target. But that's not important. Is Phil free, or is he still a puppet?" Kentucky weakly asked. New Mexico shook her head, eyes teary.

He was still the same old Kentucky. Too much of a one-track mind.

And…Kentucky might not have said it, but what he did say said enough. Kentucky had been tortured for information, and most likely to be used as propaganda, if the broadcast she had heard said anything.

But instead of focusing on that, because of course he would try to hide it from his little sister, instead of asking to be let out, to escape, to be freed from the people who had tortured him…Kentucky asked about the Philippines.

Then again, if Philippines had gone through even half of what he had…New Mexico could understand the solidarity.

"Ken…" New Mexico said, her voice full of a fond exasperation, before trailing off, before beginning to free Kentucky, breaking through the cage with a fierce anger. Kentucky flinched, just slightly, and New Mexico slowed, as if approaching a wounded animal.

Who knows what Japan did to him and his mind?

But Kentucky didn't move any further away, and New Mexico placed a hand on his skinny, skinny arm, before pulling Kentucky to his feet, making sure his injured leg was the one next to her, as she could tell that it was not holding any sort of weight anytime soon.

Kentucky almost immediately collapsed against her side, but was able to walk forward, before he stumbled.

"Ken?" New Mexico asked, her voice worried. She gestured toward another soldier, ready to have Kentucky carried out of the camp if needed, knowing they had carts for the worst of the injured, as Kentucky attempted to take another step, before becoming limp, his eyes closing.

"KENNY?" New Mexico exclaimed, her voice panicked. Had he passed out? Had his injuries become too much?

Or, a small part of her whispered, horrified by his condition, had he died in her arms, right when freedom was so close. New Mexico had never felt such relief before when Kentucky slowly pried his eyes open and gave a small half-smile. 

"Sorry," Kentucky rasped, looking as if every word took energy from him. "Dizzy. Tired."

"You scared me," New Mexico said, her voice full of warmth. She could tell her brother was in unimaginable pain, and she hoped her every action conveyed that she was worried, yes, but also that she cared so deeply for him.

"I'm sorry. I—" Kentucky cut himself off with a harsh cough. 

"Don't hurt yourself. You'll be okay. I'll get you to a hospital," New Mexico said, unsure if she was reassuring Kentucky or herself. Kentucky nodded, pain in his eyes, and even as they were able to walk out of the camp together, Kentucky looked as if he was barely conscious.

His muscles were so atrophied. New Mexico didn't…would he ever be the same again?

"Frankie!" A man then called, and New Mexico watched as another prisoner, one in much better condition than Kentucky (and it really spoke to how hurt he was, as none of them were in good condition), walk over to them.

He…knew Kentucky's human name? New Mexico looked back down at her brother, who was trying to face the man, trying to smile.

"Hey…" Kentucky said, and the former prisoner seemed to give Kentucky a small, relieved, worried smile.

"You know him?" New Mexico asked. The prisoner nodded, anger and determination flooding into his eyes.

"I'll help carry him," the former prisoner said, moving to Kentucky's other side and helping lift him. Kentucky then relaxed some, eyes fluttering shut. New Mexico frowned, worry bubbling in her stomach. She didn't know much about medicine, but she knew Kentucky shouldn't be sleeping right now.

"Kenny, stay awake till you get to a doctor," New Mexico said. Kentucky nodded and pulled his eyes open, and the knot of worry in New Mexico's chest loosened.

Even then, as they brought him to one of the carts, Kentucky seemed to be barely conscious, as if he was barely holding onto consciousness, eyes fluttering.

When they got to the cart and lifted him onto it, his eyes shut fully.

New Mexico fought to keep down her frustrated, angry tears.

She knew—she hoped it was just exhaustion, as his cage was so small, there was really no room to lie down, and his body was just so tired that he couldn't take it anymore.

New Mexico also knew better than to count on that, as the former prisoner bit out a harsh curse, tapping the side of Kentucky's cheek until his eyes opened.

"Frank?" the former prisoner asked, worry in his voice, "Please stay awake."

"Trying," Kentucky slurred, before his eyes slid shut.

"I don't think he's staying awake," New Mexico said, the worry rising to a crescendo. "We need to get him back to the field hospital."

New Mexico bit down her panic and ordered the men to begin the trek back to their lines.

She hoped they weren't too late.

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Wrong Reflection Chapter 21

Guilt From the Actions of Another (Wattpad | Ao3)

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"I can die happy, he's such a sad wet cat of a man" - My Beta Reader @aloha-from-angel after reading this chapter for the first time.

Arthur knew he wasn't a good person. He had been an empire for so long, hurt so many people, and had damaged things with his family to the point where the relationships they had now felt impossible.

Arthur knew he was not a great man, but he still tried his best to be better.

But Arthur had always cared for his family. Sure, it was far more complicated with his brothers, but with Alfred and his other colonies, he had always tried to treat them well.

Arthur wouldn't pretend that he had been a good father, especially with how many of his colonies had been adults when they came under his care and with how he neglected Alfred and Matthew far too much in their younger years, but he had tried.

Arthur had tried, and although he had made many bitter mistakes, especially when he burned down Alfred's capital… things between them had become better. Regardless of how often they fought, Arthur knew Alfred loved him the same way Alfred knew Arthur cared for him.

It had been their relationship for a long time.

Then Sam came.

Sam was different than Alfred. That was obvious from their first meeting and grew more obvious as time passed. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing; it would have been a stranger to have two Alfreds, but…there was clearly something in his history he hadn't been telling them; his DID made that clear.

But Arthur hadn't ever considered that it was him that did that to Sam. In hindsight, maybe he should have seen it, with how Sam regarded him with suspicion, with how Sam would always have one eye watching Arthur's every move, with how Sam had called his England a 'terrible person' and then barely brought him up again.

Had Sam been more like Alfred when he was younger? Cheerful and boisterous instead of closed off and quiet? Had his other self forced that from Sam?

If so, why?

What was the point of it? Could… could Arthur have done that to Alfred?

"Are you alright, Arthur?" Dylan's calm voice asked from beside Arthur, his hand resting on the small of Arthur's back. Alfred had just left, going to check in on Sam, Sam, who was dying, and didn't think it important enough to tell them.

Had Arthur's counterpart made him think that way?

"I'm okay," Arthur said, hoping that his older brother wouldn't notice anything was wrong.

Then again, you don't know someone for over a thousand years without them getting to know you very well.

"Hey, Francis, Matthew, you mind giving us a minute?" Allistor asked, and Arthur internally groaned as he knew where that was going.

His brothers were going to try to have an emotional conversation with him. Those never went well, least of all because they were all terrible at processing their emotions and talking to each other.

It always ended with screaming and fighting, two things Arthur really didn't need right now.

But Francis and Matthew left, and Arthur was left behind with his brothers, even Seamus, who barely knew most of Arthur's history with the people that surrounded him.

"Are you okay, Arthur?" Dylan asked, worry in his eyes.

"I know he's not me," Arthur began, wanting to ensure that his brothers knew that. Arthur knew that the other version of England, that horrible other version of him, wasn't him.

"But you don't like the thought of a version of you doing anything to hurt a version of Alfred. Or hurting Sam," Ciarán said, worry present even in his voice. Arthur shrunk in on himself a little at that. Ciarán was the more distant of Arthur's brothers, separated by sea and a painful history, but if even he was picking up on the darkness that clouded Arthur's thoughts…

No wonder Allistor and Dylan were worried.

"I don't. And I can't figure out… why a version of me would… would do that," Arthur eventually said, giving in to the weight of concerned, expectant stares.

"Hurt is vague. It doesn't have to mean abuse," Seamus hesitantly offered, curling in on himself slightly as Seamus noticed Arthur's flinch at the word "abuse."

It had to be that, but that was what Arthur feared the most.

Arthur had hurt Alfred, but two wars and a burnt capital seemed small compared to the weight the word seemed to hold when Kumajirou said it, the weight of the word explaining so many strange behaviors they had all noticed from Sam but never commented on.

"How many of you googled what causes DID?" Arthur asked. Ciarán looked away, and Allistor made the same little coughing noise he usually did when he was upset.

None of them said anything, but it was an answer enough.

"That doesn't mean you were ever capable of doing that. It was obvious from the moment you met Alfred that you were wrapped around his finger and would have done anything for him. Just because that other England was a shithead in that way doesn't mean you were," Allistor said.

Arthur sighed, knowing that his brother was right. It didn't stop the mess of terrible feelings within him, how a small part whispered about what-ifs, about how he clearly had the capability to hurt Alfred if the Burning of Washington meant anything.

Arthur had never forgotten Alfred's screams.

Dylan sighed.

"The Burning of Washington doesn't count, Arthur," Dylan chided, sounding uncomfortably like their mother.

"We all do stupid things in war. Your people would have done that whether or not you were involved," Allistor added, throwing his own arm around Arthur's shoulders.

"It's not on you to feel guilt for what someone else did. Besides, now we just have more incentive to get Sam back home, so I can punch his England in the face," Dylan said, voice cheery but getting angrier toward the end of his statement. Arthur couldn't help but let out a small laugh at that.

"Thanks, Dylan," Arthur said. Dylan pulled him a little bit closer, forcing Allistor to let go of Arthur.

"My pleasure," Dylan said. Arthur sighed, relaxing a little into the embrace.

As far as emotional conversation with his brothers went…that one could have been a lot worse.

[weirdestbooks]

The Consequence of Loyalty Chapter 5

Rescue and Recovery (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Prev

━─━────༺January 30, 1945༻────━─━

Kentucky had suffered through another beating before the rescue came. His head was in agony, and every little movement sent waves of pain through his body. So, Kentucky had been lying on the floor of his cage, staring up at the stars, when the commotion began.

Kentucky lifted himself up, shaking and slow, needing to know what was happening, before looking out over the rest of the camp, realizing there were soldiers there.

For one terrifying moment, Kentucky thought they were Japanese soldiers, there to kill them all since the Americans were coming.

Then he realized who they actually were.

The Americans weren't coming. They were already here.

They were being rescued.

Kentucky almost burst into tears right there.

But he didn't have the strength, sitting there, back against the wooden bars, as some of the American soldiers approached his cell.

One of the soldiers pushed ahead to the front of the group, and Kentucky was greeted by a familiar face, one he hadn't seen in so long.

Kentucky smiled faintly at New Mexico through the bars of his cage, "Hey, little sister. How've you been?"

His voice was weak, and the worry on New Mexico's face was as clear as day. Kentucky felt his eyes begin to flutter shut, and he fought to keep them open.

"Ken," New Mexico started, her voice breaking. "What did those J-ps do to you?"

"Wanted information, and don't like Americans or Dad. I was…I was a good target. But that's not important. Is Phil free, or is he still a puppet?" Kentucky weakly said, needing to know information, after so long of being denied it. New Mexico shook her head, eyes teary.

"Ken…" she said again before trailing off, before beginning to free him, breaking through the cage with a fierce anger, before slowly approaching him.

New Mexico then placed a hand on his arm, and Kentucky almost began crying at how…how nice it felt. 

Safe. She was safe. Kentucky was safe.

New Mexico then helped pull him to his feet, although Kentucky was leaning heavily against her, still unable to put weight on his right leg, the consistent injuries against it keeping it so very weak.

They then slowly began walking forward as a wave of exhaustion hit Kentucky, making him stumble. He blinked, trying to shake off the wave of dizziness that had just hit him.

Every step was agony, but he had to keep moving. Freedom was so close.

"Ken?" New Mexico asked, her voice worried. Kentucky took another step forward, the exhaustion and pain worsening.

Before he knew it, he was collapsing into New Mexico's side, head spinning, eyes slipping closed.

He didn't feel asleep, but it was too much effort to open his eyes.

"KENNY?" New Mexico exclaimed, her voice panicked. Kentucky slowly pried his eyes open, trying his best to smile. 

"Sorry," he rasped. "Dizzy. Tired."

Kentucky didn't mention the pain. His state said enough about that.

"You scared me," New Mexico said, her voice full of warmth.

"I'm sorry. I—" Kentucky cut himself off with a harsh cough. 

"Don't hurt yourself. You'll be okay. I'll get you to a hospital," New Mexico said. Kentucky nodded. He fought to stay conscious as they walked out of the camp, a weight lifting off his shoulders as soon as he left the confines.

"Frankie!" He heard Charlie call. Kentucky faced him, struggling to give the man a small smile.

"Hey…" he said, voice trailing off, the simple act of speaking taking more than he had to give at the moment. Charlie seemed to understand, worry in the small smile on his face.

"You know him?" New Mexico asked. Charlie nodded.

"I'll help carry him," Charlie said, walking to Kentucky's other side, slumped against New Mexico, and helping lift him. Kentucky relaxed some, eyes fluttering shut. A creeping darkness was entering his mind, slowly ridding Kentucky of the pain.

"Kenny, stay awake till you get to a doctor," New Mexico muttered. Kentucky nodded and pulled his eyes open, something that took more effort than it should.

As they walked, Kentucky slipped in and out of awareness. He was fighting so, so hard to keep conscious, but was becoming more and more unaware of what was happening as he did, all his energy being spent on the battle against the wonderful darkness.

He vaguely realized he was being placed on something and felt tapping against his cheek. 

Kentucky pulled his eyes open.

When did he close his eyes?

Charlie was sitting over him, worry in his eyes.

"Frank?" He asked, worry also present in his voice, "Please stay awake."

"Trying," Kentucky mumbled, feeling how his words slurred together. His head was foggy, his eyelids heavy, and the pain numbed by the lull of unconsciousness.

Kentucky tried to say away, but he felt himself sliding in and out of unconsciousness until everything finally went black.

The next time Kentucky woke, he wasn't in any pain. His head was still foggy, but it was a pleasant fog, one that numbed the pain and made him feel vaguely… floaty. It was so nice not being in pain, and Kentucky lay there for a moment, basking in the wonderful feeling.

Kentucky groaned, then, as he tried to piece his delightfully foggy thoughts together.

"Ken? You awake?"

Was…was that North Carolina?

Kentucky blinked his eyes open, seeing North Carolina, Ohio, and New Mexico standing over him. They all looked worried, but New Mexico smiled brightly upon realizing Kentucky was awake.

"Oh, thank the Lord you're okay!" New Mexico said. Kentucky blinked, thoughts feeling slow and funny. North Carolina pressed a cup to his lips, and Kentucky nearly cried at the wonderful sensation of water against his cracked lips. Ohio helped Kentucky lift his heavy, heavy head so North Carolina could better fit the cup against his mouth.

Kentucky drank the water quickly, feeling some of the pressure in his head fade, and the soreness and dryness in his throat faded.

It was the most amazing thing he had ever tasted.

"Where…?" Kentucky asked once the cup was removed, voice slurring, tongue heavy. Last he remembered…no, New Mexico was there. What…what had happened?

"Field hospital. Xico rescued you from the POW camp. Said you were barely conscious and delirious when she got you out. You've been out for a day now, but the doctors said you're going to heal so long as you take it easy," Ohio explained, taking Kentucky's hand. Kentucky nodded dimly as he tried to wrap his head around that.

He was…he was out. It seemed so unbelievable, but it was…it was true, for there was no reason for the pain to be gone if he was still trapped there.

"Phil…he safe?" Kentucky asked because he needed to know; he needed to know if his brother was safe and if it was all over. His siblings exchanged looks, and Kentucky knew what had happened.

"Philippines is still Japan's prisoner," North Carolina said. Kentucky nodded, knowing what he had to do, the promise he had to make good on.

"Gonna stay," Kentucky slurred, trying to sit up. New Mexico shook her head, pushing him back onto the bed.

"You're going to Hawaii for medical treatment." New Mexico said, her voice stern. Kentucky shook his head, ignoring how dizzy it made him.

"Gotta stay. Wanna help Phil. Promised to protect him," Kentucky said. Ohio shook his head, lips pursing into a frown.

"Ken, you're in no condition to do anything," Ohio said. Kentucky shook his head.

"Don't care. Need to stay. Can…can find something to do to help," Kentucky slurred, head heavy. Kentucky tried his best to keep eye contact with Ohio as he saw one of the nurses approach him. Kentucky ignored the nurse, caught up in the battle of wills with his brother.

There was a faint prick on his wrist, and North Carolina's hand began to cradle his hair, whispering soothing nothings as a darkness consumed Kentucky's mind.

Kentucky tried to fight against it.

"Can…he'l…here. Prom'sed…prom'sed m' brod'r," Kentucky slurred, his tongue feeling heavier. New Mexico took Kentucky's hand, rubbing small circles in it, a sad smile on her face.

"We can't treat you here," New Mexico said, and Kentucky tried to respond but found that his tongue was no longer under his control, and his eyes were fluttering, the darkness too strong for him to keep them open.

Kentucky slipped away into it, and for once, his sleep was deep and dreamless.

━─━────༺February 4, 1945༻────━─━

The next time Kentucky awoke, it was in a proper hospital, no longer the field hospital he had once been in. His siblings were gone, and he was alone.

Kentucky knew then he wasn't in the Philippines any longer. He had been sent away.

Kentucky started crying at that. He had broken his promise. He wasn't going to be there for the liberation of the Philippines. He had been sent home, like a misbehaving child, leaving Philippines alone.

His siblings knew about the puppet state; Kentucky was sure of that, but Kentucky knew more about how the puppet had been ordered to act than anyone else. He could have been useful. Kentucky hadn't been asking to fight. He knew that it was an unrealistic request, but he had wanted to stay behind, to help in some way.

Kentucky hated being safe, knowing that his brother was trapped in that hell. He had fought so hard to stay at Philippines' side, and yet he still ended up out of the war anyway.

Eventually, the tears dried, and Kentucky began to take stock of his surroundings. He wasn't sure where he was, aside from safe in Allied hands. There was an IV attached to his arm, probably due to the dehydration, as Kentucky didn't feel as bad as he had the last time he remembered being conscious.

In fact, Kentucky felt better than he had in years. He wasn't in any pain…or much pain, as his knee hurt a little, although there was a strange fuzziness over everything that made him think perhaps that he was under a lot of pain medication.

Kentucky was pulled from his thoughts by a nurse walking into his room.

"Oh, you're awake," the nurse said, rushing to his side. "How do you feel?"

"Better than I have before. I…I feel kinda fuzzy," Kentucky said, shakily bringing a hand to his head. His brain was slow, and forming words seemed to take more effort than it should as if he had to fight to get them out of his mouth.

"What about your right knee?" the nurse asked. Kentucky frowned.

"It's probably the one place that still hurts a little. It was…it was targeted. Didn't want me to escape," Kentucky explained, "Where am I?"

"You're in Hawaii," the nurse said. "You were in really bad shape, so they wanted you in a proper hospital."

Kentucky could understand that, understand why he had been made to break his promise.

He still wished he could have been there.

"Okay, thank you," Kentucky said before licking his lips, not liking how dry they were. They were still cracked, even though they no longer tasted of blood. "Can I have some water?"

The nurse smiled.

"Of course," she said, quickly leaving the room. It was such a stark difference from what Kentucky had experienced before that he almost began to cry.

Kentucky was safe now.

He could only hope Philippines would be safe soon, too.

━─━────༺February 5, 1945༻────━─━

The last person Kentucky expected to visit him was Hawaii. Although it was her island and he had been sent here specifically so she could look after him, they had never been close…and…Kentucky shivered, trying to force down the memories of her eyes.

Kentucky guessed he just expected her to wait until he was delivered to her door. But she hadn't, instead coming to visit him one morning, as the medicines kept him from being able to think too much, as the sun shining on his bed made him so delightfully tired.

The door had opened, although Kentucky was too tired to respond. Then he heard her voice.

"Kentucky?" Hawaii asked. Kentucky slowly pulled his eyes open, smiling slightly at the territory in front of him as she entered the room. 

Kentucky was tired a lot now from the pain medicine they had him on in an attempt to dampen the agony and aches that had plagued Kentucky for years.

"Hey…hey Wai," He muttered through his exhaustion before his tired brain realized something strange about her. "Why…why you got blonde in yer hair?"

"Aloha, Kentucky," Hawaii said before touching her hair, "It was the martial law government. They thought it was proper that I look more American, and it helped with the propaganda films they had me doing."

Kentucky winced before trying his best gentlemanly smile. He knew what martial law could do, and Hawaii hadn't been much of a friend to the powers at be.

She's just like Phil, something inside Kentucky whispered. And you were just like them.

"I guess that makes two of us," Kentucky said, hoping it could offer some comfort, let her know someone understood. Hawaii startled, looking at him in shock.

"What do you mean?" Hawaii asked. Kentucky's grin soured.

"Japan thought it fit that myself and the other American prisoners should be used for them to make a propaganda film," he began before his breath grew strained, "and then when she found out who I was…she…it wasn't an opportunity she was going to turn down."

Kentucky hated being forced to make that broadcast, the shame that choked him, leaving him helpless. Had his dad heard that? His siblings? His people? How many had watched? How many had Japan shown it to? How many of her captured prisoners had she broken like she broke him?

How many people did Kentucky help her break?

It made him feel so…pathetic.

"I'm sorry," Hawaii said after a moment's pause. Kentucky frowned.

"Why you sorry? She did it, not you," Kentucky said, electing not to tell Hawaii about what kinds of information Japan wanted from him. She…that was better left in the past.

Kentucky didn't want…he…

"She…" Hawaii trailed off, shaking her head as if she were trying to force aside whatever thought she had just had. "Are you sure it's okay for you to meet the others? I know America's paranoid—"

“Japan already knows…and…and…” Kentucky trailed off, breathing heavily. He couldn't think about it, about how weak he had been and how much he had given up to their enemy. He couldn't think about all the pain and the suffering. It was…it was all too much.

"I heard…I heard about the Death March." Hawaii said, "I'm so sorry. That…I never knew she could be capable of such horrible things."

"S'not your fault. Even if she was your friend," Kentucky said, trying to give Hawaii his best grin before trying to sit up, but Hawaii slowly pushed him back onto the bed, shaking her head. 

"Rest, Kenny," she said, her voice warm and concerned. "You need it."

Kentucky didn't miss the way her eyes flickered to his right leg, heavily bandaged, and the reason Kentucky was on so many pain medicines in the first place.

"If Her Highness commands it," he joked. It didn't seem to do much to help, the worried expression never leaving Hawaii's eyes. Hawaii then tried to place a gentle hand on his cheek, but Kentucky flinched away, feeling the memories overwhelming him, of hurt, and hurt, and hurt and hurt.

For a small, terrifying second, he was back in that basement, Japan looming over him, an all-powerful bringer of pain and agony.

"Don't," Kentucky said, voice small, voice breaking, "please."

Hawaii pulled away, sadness in her eyes, and Kentucky swallowed down his emotions, looking away, not wanting to see the pity.

"I'm sorry," Hawaii said. Kentucky continued to look away.

"I think I want to rest now," he said. 

"Okay," Hawaii said, her voice full of such sadness. Kentucky continued to stare at the wall until he heard the door shut behind Hawaii. 

God, he was such a coward.

━─━────༺February 6, 1945༻────━─━

Kentucky was foggy again.

He guessed that he had been put on some stronger pain medicine. 

