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Where is he!?
America was pacing back and forth.
A few of his states watched him from the borders of the room. California was closest to him, standing alone, nervously. Arizona stood a bit behind California, looking sad.
Suddenly, America grabbed California's shoulder and pulled her towards him, pointing a finger at her face aggressively, "Where did he go!?"
California looked petrified.
"I— I don't know…"
"Then who does!?"
California stayed silent. She would not let other states feel the wrath of America. She didn't want anyone else to have to feel scared of their dad…
America let go of California's shoulder and pushed her away with a light, but not kind, shove.
He stormed towards Arizona, who rapidly backed himself up against the wall, cowering away from his father.
America, burning with striking rage, loomed over him.
"Arizona."
Arizona peered up at his father.
"Tell me where he went."
Arizona shook his head back and forth, then frantically cowered away from America.
America let out a growl of frustration.
He turned around, to face the other states in the room, who were timidly watching the entire scene. None of them had a clue what to say— they had never seen their father so angry. It was such a foreign feeling for them, to have their father's fury directed towards them.
America stormed out of the room.
—
He would find that state. He didn’t care how long it would take— he was going to do it.
America was tired, so very tired, of Texas acting rebellious. Texas had tried it before, many times— the state had tried to leave him. The state had tried to become his own country. He had tried to break the binds he had with America. And America himself was not having this behavior. He couldn’t take it anymore.
So he searched.
And he searched and he searched.
And his endless searching seemed to be to no avail, but at the end, when he was tired of looking, he found the state.
Texas had been hiding from him. Texas had been deceptive.
The state was not expecting it when America angrily strode into his house.
“Texas!” Came the forceful, accusatory tone from the striped country.
The state whipped around— he had been focused on other things— he was thinking of revolution, after all.
But he was immediately terrified at the sight of America charging at him, with clear, flaring rage.
Texas had backed himself against the table in a flash. He reached back and got his hands on a tool that was on the table. He pointed it at America, his hand shaking by the slightest. America needed to get the fuck away from him and stay out of his business!
America promptly stopped.
He seemed to be stuck there for a few moments, utterly shocked at the sight in front of him.
One of his own states, pointing a weapon at him—!? After trying to break off from him? How dare they!
America took a threatening step forward.
“Put that down. Right now.”
Texas didn’t move.
America’s face twisted into anger.
“I said put that down!”
Texas jabbed the weapon out at America, “No!”
America, surprised, jumped back.
But Texas continued…
“I am not putting this down! I am not coming with you! I am not going back! I’m done with you telling me what to do! You can’t tell me what to do any more, and it will never go back to that. I am done being a part of you.”
Texas’ voice faltered at the last sentence. There was a deep feeling of turmoil and regret within him, but he needed freedom. He couldn't deny himself that basic right anymore. He knew that some other states felt the same way as him— they wanted their independence. All he needed to do was take the first step. Then they would join him— they would be free!
…And America would be left behind.
Texas was expecting anger. He was expecting America to yell at him— maybe even charge at him. But, America started laughing.
“Do you really think you can be your own country, Texas?”
America took a sinister step forward, his haunting words hanging in the dusty air.
“Do you really think that you are ready to handle the world? The difficulties? The wars? The economy? The threats…?”
America went on with his list, creeping ever so slightly closer to the one-starred state.
Texas stood in tension and silence. America’s words were seeping into his mind— they were affecting him. His hand faltered.
And then, America was standing in front of him, giving him an expectant stare with sharp red and blue eyes. Texas hadn’t realized America’s sunglasses were off.
“Do you think that… you could leave me?”
There was something else laced in America’s voice— something other than anger and mockery.
Texas had his tool against America’s chest. It was pushing against the country’s shirt’s fabric— America had stepped into it. All Texas had to do was push back.
But Texas couldn’t.
He couldn’t bring himself to hurt America… not like this.
Texas felt his hand lowering, subconsciously. The tool slowly dragged across the fabric— until it wasn’t anymore.
And that was when he was slammed against the table.
He let out a cry of pain at the sudden exertion. He felt America’s hands tightly grip around his wrists. America yanked his arm up and squeezed his wrist tight— too tight. Texas, desperate, tried to pull his hand away. A shock of pain radiated down from his wrist into his arm, causing him to cry out in pain again.
“Stop!”
