Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They hadn’t meant for it to happen again. Truthfully, they had all taken great care to ensure all magical objects were stored away properly .

And just like the first time, it had been an accident.

When the book Massachusetts had just bought fell out of the bag after a few of the younger states ran into him on his way inside the Statehouse, no one had noticed.

What they did notice was the sudden blindness that occurred as a bright light filled the room…and that both Adam and Robin were much, much smaller. 

They all caught a glimpse of the sudden decrease in height, before they only saw small forms sprinting away, further into the house, with high-pitched whispers following the near-silent, child-sized footprints.

“Ah, shit,” Mass cursed, reading the words written on the pages of the open book, “Not again.”

——————————————————————

It was much harder to find their tiny parents than most States would’ve thought. The OG’s, thankfully, were fully aware of how to summon their children.

“Adam!” Georgia’s voice, usually quiet and kind, echoes loudly with a sternness that’s rarely heard. “Get down here, both of ya!”

There’s a shuffling sound from above them, and the grate covering the ceiling vent falls to the floor. A small set of hands come out to rest on the ceiling tile, and the head of a child pops out.

Red-brown hair, pale skin– and green eyes.

“Pops!” the child exclaims happily, even as Georgia looks terrified.

“Come on, get out,” the older State lifts his arms up to catch the child, “You’ll trigger that immune system of yours climbin’ around in there.”

The younger version of their dad wiggles out and drops into Georgia’s awaiting arms, shifted to sit on one forearm and he has to quickly reach back out to catch Robin, who clambered out after Adam.

“How!” California says dramatically, “Did we not know Mom and Dad were so cute as kids?!”

“They hated having their portraits done.” York sniffed with a grumble, carefully taking the young Robin from Georgia. “Wouldn’t stay still when they were this small.”

“Poppa!” Robin cooes at him excitedly, throwing her little arms around his neck, “Missed you, Poppa!”

“You saw me not that long ago, Birdie.” the Empire State hums, carefully bouncing the tiny twelve-year-old in his arms. “Just this morning, I’d say.”

But she shakes her head, squinting with a puffy-cheeked pout.

“Nuh-uh! Didn’t see ya this morning!”

“Well then, tell me all about it while we get ya in some clean clothes, yeah? Crawling around the vents– can’t believe ya’.”

Robin’s babbling voice fades down the hall as New York walks away.

Their collective attention is drawn from the already-gone pair when there’s a small sneeze, and their gazes– full of shock– shift to Adam. His feet kick in Georgia’s grip, and there’s an adorable look of confusion on his little face.

“Ah, shit.” Georgia mutters with a furrowed brow, “C’mon, kiddo, let’s get you cleaned up too. And into warmer clothes.”

And he’s gone, young boy in tow, before anyone can say anything else.

Virginia turns to the younger, gaping States.

“What’re ya’ll just standin’ around for?” they ask, “We gotta clean up this mess– and put all the firearms away, along with the sharp tools…” they continue to list things as they venture into the kitchen to fetch cleaning supplies.

With a unanimous glance, they all disperse to do exactly as told.

It’s only 30 minutes later that they all crowd around the living room again, watching the younger versions of their parents sitting on the couch. 

Bathed and cleaned from vent dust, Robin’s dressed in baby blue pajama set, with small, pastel yellow swirls on the pants and a cartoonish baby chick on the short sleeve shirt. Her hair is loose and her coily curls bounce with every movement as she nibbles on jammed toast, feet kicking in childish glee as one of her hands holds tightly to New York’s own pajama shirt.

Next to her, Adam’s in a similar situation. Dressed in dark green plaid pajama pants, with a matching long-sleeved shirt, with the image of a cartoon dog on the front, his own shoulder-length hair is pulled back in a low-ponytail, freshly brushed out. He’s already eaten most of his toast, squirming in distaste when Maryland reaches over to wipe crumbs and leftover jam off his face.

