Russia lays back and stares at the ceiling. His head throbs, but he can't bring himself to care. He waits for the sun to rise. When sunlight leeches through the half-open blinds, Russia sits up and gets ready for the long journey ahead.
He opens the door and almost trips on a neatly stacked pile of folded clothes.
He leans over and picks it up, carrying it all back into the room. He tosses the stack onto the bed, and a backpack pokes out from the bottom of the pile. He pulls out the bag and examines it.
It looks like a recolored military pack. The fabric is black and several straps would help keep it compact.
Russia opens it and packs the essentials, such as extra clothes and other hygiene items. He straps the crowbar to the side and tightens the straps.
He throws the bag over his shoulder and walks down to the dining room. It smells like baked goods and a little smoke.
'Did they burn something?'
Russia drops the bag by the front door and wanders into the kitchen. He takes one of the muffins from a platter on the kitchen counter and sits at one of the dining tables, between Texas and Canada.
He looks around, taking a bite. It's sweet, and the top crumbles in his mouth.
'Not bad...'
"Hi," says a voice from behind him.
Russia turns to see the thin, paper-white state.
"I'm Massachusetts," the state says, holding out a hand, "I figure we haven't chatted much. Nice to meet you. Well, that's a lie. But either way, hi."
Russia takes his hand. It's boney in his grip.
Massachusetts stands in front of him, a large, old-looking book under his arm. He's wearing a dark blue sweatshirt with green letters across it: M I T. His arms are thin and look almost long on his body. His face is sharp, and his blue and gold flag stands out behind his light gold eyes. His white hair is combed forward, styled into something Russia can only compare to a goose tail.
"And I'm Louisiana, but most of them call me Lulu," says the other more unfamiliar state from beside Texas.
Louisiana is dark blue with a white bird in the center of her face. Her hair is very tightly coiled, puffing up where it can. It's hampered by a yellow hairband, and it stands in a halo around her head. She wears a knee-length yellow dress, matching her hairband. Her legs are marred with countless scars, but she doesn't seem bothered by them. She is very short, even compared to America. Her smile is bright, reminding Russia of America.
"Howdy," Texas mumbles, "I'm Texas."
Texas is the tallest of the three. He has very wide shoulders, and his head is adorned with a very old-looking cowboy hat. He wears a button-up and his face is decorated with a strong jaw-line. His hair is thick and wild under his hat. His face and hair are split down the middle, blue on one side and the other is split once more. Russia also notes the stars on the backs of his heterochromatic hands.
Glancing down, Russia notices that Texas is staring down at the table, with no food under his gaze.
Russia hums.
'He shouldn't be leaving with us without eating.'
Russia gets up and grabs another plate from the kitchen. He brings back some bacon and a muffin and puts the plate under Texas' face.
Texas looks up and shoots him a confused look. Russia sighed.
"You need to eat."
Texas shrugs and nibbles on a piece of bacon.
Looking up to examine the others in the dining room, Russia sees tired and bloodshot eyes from most of the people around the tables.
New York sits at the end of one of the tables. He looks exhausted, typing on his laptop and drinking coffee, and another state with a dog at his heels occasionally walks over and supplies him a new cup.
Someone is playing a card game with a few of the other states. Most of the others just sit quietly, not eating much.
After breakfast, Russia takes to pacing around the main room.
The knot in his stomach tightens as his mind fills with worse-case scenarios.
'Is he dead?'
'Where did he go?'
'Is he okay?'
Russia fidgets with his hands and is eventually pulled down onto one of the couches by Canada.
"Calm down, eh? You're going to wear a hole in the floor," Canada says with a half-smile.
Russia can only stay still for a few minutes before he gets back to his feet. So, he approaches Colorado with a few questions. Colorado has a large red 'C' with a yellow center, so Russia was more easily able to identify him out of the crowd.
Colorado is fairly short with more leg than arm strength. He struck Russia as a hiker. His hair has an undercut colored white alongside his flag, and fluffy, almost curly blue hair grows out on the top of his head. He has a kind, soft-looking face that's adorned with a worried smile.
"What weather should we be expecting?" Russia asks, his father's suggestion floating around his mind.
"Well..." Colorado says slowly, " snowfall, 'specially around the mountains, is pretty common. But, the typical fall weather around the west is mild..."
Russia nods along.
'I hope America isn't hurt.'
'Are we going to find him?'
'...or are we going to get trapped too?'
Russia swallows the lump in his throat.
Colorado stops talking.
Russia's mind snaps back to the present.
"Sorry," Russia says sheepishly.
"It's okay. I think all of us are a little distracted," Colorado says with a kind smile before he walks off to mingle with his siblings.
Russia stares up at the ceiling for a second, trying to stamp down his emotions. Then, he sits back down next to Canada. Canada gives him a hesitant smile. Russia looks away. The states continue to walk up to Russia, shaking his hand and smiling. Washington appears to be slightly taller than America, with messy hair and a service dog. Pennsylvania has a whiny voice and a spark of mischief in his eyes.