He didn't mind. He'd rather be fuzzy and drifty than in pain. 

He stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly.

"Are you awake?" a quiet voice whispered. Kentucky slowly turned his head to the side, seeing his half-sister Guam standing there. Kentucky nodded, too tired to speak. 

He wanted to say a lot. He wanted to apologize for not protecting her father better. 

But his brain was just too tired.

Kentucky looked over Guam, knowing that she had been captured by Japan, too. He wanted to make sure she was okay, that she wasn't hurt for being a filthy American demon. 

She looked okay.

Kentucky was glad.

"I'm sorry," Guam said, teary-eyed, pulling Kentucky into a hug. Kentucky's breath sped up as he tensed, fear breaking through the fog in his brain, before he relaxed in the gentle grip of his little sister, sinking back into the peaceful fog.

"S'not… s'not yer fault," Kentucky slurred out, tongue heavy, as she pulled away. Guam wiped her eyes.

"I…I know…but you're hurt, and I hate that I couldn't do more. I hate that you lost a leg. I hate—" Kentucky cut her off as he tried to get his tired mind to focus on what Guam had just said.

"Leg?" Kentucky slurred, his mind not fully comprehending what had been said. His head and mouth were full of cotton, and he must have just misheard her. Guam shot him a look that seemed sad and horrified and lifted the blanket covering Kentucky, pulling it back to show him. Kentucky did his best to prop himself up to see what she was showing him, his limbs feeling like cement.

Kentucky was missing his right leg.

He blinked slowly before laying back down, shutting his eyes.

Kentucky was tired.

"Ken?" Guam asked, sounding scared.

"M'kay, Guammy. Tired," he said. He knew he should be more concerned or horrified about his leg, but the fog in his brain made it hard to think.

It was easier to sink into the blissful fog and let the cotton fill his head until nothing remained.

Just sink deeper and let it all fade away.

"Ken, wake up!" Guam said before shaking him. Kentucky slowly lifted his head, every action taking so much effort through the exhaustion in his abused body.

"M'ead full of cott'n, Guammy," he mumbled, grabbing her hand and giving her his best attempt at a smile.

"I'm sorry!" Guam said, tears in her eyes. Kentucky just smiled.

"'S…" Kentucky was cut off by a yawn, "It's okay. Sleep?"

Kentucky slowly lifted his arm, making a spot for Guam to lay beside him. Guam quickly does, and Kentucky smiled, pulling her close.

His sister burrowed into his chest, and Kentucky felt a sense of peace bloom in his heart. He was safe. She was safe. Soon, Philippines would be too.

Kentucky let himself drift off to sleep, smiling contently. He was home. He was safe.

The peaceful fog claimed him.

━─━────༺February 24, 1945༻────━─━

Kentucky was glad to be out of the hospital. As much as he knew the hospital was helping him, healing him, he didn't like being trapped in a room.

He brought back too many bad memories.

Kentucky was still getting used to walking with crutches, grateful that he was wearing shorts so he wouldn't have to have a pant leg hanging limply from his upper leg—the only part of his right leg that remained.

Hawaii had come to pick him up and was hovering. It was clear to Kentucky that she wanted to help but, at the same time, didn't want to be overbearing. Hawaii led him out to her car and opened the passenger door.

"Do you need—" Hawaii asked before Kentucky cut her off.

"No. Gotta… Gotta learn to do it m'self." Kentucky said, knowing that he had to learn eventually that he couldn't rely on others his whole life, knowing that missing a leg didn't make him a helpless child. Pennsylvania had long since taught them not to treat amputees like they were helpless. Kentucky had just never thought he would be one himself. "Otherwise, I'll… I'll never be able to do it."

"My Laulau, my… my Kalaupapa, my son, he's got a leg missing too. And an arm. I understand." Hawaii said quietly, "Just… Please, Ken, don't hurt yourself."

Kentucky felt a sliver of disgust rise in him, not because of Hawaii's children, but the fact that Japan was so intent on calling Hawaii her child when Hawaii was older and a mother.

Kentucky had never heard of Kalaupapa before. But he knew that Hawaii would never let a child struggle if she could help it.

Perhaps that was who taught her to back off and let Kentucky figure out how to move on his own. So, shooting Hawaii a small smile, Kentucky responded.

"I can do it, Wai. Don't worry your head over it."

"Alright," Hawaii said before moving to the driver's side of the car, "Alright, Ken. But I'll be here. If you need me."

Kentucky managed to get himself into the seat, tucking his crutches in the space between the seat and the door before pulling it closed. Kentucky looked out the window, thinking.

It wasn't hard to get into the car, but the crutches were unwieldy and left him without any free hands. Kentucky couldn't help but feel jealous of Michigan and Pennsylvania. Both their amputations were probably a lot better to deal with.

Kentucky knew they didn't want to let him escape, but it still horrified him that they attacked his leg until the point where it would never heal.

Never heal, because it was gone; never heal, because Kentucky could feel the pain in his leg; never heal, because there was never going to be a way to heal him.

Kentucky rested his head against the door, letting the hum of the engine lull his brain into sleep. He was so…tired all the time, his body having been through so much strain, so much death, that he didn't feel right. His body wanted to rest, to sleep forever, and sometimes Kentucky wanted to as well.

Sleep had always been a blessing.

Kentucky didn't have to think or feel.

"Kentucky?" he heard Hawaii ask, pulling him from the tired haze in his mind. Kentucky shook his head, trying to wake himself up so he could respond.

"W'at happ'n? Sle'p?" Kentucky murmured, not really sure what he was saying.

Hawaii laughed.

"Oh, Kenny, welcome home." Kentucky smiled. Home. It wasn't his land, but it was hers, and she had decided it could be home for him.

Kentucky closed his eyes and let his mind drift away.

He woke again to someone shaking his shoulder. Kentucky murmured, trying to move away, to stay in the comfortable darkness, but the shaking continued until he opened his eyes, seeing Hawaii standing there. She smiled apologetically.

"I need to return the car, but we can get you set up in a bed in the house," Hawaii said. Kentucky nodded, grabbing his crutches and getting out of the car. He followed Hawaii inside, noticing how small the house was and how many cots had been crammed inside.

"So… There's quite a few of you cramped in here," Kentucky said, unsure really of why so many people were here. Refugees, maybe? Other liberated prisoners. It seemed that Hawaii had told the other to give him space, and he had only seen a glimpse of Guam coming in.

"We make do. We do what we can with mats, and blankets, and cots. And on the hotter nights, I sometimes sleep outside in a hammock or a chair," Hawaii explained." Kentucky shifted, trying to make his grip on the crutches more comfortable, looking at a cot in the corner with a thin mattress and rough blanket.

It looked like heaven.

Kentucky had never been a light sleeper or even picky about where he slept, but after the hell he had gone through, that old cot looked like the most comfortable bed on earth.

If it was even free.

"So… do y'all have enough cots, or…" Kentucky began before trailing off, not wanting to be rude. Tired as he was, he wasn't going to steal someone's bed.

Hawaii raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, a small smile on her face.

"Are you insane, Ken?" Hawaii asked, her tone a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "You get the bed."

Kentucky blinked. He could take a cot. He didn't need to take a bed from someone who needed it more than he did, especially with the children who were here. His little sister had been Japan's prisoner. She deserved the bed, not him.

Not after everything he told Japan. Not after how weak he had been.

"What? No, Hawaii, I don't need—" Kentucky began to explain before Hawaii cut him off.

"You need the bed," Hawaii said, her tone familiar from his childhood, a tone that said there was no compromise and that it was better to listen. "And you're taking it."

Kentucky shook his head.

"Oh no, I couldn't take that. Not when you've got younger ones. I was sleeping in wooden cages in the middle of the jungle and chained up in a basement," Kentucky said, pausing as the memories began to overwhelm him. He cut off that train of thought. "A cot is more than fine. I don't need anything special."

Hawaii got closer, her gaze softer but nevertheless firm.

"Ken, you're not in that cage anymore. And you're not in that basement. You're here, And you will have the bed because you've earned it." Hawaii's voice dropped, quieter but intense. "I don't care what you've been through. I don't care if you've slept on the cold floor for years. You've been through hell. You've got a body that's been torn apart, and I'm not about to let you sleep on a cot when I've got a perfectly good bed for you." 

"Hawaii, you ca—" Kentucky began, but Hawaii steamrolled right over any arguments he could make, her mind made up.

"I don't care if it's crowded, if it's inconvenient. You're getting the bed. End of story." Hawaii said, pulling on the sheets. "Now, let's get you into somewhere where it's soft, and you'll be okay."

"I don't want to be any more trouble than I already am," Kentucky muttered. He had already caused enough trouble. Hawaii rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh.

"Ken, you're not trouble. Not to me. You're not trouble, just as none of these children are trouble. You're family, and I'll be damned to hell before I let you sleep on a cot, hurting like you are."

Kentucky relented, knowing it was a losing battle.

"Alright," Kentucky said. "The bed it is. Thanks, Wai."

"Good. Now, I gotta return the car to my friend May. And walk back here. Should take about thirty or so minutes, so don't do anything." Hawaii said, pointing a warning finger at Kentucky before leaving the room.

Kentucky sat down in the bed before sliding underneath the covers.

Then, silently, he began to cry. They weren't sobs, just silent tears that rolled down his cheeks.

The bed was so comfortable,and after everything, Kentucky was glad to have it.

Wiping tears from his face, Kentucky closed his eyes and let sleep carry him away again.

It was always ready to come for him, and Kentucky was glad to let it.

━─━────༺February 25, 1945༻────━─━

When Kentucky awoke the next morning, there was a weight on his chest. He opened his eyes to see his foster sister, Canton and Enderbury Islands, sleeping on top of his chest. Guam had dragged one of the cots closer and was sleeping beside him.

Kentucky swallowed, a pit of emotion in his chest.

He had missed his little sisters so much. It was nice to have family with him once again.

He wondered where Ohio, New Mexico, and North Carolina were. He hadn't seen them since he was last in the Philippines, and he hoped they were alright. Kentucky pulled Canton and Enderbury Islands into a hug, and she stirred underneath his arms.

Kentucky tried to shush her back to sleep, but she was already awake. Canton and Enderbury Islands scooted forward to hug him back better.

"I missed you," she said. Kentucky gave her a little squeeze before pulling out of the hug.

"I missed you too," Kentucky responded. Canton and Enderbury Islands smiled but then frowned as she looked down at the place where the rest of Kentucky's leg would have been.

"Guam wouldn't let me see you in the hospital. I was really worried, especially when I learned they had cut part of your leg off," Canton and Enderbury Islands said, her voice full of worry. Kentucky smiled.

"Hey now, Canton, it's okay. Maybe I'm missing a leg, but I'd rather be missing that than dead. And it's okay that you didn't visit me. I spent a lot of time sleeping and probably wouldn't have been able to talk much," Kentucky said, trying to soothe her fears. Canton and Enderbury Islands still looked so worried.

"I hear about the Death March. Hawaii tried to hide it from me, but I figured it out. I…It was horrible," Canton and Enderbury Islands said, her voice breaking. For a moment, Kentucky didn't know what she was talking about. Then, he realized what she was referring to—the forced march after their surrender at Bataan.

Immediately, Kentucky wished she hadn't known. Immediately, Kentucky wished she could have lived in ignorance of all that he had suffered.

Kentucky wouldn't let her know anything more. She was a child—more a baby than anything else, and she deserved childhood innocence.

"It's okay, Canton," Kentucky began, but she cut him off.

"No, it's not!" Canton and Enderbury Islands yelled, throwing her hands in the air and causing Guam to stir. "She hurt you and caused you to lose a leg, and no one will tell me what's going on, and you…you were hurt, and no one was allowed to know."

"Canton—" Kentucky began before he was cut off by a newly awoken Guam.

"What's going on?" she asked, rubbing at her eyes and sitting up in the cot.

"Canton's upset that I was hurt, and information about that was kept from her," Kentucky explained. Canton and Enderbury Islands nodded.

"I'm sorry I didn't take you with me. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I didn't think much of it," Guam said, the tone of her voice making it sound like this was a conversation they had had before. Canton and Enderbury Islands crossed her arms and looked as if she was about to argue, so Kentucky cut in.

"Don't go fightin' with each other. Neither of you are at fault for any of that. Canton, Guam didn't mean to hurt you. The only people who kept the information secret were the Army, most likely. Be upset at them, not at each other. I'm sorry you didn't get to learn more information sooner, but I'm here, I'm safe, and we can all move forward," Kentucky said. Canton and Enderbury Islands still looked a little upset, but she uncrossed her arms.

"Okay. I'm sorry, Guam. I just…It's been really hard being here since the beginning and knowing you were captured Guam, and only being able to hope that you were okay, but then learning that Kentucky was captured, and I hadn't been told, and then having to worry for him, and then he comes back, and unlike you, he's in the hospital and—" Canton and Enderbury Islands' voice broke a little, "And I was really scared for him."

Kentucky felt his heart break a little, pulling his sister close.

"Oh, Canton, I'm so sorry you had to feel that way," Kentucky said. As horrible as it was fighting, as it was being captured…being a bystander, unable to do anything but wait for news…that sounded horrible.

And…that's what Kentucky was now. He was a bystander, unable to do anything but wait for Philippines to be saved.

So Kentucky just pulled his sisters tight, taking comfort in their presence. He could worry about that later.

━─━────༺February 28, 1945༻────━─━

Kentucky hadn't been feeling well the past few days. Ever since arriving home, he had felt a growing sickness that worsened by the day. He hadn't brought it up, as he hadn't thought it was serious, but as it grew worse, Kentucky began to sense his mistake.

Kentucky had thought it was lingering malaria or something of the like, but this was so different.

It hurt like nothing he had felt before.

Like today, with the sickness sapping his strength, leaving him unable to move from his bed.

Kentucky's vision spun, blurred and nonsensical. He was nauseous, breaths coming out in short little gasps as he tried so hard not to throw up.

He felt similar to the way he did when trapped in his tiny cell of human agony, but this was different in a way that was worse.

What had provoked such a reaction?

Kentucky was home, Kentucky was safe, and somehow, the agony from his imprisonment followed him to Hawaii.

Why? What had he done wrong to deserve this fate? He had prayed to God, tried to be good even as his body and mind were taken by Japan and broken against the cold, hard stone of his cell.

Kentucky's awareness drifted in and out, caught in a limbo of his agony. He could vaguely hear voices above him, talking to him, but he…his head hurt.

Kentucky shifted to the side of the bed and began throwing up.

Panicked voices filled the air, and there was a hand rubbing his back, soothing words in his ears.

Kentucky was glad Hawaii had been keeping him well-fed, even if the doctors had been against that. He hated throwing up bile. He hated being hungry.

His head began to nod after he finished vomiting, exhaustion sinking into him before a gentle pair of hands grabbed the side of his head. Kentucky nearly jerked away, panicking at the sight of those eyes, before he saw her hair and realized who it was.

"Wai…?" Kentucky slurred, confused. She was saying something, but he couldn't hear, his brain drowning in foggy confusion and the lull of his exhaustion. Hawaii shook him slightly, and his brain felt as if it had been knocked loose of whatever state it had been in as he began to understand the words being spoken to him.

"Ken, stay awake. We've fetched a doctor for you," Hawaii said. Kentucky groaned.

"Tired," he slurred, his tongue heavy in his mouth. Hawaii looked…so sad.

"Yes, I know, I'm sorry, but please," Hawaii asked. Kentucky nodded, wincing at the pain it caused, and tried to do just that. But his focus kept drifting, and it was so hard to focus on the task.

Kentucky only vaguely heard Hawaii's yelling as he slipped away into the dark.

Kentucky woke up feeling sore and confused.

Someone was crying.

Kentucky fought to pull his eyes open.

"W'a ha'en?" Kentucky mumbled. An unfamiliar face was then above him, and Kentucky nearly pulled away before his fuzzy mind vaguely recalled something about a doctor.

"How do you feel?" the doctor asked. Kentucky's brain took a few minutes to process those words and a few more to think of a response.

"Ow…" Kentucky mumbled. The doctor didn't seem amused by that response, turning to the other person in the room…Hawaii?

"You're lucky you didn't kill him, you foolish girl. Next time, when the doctors tell you a patient needs to follow a specific diet, you listen to them," the doctor said. Kentucky wanted to open his mouth to defend Hawaii, but words escaped him, and his tongue was oh so heavy.

His eyes began to flutter again.

"He had been starved, and you expect me to feed him nothing?" Hawaii asked, something indigent in her tone.

"I expect you to listen to the advice of medical professionals. Just because you're a nurse doesn't mean you are qualified to overrule any decisions on this. We have no idea how refeeding syndrome works, but we don't need you killing a state whose life we just saved from Japan. Expect your father to hear about this," the doctor said before nodding at Kentucky, "Don't worry; she won't put your life in danger any longer."

Kentucky barely had the strength to nod.

His body still hurt. Everything ached.

The doctor and Hawaii left the room, and Kentucky could hear yelling but could not understand the words, his heart fluttering and head spinning.

Everything hurt.

━─━────༺March 11, 1945༻────━─━

Kentucky had been asleep when the commotion had begun, waking him from his nap. He could hear loud voices coming from the front door and wondered what was happening there.

Kentucky debated on whether or not he should check it out, comfortable in bed and not understanding what was being said.

But curiosity won out, and Kentucky pulled himself up and moved to the side of the bed, grabbing his crutches and securing them before pushing himself out of bed.

He couldn't sleep forever, and a walk, no matter how short, would be good for him. After all, he was finally recovering from the agony that eating had inflicted on him.

When Kentucky reached the entrance area, he could see Hawaii there, talking to a navy man. Worry pooled in Kentucky's stomach.

"What's happening?" Kentucky asked as he walked over. Hawaii looked both nervous and excited, while the navy man just looked nervous before he saluted Kentucky.

"Philippines has just been brought to Hawaii from his land, sir," the man said, and Kentucky's heart stopped.

Philippines really had been liberated. Philippines was here, out of Japan's hands.

"Where is he? Why isn't he here?" Kentucky asked, moving closer to the man, eager for every bit of information he could get. His brother was free. His brother was free and not at this house with every other liberated territory.

Had he outlived his use to Japan? Had she decided to hurt him the way she hurt Kentucky?

Philippines was free, but he wasn't here, and that scared Kentucky. The last time a new territory hadn't been taken right to the house, according to Hawaii, was him, and that was because…

Philippines had to be okay. He had gone through too much to be stopped here.

"Philippines is still under the control of the puppet state and—" the man began before Kentucky cut him off.

"It isn't gone yet?" Kentucky asked, a note of anger, of disappointment, of all the other emotions rising up inside him at that news clear in his voice.

Even away from her, Philippines wasn't free.

It was sickening.

"No, sir, it isn't. We've put together a cell to keep him in until the puppet state is disestablished and he is in control of himself again," the man said. Kentucky nodded.

"Where is it?" Kentucky asked. He needed to see Philippines, needed to show Philippines that he was okay, that he was fine, that Kentucky had survived.

"Ken, it's evening. I think this is better saved for tomorrow," Hawaii said, her voice nervous, as if she were hiding something.

"Yes, the Philippines is still under sedation from his transportation, and he won't be awake tonight, sir," the man said. Kentucky squeezed his hands tighter around the crutches, so angry that he had to wait even longer to see Philippines, after failing him, abandoning him, breaking his promise. But Kentucky nodded.

"Okay," Kentucky said, trying to hide his anger. "Tomorrow."

The man saluted again and left.

Kentucky felt numb.

"I want to see him as soon as possible, too," Hawaii said. Kentucky nodded.

"I know. He cares a lot about you," Kentucky sighed. "He should be able to fight the puppet state since so much of his land is liberated now. He fought it for a long time when it was first put in place. I know he can do it again."

If Japan hasn't broken his spirit. Kentucky silently added, electing not to bring that up to Hawaii.

"Then why did they have to sedate him to bring him here?" Hawaii asked, skepticism in her voice.

"I don't know. Maybe they were just worried. Maybe he was injured. I was drugged so I could be brought here. Or maybe he just needs a reminder, some help. But I know he can free himself. Phil's a stubborn bastard," Kentucky said, his voice firm and determined.

He knew Philippines could fight this. He knew that he was going to be able to talk to his brother again, properly this time, and ensure that Philippines felt no blame for what Japan made him do to Kentucky.

Kentucky was going to help his brother free himself.

He knew it was possible.

━─━────༺March 12, 1945༻────━─━

Kentucky had tried to leave the house before Hawaii, so he could get to Philippines first, so he could break Philippines out of Japan's control.

Hawaii didn't need to see him like that. Kentucky had seen Philippines under Japan's control before—the worst of Philippines under Japan's control when he was made to…to…

Hawaii didn't need to see that. It was bad enough that Guam had already seen her father like that, but Kentucky would be dammed before he let anyone else see Philippines like that.

Philippines didn't deserve that.

Unfortunately, Kentucky's leg made it impossible to sneak to and get to him before Hawaii. Philippines was being kept too far away.

Which had led to Hawaii borrowing her friend's car again and to the current conversation they were now having.

"I need you to let me talk to him first," Kentucky said after they started their trip. Hawaii gave him a bit of a confused look, but not one that looked overly angry, just confused.

"Why?" Hawaii asked.

"Because if I can break him out of Japan's control, I want to do it before you see him. Phil is probably already upset enough that Guam saw him trapped like that, and I think he would hate if you saw him like that too," Kentucky explained.

"I'm not a child that needs to be protected from the bad things the world has to offer," Hawaii said, sounding more annoyed this time. Kentucky flinched, thinking back to Japan's delusions.

"It's not about your age. It's about Phil being allowed to talk to you as him. I have seen what Japan made him do as the puppet, and I know it's tearing him up inside. I know more than you what he might be made to say, and I know it's…really bad," Kentucky said, not knowing if Hawaii knew about the delusions Japan had about Hawaii being her child and not wanting to be the one to tell her.

"Phil hated his actions enough after America's martial law," Hawaii seemed to mutter, mostly to herself, but Kentucky seized the opportunity.

"And he'd hate you seeing him like this even more. He's not the same person, not even close, while trapped in her grasp. Not to mention, I was there when he fought it off before. Please, Wai. If I can't, you can still see him, but I have to try," Kentucky said, basically begging.

He couldn't protect Philippines from Japan, couldn't save him from Japan, but he could help Philippines save face in front of his closest friends—the ones who didn't know the horror of the puppet.

"Okay. But no matter what, I am going to see him today. I need to," Hawaii's grip tightened around the steering wheel, "I need to see him."

Kentucky nodded, and the drive continued in silence until they reached the temporary prison. Hawaii was the first out, Kentucky close behind. As they reached the entrance, the man on guard duty saluted them.

"I'll stay behind until you come out," Hawaii said. Kentucky nodded and walked in, his crutches making a loud sound as he walked across the floor.

It was easy to find the cell Philippines was in, as he was the only one there.

The man was pacing, tail flicking. It was much more autonomy than Kentucky had seen from the puppet before. Had Phil already freed himself?

"Phil?" Kentucky asked, catching the attention of the country. Philippines turned to face Kentucky, and his face twisted into a cruel sneer.