America did not stop. The country paused, looking Texas in the eyes with his piercing gaze. He seemed to consider his options. What would hurting Texas do? He wanted Texas to listen to him.
“Then drop the weapon.”
Texas obeyed without question. The loud clank it made with the ground made Texas jump.
The unbearably tight grip loosened, but America did not release him. In fact, the country pressed Texas’ hand down into the table and pushed up against him, causing him to shift uncomfortably. His back was grating against the sharp edge of the wooden table and it hurt.
“I want you to… answer my questions, Texas…”
Texas was petrified. He had never been in a situation like this. The pain in his wrist barely stopped, even though America had loosened his grip. He felt scared and trapped. He felt like he had no control over anything— he just wanted freedom. Why did it have to be like this? Why did America have to find him? Why— why couldn’t he just feel the pleasure of freedom once again?
Quickly, America let go of him and raised a hand, lashing out at him— a slap across the face.
“Texas! Answer my questions or else I will hurt you.”
The state never thought he’d hear those words come out of America’s mouth— he never thought he’d be attacked by America.
Texas had carefully, spitefully, built up his confidence. He had taken his time doing so. America had torn down his confidence in a matter of minutes.
He was already doubting himself. He tried to think of an answer to America’s question, but he couldn’t come up with an answer, he wasn’t even sure if he remembered America’s questions— he couldn’t think of them. He was too busy looking at the country, trying to hide from his prying eyes, trying to shift away from the sharp pains across his body— no, no he could not answer the questions.
Texas felt the grip on his wrist tightening again— he felt the table digging into his back as America pushed him into it as much as he could. Texas writhed in pain, trying not to let out a pathetic sound. He tried so hard to move away from the pain but it just kept coming, kept persisting.
“Do you think this hurts, Texas!?”
Texas couldn’t respond.
The pain increased.
“Do you!?”
Texas frantically nodded.
“…Because I can make you hurt a lot more than this.”
The words made Texas panic even more. He tried to fight against America’s powerful grip, to no avail. He couldn’t do it. America just held him there, in a constant position of pain, staring down at him with anger and disappointment.
Texas stopped moving— he went limp in the country’s grasp.
But, America did not let up on anything.
“You know that, right?”
America was looking down at him, rather intensely. That mysterious hint of something else creeped into his voice again.
Texas nodded, “Y-yes, I know.”
That was when America let off some pressure— when Texas spoke with his now cracking voice, sounding terribly lost.
“And do you know that you’re mine?”
Texas frowned. God, he wasn’t expecting to hear those words either. He begrudgingly brought his gaze up to America’s and he saw a hint of possessiveness in those red and blue eyes.
Was that really what America wanted to hear?
When Texas didn’t answer fast enough, he felt America lean further over him.
“I will make sure that you know that you’re mine, Texas.”
He felt panic shoot through him. He didn’t know what America meant by that, but it sounded… off. It made him uneasy— the way America’s demeanor had shifted.
“No— I know.”
It was all Texas could manage to say.
But, America did not pull away from him. His entire body was pressing against him. America was sliding his wrists up, against the table.
“A-America—”
The striped country did not stop.
“—Dad!”
The word was Texas’ last ditch effort— and he was scared. Who did he call out for when he was scared? His dad. America. America, the one who was making him scared now. America, the one who was making him feel that unsteady, frantic feeling of uncertainty and panic. America, the one who was making him feel burning pain all across his body. America, the one who was making him feel like he wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.
America stopped.
“I—”
There was a deep look of regret and pity in his eyes.
“No— I’m sorry, Texas— I’m sorry…”
America turned away from him and put a hand over his face, pushing against his head hard.
Texas placed a hand to support himself as he leaned up. God, his wrists hurt— and his back. He was shaking too. He hadn’t realized that before. He was shaking because of his own father.
America turned back around and looked at him.
Texas rubbed the wrist that America had squeezed too hard, looking down at the ground in shame as he did so. He felt embarrassed that he was showing America how bad he had hurt him. In a way, it’s like he was letting America win.
America took rapid steps towards him and he immediately flinched away, trying to escape from the striped country. He pushed himself back up against the table without thinking, then cried out when it clashed directly with his sore back again.
But, America wasn’t trying to hurt him or trap him this time.
The country hovered in front of him, his expression sad, his eyes clouded with guilt.
America reached out a hand and, to Texas’ dislike, lightly grabbed onto his wrist, rubbing in small circles. He didn’t want America to touch him again, but he didn’t think pulling away would do any good. America could get angry again.