“So…” Oregon taps his right fingers along their left bicep, pausing for a moment when eyes turn their way, before he continues to tap, “What’s the plan?”

“Wait it out.” Massachusetts grunts, reclining back into his seat, “Let the Departments and ‘em know, divide the work they usually do, and wait it out. Should only last about a month.”

“A month? ”

“Better than permanent, ain’t it?”

Their silence is taken as agreement, as everyone’s gaze turns to the movie on screen, cartoon characters dancing on screen.

“Anastasia?” someone asks dryly.

“The music is a work of art .” New York growls, lunging forward slightly, only stopped by Robin’s deathgrip on his shirt. “So shut up and sit down!”

His movement displeases the girl, who furrows her face is displeasure.

“Poppa!” she whines, tugging on his shirt to pull him back down next to her,

“Comin’, comin’.” he immediately returns to his seat, letting the small child burrow under his arm and practically bury herself next to his ribcage, “Geez, kid– what’s up with you today?”

She just hums, turning her large blue eyes back to the dancing images of ‘Once Upon a December’. Her other hand, newly freed from her finished toast, wraps around his arm to pull it further around her.

“Once this is done, you’re going to bed.” Pennsylvania ruffles Adam’s hair lightly, and the boy hums.

“Okay!” he agrees readily.

“Good.” Pennsylvania nods, reclining back into the seat next to the boy.

For personifications supposedly in the bodies of twelve-year-olds, the younger versions of Adam and Robin are small.

It was concerning the first time around, when the OG’s had first raised them back during the Revolution, but there was really nothing they could do. In the end, though, the two had grown rapidly after 1780– so now, they weren’t as concerned about their small forms.

The other States weren’t as relaxed about it.

But since the thirteen States who actually raised the two were unbothered, they didn’t bring it up. Not even when the two young personifications fell asleep near the end of the movie, and everyone was ushered off to their own rooms once the credits rolled.

Settling in for the night, the younger 37 wondered– Were they really so easy to raise?

Chapter Text

Waking up in the middle of the night to grab a cup of water is a normal occurrence for most States, and that includes Nebraska– most commonly known as Maxwell ‘Just call me Max’ Jones.

What isn’t a normal occurrence are two pairs of big, glowy eyes staring at him from down the hall.

He jumps slightly, shoulder bumping his doorframe as a hand comes up to rest on his chest.

“Jesus.” he breathes, eyes adjusting to the dark to see the de-aged forms of Adam and Robin– and it’s so weird to call his parents by name. 

The two are holding hands, the cutest-yet-most-terrifying smiles on their faces as they stand at the end of the hallway.

Their eyes are…different.

Their irises are large and pure black, and their pupils are as bright white as their scleras.

Then they blink, and their eyes are normal– but just as bright in the dark hall.

“Uh,” Max clears his throat quietly, “ya’ll need somthin’?”

The two shake their heads in unison, and Max is reminded of those creepy twins from that one movie Washington showed him once– The Shinning or something. He wasn’t exactly paying much attention, he hates those kindsa movies.

“Ok?...” he shuffles by and down the stairs, keeping eye contact as their heads tilt and follow him until they’re out of view. 

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, he jumps once again as he spots them sitting on the counter, hands still clasped together and smiles still in place.

His eyes narrow, and he waves a finger at the two of them, “You two are a mess, ain’t ya?” he snorts softly, heart rate calming down as he walks over to the fridge. 

They’re kids. Just kids. Tiny for their supposed age, but apparently that’s normal for them.

Sure, they gave him a fright, but they’re about as dangerous as a fruit fly. 

When he turns back, now with his red solo cup full of cold water, they’re already gone. Not a single sound made as they vanished to wherever they had come from in the first place.

His parents were creepy as kids, apparently.