Well, that answered the question of whether or not he had been freed from the puppet state.

"Ame-ko," the puppet said, walking to the bars. His eyes were still Japan's, and they were narrowed in hatred.

"Philippines. It is good to see you. I hope you have been well since we last saw each other," Kentucky said cordially, talking to the man behind Japan's control. The puppet laughed.

"Playing at a civilized man, are we?" the puppet asked, eyes flickering to Kentucky's leg. "I see that Japan has ensured you're never going to be a threat. It's a shame you escaped. She had plans for you, you know, and it's rude to ruin your superior's plans, especially one that had treated you so well."

Kentucky sighed. Why did Japan have to pass her delusions onto her puppet?

"Philippines, I know you probably feel guilt over my leg and what Japan made you do—"

"She didn't make me do anything. I was willing. You needed to be broken and understand your place. It's a shame that the lesson didn't stick when Japan first taught it to you, but once she defeats America, I'm sure she will be willing to teach it again," the puppet rambled, spewing the empty words of its master. Kentucky just continued speaking as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"But I do not blame you for that. I know you were trapped, just as I was," Kentucky said. The puppet snorted.

"Hardly."

"I know you're still in there—the real you, buried under the puppet," Kentucky said, not paying attention to the puppet's words and meeting his eyes. Much to his surprise, the puppet laughed.

"You think I am under the control of a puppet? Japan revoked that a few months ago. I am loyal to my wife and her empire, not some puppet or pawn that is under her control," the puppet said. Kentucky didn't believe it. Philippines' face still held the gaze of a puppet.

Nothing the puppet could say would hide that.

"You have the eyes of a puppet," Kentucky pointed out, unsure of why he was arguing. It wasn't like the puppet was going to change its mind—it couldn't do that without orders from Japan. The puppet rolled its eyes.

"Technicalities mean nothing. I am only still like this because of the war, but Japan gave me full control over myself again after I realized that America had manipulated me, after I realized I was fighting against the wrong person, and that Japan freed me. And Japan had only kept it up because her government told her to. She dropped it after martial law was declared because she felt bad. So, when I say I am not a puppet, I mean it," the puppet declared.

But Kentucky hadn't been paying attention to the last sentence. His mind was still stuck on the second to last one.

Philippines was under martial law.

There was nothing that could break him from the puppet state.

Not only was Philippines' body enslaved by Japan, but his mind.

Kentucky felt as if he were going to throw up and began walking away from the puppet, for Philippines was still a puppet, now unable to think for himself.

No, he was more than a puppet. He wasn't just being made to dance on strings, but made to…to…Japan turned his brother into her slave, and the anger within Kentucky burned at that.

Kentucky left the prison, shaking slightly—with anger, with fear—he didn't know.

Kentucky felt like crying.

"Ken?" Hawaii asked. "What's wrong? Is Philippines okay?"

"He's not just under the control of a puppet," Kentucky muttered, his brain still trying to process the information, tears pricking in his eyes. Hawaii paled.

"What…what does that mean?" Hawaii asked.

"He's under martial law too. He has…Philippines has no free will. Every part of him is under her control," Kentucky said, sick from the realization, sick from the terrible, terrible words Japan made him sick, sick from just how long Japan's poison was going to be.

Face pale, Kentucky walked back to the car, knuckles white around his crutches.

"You can talk to him if you want. I…I need to process," Kentucky then said.

He could…he could hardly believe it.

Oh, Phil, I'm so sorry.

━─━────༺March 27, 1945༻────━─━

Kentucky didn't know what to make of Japan's daughter. It was the first enemy they really had captured, but she was kept in the house with them, not in the prison with Philippines.

Kentucky hated it. He knew the prison was there for a reason because Philippines' mind had been twisted to the point that not even Philippines would recognize himself, that Philippines had claws and could never be disarmed, and that South Seas Mandate was just a small, young girl.

Japan's daughter, but also her colony, her victim.

But it was still hard when she held the flag of that monster.

Kentucky had been avoiding her until one day, she came up to him as he was reading a book. Kentucky tensed, unsure what to make of this development and knowing she didn't speak much English, knowing that the sounds of Japan's language would sometimes bring him back to that cell.

South Seas Mandate didn't say anything. She just stared at the empty space his leg used to be before leaving.

She came back a few minutes later with Hawaii.

"What's happening?" Kentucky asked, knowing Hawaii had probably been dragged here as a translator.

"South Seas Mandate wants to know if it's her mother's fault that you are missing a leg," Hawaii said, looking uncomfortable. "I told her it was, but she really wants to hear it from you."

Kentucky looked South Seas Mandate straight in the eyes and nodded. Something flashed in her eyes as she looked vaguely uncomfortable, probably because the American savage had looked her in the eyes.

God knows what kind of fear-mongering Japan had done to her children after what the puppet seemed to believe.

Kentucky knew that might mean he should have been a little bit nicer to her, but frankly, he didn't care. Her mother had…Kentucky didn't want to interact with that family anymore. He had already done it more than he would have liked, and not a single part had ended well.

South Seas Mandate then turned to Hawaii and said something, causing Hawaii to blink in surprise.

Hawaii turned back to Kentucky.

"South Seas says she's sorry. She doesn't like you but thinks that was too far and that her mother should have contained you in a safer way," Hawaii said. Kentucky stared at South Seas Mandate in confusion, who was walking away.

"What was that about?" Kentucky asked Hawaii, who was watching the girl leave with sad eyes.

"I think she finally learned the kind of person her mother was," Hawaii responded. Kentucky watched her fleeing back.

"Oh," Kentucky responded.

He hoped she was okay.

Kentucky didn't know how he would react if someone had told him his father had done even half the things that Japan had done to him, even if it was to an enemy.

━─━────༺April 10, 1945༻────━─━

"Ken. Can we talk?"

Kentucky looked up from his book, nodding at Guam, who was standing in the doorway, looking more than a little nervous.

"Sure we can. What's wrong? Are you alright?" Kentucky asked. Guam nodded.

"I am…I just…did you ever see her?" Guam asked. Kentucky's heart leapt into his throat, and he fought to keep his breathing calm.

He knew who Guam was referring to. And…he hated how scared he still was of her.

"I saw her, yes," Kentucky began, voice unsteady, "Those…are not memories I want to dwell on."

"I understand," Guam said, her voice troubled. Kentucky's stomach dropped at the expression.

"Did she hurt you?" Kentucky asked, his voice full of concern as he reached over to grab his crutches so he could walk over and comfort her properly.

"No, no, she didn't," Guam said before walking over to Kentucky, sitting down beside him. "She was…weirdly nice. But I think…only because Philippines was my dad."

Kentucky nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He understood that well enough, his scars witness to Japan's delusions about who actually liked her, who was related to her.

"She had mentioned that she felt she deserved the people she wanted as family and as colonies and that…those who disagreed or prevented her from that were…not welcome on this earth, for defying a goddess," Kentucky said. Kentucky knew they were more than human, but for Japan to call herself a goddess…she truly was delusional.

Although Kentucky didn't know what it said and would never have a way of knowing, the brand on his back seemed to burn again, a permanent reminder of what Japan thought of him.

"I'm sorry," Guam whispered. Kentucky let out a small laugh, pulling her close.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. What could you have done? You and I, we were both prisoners," Kentucky said.

"And dad," Guam added softly. Kentucky squeezed her a little bit tighter.

"Especially your dad. You know, he fought the puppet for so long," Kentucky began. It was clear that what Japan had done to Philippines was hurting Guam, and as far as anyone would be concerned, he had simply, one day, woken up without his free will.

Kentucky knew that wasn't true.

And Guam deserved to know that, too.

"He did?" Guam asked, and, God, Kentucky's heart broke a little at the hope in her voice, at how happy that made her sound.

"'Course he did. Your dad wouldn't go down without a fight. Not to mention, Japan created that puppet government when we were still fightin' her off at Bataan. Phil fought it until the surrender—until it was completely impossible to fight it. Phil was never a willing prisoner, and beneath all that control, he still isn't willing. Your dad is going to come back someday, and he would want you to know that he didn't surrender willingly. If it weren't for the threat posed by the puppet government, he would be with the guerrilla fighters now, I guarantee it!" Kentucky explained. Guam's face cracked into a tiny smile as she leaned against his side.

"Thanks, Ken." Kentucky pulled her close.

He wished he could have helped her father more.

━─━────༺April 27, 1945༻────━─━

Kentucky didn't know why he was doing this. He knew that Japan's control over Philippines was too strong. He knew now that there wasn't even a Philippines buried deep inside under all her control to talk to.

Kentucky knew this.

But he still made his way to Philippines' cell. Kentucky couldn't make a cake or bring a gift; both of those things were in short supply due to…circumstances, but he could at least wish his brother a happy birthday.

Maybe it could help his brother free himself a little.

After all, 380 was no small number to be turning.

Kentucky was let into the room by the guards—because Japan had hurt his brother so much he needed guards, who had seemed nervous about letting Kentucky in but acquiesced once Kentucky pushed.

Kentucky had already been forced to abandon Philippines before, and once his brother woke up, Kentucky wanted him to see that Kentucky was still there for him. That Kentucky was always going to be there for him.

"Happy Birthday, Philippines," Kentucky said as he made his way toward the cell. Kentucky heard a groan from the puppet.

It was unnerving how martial law could allow him to behave like a person and yet warp him so completely.

"What are you doing here?" the puppet asked.

"Visiting my brother," Kentucky said, not flinching as the puppet slammed its fists against the bars of his cage.

"I am not your brother," the puppet said. Kentucky nodded.

"I am aware that the puppet is not my brother, but Phil is, and I don't want his memories of his time trapped as being nothing but pain," Kentucky said. The puppet's face twisted in pseudo-anger.

"I am not the manipulated little colony that was under America's thumb. I am the Philippines, the real one, not whatever imposter you think I am!" the puppet declared. Kentucky shook his head, sadness running through him.

"You would ignore all your history for what Japan tells you you are. Does that sound like freedom?" Kentucky asked.

For a second, it seemed like maybe Kentucky had gotten through to Philippines, a brief and quick emotion passing through doll eyes.

Then it was gone.

"Japan has freed me. She has not made me ignore my history. I remember what I suffered, what Guam suffered, what Hawaii suffered at the hands of you," the puppet declared, hatred in its tone.

"I was wrong then," Kentucky said, shifting his weight on his crutches. "You helped me see that I was wrong. I know somewhere, you have that memory."

Kentucky turned away and began to leave, knowing he wasn't allowed to stay much longer, and not wanting to provoke the puppet into believing more strongly in Japan's lies.

"Goodbye, Philippines."

━─━────༺May 8, 1945༻────━─━

The war was starting to end. In Europe, the war was over. Part of his godforsaken war was over.

Maybe that wasn't the Pacific, in the region Kentucky wanted the war to end in the most, but it was starting to end.

The war, whose end had always seemed out of sight to Kentucky, was going to end soon.

It was unbelievable.

Some of the others were celebrating outside, but Kentucky hadn't joined them. He didn't…he was happy, of course he was, but…Kentucky didn't feel much like celebrating.

The war still wasn't over. Philippines still wasn't freed. So many of his siblings were still fighting.

Just because Europe thought it was over didn't mean it was.

At least, "Germany first" meant that more troops were going to get sent to the Pacific and that more supplies were going to be made available in order to put an end to all the fighting.

At least that meant they would have more supplies to defeat Japan.

Although, remembering how little his father's government had cared about Philippines, maybe they would get no help at all.

Germany first could also mean that they wouldn't care enough about the poor bastards out in the Pacific.

Kentucky hoped they were going to help. The sooner Japan was defeated, the sooner his brother would be freed.

Kentucky really hoped this meant things were going to end soon. He needed things to be over. He wanted to move on with his life. He wanted things to be better.

He wanted everyone and everything to get better.

Only half the war was over. Only half the war had been won.

Japan needed to fall.

And at this point? Kentucky didn't care how.

And a small, terrible part of him wanted her to suffer in the way she had hurt Kentucky and Philippines.

━─━────༺May 13, 1945༻────━─━

Visiting Philippines hurt a lot. It hurt to see Philippines in that state, his mind and body enslaved to someone as merciless as Japan, twisted into a pale imitation of her—not himself, but of her.

It hurt a lot, but Kentucky came anyway, hoping that one day, the martial law would be over and Kentucky could help Philippines as his mind returned to him.

Today, Kentucky was just talking and sharing stories of his siblings and some of the mischief they got into.

"It's a shame your tongue wasn't this loose when Japan needed information from you," the puppet commented. Kentucky's breath hitched at the reminder, but he continued talking, trying not to let the puppet see the small weakness.

But the puppet had already seen it, and the mocking continued.

"What's the matter? Does it hurt to remember your punishments? The consequences of your actions?" the puppet asked. Kentucky tried to plaster a smile on his face.

"You're not going to have any friends if you're this unpleasant," Kentucky said, talking more to the puppet than to Philippines. The puppet scowled.

"I have no need to be friends with someone like you. Japan should have let me kill you before or let me be more involved in helping you!" the puppet said. Kentucky raised an eyebrow.

"Helping me?" Kentucky asked incredulously. Just when he thought Japan couldn't get any more delusional, the puppet revealed this to him.

Japan had tortured him for months. For information, for her own sick pleasure, for her hatred of his father. None of that was help.

"You needed to learn your place," the puppet said, doll eyes narrowing. Kentucky's breath caught in his throat, memories coming to the surface unbidden. Kentucky grabbed his crutches, preparing to stand up and leave.

"Why are you leaving?" the puppet asked, a cruel smile on his face.

"I've listened to enough of Japan's delusions. I don't feel like listening to it anymore," Kentucky said before leaving, breaths coming fast and panicked as he tried to push the memories down.

Oh, why couldn't Philippines be freed already? Why did he have to be trapped like that? Trapped in a prison that forced him to attack those who cared for him…and praise the one who imprisoned him.

It made Kentucky sick.

His father's army controlled the Philippines now.

Why hadn't they freed him yet? Why did they let him suffer like this when they had the power to undo the martial law, to end the puppet state?

Keeping him in this limbo, it was sickening and sadistic.

If Kentucky was still in the Philippines, he would have forced someone into doing it.

But he was here, in Hawaii, only able to watch his brother fade away into Japan's delusions.

Kentucky hated it more than words could describe.

━─━────༺May 29, 1945༻────━─━

Kentucky was cold. So very cold.

He was cold and scared.

And Japan was right there. She was silent, but that didn't stop Kentucky from shivering at the mere sight of her, her presence invoking a terror that kept him frozen

She had her sword in her hand, blade sharp.

Was she finally going to kill him?

Then, out of the darkness surrounding them came his father. And then Kanawha, and then Missouri, and Virginia, and all of his other siblings, silently appearing one by one, surrounding him and Japan.

They all had her eyes. Doll eyes.

Japan smiled, and then her sword entered Kentucky's heart.

Kentucky shot up with a gasp, breaths quick and shallower, his heart hammering.

It was…it was just a dream.

It had felt so…real.

Kentucky felt dizzy, and he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to bring himself some comfort.

Even safe, even in his father's country, in lands that Japan had never controlled, Japan haunted him.

Would Kentucky ever be free of those memories? Of her influence?

He didn't know.

He just…he wanted to be free of it.

It hurt.

━─━────༺June 1, 1945༻────━─━

Kentucky hadn't had a very good grasp on time since he had been captured, and even now, free and in Hawaii's home, he still struggled to keep track of dates.

Which is why he hadn't realized it was his birthday.

Kentucky had mentioned it before, back when they were celebrating Hawaii's birthday a week ago, but he hadn't noticed the day had arrived until Guam came barging into his room as he was grabbing his crutches.

"Happy Birthday, Ken!" Guam exclaimed. Kentucky paused, blinking, before he processed her words.

It was his birthday.

He hadn't celebrated that in three years, being captured two months before his birthday.

The last time he celebrated it, he had been 149.

Now he was 153.

Kentucky let out a little laugh.

"Yeah, it is my birthday. I can hardly believe I'm already 153. I can't…" Kentucky shook his head, and Guam smiled, something sad in her eyes.

"It was hard to keep track, so you feel like you skipped a couple of years?" Guam suggested. Kentucky nodded.

"You're a smart one," Kentucky said, finally standing up, "Let's go see everyone else. You can't hog me all day."

"But what if I want to? You're my brother," Guam said, her smile turning mischievous.

"I'm Cece's brother, too," Kentucky pointed out, the nickname Hawaii had given his sister falling from his tongue with ease. Guam pouted.

"Fine then, we can both hog you," Guam said. Kentucky laughed, walking out of the room. Canton and Enderbury Islands came rushing over, pausing just before she knocked Kentucky over.

"Hug?" She asked. Kentucky laughed and nodded, and she was quick to pull him into a hug, squeezing tightly, "You're so old now."

Kentucky let out a little gasp, jamming his left crutch under his elbow so he could put a hand to his heart without falling over.

"How dare you. I'm not old at all," Kentucky said, prompting a laugh from Hawaii's daughter—Sikaiana.

"You're halfway to three hundred," Sikaiana said, "That is old."

Kentucky rolled his eyes, making his way to the couch. While he still wasn't comfortable with being around everyone, with it being so overwhelming that it would cause him to panic, he didn't want to hide in his room on his birthday.

Besides, if Guam and Canton and Enderbury Islands didn't drag him out of his room, Hawaii would, and Kentucky didn't feel like angering his host.

"I didn't get you anything," Canton and Enderbury Islands said, curling up next to Kentucky on the couch. Kentucky smiled, putting a hand on her head.

"I don't need anything. Having you with me is more than enough," Kentucky said. He didn't need anything extravagant because if being a POW had taught him anything, it was how to appreciate what he did have.

Being with his family, being free again?

There was no better gift than that. It was what Kentucky had wanted for so, so long, and trinkets wouldn't be better than their presence and his freedom.

Kentucky didn't want anything else.

Well…maybe one more thing, for Philippines to be here with him, to celebrate with them.

"Hey, Kenny-boy, it's not going to be the best, but I'm going to make you a cake," Hawaii called as she walked into the room.

Kentucky changed his mind. He wanted cake. He hadn't had sugar in a long time, and a cake…a cake sounded really nice, even a terrible one.

His diet had been strictly controlled, especially since his seizure caused by the "refeeding syndrome" he had developed after trying to eat normally again, but the diet had loosened a lot more since the winter, and…Kentucky missed sugar, missed being able to eat something like a cake.

Even if it was one made with war rations.

Kentucky was beginning to feel normal again, surrounded by friends and family, celebrating his birthday.

He only wished everyone else could be with him.

━─━────༺June 17, 1945༻────━─━

When Kentucky had learned his father was in Hawaii the day before, he had almost walked to the hospital himself. But Hawaii had stopped him, telling him that they needed to let Father adjust and let the doctors check him over first.

Kentucky had reluctantly agreed, and now he and Hawaii were on their way to the hospital.

Kentucky was nervous. He didn't know if his father had learned about what Kentucky had told Japan, all of the secrets that Kentucky had given up to their enemy.

Kentucky knew…he knew he didn't have a choice, but that somehow made the guilt worse.

He still felt like he had betrayed his father and that his father was going to be angry with him.

His father was very protective of their safety, their secrecy.

Kentucky had ruined all of that.

"Are you okay, Ken?" Hawaii asked, snapping Kentucky from his thoughts.

"What? Yeah, I'm fine," Kentucky said. Hawaii frowned.

"Are you sure? You've been really quiet. I thought you would be more excited to see your father, considering how excited you were when we got the news," Hawaii said. Kentucky looked away, thinking over what to say.

He didn't want to tell her the truth. Japan had forced a lot of information about her out of him, and…Kentucky didn't want to give her any more stress.

He just wanted to forget everything he had been made to say.

"I just…it's been so long, and I'm worried," Kentucky said. Hawaii frowned.

"Why would you need to be worried?" Hawaii asked. Kentucky kept his gaze on the window and didn't answer. He didn't want to.

The rest of the ride passed in a concerned silence until they reached the hospital. Kentucky made his way inside, following Hawaii, who was being shown to his father's room by a nurse.

Kentucky paused outside the door as Hawaii opened it, listening to his father's exclamation at Hawaii's hair and her quiet explanation of martial law.

Father sounded like he was going to say something, but Hawaii cut him off by calling Kentucky in.

Knowing that there was no avoiding it, Kentucky walked inside.

His father's leg was bandaged, and his eyes slightly clouded from medicine, but that did nothing to damage the joy in his eyes when he saw Kentucky, and Kentucky, despite himself, smiled, joy fluttering in his chest at the sight of his father.

"Hi, Pa," Kentucky said, his voice breaking slightly. Father smiled, a wide grin that practically split his face in two.

"Oh, Kenny," Father said, voice soft and gentle, making tears spring to Kentucky's eyes. "It's so good to see you again. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," Kentucky said, tears actually starting to flow down his face as he walked closer to his father. That's when Father finally noticed his leg, his face falling.

"Oh, Ken, your leg," Father said, "How—"

"I was…hurt badly when I came here. My leg couldn't be saved," Kentucky said quickly before his voice dropped to a whisper. "Please don't make me talk about it."

Kentucky would never be ready to talk about it. He…he couldn't. The pain was too much to bear.

"Okay," Father said, his voice quiet and worried, before his grin returned. "Now, come give us a hug."

Kentucky smiled and made his way over, leaning down to hug his father.

He felt warm and safe in his father's embrace, some of the shadows that had been clinging to his mind chased away by the warmth.

Kentucky squeezed his father a little bit tighter, tears rolling down his face.

He had missed this so much. Kentucky pulled away, stumbling slightly as he readjusted his crutches.

As happy as he was, a small part of him was guilty, knowing his father only felt this way because he clearly didn't know what Kentucky had done or what Kentucky had given to Japan.

Otherwise, he would be mad.

Kentucky tried to continue the conversation with his father, but his words were awkward and stilted. However, it was clear that his father was tired from the medicine, a feeling Kentucky knew well.

Kentucky leaned down and pressed a kiss to his father's forehead.

"Try to sleep, Pa. You need it," Kentucky said before rushing from the room, panic in his veins.

Kentucky missed his father so much. But oh, how badly he wanted to cry.

━─━────༺June 20, 1945༻────━─━

Kentucky needed to confess.

Kentucky needed to confess to his father everything that he had done to endanger their family so that his father would be aware and could take the proper steps against it.

Kentucky was still so scared that his father would hate him for it.

But he had to tell his father. Keeping it secret would only make it worse.

"Pa?" Kentucky asked, stepping into his father's hospital room. "I need to talk to you."

Father looked up from some book he was reading, dog-earing the page and putting it down.

"Of course, Kenny. Are you okay?" Father asked. His voice was so gentle and concerned that it nearly made Kentucky start crying out of guilt.

"I…I'm sorry," Kentucky said before breaking down in tears, unable to force anything else out. Father looked panicked, shaking his head.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. What do you have to be sorry about?" Father asked, his voice gentle and soothing.

"I…I didn't want to, but she made me, and I tried to resist; I tried, but it hurt so much that I couldn't," Kentucky blabbered, knowing he wasn't making much sense. He was trying hard to keep his balance as sobs wracked his body.