West Virginia's appearance takes Russia by surprise. The state has clearly dyed, neon green hair and large gauges in his cheeks. The image is intimidating, but the boy himself is soft-spoken and kind.
They have an early lunch, and Russia catches Dixie sticking a few extra snacks into his backpack.
With Pennsylvania in the driver's seat and Washington in the passenger seat, they ride to the airport at around noon. Pennsylvania puts on the radio and tunes it to play songs that Russia doesn't recognize. Even still, the songs are upbeat, so he can't complain.
Washington's dog sits in the back row footwell. Russia reaches out carefully to pet it when Louisiana slaps his hand away.
"That's Washington's service dog," Louisiana explains, wagging her finger, "You don't touch her, 'specially not when she's got her vest on. Wash needs her for his seizures."
Russia nods, his eyes wide, and he retracts his hand.
"Lu, you didn't need to smack him," Texas comments.
"Well, he shouldn't touch the dog that has 'DO NOT PET' on it."
Texas sighs incredulously. Massachusetts buries his face further into his book.
Checking into the airport is cumbersome. Unfortunately, due to the weapons they were taking with them, most of their bags can't be taken as carry-ons.
Massachusetts is the only one who brings his bag to the terminal and spends most of his time reading books written in an alphabet Russia doesn't recognize. He tries to read some of it to get an idea of the topic but finds it gives him a headache.
'I wonder what language that is?'
Russia fidgets throughout their entire journey, half-expecting something to jump out at them at any moment.
The second they leave the airport, they re-armed themselves and hop into a car rented for them by New York. It smells like a new car, as expected.
Russia texts a quick "Thank you" to New York.
He receives a response of "Np," a few moments later.
Russia stares at the screen for a moment before looking up, his face twisted into an expression of confusion.
"What does 'N' 'P' mean?" Russia asks aloud.
Louisiana bursts into laughter.
"It means 'no problem' or 'you're welcome,'" Massachusetts explains with a chuckle.
Ringing begins next to Canada. Canada pulls out his phone and hands it to Russia. After some fumbling, Russia is able to connect it to the Blue-tooth speakers in the car.
"Hello?" Canada says.
"Hi," New York's fast-paced voice rings out, "So, you know how I've been doing research? Well, I think Dad is definitely somewhere up in the mountains. There have been a bunch of strange reports. I got a hotel suite to stay in while you're there. I'll send Canada the link."
"Thank you," Canada says.
"Don't worry about it. You better be on your way. I'll call you again tonight."
"Alright. Thank you," Canada says before the call hangs up.
Then, he turns to Russia.
"Can you put the address into my phone?"
Russia nods and sets up the directions, propping up the phone on the dash.
After about an hour on the road, they arrive at a small hotel in the foothills. Russia walks in with Canada, and the states follow closely behind. After checking in, they head upstairs to check out their room.
The suite is large: it had two side rooms with two beds each and a fold-out couch. The kids are quick to claim beds. Russia ends up with the sofa, Massachusetts and Canada are in one room, and Texas and Louisiana are in the other.
After some discussion, they agree exploring the mountains at night isn't a good idea. They gather together in the larger room and Texas turns the TV on and changes the channel to one playing cartoons.
"Taz, seriously?" Louisiana says.
"What? Lulu, I ain't watching no True Crime show or the News right now."
"These are for kids. Mass?"
"Why are you looking at me? I like cartoons," Massachusetts says with a shrug.
Louisiana huffs and crosses her arms.
Russia watches the odd commercials to distract himself from the creeping darkness and quiet surrounding the hotel.
'The medical commercials are quite funny.'
Motion catches Russia's attention, and he finds that Louisiana had sat down next to him. Looking over out of curiosity, Russia finds himself watching her fiddle with some fabric. She sews together a small doll that has an American flag pattern across its face and is dressed in a black shirt and jeans.
Louisiana takes a lens out of a pair of America's sunglasses and crushes it. She tucks some of the smaller pieces into the last remaining hole in the seams of the doll before closing the doll with a few swift stitches.
At around 10:00, Russia's phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's York. I wanted to make sure you guys got to the hotel okay."
"Yes, we did," Russia confirms.
There is a quick pause before the phone call ends.
Russia pulls the phone from his ear before he shrugs.
'At least it was short.'
Russia plugs in his phone and yawns.
'I'm tired...'
Russia stands up and shoos the kids off the cushions. He switches off the TV and opens the pull-out bed. He falls asleep quickly.
The next morning starts early, with Russia and the others leaving the hotel at around 4:00 AM, only stopping at a small dinner for breakfast before they began on one of the dark, winding mountain roads.
Russia takes his place in the driver's seat and Louisiana sits in the passenger's seat. Everyone else piles into the rear seats.
Louisiana holds the doll that she had finished last night, muttering things that Russia can't understand.
Even so, he doesn't question her.
"Just drive around for a while. I'll tell you if you need to stop," Louisiana says.
Russia turns the radio on with low volume and focuses on the weaving roads ahead of him. The pavement is only illuminated by the headlights.
The stars shine brightly above in the nighttime sky.