”Texas…”
America looked him in the eyes, a stern expression forming on his face.
"You cannot just leave. We are… The United States. You are a part of those states, and you are bound to us forever— no matter what happens."
Texas felt a quick, intense feeling of revulsion towards America's words that died down within seconds. He wanted his freedom, but now he felt bad about leaving. And he felt worried. America had drained his confidence by telling him all of the struggles, all of the possible terrible situations he could get in as his own country. His feelings were unsteady.
America took a step closer, sliding an arm around him and pulling him away from the table. Texas' entire body went rigid at the contact.
"...And, I have always protected you from the world, Texas. If you left, I wouldn't be able to protect you anymore."
Texas caught America's bi-colored eyes, "Couldn't you just help me?"
America stared back at him, "Why would I help you?"
Texas frowned at America's suddenly accusatory tone. It wasn't like Texas had done anything to America. All Texas wanted was to feel free, to not feel like he always had someone telling him what to do— and he wanted more in his life. He didn't always just want to live as a state under another. He wanted to progress and grow. He couldn't do that with America controlling him.
Texas felt like America should support him, even if he left. He had supported America before, and he had always been a part of America.
"Because I'm—" your state. Texas lightly shook his head back and forth to himself. How could he say that he was America's state when he wanted to leave? That was just stupid. What he wanted to say was—
"You’re what?"
America's prying eyes were on him now. America still had an arm secured loosely around his waist. Texas wasn't sure he liked that, especially right now. If anything, he just wanted to get away from America. He needed time to think.
But, he couldn't. And America was expecting an answer.
Texas looked down.
"I've… always been a part of you— I've supported you. Why wouldn't you support me?"
Texas brought his gaze back up, meeting America's eyes once more.
"If you want to be your own country, then you have to deal with the world by yourself."
Why did America have to be so cruel?
The snarky statement left Texas feeling distasteful, so he tried to shift away from the striped country. America didn't hold him there, but rather followed him, his arm still loosely around his body.
The state placed a single hand on America's chest.
America paused, looking down at the hand.
"What do you think you're doing?"
I could ask you the same thing. Was Texas' mental response.
"Can you please let go of me?"
"No— I tell you what to do, not the other way around!"
Texas didn’t know what to say to that— God, he didn't even know what to think. He was so confused by America’s behavior. America had seemed genuinely sorry, but now the striped country was going right back to bossing him around and making him uncomfortable.
He didn't want America to hurt him again.
He already felt his anxiety rising.
America had hurt him so badly— he was going to be covered in bruises. And… who knows what his citizens were going through with all of America’s actions against him.
Texas stayed still, not making eye contact with the starred country. He stared at the dusty ground.
He felt a hand slide under his flannel— he nearly jumped away from the light touch. America placed his hand over the sore spot on his back. He didn't like it. But he didn't know what to do about it. He couldn't pull away now.
America started softly rubbing the spot, like he had done to Texas' wrist.
Texas timidly stood there, taking the unwanted contact without protest.
"...I don’t know why you would want to leave me…"
America’s words were quiet. They provoked an emotion in Texas that he wasn't sure he wanted to feel right now.
America suddenly became stern.
"You can't just leave me. You're not allowed to. Do you understand?"
Texas frowned. He still wanted to leave, he still wanted his freedom, but America had been changing his mind, the county's words plaguing his thoughts. He was confused— he felt turmoil deep within.
"I—"
America suddenly stilled, anticipating his words.
"I understand."
His words were quiet, the sentence a mere mumble. Texas felt immediate regret. He was giving in, despite all of his feelings against staying as a part of America.
"Say that you're mine."
Texas was the one who went still now. America still wanted to hear that?
He wasn't sure that he wanted to say that to the striped country.
But, America was staring him down with possessive eyes. Eyes that he could not ignore. They searched for Texas' binding words.
"I'm… yours, America."
The sentence was sloppy in a way— quiet, unsteady, spoken with a shaky, hesitant voice, by someone who did not even fully believe or support the statement.
Nevertheless, America was satisfied.
He cast a soft smile to Texas, a smile he only reserved for his states. Texas couldn’t help but feel happy to be on the receiving end of it. After all of their conflict, a resolution had finally come. Texas wasn't sure he wanted it to be this way, but he couldn’t leave America.
No, no he wouldn't leave.