"Kentucky," Father said, his voice breaking through the wall of panic. "Whatever she made you do, it's on her, not you. So please, talk to me. I promise I will not be upset."

Kentucky let out a shaky exhale, feeling lightheaded and dizzy from the panic. He walked over to the chair near his father's bed, relaxing at the opportunity to sit down.

"Japan," Kentucky said, voice cracking. "She wanted information from me."

Father's eyes flickered to his leg, and horror dawned on his face, tears brimming in his eyes. Kentucky looked away.

"I…I tried…but…I told her your human name and face and where your home in Seattle is. And…I told her a lot about our family. She knows…" Kentucky trailed off, unable to say anymore through the gasping breaths he was taking. Panic made it so hard to speak, to breathe, and his head hurt so much.

"Ken—" Father began before Kentucky cut him off.

"I tried! I'm so…I'm so sorry," Kentucky said, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Ken, that's not your fault. If she…she tortured you," Father said, his voice full of rage and hurt and worry. "I don't blame you. We're just angry at her for doing that to you, for putting you in this position, and we'll make her pay for it."

"I should have don—"

"You shouldn't have been put in that position at all," Father said, his voice firm. Kentucky opened his eyes and finally looked at his father, seeing fierce, protective anger burning in his eyes.

The self-blame in Kentucky began to crack, and he began to cry again.

"It was easier to blame myself," Kentucky managed to get out through the tears. It was easier to blame himself, because Japan was untouchable and terrifying, and always made sure Kentucky knew he was nothing more than dirt beneath her boot, no one that anyone should care about. Fat—Pa held out his arms, a small smile on his face.

"Hug?"

Kentucky grabbed his crutches and walked over to pull his dad into a hug.

It was the greatest hug he had ever gotten.

━─━────༺June 23, 1945༻────━─━

Kentucky had been happy to see his pa out of the hospital the day before, even if it seemed to add a whole new layer of tension to the household.

There was something going on between his pa and Hawaii, but both of them had kept their mouths shut about it around others, so Kentucky was left to wonder.

But having Pa around was a blessing. He made Kentucky feel safe, and since they were now sharing a room (with Pa taking the bed due to his injury), Kentucky hadn't had any nightmares the day before, as if his Pa's presence had chased them away.

Of course, having Pa around also meant having his uncle and the others around. Uncle James had taken Guam, Hawaii, and Canton and Enderbury Islands aside to ensure they knew that none of the territories staying in Hawaii's house could know about their condition.

Kentucky thought it was a bit redundant, as they all knew it was a secret, but he understood why Uncle James was concerned.

Kentucky wondered if Uncle James thought he had spilled that secret to Japan, and that's why Kentucky was getting a reminder.

Those fears were only confirmed when Uncle James asked Kentucky to talk with him in private.

Kentucky's mouth was dry, and if his hands were not wrapped around his crutches, he was sure they would be shaking.

"Yes, Uncle James? What is it?" Kentucky asked. Uncle James patted the bed, inviting Kentucky to sit there, a small smile on his face.

It didn't stop Kentucky's nerves.

"I didn't tell Japan about you," Kentucky began, sitting down next to his uncle. Uncle James shook his head.

"Kenny, how many times do we have to tell you it's not your fault," Uncle James said as an uncomfortable feeling rolled in Kentucky's gut.

"But—"

"It's not your fault," Uncle James said firmly before his voice became soft. "I wanted to talk to you cause I know the memories you now have are weighing down on you, and I know how hard that burden can be. I…your father doesn't know a lot about what Britain did to us, and for a good reason. I wanted to offer you any advice you may want."

"I…I just wanna forget," Kentucky said, voice soft as he looked away.

"You can't forget. You can only move forward," Uncle James said. Kentucky frowned, facing falling at that.

"Oh," Kentucky said, "Then what should I do?"

"Forgive yourself, for one. You were the victim, and I know you did everything you could, and I also know that sometimes, the best way to survive is to give in. Don't feel blame for what you might or might not have been able to do. It's not your fault. You survived, and that means you won," Uncle James said. Kentucky felt tears begin to burn in the corners of his eyes, and he pulled his uncle into a hug.

Uncle James understood.

He wasn't judging Kentucky or thinking Kentucky was selfish for wanting to live.

He understood.

Kentucky didn't realize how much he needed that. How much he needed to know that someone understood how badly he didn't want to talk, but how he, even when he wished for death, how he wanted to live to see his family again.

"I really…I really needed to hear that," Kentucky said, pulling away. Uncle James smiled.

"Well, I'm glad I could tell you it."

They sat in silence for a while, Kentucky tracing shapes on his uncle's hand before he nervously spoke up.

"I know you said the pain doesn't go away, but…does it get better?" Kentucky asked. Uncle James pulled him into another hug.

"It will. You just need to give it time."

━─━────༺July 1, 1945༻────━─━

"Be safe, Pa," Kentucky said as he awkwardly gave his pa one more hug, resting his body weight on his father's. Pa held him close before releasing Kentucky, making sure Kentucky still had his balance, before turning to Canton and Enderbury Islands and Guam.

"You girls be safe, too," Pa said, making sure to give each one of them a hug. While Canton and Enderbury Islands was the shortest, Guam held onto their father for a long time, as if she were worried he would vanish as soon as she let go.

Pa didn't seem to mind, letting Guam hug him for as long as she needed.

"Guam, I have to go. Things are happening in Europe soon. While Japan hasn't surrendered, the old Germany is dead, and we need to figure out what to do. There is no new Germany yet," Pa said. Guam reluctantly pulled away.

"I know. I just…I missed you so much, and you've barely been here!" Guam protested. Although he hadn't said it, Kentucky had felt the same way. His pa had been a rock in the past few days he had been here, but it was hardly more than a week before he was sent back to Europe.

Europe. The only godforsaken continent anyone on this planet cared about.

Kentucky knew he was being unfair, that Pa was injured and couldn't fight, that it would be better for him to take care of important political work…but he could also be here.

With Kentucky, with Guam, his children who had suffered so much because of Japan.

He could go to the military in the Philippines and demand for them to end the martial law that Japan put into place, demand for them to end the puppet state and free Kentucky's brother.

Instead, he was going back to Europe to discuss who inherited the remains of a dead man.

Kentucky couldn't blame him; Kentucky knew Pa's government was probably involved, but…

Kentucky was angry a lot now. It was so hard not to be angry when everything was so unfair, when so many people had suffered so much, and no one seemed to care.

"I wish I could be here longer, but the government needs me there," Pa responded, giving Guam a soft smile.

Kentucky wasn't sure if his pa's government really needed him there.

Kentucky tried to smile.

"We understand, Pa. You better get going," Kentucky said, knowing his words were a bit of a dismissal but not wanting to experience the pain of dragging this out any longer. Pa smiled at Kentucky, something sad in his eyes.

"Thanks, Ken. I'll see you soon," Pa said.

And with that, the United States of America was escorted from that overcrowded home in the islands he annexed, ready to discuss the future of Europe as war still raged in Asia.

Kentucky was still angry.

━─━────༺July 4, 1945༻────━─━

Kentucky had always loved celebrating the Fourth of July. It had always been a big family celebration for them all, a way to get together and celebrate how their family had first come into existence.

While the holidays had been interrupted by war and those years when the southern states were still imprisoned for their betrayal and the civil war, it had always been about their family celebrating together.

Even with two of his sisters alongside him, Kentucky couldn't find joy in the holiday.

It felt…empty now.

Kentucky wasn't sure if that was because of what Japan did to him, what he learned from Philippines, or…

Kentucky didn't know how something that had once brought him so much joy could be so empty now.

"Ken? Are you coming?" Guam asked as she peered her head into Kentucky's room. Kentucky shrugged.

"I…don't know," Kentucky said, looking away from his sister and down at his hands as if they held the answers he was looking for.

"Why not?" Guam asked. Kentucky shrugged.

"It doesn't feel the same," Kentucky said, unsure of what else to say. It felt wrong to celebrate without everyone else. It felt wrong to celebrate when Philippines was trapped in prison—both physically and in his own mind.

It just felt so…wrong.

"Nothing does anymore," Guam said, walking in and sitting down next to Kentucky. "You don't have to go. Cece can be with Hawaii and the others. I can stay with you."

Kentucky smiled, wrapping an arm around his younger sister.

"Thank you," Kentucky said.

The holiday still didn't feel right. But being with Guam made it a little bit better.

Maybe when Kentucky got the chance to celebrate with all his family, it would feel less…tainted.

He hoped.

Kentucky really, really hoped.

But he felt as if something within him had been broken by the war, by his experiences, and that nothing was ever going to be the same again.

He was never going to be the same again.

That realization burned.

━─━────༺July 11, 1945༻────━─━

"When Japan surrenders, you'll be free; I know that much by now," Kentucky declared to Philippines as he walked to the man's cell. The puppet let out a bitter laugh.

"I won't be free if I am just under your thumb again," the puppet said. Kentucky shook his head.

"You will be free. My pa promised you independence. You would have gotten it by now if it weren't for the war. But as soon as it is over, you will get it," Kentucky said. It was sick that Japan had taken that from him and then forced Philippines to think he was free.

"I am independent! You're invading my country and taking that from me again!" the puppet said, such emotion in its voice that Kentucky really felt like he was talking to his brother again. Kentucky sighed, trying to push that from his mind. It was no good to him or to Philippines to think of the puppet as any form of Philippines.

"Japan invaded you. Why is this so different?" Kentucky asked.

"Japan liberated me," the puppet snarled, ears pressed flat against its head.

"Right, so that's why your entire army was imprisoned. Any liberator wants to remove your ability to defend yourself," Kentucky said before sighing.

It was crazy how badly martial law could warp someone. The puppet's words made no sense, and yet the puppet seemed to believe them as if they were fact.

Oh, Phil, when you're free…

"They had been manipulated, just as I had been!" the puppet responded. Kentucky didn't respond, knowing better than to get into a pointless argument.

"I miss you, Phil," Kentucky said, his voice mournful, visibly catching the puppet off guard.

The puppet didn't answer, and they sat there in silence.

Kentucky wished the war was over.

He could tell the puppet did, too. They didn't argue as much anymore, just sitting in silence, two sides of a war, two sides of what Japan had done to the people in the Philippines.

Slaves and torture victims.

Kentucky wished the martial law could be lifted.

Philippines needed time to heal in a safe place before he was thrown to the wolves of independence.

━─━────༺August 15, 1945༻────━─━

The war was over.

Finally, it was over.

Kentucky could hardly believe it.

After all the pain that Japan had caused him and caused the world, she was no longer a threat, a defeated nation at his father's mercy.

Kentucky hadn't felt this happy in a long time. He hadn't realized how much the lingering threat of Japan had been hovering over him, terrifying and all-knowing, until it was gone, gone and no longer able to hurt him, able to fade away like a bad dream.

Well, mostly a bad dream.

Kentucky knew whatever punishment she faced would not be a light one, and considering the fates of the other two Axis Powers—one at the hands of his people and another at the hands of the Allies—Japan didn't have long left in this world.

A part of Kentucky was happy about that. She deserved it—after everything she had done to Guam and Philippines and South Seas Mandate and Okinawa and every other refugee that had ended up here, a house of her victims.

A house of so many victims, and yet there were still so many more to save, so many that had not been a part of the island hopping campaign, left to rot until Japan surrendered.

If General MacArthur hadn't pushed to free Philippines, would both he and Kentucky have been left behind?

Kentucky pushed the thought from his mind. Why focus on such melancholy things when it was time to celebrate?

Kentucky walked into the room, a smile on his face as he saw the jubilance of everyone else's. Hawaii rushed over, pulling Kentucky into a quick hug.

"Oh, Kenny, can you believe it? It's over. It's all finally over!" Hawaii said.

"I know," Kentucky said, his smile growing wider as he pulled away. "And soon, everyone else she's hurt will be free. Phil, China, Korea…the time of their suffering is over. We're all free now."

"It feels unreal. After all these years…it's over," Hawaii said with a small laugh. Kentucky nodded.

"It is over," Kentucky repeated, the meaning of the words feeling more real as he did so.

It had felt as if it was never going to end, trapped in a Hell in which Japan held all the power and made sure you knew it. Time had no meaning there. It was only pain.

The pain was over, and it was like the world could resume again, starting over on a new page. A page without needless death caused by the hunger for power the Axis had had.

"It really is over."

━─━────༺August 18, 1945༻────━─━

The day before, Philippines had been released from martial law and the puppet state.

Kentucky had been the one to get the message, nearly crying in relief as he read it.

Then, perhaps a bit selfishly, Kentucky tucked it away, going to visit Philippines himself. If…Kentucky didn't want Hawaii and Guam to get their hopes up, only to learn that it wasn't that easy to free Philippines from years of mind control altering his very perception of the world.

Kentucky's fears were proven right when Philippines acted like he was the puppet.

However…something in that façade broke when Philippines saw Kentucky's leg, eyes widening, before the anger overtook his face again.

"Hello, Phil. I tried so hard to get them to remove it sooner. I'm sorry," Kentucky said, waves of guilt crashing into him.

Face to face with his brother—his real brother—after so long brought up buried emotions.

"Don't call me that, Ame-ko," Philippines said. Kentucky shook his head, tears coming to his eyes. So many years of having his free will governed by another.

Did Philippines even know who he was anymore?

"I'm sorry, Philippines. But…you're free of martial law. Your mind is your own. I wanted to make sure you were okay," Kentucky said. Philippines broke a little further, hand going to his head.

"I…we were friends," Philippines said, sounding confused, as if he were reflecting on distant memories and not something that happened three years ago.

Although even three years felt like an eternity in that hell.

"I think we still are. I talked to you a lot. I know the puppet was in control, but I knew you were listening. You've lived too long to be destroyed by this," Kentucky said. Philippines gave a weak laugh.

"I wouldn't say that. I was never in love with her before, was I?" Philippines asked. Kentucky shook his head, and something in Philippines' face crumbled. "The emotions felt so real."

"She had control of your mind. They were real emotions, but you weren't the one feeling them," Kentucky said. He knew how confusing martial law could be, having experienced it before, even if he had been far more willing than Philippines ever was.

Philippines looked away.

"I hurt you. I don't think I wanted to do that either," Philippines said, his voice becoming more…listless as he spoke. Kentucky reached out a hand through the bars, leaving it there, but not touching Philippines.

A silent offer.

"I don't think you did either. But I am not going to tell you who to be. You've had enough of that. You need to figure out who you are," Kentucky said. "Talk to your people when you can. They can help more than you realize."

"I…I was under the control of someone who hurt them. Why…they…" Philippines shook his head.

"You were under her control. That wasn't you. Even if you don't know who you are, I think we both know you could never hurt your people like that; never side with an invader," Kentucky said before swallowing harshly, "You only sided with us after we took away your independence in 1898 after we had you under military government. And you only sided with Japan when she made you a puppet. They know you love them. They know you will fight for them, as you always have. Have faith."

Philippines finally turned around, eyes widening at Kentucky's outstretched hand.

"I could hurt you," Philippines said. Kentucky smiled.

"You could. I don't think you would," Kentucky responded. Philippines took Kentucky's hand, staring at it in shock, tears beginning to roll down his face. "You're okay now. I'm going to get you out of here. You deserve your freedom. It's been too long."

Philippines looked up at Kentucky before looking down at their hands.

"I…thank you."

"I promised, didn't I? I love you, Phil. No matter who you think you are now," Kentucky said. Philippines' tears turned into sobs, and he did his best to hug Kentucky through the bars.

Kentucky was crying, too.

His brother was finally home.

━─━────༺August 25, 1945༻────━─━

Kentucky was home.

His father's home in the Land In Between was dusty as a side effect of the time they had all spent away at war, but it was home, a blessed familiarity.

Kentucky wasn't the first of his siblings to arrive back home, with some states popping in and out now that the war was finally over, and some of them could go home.

Some were still in service, dealing with occupying Axis lands or merely not wanting to return home until their regiment was officially disbanded.

Kentucky understood the sentiment. He had wanted to stay with his people for as long as he could, too.

Kentucky was now trying to track down the men he had been imprisoned with in the hopes of finding comfort in their survival and their understanding of most of what he had gone through.

Until then, Kentucky was content with the war being over, with Philippines free and healing, and enjoying the simple luxury that came with being home.

Kentucky knew things weren't going to be easy, that he still had a lot of healing to do and a lot of fears to face.

But it was over. At long last, it was over.

Things could finally get better.

The future was bright.

And Kentucky couldn't wait.

[weirdestbooks]

Justified Pain (Wattpad | Ao3)

Northern Nigerian Protectorate knew he had been bad. He knew he had messed up. Northern Nigerian Protectorate hadn't wanted to get into trouble, but he had anyway, his people tempting him down paths of sin and trying to draw him away from the caring embrace of his father.

Northern Nigerian Protectorate wanted to be good. He wanted to be Holy. He wanted to live up to his station and the path that God had laid out for him.

Northern Nigerian Protectorate had sworn to his father and king that he would be good.

If punishment were what was needed to keep him good, Northern Nigerian Protectorate would accept it. A little pain now, only promised no pain later, once he was so good that there would be no reason to punish him.

Northern Nigerian Protectorate just needed to be good.

"Northern Nigerian Protectorate," Father said, his voice full of thinly veiled anger.

"Yes, Father?" Northern Nigerian Protectorate asked, trying hard not to let any of his fear show. He had done something wrong. He had made a mistake. Father was going to make him better, and acting scared that the punishment was going to hurt meant that he didn't understand the punishment.

Punishments needed to hurt. Otherwise, they wouldn't ever teach him anything. Father's eyes narrowed, and Northern Nigerian Protectorate realized his mistake, bowing his head slightly.

"I am sorry for what I have done. I know it was my fault and that my punishment is what I deserved. I disobeyed you and betrayed you, and any punishment you give me is more than deserved," Northern Nigerian Protectorate said. Father always wanted them to confess their flaws and their sins before punishment. As he said, it helps reinforce the lesson and shows him that they were determined to be better.

And Northern Nigerian Protectorate was going to be better. He needed to be a good colony, a good son. He was going to be a good son.

"And how did you disobey me?" Father asked. Northern Nigerian Protectorate straightened his back. He didn't mean to leave out those details, as it was his first time being punished this seriously.

Northern Nigerian Protectorate was going to be good.

"I went to my land without permission and spoke to my native father, which undoes your progress is helping me civilize and become good," Northern Nigerian Protectorate said. He knew it had been bad, and he knew that it was going to hurt his father if he spoke to Sokoto, but…Northern Nigerian Protectorate had wondered what his native father was like.

Northern Nigerian Protectorate was a British protectorate, and he should have known better. Part of how he protected his people was by being civilized, to help guide them to a bright and happy future under his merciful father.

At least…that was what Father said.

"Very good. I am glad that you at least understand what you have done wrong, and that you are admitting to your imperfections and allowing me to help you," Father said, his voice kind and gentle. It just made Northern Nigerian Protectorate more guilty.

"I'm sorry, Father," Northern Nigerian Protectorate said. "I want to be good. I didn't mean to hurt you. I just…I was curious."

Something in Father's face twisted.

"Excuses only hurt you further," Father said, "You should know better than to use them. If you are ever curious, you come to me, not to the savages that would warp your mind and try to undo all the progress we have made in helping you and your people. I will tell you what you want to know and ensure that you understand the reality of the situation. Understand?"

Northern Nigerian Protectorate nodded.

"I understand, Father," Northern Nigerian Protectorate said, now feeling all the more foolish and deserving of his punishment. If he had just spoken to his father instead of sneaking off, all of this could have been avoided. Northern Nigerian Protectorate could have continued to be seen as good, not as one of the misbehaving colonies that took advantage of Father's kindness.

"I'm glad you do," Father said, before standing to his full height, intimidating and reflective of his strength and might as an empire, the power that he had collection through his selfless aid of others and his attempts to civilize the world, so they may all be equals, and Northern Nigerian Protectorate closed his eyes as the hit landed.

It hurt, and tears stung in Northern Nigerian Protectorate's eyes, as he waited for further blows, knowing the stinging slap to his cheek was not punishment enough for his crimes.

But no other blows landed, and Northern Nigerian Protectorate cautiously opened his eyes, seeing his father kneeling down with a gentle smile on his face.

"This is your first time, and you're still young, and I can tell you truly understand and feel sorry for your actions, even if you tried to excuse them, so how about we compromise?" Father said, his eyes kind.

"Compromise?" Northern Nigerian Protectorate asked. Father nodded.

"Yes. Instead of a beating, you can walk away with that hit and limited food for the week. However, if I catch you doing that again, your punishment will need to be harsher. Does that sound agreeable?" Father asked. Northern Nigerian Protectorate nodded and slowly pulled his father into a hug, realising in the warmth and safety that came from being wrapped in his arms.

Father was merciful and kind, and Northern Nigerian Protectorate felt terrible for pushing him to a point where he had to punish Northern Nigerian Protectorate, as he clearly didn't want to.

"I love you, Father. I am so sorry, and I thank you for your mercy," Northern Nigerian Protectorate said as he pulled away from the hug. Father smiled, his kind eyes crinkling in a familiar way as he did so.

"I thank you for your understanding of your actions and your willingness to confess. I know it can be hard to acknowledge your actions, but you truly are dedicated to being a good colony, and I commend you for it," Father said. Northern Nigerian Protectorate couldn't hide his grin at that.

He was a good colony.

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Secrecy and Deception Chapter 46

Independence  (Wattpad | Ao3)

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Happy birthday to me, so y'all get this chapter early! Yay!

Event: Poland has its first democratic elections

Location: Warsaw, Polish People's Republic

Date: June 4, 1989

There was a strange lightness in Poland's mind, a lightness caused by the day's (mostly democratic) elections, a lightness caused by the Communist Party abandoning its monopoly of power and allowing representatives from other parties to be elected and have power.

"It's amazing. Soon, you'll probably be free of USSR's grasp on your mind as well," Kazimiera said. Poland had never heard her sound this happy before.

"I hope so. I feel…it feels easier to think now, and I think, for the first time, I really understand my people and how much they dislike this government. I…I know it's not fully democratic, but…" Poland trailed off.

"You're the first country in the Eastern Bloc to begin to break free from the USSR's yoke. You used to be a puppet state under him. Poland, you're doing amazing. Your people are proud of you the same way we are proud of you," Wojciech said, his voice gentle but nonetheless enthusiastic.

"Thank you, Wojciech. I guess…I guess I'm just scared that to my people, I'll never stop being the government because that's the only thing I've been allowed to be," Poland said. Privately, in dark thoughts he tried to keep away from the others, Poland hoped that would never be an issue, that his father would come back and take his place as the countryhuman of Poland, who he was always meant to be until the USSR forced him to flee.

If there was going to be a non-communist Poland, Poland wanted the countryhuman of it to be his father.

If the Republic of Poland were restored, it probably would be.

Despite everything, Poland couldn't bring himself to be upset by that prospect. He had always felt like an imposter…like a countryhuman not meant to help his people but to harm them.

Maybe that was why he was so easily molded to the government's will.

"Poland, your mind doesn't need to wander there," Ryszard called, somehow always able to tell when Poland started thinking about his inevitable death.

"I'm just thinking about where the future is taking us. That's not bad," Poland responded. Ryszard sighed.

"You deserve to live, too. You deserve to love freely, without a government or countryhuman controlling you," Ryszard said. Poland sighed, looking away as if he were actually talking to someone in the room with him and trying to avoid their gaze.

"I don't know how. And my father was forced out against his will. The Baltics deserve to have the original one, and my people do as well, to prove that USSR's power was never anything more than a temporary situation, a pause from the real countryhumans," Poland pointed out, hands clenching.

"You'll kill all of us by thinking that way. What is it you really want? Us dead, you dead, or your precious father in power. I don't want to die, and if I have to k—" Artur began, voice sneering and cruel before Kazimiera cut him off.

"Enough, Artur!" Kazimiera said, her voice sharp, startling Poland, "You don't have control over that, and neither do we. We'll see how things go from here, but that's out of our hands."

Kazimiera was right. It was out of their hands.

Poland still knew what the result was going to be.

• ───────────────── •

Event: End of Communism

Location: Heroes Square, Budapest, Hungarian People's Republic

Date: June 16, 1989

Hungary often thought about his failed revolution. Even though USSR wanted Hungary to believe that it had hurt him, that Hungary's participation was through coercion and not Hungary's own free will, Hungary still thought about it often.

How could he not?

Hungary lost good people—he lost friends—in the failure of the revolution. There was only one part of it that Hungary tried to forget…and it was something he was never going to try to remember.

Regardless, no matter what excuse USSR came up with, he could never make Hungary think his revolution had been a mistake. Hungary had fought for himself and his people, been promised freedom from the USSR, and was betrayed.

Hungary was glad he had at least given Russian SFSR a permanent reminder of that betrayal.

Hungary, while he did reflect on that revolution a lot, tried not to make it a habit, knowing that traveling down that path made him reflect on…the aftermath. It was easier to think about the before when hope was in the air before his eyes had been damaged to the point of needing glasses, and when Hungary thought the parasite was going to be removed.

But…Hungary was starting to hope again. The parasite had been weakening, and Hungary felt a flutter of hope—the idea that he could stop being the USSR's satellite and become his own country again.

It started with Poland and his elections a few days prior, and now, with the reburial of prominent figures of his revolution in Heroes' Square.

No longer were they rebels, traitors, or any of the many terrible words Hungary had heard used to describe them, but heroes, as they always had been and as they always will be.

Hungary couldn't have been happier. This is what they deserved, what they should have had after a successful revolution before Hungary was tricked and captured and—

Hungary swallowed, forcing down the memories.

Hungary knew this was only a good omen for the future, a sign that the communists' grip on his mind and country was ending.

Hungary couldn't have been more excited.

Just like he had been promised so many years ago, Hungary was going to be free.

• ───────────────── •

Event: Baltic Way

Location: Riga, Latvian Soviet Socialist Republic, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics

Date: August 23, 1989

Fifty years ago, USSR decided he was going to kill Lithuania. Fifty years ago, USSR had invaded Lithuania and her fellow Baltic states, forcing them to become a part of his country and branding them with flags holding his symbols.

Lithuania has since removed the flag that USSR created for her, replacing it with her own flag—the flag of her country, not the SSR USSR pretended she was.

And now here she was, standing in Riga, Latvia. She, Estonia, and Latvia had decided that it would be best to have the three of them standing together to further emphasize the solidarity between the three of them, and they had chosen Riga because it was the middle of the chain.

They were going to be the middle of the chain.

Lithuania and Estonia had arrived two days prior, and Lithuania had helped the two of them hide the hammer and sickles on their faces. Despite Estonia's declaration and their anger and hatred for their situation, neither of them has restored their original flag yet.

Lithuania didn't blame them. It was a much more direct movement, something that signaled independence, especially since they were their true flags, the flags they had as countries before USSR ever had any power there.

Lithuania still remembered how shocked USSR had been when he saw her with her original flag again.

Although Estonia had been making progress on restoring his original flag, it just wasn't official yet.

But neither of them wanted to be associated with the USSR any longer. They both held smaller versions of their original flag, Lithuania could feel Latvia's in his hand.

"Do you think they're here?" Latvia asked, his voice quiet. Lithuania didn't need to ask about who he was talking about. They all knew.

"I hope so. They wanted to be. And I want…I want them to have the opportunity to visit home before it's too late," Lithuania said. Their children, diplomatic services and governments in exile, the countryhumans for their independence, had been living in the United States for almost their whole lives, having never finished the lands they were trying to free or the parents they had to leave behind.

Letters were their only form of communication, smuggled to them through diligent word, holding far too much business and not enough connection.

Lithuania hoped they would be able to be a part of this. It was a chance to remind the world that they were still here, the finale remains of the violence and occupation of the Second World War, a reminder that all the nations invaded during that war had their independence restored to them.

A silent scream to the world to look and listen.

Lithuania hoped it worked.

She wanted to be free again.

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The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 50

Ninety-Six (Wattpad | Ao3)

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June 28, 1781

United States didn't like sieges. They whittled away valuable time, and with the way General Cornwallis was slowly creeping up the Southern states, United States needed all the time he could get.

"Well, he didn't take my state. He's just retreated back to Southie's," North Carolina said, pride and anger in her voice. "But General Cornwallis seems to want to continue North, to Virginia, or somewhere in my state, and we really need to get back up there and take care of him before he does something drastic like recapture the capital or…or something equally worse. We shouldn't waste time on this siege."

North Carolina had a point, as United States was weary of sieges, knowing they could often be a massive waste of time for both sides, but at the same time…having this fort would be so useful, especially with how limited their control over South Carolina was.

"Please take it. Even if we go after General Cornwallis, at least some people can stay here and try to begin retaking my state," South Carolina said, "Although I would prefer it taken sooner."

United States nodded, agreeing with South Carolina. It was important that they take the fort today, especially not after the news of about two thousand British reinforcements on their way to help break the siege.

Hence, General Greene ordered an all-out assault. They needed to break the siege before any more help arrived for the British.

A Maham tower had been constructed over the weeks they spent besieging the fort, thus allowing sharpshooters to fire into the fort, to take out men before they had a chance to fight, to weaken the enemy before they stormed the fort.

"Sharpshooters have been a wonder for this war," James muttered thoughtfully.

"Oh, don't tell me, you want to be one, don't you?" Massachusetts asked, something glimmering in his voice. James hummed thoughtfully.

"Later," United States muttered under his breath. James tutted.

"Alright. Stay safe, and let me know if you need help," James said. United States rolled his eyes.

"Father won't be there," United States said, some annoyance bleeding into his voice. United States swore he could feel James shrug at that.

"Doesn't mean you can't ask for help," James reaffirmed, and United States just did his best to ignore him. He was a country. He could handle himself, even if he wasn't ready to face his father.

General Greene had planned two groups to attack the fort, a small one to attack the small redoubt and a larger one to attack the main fort, with some men in that force being ordered to pull down the sandbags on the fort walls to expose the men inside more to fire from the tower.

United States, as countryhumans often were, was selected to go with the larger group to attack that main force.

Not that he minded, of course. He was filled with plenty of anger and motivation to take this fort back, not from British soldiers but from the traitors who were betraying him in support of his father.

"If this weren't a war of independence, it would certainly be classified as a civil war," Virginia commented, worry in her voice. "Although I pray that once we get our independence, we won't have a real one."

"You kidding, Gin? All countries have one," Massachusetts said, his tone both full of fake cheer and sarcasm. Virginia just huffed a little but stayed quiet, a blessing since United States' assault was about to begin.

His hands tightened on his gun.

United States would win. For his states. For South Carolina. For his independence.

United States needed more victories.

He needed the fort.

United States troops approached the fort as the battle began, and after briefly being stopped by the abatis, they were able to break through, making it to the walls. United States watched carefully as some of his men tugged down the sandbags, nodding approvingly as they did so.

All was going well.

United States should have realized it was going badly then and there.

The traitors in the fort launched a counterattack, and a fierce battle erupted, quickly dissolving into a chaotic melee as United States, one of the few people with a bayonet, began fending off attacking soldiers.

A memory swam into his mind of a different battle of…United States shook his head, trying to force the memory that wasn't his out of his head, trying to bring his focus back to the battle.

But the brief moment of distraction cost him as he felt a bayonet slide into his stomach.

"FATHER!"

Panicked, United States fumbled for his weapon, managing to clip the traitor, who had pulled away his own bayonet, leaving United States with a bleeding wound.

Luckily, it had hit the side of his stomach, and not the center, missing anything important, but it hurt, and United States gritted his teeth, trying to bear the pain as he tried to keep ahold of his weapon and keep a hand on the wound.

"Oh my goodness, we need to get out of here. We cannot die; it'll only make things worse," South Carolina said, sounding more panicked than he ever had before.

Blinking back tears, United States looked around the battlefield, seeing that most of the leaders of the attacking force were dead.

"Retreat!" United States yelled, knowing it would be suicidal to continue the fight and knowing he needed medical treatment unless he wanted to die. Every step hurt, but United States did his best to keep walking through the stabbing pain in his side.

"Let me help," James said, and United States felt him come closer, until….United States was still holding the wound and holding back the tears, but he no longer felt like he was the one walking, as if he were just experiencing it.

United States didn't question it, the pain fogging his mind as he stumbled away.

"You need help?" United States heard, looking up to see another soldier standing behind him, worry clear on his face. United States nodded and let out a sigh of relief as the soldier helped him walk.

"Felt worse. Need someone to treat it, but I'll live," United States said, trying to give the other soldier his best attempt at a smile.

They had lost the battle. And with his injury and reinforcements coming to the fort…they had lost that as well.

United States just gritted his teeth. They would figure something else out, go after General Cornwallis.

This wasn't the end of their fight for the South

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Physical Effects (Wattpad | Ao3)

Requested by @lost-islands

James was worried about Michigan. The newest territory was just as sweet as any of America's other children—aside from one key difference.

Michigan was blind.

His eyes weren't clouded as one would expect, but it was clear as day that the territory was unable to see anything. Michigan struggled to get around, and as much as James tried to help him…he couldn't.

Not really.

James showed him around and tried his best to explain the world, but it never felt like enough. It worried James. Even though Michigan was safe with his father for now, eventually, he would become a state, and if he were a blind state…well, things would be much harder, and James knew he would be looked down upon.

No one liked a "broken" personification. James had seen how people talked about Ireland's blindness in his one eye, and that was after Ireland had lost it in battle.

What would people say about a state born blind?

James…hadn't told America yet. His brother had talked to Michigan, but Michigan hadn't brought it up, so James was…trying to figure out a way to explain to America that one of his sons would never see.

That one of his sons would be born with a disability that would have people crying that there was something deeply wrong with the territory, with Michigan himself, that there was a pervasive, moral corruptness in his lands.

James knew America wasn't his father and that he loved his kids more than anything.

James also knew Britain had called his hurt love.

James didn't want to think America could ever hurt Michigan, but he didn't want to risk it either. James protected more than just America. He protected them all.

Even when it had to be from each other.

James knew America tried his best, but this was unprecedented, and James couldn't begin to think of how America would react to the situation.

Eventually, James knew he had to tell America so that the man could prepare for what might come.

All of the states that had been given bodies before looked the same as they had inside their shared body. There were small differences—but the major things stayed the same.

Blindness was a major thing.

"Michigan?" James called as he approached the young territory, who was talking to Indiana in an excitable tone. The state turned, smiling.

"Yes, Uncle James?" Michigan asked, his voice so kind and trusting. James hoped America didn't do something to change the nature of that voice, the way that Britain had changed the nature of his.

"I need to talk to your father about something important today. I wanted to let you know in case you couldn't find me, so you wouldn't worry," James said while making eye contact with Indiana and letting her know his true intentions, as Indiana nodded in acknowledgment.

Michigan reached out, and James took his hand.

"Can I come with you?" Michigan asked. James smiled softly.

"No, this is grown-up business. Besides, I don't want to steal you from your sister," James said with a small laugh. Michigan pouted but nodded.

"Fine," Michigan groaned, and James laughed.

"Thank you, Michi," James said, releasing Michigan and walking away, ready to talk to America and hoping that his fears wouldn't stop him.

But it seems his fears wouldn't be given a chance, as James spotted his brother in front of him.

"America?" James asked as he moved closer to his brother, who had managed to get himself into the small world they had inside of their body.

"Yes? Where is my son?" America asked, making it clear why he had brought himself here, leaving someone—probably one of the older territories—in charge.

"I'll take you to him, but I need to talk to you first," James said, his voice firm. America frowned as if he had noticed something off in James' voice.

"What is it?" America asked, "I want…I don't want to meet my son in a bad mood. I don't…I want him to never doubt he is loved."

James knew that. He knew that America loved his children with so much. He knew America had often struggled to know if he really was loved and never wanted that for his children.

"Michigan's blind," James said bluntly, not wanting to beat around the bush. America's face fell, and James braced himself for the worst.

"How?" America asked. James shook his head.

"I don't know. I don't know if he'll see when he has a body or if he will see when he is in control of the body, but…I don't know, Ame," James said before he narrowed his eyes, "But you can't treat him any different. You hurt him or cast him out for this, and I sw—"

"I won't," America said, his voice hard, certain, "I'll protect him and help him. Regardless of what happens after he gets his body."

James nodded, more reassured than he was before, before taking America's hand with a small smile.

"Then let's meet your son," James said, leading America to Michigan.

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Secrecy and Deception Chapter 45

Withdraw  (Wattpad | Ao3)

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Event: Soviet troops withdraw from Afghanistan

Location: Soviet-Afghan Border

Date: May 15, 1988

Uzbek SSR had known for a while now that it was only a matter of time before his family started withdrawing their troops from Afghanistan. Secretary Gorbachev had been preparing for a military disengagement since he took office.

Now, it was finally coming into effect.

Uzbek SSR was glad. Even with the rotating list of SSRs and ASSRs and oblasts that were sent to spend their time in Afghanistan, all of them had tired of it quickly, especially the longer the war went on. It never felt worth it anymore; it was just an exhaustive waste of money and men.

Uzbek SSR wondered if her uncle, USSR, would have realized this sooner if he had actually come to fight in Afghanistan.

Well, it wasn't like her uncle hadn't tried to avoid more of a fight with his "National Reconciliation" policy and his attempts to consolidate the power of the communists through negotiations with the rebels.

With America backing the rebels, perhaps they should have realized sooner that that was a futile effort as well.

The whole thing was a futile effort. Afghanistan, as some people had pointed out, had become their version of Vietnam, their senseless war that only drained their resources, weakened them, in a time where their enemies were only getting stronger.

Uzbek SSR was glad to be leaving. She was ready to be home, ready to not worry about war anymore.

Well, worry about fighting in a war, at least.

Uzbek SSR was ready to be home.

She was glad that she finally had the chance.

Uzbek SSR did feel some guilt, knowing they were condemning a countryhuman to their death.

But there was only so much they could do.

And they couldn't do anymore.

• ───────────────── •

Event: Estonia declared state sovereignty inside the USSR

Location: Tallinn, Estonian Soviet Socialist Republic, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics

Date: November 16, 1988

Estonia had never liked being a part of the USSR. But joining hadn't exactly been a choice.

Estonia still remembered the day of the invasion, the day his sovereignty was taken from him, the day he was brought before his new master and expected to kneel.

Estonia had tried to resist then. But as the Second World War came and went, and independence still seemed so far away, with Stalin's policies targeting his friends, Estonia learned to keep his head down.

Watching. Waiting.

Estonia knew he hadn't been abandoned, even though it felt like that sometimes, cold days bleeding into cold nights as he was made to assimilate into a country he had never agreed to be a part of.

His son was a beacon of hope in his life, even though Estonia had never met him face to face.

The Estonian Government in Exile was proof that Estonia was still his own nation and proof that other countries wanted him to be free.

Estonia sometimes wondered which of them would inherit their independent nation.

He tried not to think about that. It was always horrifically depressing.

Still, for the longest time, his ability to do anything to remind the world that he was still an independent nation, even under Soviet occupation, seemed sorely limited.

Then came the reforms.

Estonia hadn't believed it at first, fearing they were just traps meant to lure those who opposed USSR out of hiding, traps meant to check if Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania had actually been broken.

But they were real. Political repression was ending, something Estonia had never thought possible, not after the terror that was Stalin and his ideas.

So Estonia and his people took advantage of that, culminating into the document Estonia now held in his hands.

The Estonia Sovereignty Declaration.

A reminder of not only who Estonia was but what he was—a reminder of what he had been promised and what he got instead.

A precursor, Estonia hoped, to his independence. Declaring that Estonia had his own sovereignty and had claim to all natural resources in his land and control of the governmental bodies there.

Estonia was nervous as to how USSR would react to it. As much as he claimed to be a defender of countries, a protector against colonies and victims of empires (ironic considering he took Estonia's independence away), he was very aware of his own power, wanting to keep a tight grip on all those who made him up.

It was almost as if he were aware that many of his SSRs hadn't joined him willingly and were forced to join his country, staying quiet and docile out of fear of what would happen to them, happen to their friends and family.

Estonia was scared. But he knew that his son was safe and that USSR couldn't go after a lot of Estonia's friends anymore.

Estonia gripped his declaration tighter.

"I am going to bring this to the USSR," Estonia said, standing tall despite his nerves, "I want him to hear this from me, not from anyone else."

Despite some hesitancy from people who were concerned that Estonia was going to face retaliation from USSR if he told the empire himself, Estonia was eventually allowed to go, gripping the document tight in hands that were only shaking a little.

Estonia disappeared from his parliament, reappearing in USSR's home.

It wasn't his home, even if he was made to live here.

It had never felt like home.

When Estonia had first been invaded, first been forced to join the USSR, the home had been stifling, both with the lingering emotions from the Second World War, but also from the oppression that kept him docile.

The house could still be tense at times.

Even Moscow Oblast could look uncomfortable in it. There was just this aura of uncomfortableness, an aura that came from the political repression and the fear from everyone that they would be targeted next. The government had targeted the people's personifications, and everyone feared that they could be the next targets if they annoyed the government.

Sometimes, even USSR and Russian SFSR looked nervous.

Then, it changed after the reforms, which was the first thing that made Estonia think that perhaps they really were real. There was a lightness in the air, whispered words that, once, could have gotten you locked away being spoken louder and louder until they were no longer whispers.

The oppressive air had lifted.

It still never felt like home, but it felt a lot less like a prison.

Estonia, not wanting to spend any more time here than necessary, quickly walked down the hallway until he reached the entrance to USSR's office, knocking before walking in.

USSR, who had looked up when Estonia first knocked, sighed.

"You could have waited for me to answer," USSR said in Russian. While Russian was his official language, something that always proved to Estonia that USSR didn't care as much about equality as he claimed to, Estonia refused to let that be the language of their conversation today.

This was about his sovereignty and his declaration of that.

Estonia was going to have this conversation in his language.

"I need to talk to you about something important," Estonia said. USSR straightened in his seat.

"Are you okay?" USSR asked, switching to Estonia's language, concern in his voice.

That was the thing Estonia hated the most about him.

After everything USSR had done to him, USSR still cared about him and was still concerned for Estonia, and called Estonia family, as if USSR hadn't invaded Estonia's nation and hadn't threatened Estonia into compliance.

Estonia hated it.

"I'm fine. I have news for you from my parliament," Estonia said before his throat began to clog up; fear built up over the decades spent under USSR's thumb, trying to keep him quiet. Estonia swallowed and tried to move past that fear. "We have adopted a new declaration."

Something in USSR's face changed there, as if he knew what the word "declaration" meant.

"What kind of declaration?" USSR asked, something in his voice.

"It's not a declaration of independence," Estonia began, letting an unspoken "not yet" hang in the air between them, "But it is a declaration of my sovereignty, declaring that my laws are superior to yours."

"You're a part of my country," USSR began. Estonia nodded.

"You have made sure that I will never forget that. But this is meant to be a union. Therefore, I am owed sovereignty, as you promised me when you invaded my country, as you promised me before Stalin stripped that away from me," Estonia said, his voice sounding more confident than he felt.

USSR let out a small breath, and he relaxed back into his chair, nodding.

"I understand. I know I have…made mistakes. But I am glad that you are…" USSR trailed off as if he didn't know what he was trying to say.

Estonia didn't wait around to hear it, bringing himself back to his home in the real world and trying to keep his breaths even.

USSR reacted better than Estonia expected him to.

The anxiety and fear were still there.

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A Father's Grief (Wattpad | Ao3)

America was ashamed to admit how long it took for him to visit Virginia's grave. Years after her death, after the southern states had been tamed by military governance, after he had attempted to flee the end of the war by staying with Hawaiʻi, after all that, he was finally visiting the grave of his firstborn.

Maybe it was because he didn't want to face the reality of it. Maybe it was because of the guilt that he played due to his government's actions, even if he wasn't in control when the other Virginia was recognized. There were a lot of maybes.

Regardless, America was here now.

"Hello, Virginia," America said, looking over the grave. The headstone, which had been carved by New Hampshire. The flowers that had surely been left by Massachusetts. A product of love to her memory and what she had done for them all.

America's throat closed up, and tears filled his eyes.

He was choking, suffocating in his grief, and it hurt so much, an agonizing pain stabbing at his heart over and over again.

She was gone.

America had lost children before, a pain that could never go away, a pain that could never be healed, always there, aching in the corners of his heart, but something about Virginia's seemed to hurt more than any other.

Perhaps it was the fact that she should have been safe from death, not a territory or a colony that was meant to be temporary.

Perhaps it was because Virginia had been with him since the very beginning, and America didn't remember life without her, even in the times when he didn't know her.

And perhaps it was the guilt, burning and aching the way it did after New England Confederation's death.

The knowledge that not only your child was dead, but the blood stained your hands.

America fell to his knees, tears sliding down his face as he stared at his daughter's grave.

"I didn't want you to die. This…some call it punishment, justified, but it's…it's not that. It's murder," America began, hoping that his daughter could hear him from Heaven and know how sorry, how truly sorry he was.

"I had been in charge of the body when the telegram about you came in. I wasn't really…present for a lot of the war, drifting in sleep and the effects of this war on my fractured mind," America said.

He remembered how horrified he had been to learn that a new Virginia had been born and recognized as his Virginia, felt the new bond with his newborn son, and knew at that moment that if he won the war, the victory would be bittersweet and pyrrhic, as there was no longer a chance of him losing a child, but a guarantee.

America couldn't blame his grandson. He was as innocent in Virginia's death as Dominion of New England had been in New England Confederation's. They were just innocent children, inheriting a legacy that had ended in death and violence.

"I love you," America said as if saying it enough times would absolve him of the guilt he felt in his role in Virginia's death.

"It's not your fault. I was the one in charge. I should have done something. Stop blaming yourself and just mourn your daughter," One of the new ones, Mabel said, a feather-light brush of understanding and sadness brushing against America.

"There was no way to save her without killing her child. And you know Ginny," James added, trailing off, the silence he had been given for his grief breaking.

Virginia loved all her adoptive children. She had been a mother through and through.

She had loved her son, even as he spelled her doom.

"I know. Please leave me alone, though. I want to mourn in peace," America said. He wanted to say goodbye alone.

The others quieted, and America turned back to the grave.

"I'm never going to stop loving and missing you. I know you are there with your other siblings now, and I hope that you are enjoying your reunion. I know you were a parent to them when I couldn't be, and I hope you continue to be a parent to them until I join you and can meet them for the first time. Watch over our children in death the way you did in life," America said, his throat closing up as he forced out the words.

Tears fell as he began to sob, finally facing the grief that had been suppressed for years.

America didn't know how long he sat there crying, but when he was done, his head ached, and his mouth was dry.

But he felt a lot better, too.

A part of him hated feeling better; felt like it was an insult to Virginia's memory to not be grieving her.

America tried to tune that out. He knew his daughter would want him to move on.

"Virginia wants to still be your son, and I will admit it is nice to have someone call me Grandfather," America said, deciding to talk about happier news. He knew that Massachusetts had probably already done this, but this helped, "But West Virginia still holds a grudge. She wanted me to adopt her…and I did. I hope you don't mind."

America didn't think she would. After all, they had a history of adopting each other's children, even if it was just Virginia adopting America's children.

It was a tradition at this point.

"I am trying to talk to West Virginia, to show her you were more than a traitor who hurt your family, but…she's as stubborn as you, my dear. I don't think it's right for her to hate you when she barely knew you, but you didn't leave the best impression on your children. I'm sorry you didn't get more time to fix that," America said before kissing his fingers and pressing them against her headstone, smiling softly, the grief not gone but subsided somewhat.

"I love you."

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The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 49

A Costly Victory (Wattpad | Ao3)

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March 15, 1781

Britain was optimistic about the upcoming battle with the rebels.

Things had been going so well in the South, and Britain was certain that once they defeated this force, any more major resistance in the South would be gone, and hopefully, once the South was out of rebel hands, the rebels would be willing to negotiate an end to this rebellion.

Enough blood had been shed.

Undoubtedly, the rebels had to see that by now.

So, despite his growing lethargy toward the war and his ever-growing anger at Thirteen Colonies for putting them in this position to begin with, Britain began the march to the rebel lines.

With the afternoon sun bright ahead, Britain kept his eyes focused on the rebels in front of him, waiting to see when they would fire or if they—because they looked more like militia than Thirteen Colonies' "army"—would flee.

Or if they would target him. They had already gone after Quebec. They had killed off his officers before, with no respect for warfare, as if the savages had influenced everything about how they conducted themselves, and Britain wouldn't be surprised if they tried to kill him in some misguided belief that it would grant them independence, and not ensure their executions.

Britain regretted sending Quebec so far from the city.

It ensured that his killer would never face justice.

That anger allowed Britain to continue through the lethargy.

The rebels opened fire, and Britain braced himself for the heat of battle—or lack thereof, depending on how quickly the rebels fled.

Britain didn't return fire, knowing they were still not in range of his gun and not wanting to waste ammunition with how far they had been pulled from their supply base chasing these rebels.

Thankfully, that didn't seem like it was going to be a concern, as after Britain returned fire and his troops began their charge, the militia line broke and fled, as expected.

However, that was not the only line, and following the first line of militia was a second. Expecting that line to break as the first did, Britain and his men continued their charge.

Surprisingly, however, the second militia line resisted their charge, as they were halted in their attempt to break through.

There was a struggle back and forth as they attempted to break through the line, but when it finally broke, Britain realized that his line had come undone, his troop's cohesion being lost in the heat of battle.

Britain tried to call out, to get the troops back into formation, as there was still another line ahead, but it was all in vain.

They had become disjointed, and there seemed to be no fixing that.

Still, even with the loss of cohesion, Britain knew he had to press forward. More troops would be arriving soon, and they could pick up the steam that they had lost, but if they drew back, they risked giving the rebels the victory, something they didn't need so far from Charleston and their base of supplies.

Britain rushed forward to engage the final line, knowing there was not much else he could do other than try to seize a victory.

The battlefield was chaos, and Britain wasn't entirely sure what was going on, although he could have sworn he saw rebels seizing some of their artillery.

Then, grapeshot exploded nearby in the chaotic fighting, and Britain bit down a harsh curse.

Blast those rebels. Don't they care for their own men? Britain thought to himself, trying to keep his focus on his own battle but also as to where the grapeshot had come from.

Distantly, Britain realized he had not seen his son at all during this battle.

As Thirteen Colonies, the sensitive soul that he was, given the order to fire grapeshot into crowds of his own men?

Britain couldn't believe it.

The second volley of grapeshot only confirmed the ridiculousness of that theory.

It wasn't coming from the rebel lines at all.

Britain's soldiers were firing grapeshot into the melee.

Had they gone mad? That wasn't worth the risk and was only going to kill more of their own people! Britain was in the middle of the chaos—were they really going to kill their country to win against a group of rebels?

What sort of victory would that bring when it would only enthuse the rebels, whipping up their fanatic ideas into true delusion?

But in the middle of the fight, there was little Britain could do.

The grapeshot cleared the field of all fighters, not just rebels, as the rebels began to retreat, seemingly with most of their "army" intact.

What kind of victory had General Cornwallis brought them?

As the rebels retreated, Britain began to take note of his surroundings and the red-coated dead that surrounded him. Just from where he was, not even investigating any closer, Britain could tell that their victory had almost certainly been pyrrhic.

There were too many dead for it to be anything else.

Britain bowed his head in silent prayer.

How was it that these rebels were able to pull pyrrhic victories from Britain and his army? When so many of their soldiers panicked and fled at the first sign of combat.

Britain knew some of it had to be from General Cornwallis' foolish choice to find their grapeshot into the fighting, killing God knows how many of their men.

It was a foolish, panicked choice.

Good people died due to foolish choices.

Britain crouched next to one of the bodies who was near him, his eyes already blank in death. Britain closed the boy's eyes—for he was too young to be a man—hoping that he was at peace now.

How many men had they lost? They had already pulled away from the ports where they could get more men and supplies in the middle of rebel-controlled land that would almost guarantee more raids and ambushes. They couldn't afford to lose men.

Not that Britain had wanted to lose them either way.

He needed to get answers out of General Cornwallis. Just because they had managed to snag a victory this time did not mean they would be able to do so again.

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The Ones Left Behind (Wattpad | Ao3)

Massachusetts spent a lot of time at Virginia's grave. How could he not, when the headstone was all that was left one of the most important people in his life?

Massachusetts knew it probably wasn't healthy to ignore all his family in this time of grief and choose to linger on those that were now gone, but…

Virginia was gone. She was gone, and she left him, just like so many others had left him.

It wasn't fair. None of this was fair.

Massachusetts knew not to blame her son, but that didn't mean he wasn't angry at the world for taking her away.

"Why did you do this to me?" Massachusetts whispered, "Why, God, did you take her away? She was still so needed by everyone. By me. Why?"

Massachusetts didn't get an answer.

Massachusetts was then jolted out of his mournful haze by a hand on his shoulder. Massachusetts jerked, looking up to see Delaware there, a mournful smile on his face. A half-step behind him was Maryland.

"Hi, Father," Delaware said, his voice gentle. "Can we join you?"

Massachusetts nodded, and the two states sat down beside him, Maryland resting her head on his shoulder.

"Martial law was just lifted," Maryland explained, and Massachusetts stilled.

"Oh," he responded, not trusting himself to speak any further.

"I had been grieving her before, but…it's like it's started all over again, the grief," Delaware said, reaching out to place a hand on the headstone. "My emotions are fully mine again, and I don't have the government telling me she deserved it, making me believe that as if I could actually hate her."

Delaware's voice broke, and he pulled his arms back, wrapping them around.

"I can't hate her either," Massachusetts said, voice quiet. "I can't hate any of them. I understand; I was there when we rebelled against Britain. And…in a way, we got lucky that that revolution went so well. But…I think they expected it to be like our revolution, even when it's so different. It…none of us expected it to take the turn it did."

"I didn't want to think any of us could be capable of what happened. Did you hear what Sippi did?" Maryland asked, something raw in her voice when she said Mississippi's name.

"'Course I have," Massachusetts said, looking back at the headstone.

Commonwealth of Virginia.

Virginia Rebecca Washington.

Beloved Mother, Sister, and Friend.

May You Know Peace In Death.

There wasn't enough space for everything he had wanted to say.

"Everything's different now," Delaware said, his head falling on Massachusetts' other shoulder.

"Yeah," Massachusetts whispered, "It is."

The three of them sat like that for a long time until the sun began to fall, and Delaware and Maryland stood up, preparing to leave.

"Come inside, Plym," Maryland said, her voice gentle, "You need to eat."

"I'm okay," Massachusetts responded, not even looking up at her. "I can't face everyone all at once. Not yet."

It wasn't like the South was home yet, imprisoned for their crimes, but Massachusetts couldn't face any of his family, the grief permeating the fabric of their family and leaving the air stilted and heavy.

Massachusetts didn't want to face that.

There was a silence before Maryland's hand was on his shoulder.

"Make sure you eat," Maryland ordered before walking away.

Massachusetts didn't answer.

He wasn't sure how much longer he was out there until a new set of footsteps appeared, walking toward him.

"Hey, Plym. Mary was worried and had me take food out," Connecticut's familiar voice said. Massachusetts finally pulled his eyes away from the headstone, turning to face his brother.

"Hi, Nutmeg," Massachusetts said. Connecticut smiled sadly.

"Hey, Massy. How's Mother?" Connecticut asked, walking over and sitting down beside Massachusetts, placing the plate on his lap.

"Gone," Massachusetts hissed, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, his sorrow and anger choking him. Massachusetts tried to take a bite of the food in front of him, but it tasted like ash.

Like the ash their mother had become when she died.

Massachusetts bit down another choked sob.

"You can't stay here forever," Connecticut eventually said.

"I could," Massachusetts answered, shoving more food in his mouth. It still tasted like ash, and he wasn't hungry anyway, but Massachusetts knew Connecticut was going to sit here until he ate it, and Massachusetts wanted to be alone.

"But you shouldn't. We already lost our mother, and Dad's not himself anymore, both literally and physically, with…with new people, and they'll all struggling to process this, and…and you seem content to waste away here. You're scaring us," Connecticut said, his tone pleading.

"I…" Massachusetts began before trailing off, unsure of what to say.

"We already lost one parent, Plym, and we don't want to loose anymore. I…This reminds me of what you were like when you got a body, Plym, and that terrifies me. Mother wouldn't want this. I don't want this, and I…Plym, not you too," Connecticut said, and Massachusetts dropped the food to drive the palms of his hands into his eyes.

This time, Massachusetts couldn't hide the choked sob that escaped him. Connecticut wrapped and arm around his side, holding Massachusetts as he sobbed, his body trembling from his grief and anguish.

Eventually, his sobs quieted, and his body stilled.

"It's so unfair. Mother didn't deserve this, and now the press and the people are demonizing her despite everything she did. She…she made a mistake, and she died for it, and now everyone wants her name to be smeared, and I hate it," Massachusetts managed to get out in a croaking voice.

"I hate it too. It's not fair at all. Ginny, Mother, she did so much for us all, and it feels like losing her all over again when people try to erase that," Connecticut said. Massachusetts nodded.

"That's why I can't…I can't face that," Massachusetts said. Connecticut pulled him close.

"You have to eventually. Mother wouldn't want this. She…you got a letter from her too. She wanted us all to move forward, someway, somehow, and…we can't make sure she's remembered from sitting at her grave," Connecticut said before reaching down to pick up the fallen plate and silverware before turning to meet Massachusetts' eyes, "Please, Plym. Come inside. Sleep."

Massachusetts silently nodded, standing up and following Connecticut inside.

His grief still choked him.

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Wrong Reflection Chapter 20

The Worst Kind of Pain (Wattpad | Ao3)

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When Sam had vanished, pure, unadulterated terror consumed Alfred as he stood in the place his counterpart had once been.

There was nothing to show that he had once been there. He was simply gone as if he had never existed before.

"Where is he?" Dylan asked, his voice pitched upward in his own fear.

"Has he gone back to his world?" Seamus wondered aloud, something that calmed Alfred's racing heart some. Had he? Alfred had not been there when Sam first came over, but Sam was convinced that it was sudden.

Had that been it?

Alfred hoped so. He…because the idea that Sam had just died, died right in front of them after claiming that he had accepted his death, that he didn't care about himself when Alfred and Matthew and Arthur, and his states (because how could they not?) cared about him.

Sam couldn't be dead.

Alfred reached a hand to his chest, where that faint feeling that connected him and Sam was coming from. It had grown weaker, but Alfred had assumed that was from Sam being here so long.

Was that actually a sign that Sam was dying?

How had Alfred missed that? How could he have missed that?

Alfred gripped the spot tighter, searching.

Then, he felt it, faint and distant.

Alfred's phone buzzed. Alfred ignored it. Germany could bother him later. This was more important.

"Sam's alive. And he's here. In our world, I mean. I can feel it," Alfred said. Arthur's brows furrowed in confusion.

"Then how did he pull off that little disappearing act?" France asked.

"Magic doesn't exist in his world, my ass," Ciarán muttered, looking annoyed. Well, mainly annoyed but still worried.

Alfred didn't miss the glances he was getting too, as if he were as suicidal—because what else do you call that—as Sam.

"Do you know where he is?" Arthur asked. Alfred paused, focusing more on the faint little link.

"No… it's too weak. Not here?" Alfred suggested with a sheepish smile.

"He might have gone back to your land. He was… didn't you notice how he started to look more tired after we got here? Plus, he is a version of you. If I had weird teleportation magic, I'd use it to go home, especially if I were in an uncomfortable situation," Matthew suggested.

"I'll try to call him," Alfred said before pulling out his phone, realizing he had a text from Sam, "Oh, Sam texted me."

"He did? What does it say?" Arthur asked.

"'Alive.' Very reassuring, Sam, thanks," Alfred snarked. While he was glad that Sam had at least thought to tell them that his disappearing wasn't him dying, it still…it didn't erase that panic. That moment of fear when Alfred thought he had just watched a version of himself die.

"At least that's more confirmation he's alive," Dylan said, trying to sound positive. It was strange how badly Sam's words had shaken them. Maybe it was because they had never noticed. Maybe it was because of the timer they never knew they had.

Maybe it was because none of them, as far as Alfred was aware, had met a personification so okay with dying despite the fact that his people needed him.

It was scary

"I feel like we're babysitting me with…" Alfred muttered, trailing off, unable to say the words. Allistor snorted, seemingly understanding what Alfred had wanted to say.

"That is exactly what we are doing," Allistor said, with poorly disguised worry in his voice.

"I just don't get it. We showed Sam concern for his well-being, and he acted like we accused him of murder." Matthew said, clutching his bear tighter.

"Something tells me his world's personifications are a bunch of assholes," Ciarán said. Alfred felt a sick feeling squirm in his gut as he thought back to what he and Matthew had figured out.

Maybe it wasn't all of them that were assholes. One's childhood had a profound impact on their life, after all.

"What gave that away, that fact that he thought showing kindness for another personification was stupid, or the fact that he thinks concern is someone being overly emotional?" Seamus snarked, prompting his older brother to flip him off.

"We have to show him that that's not true. I can't imagine life believing everyone is supposed to be cruel," Francis said, his face changing, looking more disturbed.

"Sam said his England hurt him," Kumajirou said, causing a stunned silence across the nations as Arthur turned white, and he looked at Kumajirou in horror.

Alfred froze, hating this one final confirmation, the one final bit of proof that Sam's England was a bastard. He hated that he had to see Arthur's face when he found it out, how he paled and how Alfred knew because he knew his brother so well, and how Arthur was going to blame himself.

None of them had great histories, but Arthur's involved a lot more…family hurting, intentional or not.

Arthur hated when he was reminded of it, and Alfred knew it was something reserved for the most bitter of conversations.

As proven by the fact that even Ciarán looked put off by that information.

"You must be mistaken," Dylan immediately said, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"If Sam didn't know Kumajirou could talk…he probably…Sam might have told him things he would have never told us," Alfred proposed. He knew that Sam's England wasn't a good person, but he didn't want to say it.

Arthur…he looked distressed enough.

"Sam also called his England…and Britain terrible people. I don't…maybe?" Seamus asked, looking nervous at even having suggested the thought.

"Alfred and I talked about it a little. Sam has DID for a reason, and based on some of the stuff he told us…" Matthew trailed off, looking nervous. Arthur's face was starch white, and he sat down on the couch, Dylan and Allistor both sitting beside him.

"Well, maybe you mean Britain, not England," Francis said. And oh boy, if Francis was trying to comfort Arthur…

"Britain wouldn't have been born until 1707. Sam would have exited before then," Alfred said. He didn't want to say it. Alfred didn't want to be the one to say that Sam's version of Arthur hurt him so badly that it broke his mind.

Alfred didn't want to tell Arthur that.

"I…I need to call Sam. To make sure he's okay. And maybe head back home if he needs me. I…if he's passing out, he'll need help," Alfred then said. Allistor nodded from his place beside Arthur.

"You do that. We'll… we'll take care of things here."

Alfred nodded and left the room.

He hoped Arthur was okay. He hoped Sam was okay.

God, this had really turned into a big mess, hadn't it?

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Virginia's Last Letters (Wattpad | Ao3)

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Copies of these letters were donated to the Countryhumans Archival Research Project by the American personifications alive for the Civil War. They document the final goodbye letters received by the American personifications from the original Commonwealth of Virginia, who died after the Civil War due to the creation of a Union government for Virginia by the Virginian people, which was subsequently recognized by President Lincoln and the Union government.

While the American personifications wanted the original letters to remain in their hands, they have provided us with these copies as a way to honor and remember the original Virginia and all she did for them.

According to the countryhuman of the United States, losing Virginia had been the hardest part of the war for all of them, and they wanted her to be remembered because she had had a significant impact on their lives.

This collection is in loving memory of the original Commonwealth of Virginia, Virginia Rebecca. We hope her soul is now at rest.

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dearest Plymouth,

Oh, my son, there are not enough words to describe my love for you. There are not enough words to describe how I have treasured every moment we have had together. You have been there for me for as long as I can remember, and that has meant more to me than you will ever know. It is hard to imagine a world without you in it, without us together, and I am sorry that you will have to face a world without me in it.

I never meant for it to come to this. I am so old, you think I would have been less foolish, but I was blinded by my pride, my arrogance, and now I will pay the price.

I don't blame the new Virginia. He never asked for this, and I could tell when I met him that he so badly regretted this. I hope I can talk to him more, but if I cannot, will you please tell him that I do not blame him for existing? This was not his choice to make. It was a series of choices that led us here, and now we can only deal with the inevitable.

My grave is one I dug myself. I am proud that my people who believed in Father and believed in his union stood their ground on what they believed, chose to find a way to stay loyal.

I almost wished that my son could have become the new state of West Virginia so I would not have to die.

But there is little we can do about this now.

I know that I am going to die now, that much is certain, so I write you this as a goodbye, as a memento for you to hold onto, and as an apology.

Plymouth, I am so sorry for hurting you. I regret everything so much. Toward the end, when loss became certain, I had begun to regret the foolishness of it all, the way that I had helped tear our family apart, helped our family hurt each other when family was something that I had always held close, held dear to me.

I don't expect your forgiveness. I know I have caused you unimaginable pain. After promising to always stand by you, first I betray you and then die before amends can truly be made.

If you are willing to grant me any last request, I ask of you this.

Please look after my daughter and son. I wish I had the chance to be a mother to them like I had been to so many others, but if I cannot do that, I want you to. I know they will be safe and loved in your caring hands. I know you will love them in all the ways I will be unable to.

I don't know what you think of me now, but I know what I think of you.

I think you are an amazing father, brother, and son. I think you are a man who loves everything he has and feels emotions that are so big and so wonderful, and you are someone who has done a better job at caring for your siblings than I have in these past four years.

I am lucky to have called you my brother and my son. Knowing you was the greatest gift I could have ever had.

I will be watching over you until the day you and I are brought back together again. Know that I will still be there in every struggle and victory, every hardship and success, and that I will support you in all that you do, even from Heaven.

I love you, Plymouth, Massachusetts, Patrick, with all that I am and all that I can give.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

P.S.

I want a simple grave with my human and country name. Don't put any of my state symbols on it. Those belong to my son now. Don't waste them on the dead. Give them to the living.

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dearest Maryland,

I know you are under martial law, so I hope you do not throw this letter out, as it is a final goodbye to you. I know not when I will die, but I know that my time is limited, and I have things I want to say.

I am so sorry for all the pain I have caused you. For invading your land. For making you a battlefield in a war I should have never encouraged. I love you, my precious daughter, and I am so sorry to have caused you pain.

Even though we have both had our disagreements, it has always been wonderful to be your sister, to share a border with you. I treasure our time together, and I hope you will treasure it, too.

I know I have tainted your memories of me with my actions these past few years, but I hope all the good times we had before will be what you choose to remember of me. I cannot express how truly sorry I am that you had to go through all this, that you had to suffer through this war, and instead of being there to comfort you, as a true mother should have been, I caused you pain instead.

I love you so much. I love how you are so confident in who you are that you are so unashamed to be yourself in a world where women are not always well-liked for being themselves. I hope you will hold onto that self-confidence and grow. You are already an amazing young woman, but I know you will continue to be better and grow far past anyone's expectations for you.

I am so proud of you. I will always be proud of you. You had more courage than I did, choosing to stay when I chose to leave. I had thought it was the smart choice then, but I realize now it was my own pride. Father had made it clear that he wasn't going to let the others leave, and I still chose to leave, knowing that a war was inevitable, and knowing that there were many Unionists, and that a part of my state had long wanted to become its own state.

The writing was on the wall, and I foolishly ignored it. I envy your courage.

I am so sorry.

I know that your courage is going to serve you well.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My precious Delaware,

My dear boy, it has been so wonderful to watch you grow. I remember the days when we were younger and a bit more innocent when you were so small and sickly, and it amazes me how much you have grown.

I had always feared then that we would lose you, that you would slip away quietly into the night, slip away in a way that was so unlike you, and that I would never see the joyful smiles you wore despite your pain and suffering. Raising you and your brothers was so hard at times—you insisted on being a handful, but it was well worth it. All the challenges you presented were nothing compared to the love that I had for you.

I know I have hurt you more than most. I know martial law now keeps you tied to our Father, and I do not hate him for it. Based on our earlier letters, it seems to be a blessing for you, easing the pain that came from not wanting to choose sides. While I could see that you tried not to let it show in your letters, I know you better than that, my dear, and I could always tell. I should have apologized sooner, but I let my fears of losing your alliance keep my mouth shut to what I should have told you.

I prioritized myself over you, and I should have never done that. I lost sight of what was really important to me, and over the course of this war, what truly matters has become clear. I only wish that I had the time to show that I learned my lesson.

I thank you for the aid that you provided me, and I am sorry that I ever put you in the position of having to choose between me and your fathers and brothers. That was unfair of me to do, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me someday.

I know you, and I have both known for a long time that I would not live if the Confederacy fell, and I thank you for telling me about my son and President Lincoln's recognition of him. It has given me time to think already. I fear what I would have done without the precious time to think about my life, think about my son, and think about what will happen when I am gone.

While I am just now putting the words to paper, these letters were planned a long time ago. I only have three regrets. Betraying my family and setting off this chain of events, to begin with, leaving you all behind and not punching Britain when I had the chance.

I love you so, so much. I love how you know yourself and how you have chosen to live and celebrate how you are different and unique and how you choose to exist. In a world where you could not have existed, you chose to make yourself, and that is a uniquely beautiful thing.

Your people choose you, and I admire both you and them for that. I know a similar phenomenon is what gave my son life, and while I know it is different, as Penny lived and I will not, but I know you will be able to understand him in ways that no one else will. You know what it is like to succeed another; even if you are the same, you are still different. My last request to you is to make sure that he knows he is not to blame for my death. I know it is easy to blame him, but I know you can look past that because you have a kind heart.

You are a wonderful man, my son. Do not feel guilty or as if you have betrayed me. I betrayed you, and you still tried to help me. That is as proof of your kindness as anyone needs.

I know you are going to be a great person in the future, and I am sorry I will not be there with you. I will be watching you, of course, but I am sorry that I will no longer be a part of your journey.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dear New York,

I am sure you have heard this many times before, but you are so much like your fathers. You are proud and caring, fierce and protective, and so very wonderful. Your brothers are so lucky to have you looking out for them, although I'm not sure if they would appreciate me saying that. I know that the next decade is going to be hard, so make sure you keep looking out for them. They need you more than you know.

I know you must be angry with me, and I will not pretend like I am undeserving of it, and I do not want forgiveness, although I do hope for it, but I would like a chance to explain myself, if you will allow it.

I did not want to hurt you. I knew the minute I declared my independence that I was going to cause unimaginable pain to my family, but I had hoped that the benefits to my people would make it worth it in the end. I thought of our war of independence, the pain it caused our family then, and all the many freedoms and benefits it brought us. I had hoped the rebellion would achieve the same goals.

I doomed myself, and I cannot blame anyone for that. I know in your anger, it may be tempting to blame the others in the South for triggering this, but they didn't make me do this. I chose to leave, and I chose this fate.

I am so very sorry, my son. I am sorry for the hurt and pain, and I am sorry for leaving you with too much on your shoulders and far too many things left unsaid.

You are brilliant, and I know that you will continue to be great. You have always been destined for success and happiness, and I hope my death does not take that from you. Please continue to live your life the way you always have, and do not let the burden of my actions and their consequences fall on you.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dearest New Jersey,

Your letter has been one of the hardest to write, little Jaybird, as I try to find a way to apologize and explain without hurting you further. But I fear there is no way for me to do that. I do not want to hurt you, especially when you feel so fully and uniquely, but I don't think I have much of a choice.

I know that I have betrayed you as a mother by helping worsen this war and only making it last longer than we could have ever thought. This war has been so bloody and horrific, and I have been the furthest thing from an innocent party. I have helped to create a war that you had to fight in.

I know war is not unfamiliar to you, but I made you fight family, something you hold in such high regard. I made you fight me, and I know that had to have been tearing you apart.

Or perhaps you think I deserve this, as so many do. I will accept whatever choice you have made with as much grace as I can. I know that I have not made many friends among your people, and I didn't just betray you but your whole family and I know you will be angry for them and not just yourself.

Perhaps it is a bit much coming from me, but please try not to be too angry at me. Holding that anger will hurt you in the end, and I would rather you face your feelings, even if that means you decide you hate me. I will accept the consequences of my actions, the same way I have accepted my fate.

You are so important to me, Jaybird, and I am forever sorry. I am sorry for hurting you and for helping cause a war that made you hurt others you care about. I am so sorry.

I know you are a great man, a great state, and that you will continue to serve your people well, as you always have.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dear Georgia,

I know you will try to blame yourself for this, as you were one of the first states to leave, so let me say this now: you are not to blame. You did not make me leave. You did not make my people create a new government. You are the furthest thing from guilty.

It was an honor to fight alongside you, even though our actions were not honorable in the end. It was nice to dream of something, even if the reality was a bloodied disaster of betrayal and pain.

I know moving on will probably be hard with the hostilities you will surely face from our family, but I know you will be able to move on to a better and brighter future. Do not be angry at them for my death. They did not choose the other Virginia's existence, and punishing a child for being born is not something I can condone, not after the childhood we had at Britain's hands.

We were hardly innocent, too, with our versions of Kentucky and Missouri.

Civil wars are bloodied, horrid things, and this is no exception.

But I would like to be able to watch from Heaven our family make peace with one another and move forward, watch our family build bonds that will prevent this from ever happening again. I know you can help make it possible.

You have the right to be angry, especially after the March to the Sea and the devastation that was wrought by General Sherman on your state. Forgiveness is not forgetting, and the lessons this war has taught us are all ones we need to remember.

I do not want to see this happen again, for more than just I may die.

I love you.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dearest North Carolina,

I know that losing me and seeing my replacement will make you feel the same way you did those many years ago when Carolina died and was replaced by you. I know you must remember the stares, and the grief everyone had, and how you felt you had something lost to regain.

The new Virginia will feel the way you did then, the cause of the death of someone loved so dearly and fiercely. I know it will be easy to hate him. I found it easy to hate at first, but you must not let his existence turn you bitter at Father. It is not his fault, just like it is not your fault that Carolina died.

I will miss you very much. I love you so much. You are so beautifully unique, and you are going to do amazing. Things will get better, and you will be alright. I know you will. I believe in you.

Look after South Carolina. He will need you in the times to come. He is so easy to anger and feels so much, and I do not want him to hurt himself further out of grief. He needs you to keep him grounded and needs you to keep himself from going too far now that you both are getting ready to transition into the years of healing this family and this country must do.

I am sorry that I will not be there to see it.

I am so proud of you and so excited for the future that you will have someday.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dearest South Carolina,

I know you might want to blame yourself, blame our family, blame the world and everyone in it for taking me away, for convincing you that you needed to rebel, triggering the chain of events that led to my death. Please, do not. I do not blame anyone but myself for this, for I am the one that chose this. I could have chosen to stay loyal, but I didn't. I could have chosen a great many things, but instead, I chose this path.

I made all my own choices. You need not blame anyone but me. I know your anger and grief will be strong, but please do not let them overwhelm you. Let my love for you and our family be stronger than your anger.

This is not the time to be angry and lash out, lest the wounds from this war never be allowed to heal. They need to heal. I know that, and I know you do, too.

There are not words enough to describe the memories we have together. I know I will cherish them in the next life, as I hope you cherish them in this life.

I love you so much.

I know there are things you have never told me and will never get the chance to tell me. I have seen it in your eyes that there is a secret weighing you down. I am sorry I was not there to take its weight off your back, and I am sorry that I will not be alive to one day hear it.

But when you have the courage, you can tell that secret to my grave, and I will be there for you in death in the way I was there for you in life.

I love you, my son.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dear Connecticut,

We have both seen quite a lot, haven't we? We have watched too many of our siblings pass on, and I am sorry that I will be the most recent. It never stops hurting, especially when you want to place the guilt on yourself, say that it was your fault for not stopping the chain of dominoes from crumbling down.

I don't want you to blame yourself. I want this to stop hurting for you. I don't want you to only be able to talk about this with pain in your eyes but instead talk about this with fond reminiscence, remembering all the things we have been through together.

I love you so much.

Every letter I write, the realization that I am going to die becomes more real. Still, I cannot bring myself to blame anyone. There is a numb acceptance, the culmination of knowing losing this war meant losing my life ever since I heard of my son.

I have already asked this of so many people, but I ask it of you, too. Look after the new Virginia. Like with Plymouth, you understand what it is like to replace another, what it is like to be the reason someone else is gone. I know there is much he can learn from you, and I know you can treat him better than others might.

I know history will not treat me well, but I hope the future can treat him right.

I am so sorry for the pain I caused you with this war and the pain I will cause you in the future. I hope that your future will still be bright and merry despite that.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dearest New Hampshire,

You are so much like Plymouth that sometimes I think you are his twin in all but blood. Please don't take that as an insult, either. This is a very convoluted way of saying that I want you to make sure he is okay once I am gone. I know you two have your issues, but I do think you can help him if he were to become self-destructive.

I am so sorry that I betrayed you. I am so sorry that I worsened the war. I have heard that you were taken prisoner, and while I do not know if my people were involved, I want to extend my sincerest apologies on their behalf. I hope you were treated right, and if not, there are not enough ways to say I'm sorry.

You didn't deserve to be treated poorly, despite our many differences and quarrels, despite the unimaginable pain from the war. You deserved better. I should have treated you all better.

I feel very much, sitting here in prison, with only the writing tools our Father gave me, like a foolish, scolded child. I hate the idea that I am most likely being treated better than you despite being infinitely more guilty.

Father says he will free me so I can live out my last dying days with the family I betrayed. I still do not think that helps the guilt any, choking and consuming.

I am sorry, Hamp. For everything.

I hope you are alright. I hope that you will continue to be alright and happy in your future. You are bright and spirited, and I know that will serve you and your people well.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dearest Pennsylvania,

Sitting here, reflecting, it feels like only yesterday I was pulling apart you and Maryland, and you two fought over your borders and Delly's attention. And now here we are. I on my deathbed, and you, once in a hospital bed.

I hear about your arm and the amputation that followed your injury. It was a wake-up call I sorely needed. While I knew that many battles in this war ended with its combatants suffering from missing limbs on a scale I have never seen, I had never expected it would happen to one of us. To You. To Michigan.

I am at least grateful that we were not at risk of losing you the same way we were at risk of losing Michigan. This country is losing one more statehuman than I think it's ready for. I do not know if I will see you before I go, and if I do not, I wish you the best for your future and want you to know you have my full confidence that losing your arm will not change you and you will adapt as you always have.

I am so very sorry for supplying the rebel cause with the General who invaded your land, with the General who started the battle that lost you your arm. If I had not seceded, we would be having a very different conversation. But I made my choices.

I am so very sorry for all the pain and suffering I have caused you and your people. I am so very, very sorry for it all.

I love you, Penny. You deserved none of the pain that was brought unto you, and I hope that you can forgive me in my role in causing you that pain.

I know you will not let this stop you from being the amazing person you are now. I know you will force your future to be happy, and the world will obey.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My beloved Rhode Island and Providence Plantations,

You have such a big heart for one so small, and you believe so much in your ideas, no matter the conflicts it has brought you with others. With Plymouth, with me, with all of the other southern states. And despite all your conflicts, you somehow never hold a grudge and find a way to forgive.

I admire you so much for that. It is a skill that you will unfortunately be using more than either of us would have liked, I'm sure.

It is one thing to forgive your siblings for childish squabbles and another to forgive for starting a war that got a sibling killed. But I do not blame anyone, and I have been, or trying my best to forgive the others, and I hope you can do the same.

I am so sorry for my betrayal and the pain that it must have caused. I am sorry I broke the trust of everyone in this family and that I am leaving before I can atone before I can truly become worthy of forgiveness.

How can I make myself worthy of forgiveness of not just my betrayal but the sheer scale of it in the little days and weeks that I have left? I cannot, so I leave you forced to forgive without closure or forever remain angry.

It is so unfair, what I am doing. I am so sorry, Rhode Island. I love you so much. I know you will only grow to be an even better and kinder person in the future. Do not let my mistakes harden your heart forever.

I know that your kindness and empathy will allow you to grow into the best man you can possibly be.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dear Ohio,

You are a man of passion and ideals, who will stick by what he believes is the truth, even when it causes arguments with others. I admire that about you. It takes a lot of courage to be able to do something like that, which is why I know you have been hurt more by the betrayal of me and the South than anyone else.

You were born at such a wonderful time. We had just gotten our independence and were finding our way as a country. While Vermont was alive, he was forging his own path, however unrecognized he was. And then you were born. It was just before we started getting bodies, and suddenly we had you, our new baby brother.

You were so adorable, and such a blessing. While myself, Vermont, Father, and the other original thirteen might be the eldest, barring those adopted from other nations, of course, you were the first American countryhuman to be born and raised as an American. You were hope for the future in a way none of us could have every hoped to be. From that day forward, I loved you will all that I had.

I still love you now, even as I await your judgment on my betrayal of our family and country.

I will not deny that I have hurt you, and I hope you can understand the depth of my regret for what I have done, even as I know it will do nothing to reverse the pain I have caused you.

I know you will grow into a great man, Ohio, and I have every bit of faith in the person you will become. I know you have always wished to have wings like your siblings, so you could fly like them, but I have faith that, wings or not, you will find your own way to fly.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dear Tennessee,

I can't help but feel I helped drag you into this war. I know that your choices are you know, and there are very few people who can force you to do anything, but you are my sister, my daughter, and the last state to leave our Father's union. So, despite how untrue it is, I do feel grief and guilt.

I love you, Tennessee, and I know you, with your kind heart and helpful nature, will somehow find a way to paint yourself as guilty in this, even when you are the furthest thing from it. I know it is an issue many of the southern states will have now that the war is over, and there is no denying or preventing my fate.

I am so sorry for any guilt you may hold over this and any grief my death may cause. I love you so much. You are brilliant, and kind, and talented, and I have no doubt that your future will be bright.

Please, do not blame the one that follows me. Do not blame our family.

I know we both want things to heal. I know we both never wanted it to come to this. I know things can be better. Please, Nessie, make sure the gap is bridged.

I love you so much. I cannot wait to look down from Heaven and see what you will do.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My beloved son, Virginia,

I wish that I had more time to know you. I wish we had time to exist together that wasn't on opposite sides of a war. I wish I could have known your voice, your laugh, your wants, and your dreams. That I could have held you, comforted you, been there for you.

I am sorry that I will never get that chance.

So consider this letter as the best I can do.

When you want to know if I love you, look at this letter and know I love you. When you want to know if I would be proud of you, look at this letter and know I would be proud of you. When you want to know anything about how I feel about you, look at this letter and know it is all positive.

I don't blame you for my death, although I know you might blame yourself for it. It is not your fault. I am a mother and have no reason to hate my wonderful son and blame him for my death. I am your mother, and I am so proud of you. I am happy to die so you may live. I have already lived over two hundred long years, and you have barely lived four.

You deserve a future. I have lived a long and fulfilling life, one full of happiness and love. It would be wrong of me to deprive you of the chance to have a life. I want you to live, to have a life.

If my siblings or Father try to blame you for my death, ignore them, for they are wrong. I am happy to let you live. I am overjoyed that you are going to have a chance at life, and I will be so happy watching you thrive from Heaven.

Don't let anyone tell you that you don't deserve to live, my son. You deserve it and more. I love you so much.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My beloved daughter, West Virginia,

I hope I got your name right. I have heard reports that you were named Kanawha, but the state was named West Virginia, so I have written that as your name.

I am glad you and your people are finally their own state. They have been wanting that for a long time now, and I am sorry that it took a civil war for them to finally get it. I am sorry that I will never get a chance to know you or to be a good mother to you. I am sorry that we could not be states together, and instead all you know of me is the traitor that betrayed our family.

If you are angry with me, I will not pretend that I do not deserve it, that I deserve your love. Know that regardless of the emotions that you are feeling, I love you so much, and I am so proud of you.

I know that I can never make up for what I have done, both because of the limited time I have left and the sheer scale of my crimes. I do not expect forgiveness nor understanding. I merely wish that your future is bright and happy. No one deserves to be born of war.

I am sorry that you had to be.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dearest father,

Father, I humbly ask for your forgiveness. I understand that I was in the wrong and that I hurt you in ways that can never be undone. In the waning hours of my life, I ask that you are able to forgive me for all that I did to hurt you so I may die knowing that I have been forgiven. I do not expect you to, and I will accept whatever judgment you bring onto me, but I would like to be able to die in grace.

I know that history will not treat me well, but I hope that I can at least die knowing I earned your forgiveness. I am truly deeply sorry in ways that words will never be able to describe, in ways that I will never be able to show, with my life coming to an end as it is.

I am sorry for hosting the capital of the man that has caused you suffering. I am sorry for seceding. I am sorry for bringing General Lee onto the side of the rebels, only extending the war and everyone's suffering.

Despite my many mistakes and crimes, I love you so much, Father. I cherish the time we had together, and I know that it will keep me comforted in Heaven despite the taint I placed on our relationship.

Father, I am sure you know my children better than I at this point, as I have yet to meet them. I do not know what you think of them, what our family thinks of them. I know not their voices and their laughs, their dreams and wishes. I find myself reminded of the colonial children of yours who were never able to get bodies of their own, that you never knew, and I understand your grief and pain more than I ever have before.

I beg of you, Father, like how I looked after your children, you look after mine. Do not blame them for my crimes or my death. Look after them as if they were your own beloved children, for they might be mine, but they are still your flesh and blood.

I want them to be happy and have a prosperous future, and I want you to ensure that the best you can.

I am so sorry that this is the way things have to end. I am sorry that I ever betrayed you.

I love, adore, and respect you, Father. I know my actions have not proven those words, but trust me when I say that you are a wonderful father. I will never regret that I got to be your daughter.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving daughter,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dearest uncle,

How quickly the years have passed, Uncle James. I can hardly believe that my end approaches. Immortality is a strange thing to have, warping how you see yourself and the passage of time, and now that I know my end approaches, I have never felt more human. Perhaps you understand, perhaps you don't. You've always been different in the best way possible.

Thank you, Uncle James, for everything that you have done for me. For being the person to help raise and take care of me. For being the first person I could be a child around. For being there for me, always, no matter what. All that you have done for me means more than you can ever know.

You have always been there to protect me and the rest of our family, and I hate how I have turned on you, how I have made myself your enemy, the newest person you need to protect our family.

I know this is a betrayal you would have never seen coming, loving our family as completely as you do. I am sorry for hurting you in this way, as I know it hurt you more than it could hurt anyone else in this family.

I am so, so sorry, Uncle James. I love you so much. Words alone cannot describe how much I appreciate you and love you, and I hate that I have caused you pain and destroyed your already fragile trust.

I am sorry that I did not appreciate all that you have done for me properly. I love you, Uncle James.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving niece,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dear Warwick,

I do not know how aware of this war you have been, as the times you are present are few and far between, but I wanted to write you this letter so you could know what happened to me, know what I did, and know that I never wanted to leave you behind.

I betrayed our family and joined a rebellion in the middle of this civil war. It is the bloodiest war this land has ever seen, and I have never seen our family this hurt. In the midst of this war, with my government and myself joining the rebellion, my people created a new government for Virginia. My son, the one that represents my state now. Do not blame him for my death. I made my own choices. He was just born.

I will be sending this same message to your other cities, as I know that you are not always caught up.

Little sister, I love you so much. I know I am perhaps not as close to you as I am to others, but I appreciate all that you have done. You are a wonderful person, and I am sorry that our circumstances have kept us from growing close and really getting to know each other.

I remember the miracle of your survival and how wonderful it was to know that we would not be losing more siblings. I think we all know how much it all hurts, and I am sorry to make you feel that pain again.

I love you, my dear sister. I am so sorry for betraying you.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dear Portsmouth,

As I will be saying to your fellow cities, you are often not present, and you have missed a lot about the world in the past five or so years. Therefore, I am writing you this letter so you may know what happened to me, and you will not have to grief in uncertainty

I betrayed our family and joined a rebellion in the middle of this civil war. It is the bloodiest war this land has ever seen, and I have never seen our family this hurt. In the midst of this war, with my government and myself joining the rebellion, my people created a new government for Virginia. My son, the one that represents my state now. Do not blame him for my death. I made my own choices. He was just born.

I love you, Portsmouth. I am sorry that I betrayed you and our family. I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, and I wish that I could have died for a better reason, not one that was selfish and only caused more pain to all those around me.

I will miss you so much. I am sorry that I am going to leave you behind like this without a proper farewell. I am sorry for the pain I have caused, the pain that you will surely see.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dear Newport,

You are the final city I need to get up to date on the horrors of the war, and each time I write it out, I feel more and more ashamed of what I have done.

I betrayed our family and joined a rebellion in the middle of this civil war. It is the bloodiest war this land has ever seen, and I have never seen our family this hurt. In the midst of this war, with my government and myself joining the rebellion, my people created a new government for Virginia—my son, the one that represents my state now. Do not blame him for my death. I made my own choices. He was just born.

I am sorry, Newport. I know you are hurt badly by betrayal and that you value life so amazingly as you do, and it hurts me to know that I have forever tainted myself to you. I never meant to cause this much pain. I thought I was doing what was best for my people, but I realize now that I could never be more wrong.

I am so sorry for what I have done. Know that I still love you with all that I have, and I forgive the pain I have caused.

I wish I could earn your forgiveness.

I am sorry.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving mother and sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dear Caleb,

I wish I could have gotten to know you better. You seem like someone I would have gotten along with well, someone I would have respected. Despite having co-existed for about thirty years, we never talked as much as we could have, and perhaps should have, and that I will regret.

I know, like Uncle James, you helped to protect my father, and thank you so much for that. It means a lot to know that he will be taken care of long after I am gone.

I am sorry for betraying the Union, something that undoubtedly made things much worse for you. I am sorry that my actions led to this point. I did not want them to take us here, but we are here nonetheless, and I cannot deny my role in this terrible war.

I hope you can forgive me for the pain that I caused and that you do not mistrust my son because of me. He is an innocent boy, and I am the guilty one.

I am sorry for the pain.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving friend,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

Rebecca,

I will not pretend to understand you, the one who took on the name that I picked for myself. I never understood how you came to be or why you believe what you believe. But I feel I should write you a letter as well.

I don't know if you will miss me. I think you will. You may be harsh and critical toward our family to the point where you hurt us, but at the same time, I know you are trying your best to help us. I know you think Britain would have kept us safe, and perhaps this war and my death will only serve to prove you right.

I don't care. Please, be a little nicer to my family. After all this, they could use it.

With many regrets,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dear Vermont,

We have both had our brief tastes of independence, although yours was under far better and more innocent circumstances than my own, and I think you, of all people, will know how different it is being a country as compared to a state. I don't know whether that power corrupted me or if I allowed it to see myself in a different light.

I know that does not excuse what I did. I am sorry for what I have done, and the hurt my betrayal has wrought on this family. I know you joined our father's country for a chance at a better life, and I spat on your dreams with my betrayal and subsequent worsening of our civil war.

I am so sorry, Vermont. I never meant to bring this pain down on our family. I never wanted it to go far. I just wanted to help my people while remaining blind to the fact that I worsened their plight.

I know you will continue to be an amazing state and brother, someone who will always stand by our family regardless of what that will make people think of them. You are one of a kind in a brilliant way, and I will miss you dearly.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 8, 1865

My dearest Kentucky,

I am so sorry for what I have done. I do not know how martial law has made things for you, but I know even without it, you would be angry. You have always cared so much for family, and you wanted to be neutral before we forced your hand. You tried to escape war, and we forced you into it.

In that way, you are the best of us all. While we got caught up in betrayal and anger and all the emotions that led to this war, you kept your head clear and remembered that family was the most important thing. I wish I had been as smart as you.

I am sorry that I betrayed you. I am sorry that I let things go this far. I am sorry for my role in creating that imposter of you, the one that would have replaced me if I died. Perhaps that is why my fate is what it is.

I do not blame my children for their existence nor for the land they will inherit from me. Your land was once my land, and I have always loved you. You have so much in common with them for that reason, however. Together, you, Virginia, and West Virginia make up all the land that was originally mine. It is for that reason that I know you can take care of them. That I know you should help look after them.

You will understand them. I know I do not have the time to make myself worthy of your forgiveness, but I hope they do not become guilty for my crimes.

I love you so much, Kentucky, and I know are going to have a wonderful future. I am so sorry for all that I did to you. You never deserved it.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Alabama,

I know you might be quick to blame our family for all the deaths that will come about by the end of this war. The death of myself, of your son, and your grandchildren, the loss will be more than the loss of your dream of independence as a new country. But I ask of you, you cannot blame them. Our deaths were guaranteed the minute this war started. Holding a grudge and harboring resentment will prevent this family from healing and will only make everyone view you as a traitor forever.

I do not want that for you. You and I both know that it is better for this country to heal, for you and our family to hear, and holding a grudge over something that cannot change will do no one anyone good. Father didn't make this choice, and it started with us when we decided to rebel. I would have lived if I stayed loyal. My people made my son, not our father.

Please put your future first. You need to move forward, to live, to find a future free of the pain that has been wrought here.

I love you so, so much, and you shouldn't throw your life away for me. I know that Confederate and his children would rather you lived as well.

Please, live a wonderful life. You deserve it. I love you.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Arkansas,

I know you were hesitant to join the rebellion, and although you seceded before me, I can't help but feel I had encouraged your feelings and forced you into this rebellion. And yet, I know that you, in all your love and kindness, will try to find a way to blame yourself for what is going to happen to me.

My dear brother, it is not your fault, the ways the winds of fate have blown on us in these past few years. I have never had a reason to blame you. I don't want you to. Most importantly, I do not want you to blame my son. He is an easy target, as you have no emotional attachment to your nephew and so much to me, and I know well that when one grieves, it is so much easier to deal with it by finding someone to blame.

I don't want that. Not for you, or for my son, or for this family. You know as well as I that it will only worsen the bad blood between our family, worsen the anger and the strife that has come about from this war.

We need forgiveness. This family, and you too. Our family will forgive, but not if you keep giving them reasons to hate.

Arkansas, you have a great many things ahead of you. Do not waste it by hating. I want to see you thrive from Heaven; I want to see you improve and see you keep finding yourself, and we both know you can't do that if you choose to hate.

I love you so much, my beloved brother. Please do not blame anyone for my choices.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Florida,

Somehow, your letter has been the hardest to write so far. I think it is because you are so much older than me, over fifty years, and I struggle to find the words to explain things to you, for I feel as if you already know all the lessons on grief that I can give.

You lost a child to us when we made you our territory, West Florida turning to dust, her lands given to others, and you expected to embrace a new culture and identity again. You are no stranger to grief.

So I will not beg for you not to blame the North for my death or for you to embrace my son as your nephew (or whatever you would like to be to him), for I already know you will do that to the best of your abilities.

So, I won't look to the past or to the present but rather to the future, where I know you will thrive the best.

I know you are going to be amazing. You have a wonderful ability to adapt once given a chance, and you are so passionate about what you feel and what you enjoy, and it is refreshing when compared to the bleak sentimentalities of others. You are fun to be around in the best way possible, and I know you will carry that energy with you going forward.

I know you are wonderful now and will only continue to thrive. And know that I will be watching it all from up above.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

Ma chère, Louisiane,

I am sorry that I will be parting from you soon. The chance to know you has been a wonderful one, and I wish I hadn't been foolish enough to cut this opportunity short. I have seen the anger you hold towards France for the death of your grandmother and how she forced your uncle to give you to her by bending him to her will, leaving you lost and alone. I do not know how many of these emotions my death will bring up, but I ask of you: do not hold the same anger toward Father as you hold toward France. We both know they are very different.

Father did not kill me the way France killed your grandfather. I made my own choices in life that brought me here, to the end of the road, to my final destination. I have made my peace with it. I ask you to as well. Do not hold onto anger on my behalf. I do not want it. I want peace, something that we have lost over the past four years. Our family was ripped apart, and now you are a part of the ones that need to put it back together.

You have always been a region so embroiled in war and conflict, with your heart at the mouth of the great Mississippi River. But you have the choice to pick peace for yourself, and I know we would both prefer that.

I know you will thrive as you never have before once you have embraced peace. It may be hard to let go of the anger and hate that spawned this war and was spawned from this war, but I want you to be happy, and I know this will make you happy.

I love you, and I want to see you happy. Do not punish yourself with anger and grief. You can move on.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Mississippi,

I have long since heard about what you did, as the news of Michigan and the subsequent news of your surrender made headlines across the South. I know you have opened this letter expecting anger and condemnation, and I will not deny that I am angry at how you could have done that to our little brother.

But in my final days, I will not cling to that anger. I cannot cling to it, for I know it will only make me unhappy as I pass, as I want to make an attempt at peace with everyone before I go. So, setting that aside, as I will not try to forgive you, the emotions are complicated as they are, but I will let go of my anger. The matter now rests with the living, not the dead.

Instead, I will focus on what I know about you. Not what you did.

Maggie, my dear, I know you have always cared about this family, and I know being forced to choose between your family and your people hurt, even when you tried to hide it. I know you are a gentle soul and that you could never hurt someone you love that badly. I know you will prove yourself worthy of forgiveness because you have always been someone worthy of it.

And I know, someday in the future, no matter how distant it will be, you and our family will walk hand in hand to a better time. I know that you will work to make a better time.

I know you will thrive because you are so beautiful and talented. You will be condemned for your past, but you must try to work past it, lest it stain your future and taint it with misery.

Remember, you must forgive yourself too.

I love you, Mississippi. One day, you will know when I forgive you, and you will know when that is. Nevertheless, do not let my love for you dampen. I love you. That will never change.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Texas,

I know that you, more than anyone, will burn with anger. You feel emotions so strongly, anger most of all, and your refusal to let go of things has always been a part of you. But in the case of our story together, I ask that you try not to let that happen.

I know it is easy to be angry, to blame our family for my death, for killing me, but we cannot criticize them for my son without acknowledging our own sins. We have a sister named Arizona now, and I know that our nephew's son bears the same name. Or should we talk about the versions of Missouri and Kentucky we made, replacements for our brothers if we were to conquer their land? We would have condemned them to the fate that I now face because they were loyal to our father because Kentucky wanted to stay neutral and not hurt the broken family we had become.

I know you are angry, but we did all the same things they did, if not worse. I have come to terms with this. I know my fate, and I know the reasons behind them. Considering they are reasons I have begun to regret deeply, I cannot say I am innocent in matters.

So I ask of you, do not cling to your anger. Instead, try to forgive, to look after my son and make sure he grows up knowing the real me, not the me that the press will create once I am gone. I know you love family, so focus on the family you have left and keeping them close.

I know you might consider yourself a failure for not saving me, so I ask of you this: protect the family that we have left, North and South. Move forward, and do not let your anger hold you back.

I love you, now and forever. I know you are a great man now and will only become greater, so do not let your anger keep you from that.

Protect our family. For me, if for no one else.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear California,

You are so lucky to have been distant from this war. I had always thought it sad how much territory lay between you and us, isolated from the inner goings of our father's nation, but seeing the ruin and devastation that has been wrought, the unimaginable dead, I am glad you were far from it all.

But far from the physical scars doesn't mean you weren't hurt by my betrayal. I am sorry, California, for all the pain that I have caused. I know we weren't the closest, but I still betrayed you and caused you pain. I am so sorry for that.

I thought that it would only hurt for a little while and we would learn to move on together someday, but I realize now that those were foolish dreams of someone who wanted to remain blind to her crimes and the hurt she was causing.

You are wonderful, California, the first state of the new West, and the elder sibling to the West in the way I was the eldest to the East. I know you are going to do wonderfully, with so many opportunities to grow and shine, and I adore you.

I love you.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Illinois,

I have said these words so often in so many letters that they are beginning to feel empty, but I will continue to say them to everyone I can.

I am so sorry for the hurt and pain caused by my betrayal and by my worsening of the war. Some foolish part of me believed that the war would be quick and the bitter pain would end. I have since learned my lesson.

I am sorry that I will go before I can truly make amends to you. I am sorry.

[Note: The bottom half of this letter is covered in tear stains]

I love you, Illinois. I love you, and I am so so sorry.

I never wanted to turn this family into a bloodied mess of betrayal. I was doing what I thought was right, helping my people, and my people showed me they did not want a statehuman who would do that to them.

I have accepted my fate. I hope you can one day forgive me.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Indiana,

You are spirited and headstrong, and I admire that greatly about you, but I also know that I mean I will not live long enough for you to forgive me. I am okay with that, as trapped in prison with only the ability to write letters to all I have hurt. I am at peace with my dead. I am not scared of it, only of the mess that I will leave behind. So I write this in an attempt to say my piece and ask for forgiveness, as I know I have no other chance to.

I am sorry for what I have done. I humbly ask for your forgiveness and that you will one day be able to give me it. I am sorry. I never wanted it to go this far. I know I have helped rip apart this country in ways that will never heal.

I am sorry.

I love you so much. I know that although I will not be there to see it, at least not from Earth, you are going to keep growing into a wonderful person. I know you will always stand for what you believe, and I commend you for that. But don't let it make you end up like me.

I know you will be happy in life. I know you will do well. I love you.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Iowa,

You have never been an aggressive person, always looking to find solutions through peace, and I shudder to think of what this war might have made you do. I remember when South Carolina had just seceded, how you were the one always focused on trying to find a peaceful solution, even as more states left and the unity that had kept us safe crumbled.

When I betrayed us, you were still looking for that peaceful solution. I watched every secession cut you to the core, and instead of being there for you as your oldest sister, I added to your hurt by seceding myself.

I am so sorry, Iowa. I know that no matter how many apologies I give, there is no way for me to undo the hurt, even if I had the time to. I love you so much, and I should have never hurt you in that way. I don't expect you to forgive me, but I hope you are someday able to understand how deeply sorry I truly am.

I know you are going to do amazingly in the future, a beacon of hope for our siblings. I am sorry that I will not be there with you.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Kansas,

The world has been determined to make you suffer in the years since you were born. Between Bleeding Kansas and the Civil War, you have hardly known a moment's peace, peace which you deserve more than anyone. I know you became a state only recently, and I have no idea if you have begun to fight in the war, but if you have, I am so sorry.

After the bloodshed in your state over slavery, you should have been allowed peace. You shouldn't have been granted a body on the eve of a war like this, as your siblings seceded around you. You should have been allowed to celebrate your body by enjoying life, and instead, you were forced into fighting a war.

I am sorry for my role in that tragedy. I am sorry for worsening the war, prolonging it, keeping you from happiness. I should have never done that; tried harder to give you peace.

I can never be sorry enough for what I have done to you. I love you, Kansas, and I wish you all the peace and happiness you could ever desire. You deserve it. I'm sorry I will not be there to see you enjoy the peace you so rightfully deserve.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Maine,

You were born as part of a compromise to try to prevent the inevitable battle that slavery was going to bring to our family. I do not know how much that legacy follows you, how badly you think you need to keep the peace, but if that in any way affects how you see yourself, I beg of you, do not hold that as a part of your identity, to not blame yourself. No compromises we could have made would have done anything, with how stubborn we all are. None of us would have backed down, too stubborn to listen.

I wish we weren't. I wish I hadn't let my pride and stubbornness rule me, that I chose to stay with my family instead of helping destroy them. I am so sorry, Maine. I am sorry for betraying you, hurting you, and causing this godforsaken war. I wish you could have marked the end of the needless fighting, that we could have put aside our squabbles and realized that family was more important.

I only realize that now, on my deathbed. I only hope the others in the South have come to the same realization. I love you so much, Maine. I love you more than anything that led to this war. You are handsome and wonderful, and I know you will thrive. I know I will not be there to see it, but I will always be proud of you.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Michigan,

I know you must be angry, and I do not know how much of that is directed at me, one of the ringleaders in the rebellion that has wounded you in that irreparable way. I am so sorry. I never meant for things to go this far. This should have never happened to you.

I cannot believe Mississippi has done something like this. I heard the news and couldn't believe it, but I know it now to be fact, and it sickens me as nothing has. War with each other is one thing; crippling each other is another, a scar that can never hear, a wound that can never heal.

I know I am not the one who did this, but I want to apologize for my role in the rebellion and for betraying you. I do not know if this would have happened if I had stayed in the Union, but whatever role I might have played in it, you have my most humble apologies.

I am so sorry, Michigan.

Despite the war and what I have done, I still love you, Michigan. Two wings or not, you will always be my spitfire little brother who survived the British and fought for his statehood as none have before. You are amazing and have survived far more than you ever should have had to.

I love you, Michigan.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Minnesota,

I am so sorry for what I have done. I know you must be angry at me for what I have done, for throwing you and so much of our family aside for my own selfish interests. I can never be sorry enough for that. I regret it with everything that I have, and facing my demise, all the reasons and justifications I have seem foolish, and I see the folly of my choices.

I should have never joined the rebellion, and the only one to blame for my choices is me. I ask for your forgiveness, not now, not even while I still live, but that someday, you will know my shame and regret and be able to forgive me.

I love you so much, your passion, and your spark for life. I will not pretend like I understand you completely, but I love you no less. You are going to do so well in the future, and I am saddened that I will not be there to see it.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Missouri,

You have never been a man of violence but a man of medicine, healing those who are wounded and never causing wounds. I know the wound that has been inflicted on our family is not the physical kind, but I believe that your skills will be invaluable in helping to treat it, in helping our family heal.

Maybe it is selfish, but I believe the wound from my death will only be healed when that is healed. I am sorry that I am going to die. I am sorry that you might be sitting there, wishing that there was some way you could help save me, as you have saved so many others, like our dear Michigan.

But do not worry, dear brother. I have made my peace. You should make your peace as well.

This has caused more bloodshed than I have ever seen before, and I witnessed the death and depravity of the Starving Times all those many years ago. I know that this bloodshed and war cuts you to the core, even as you live under martial law and influence. I cannot help but feel that is a mercy, allowing you to be protected from the horrors you surely witnessed treating the wounded.

I love you, Missouri. You have a kind heart, and I hope this war does not damage it. It will thrive within you so long as you do not let hate and anger drag it down. I love your kindness. It is what makes you, you, and there is nothing more valuable.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Nebraska,

I am sorry that I will not live to see your statehood, to see your true face for the first time, to hug you, and to know you in a way that I have never known you before. I wish I could be there to see it, and while I may not be there in person, know I will be there in spirit.

I know the many jokes we have made about you being granted your body later than your twin, and I wish fate had allowed you to become states together so I could have known you the way I know her.

As for Kansas, your sister has been forced to endure too much since her birth, and I will not deny the role that I played in that. But now, and once you get a body of your own, I ask of you to protect her and allow her to experience peace. You and I both know she needs and deserves that, and having her twin with her and supporting her will make that peace all the more fruitful.

I am truly sorry for everything that I have done. I love you and wish I could have known you better.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear New Mexico,

I am so sorry for the pain my betrayal has caused you, for the battles that were fought on your land that were wrongly claimed by the false territory the Confederacy created. I am sorry for supporting and encouraging that pain. I had become lost in my own selfish desires and, in turn, hurt everyone around me.

I can never express how truly sorry I am in words, and I hope one day you can forgive me.

I love you so very much, New Mexico, and I am sorry that I will not be there to celebrate your statehood. I know how much you wanted us all to be there, and I am sorry that I will not be physically present. But know that I will be so proud of you for having become a state and that I will be watching over you from above.

I know that whatever you do with your statehood, it's going to be amazing because you, my dear, are amazing.

I am so sorry.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Oregon,

I don't know how involved in this war you have been, far away as you are, but I hope that you have been free of the blood and suffering that has marred us Eastern states in irreparable ways. I hope that you have been free of seeing the conflict, but I know that does not make you free of all the other ways this war has hurt us.

I am sorry for betraying you and this family, for helping worsen this war and further ruining the peaceful solution everyone had wanted before it became impossible. I know that my words cannot show my regret, and for that, I am sorry.

I love you, Oregon, and I am sorry that I will not be there to watch you grow. But I know you and your state are going to grow to be amazing. I am proud of you and the person you are becoming.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Utah,

I am sorry for the hurt I have caused you with this war. I am sorry that I will not be alive to see your statehood. I have many regrets when it comes to territories like you, the siblings that I might know but do not know the way I know our other siblings. You are the victims that the world will never know about, and I am sorry for that.

I love you, Utah. I know my actions might not have shown that, but know that I mean it. I do love you, and I deeply regret everything that I have done to hurt you. It would have been better if you could have been in your own state, safer from the war and conflict, instead of watching through our father's eyes as we tore ourselves to shreds.

I can never tell you more how much I love you and regret my actions. I am so sorry, Utah.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Dakota,

You are so young, too young for this war and the betrayal that I have caused. You were born scarcely a month before I betrayed our family, and I shuddered to think of what seeing war so young has done for you. I am sorry that I never tried to know you better, caught up in myself and my own worries. I am sorry that I will never get to know you, not just in a body of your own, but in general.

I will always treasure the few conversations that we had together, treasure those small moments, being able to speak to you when you were born, and seeing Father so happy again after the chaos of the first states to secede. I am sorry that I never tried to know you better, that I never tried to be a big sister to you.

I made myself your enemy instead of trying to be your sister. I am so sorry, Dakota. I should have been better to you. I know you are going to be a great man and a great state, and I can't wait to watch you succeed from Above.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Washington,

There is already a great legacy that has been thrust upon you by your name, and I fear I have done little to help you shoulder that legacy and name. I should have been a sister who supported you, who told you as many times as you needed to hear it that you are and will always be worthy of George Washington's name, instead of pushing aside you due to my own petty and foolish concerns with things that I realize now matter so very little when compared to you.

I should have never betrayed you. I should have never hurt our family and turned my back on them. My people were nation builders, one the very man you are named after, and I threw all their work to the side in a fit of selfish passion.

I love you, Washington. You. Not the man you are named after or the legacy you hold. I love you for you, and I adore you. You are going to be an amazing person and state, not because of the man you are named after, but because you, Washington, are so amazing and talented that I know you will do well.

I don't want you to ever have reason to doubt that again, and I want this letter to be proof that you will never have to doubt it.

I am sorry I wasn't there for you more. I should have been.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Wisconsin,

I am so sorry for all the hurt and pain that I have caused you through my betrayal of our nation and how callous I was in thinking that things would get better for us all if I were gone, away from most of my family in a country I joined for petty desires. I am sorry for hurting you. I never meant to cause wounds so deep.

Despite my actions and all they have shown about my character, I love you, Wisconsin. I still love you wholly and deeply, my beloved little sister. I wanted to have my family and still rebel, and I fooled myself into thinking that I could still have all my relationships be the same even after betraying you all.

I am sorry. I know that you will be okay in the future, full of fire and not afraid of how you are perceived, merely wanting to do the best you can for your people. Your people are lucky to have you, and I know that your future will be bright and happy, as you will guarantee it for your people.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear Unorganized Territory,

Oh, Nize, you have always been caught up in the worst of this conflict between pro-slavery and anti-slavery, and you must feel great relief that it is now over. I know we have always known the chance of you getting a body, of living to any form of statehood, has been slim, and I am so sorry that I will never get that chance to see your body if you are one day able to get it.

I am so sorry, Nize. My stubbornness has only hurt everyone that I love, and it hurts me that I only realized the true consequence of what I have done far too late to do anything about it.

I love you so much, Nize, your perseverance and strength and how you can live lacking so many of the things that I take for granted. I hope you live. You deserve to live and thrive, and I know you will if given the chance.

I wish I could have done better for you. I should have done better, and I didn't, and I will regret that every day of my life.

I will be watching after you. Know that I am so very proud of you.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 9, 1865

My dear little Deedee,

I hope the nickname is not too much for you, given all the pain I have caused. While my crimes against our family are many, I fear that my crimes against you are the worst of all. I have hurt everyone with my betrayal and how I brought a new, bloody stage to the fighting, and how thousands died in my land. I may have invaded the lands of my siblings, but that is nothing compared to what I did to you.

I took your land, your people, and made them mine. I took the half of my land I once so lovely gave to help give you life and ripped it away, the way I helped to rip this family apart. The fate of my people and my land are no longer in my hands, and I do not know whether or not you will ever get the land that I stole back, but I hope my son returns it to you. You never deserved to have it stolen to begin with.

If not, make sure that he does not bear the burden of the anger for my crimes. I have no doubt that I will be hated by history, and I would rather they villainize me, the guilty party, as opposed to my son.

I am truly, deeply sorry for all I have done to you. I humbly beg for your forgiveness someday and hope I will be lucky enough to receive it.

I love you so much, little Dee, and I will miss you so terribly.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 10, 1865

My dear Nevada,

I had only met you a few times when you were a territory created back in 1861, and I can hardly believe that you are a state now. You and my daughter got your statehood so quickly, and I couldn't be more proud.

I wish I could have known you better, had the chance to see your face, got to know who you were. I am sorry that I have squandered that chance. But I know, no matter what kind of person you end up being, no matter what you do with your life, I will be so proud of you because you are Nevada, and I know that means something.

I wish I had more to say, but I fear I don't know you well enough to have anything more to say. I am sorry for my betrayal.

I love you.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 10, 1865

Dear Arizona,

I do not know how willing you will be to read this letter, as you were born of this war, and I have always been an enemy to you. But as I lay here on my deathbed, I want to apologize for the hurt and pain I have caused, and I want to offer you a goodbye, same as I have to the rest of our family.

I do not know you, and I will not pretend you. But either way, I love and support you, and I want to see you thrive. I know you are going to thrive, and I am so proud of you. I want this to be a way to tell you all the things I could have told you growing up.

You are going to be an amazing state, and I want you to know that I love you.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 10, 1865

Dear Idaho,

I know when you were born, I was nothing more than an enemy, not a sister, not family. Despite this, I want to say goodbye to you, apologize for the hurt and pain I have caused, and reach out to the sister that I never got to know.

I can't imagine what you think of me. I can't image who you are, as I have no way of knowing, but I imagine you are a very amazing person and one that anyone would be proud to call their state.

I wish I could have gotten to know you and see you thrive, as I know you will, and I am sorry that my actions made that impossible. I love you, and I wish you the best of luck and happiness in life. You are beautiful and unique, and I know our family will love you.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

April 10, 1865

Dear Montana,

I nearly didn't write you a letter, as I am sadly out of date on information about our family, and the only person I have to blame for that is myself. Nevertheless, despite the circumstances you were born into, I wanted to apologize to you for everything that I have done.

I regret that I will never meet you or know you, be able to hold you, and love you as a sister, but my lack of ability does not mean a lack of love. I might not know who you are, but I know that I love you, my dear baby sister, and I am so sorry.

You are going to have a bright and happy future. I can feel that in my bones, and I am sorry that I will not be there to see it.

With many regrets and all the love I have, your loving sister,

Virginia Rebecca [censored surname]