The near-silent sounds of childish whispers and giggling follows him upstairs and back to his room, going silent once he manages to shut the door. He sighs, setting his cup down on his bedside table and pulling the covers back over his cold feet. He turns in his spot, snuggling down under the blankets to go back to sleep– only to stifle a shriek as he sees two small shadows climb up his wall .

Max shoots up into a sitting position, eyes wide as he scans the walls and ceiling of his room, searching for whatever the hell just climbed a smooth, 90-degree wall like goddamn spiders.

Nothing.

There’s absolutely nothing in his room.

There’s a scuffing sound, and he looks over the edge of his bed to see a small pair of feet vanish underneath the bedframe. He sucks in a breath, huddles close to his bedframe– pulling the blanket over him until only his eyes remain visible. He shivers, eyes flicking around everytime the floorboards creak.

Normally, this type of thing wouldn’t frighten him so much– he’s heard enough weird noises in his own State, has seen enough of those critters that don’t quite fit, every State has at some point– but there’s something about them being in the Statehouse , where the scariest thing in the entire neighborhood has always been his Ma and Pa, that makes his brain run wild.

Two pairs of hands suddenly latch onto the foot of his bedframe, and his back thuds against his wall as he hears the wood creak under the grip those tiny hands have on it.

Two sets of eyes, large black irises with pinprick white pupils, slowly emerge from the darkness– staring straight through him.

None of them breathe, none of them move, he’s pretty sure none of them even blink , before–

“Hello.” A small voice greets, a very faint southern tilt to their voice– a voice that sounds slightly British as well.

“Did we scare you?” a similar voice asks, slightly higher pitched with an obvious NorthEastern twang– with that same faint British undertone.

“...Hi,” Max greets breathlessly, “Uh…naw, didn’t scare me none.”

“You’re lying.” Both voices intone, and now their heads are completely visible.

…He doesn’t know how they sound so certain.

“You hesitated.”

“Your heart is racing.”

“Your lungs are squeezing.”

“You’re trying to hide from us.”

“You’re afraid.” both voices, once again in unison.

“Augh, well– ya caught me.” he slowly lets the blanket down from his shoulders, “Gave me quite the scare, ya know?”

“Sorry.” the voices are quieter, almost…remorseful? As their heads sink back down again.

“No– no! It’s okay!” Max reaches out, trying to stop them from leaving, “Ain’t no big deal!”

The eyes come back up over the bedframe, their glow slightly dimmer, and he hurries to come up with something to say.

“It’s a big house, ain’t it?” he asks, receiving two nods in response, “Ya ain’t used to it yet, huh?”

“Don’t like it.” the boy– his Pa, Adam – responds, though he seems to duck back and muffle a series of coughs with his elbow.

“Too big.” the girl– his Ma, Robin – finishes, “Too hot, too many people.”

And it clicks.

These younger versions of his parents only know thirteen people. Thirteen busy adults in a house of 49 (50 on days Hawai’i decides to show up), and they’re probably afraid of all the new people.

So the fact they chose to follow him , of all people, makes him feel warm.

“Ok…ya’ll wanna stay in here, then?” his room is cooler than most, and most of the more rambunctious States tend to stray from this side of the house.

The two share a glance, before turning back to him and nodding their heads.

He huffs, spreading his blanket back out and waving his arms slightly.

“C’mon, then.”

——————————————————————

The next morning, when Pennsylvania and New Jersey start tearing through the house, yelling and crashing sounds echoing into the rest of the building, as they search for their missing children– three figures sleep undisturbed after a rough night.

And it’s only after checking most other rooms, and finding all but one State awake, that they find them. 

Max spread out on his bed, with the young Adam and Robin curled around his arms and sides.

Chapter Text

“This is a Playstation.” Washington holds one of the PS5 controllers up, sittung cross-legged on the floor of the living room, “You can play games on it.”

In front of him, Adam and Robin sit with wide eyes. It’s been five days since they turned into children.

“What kind of games?” Adam asks, voice slightly raspy-- something that has made the OG’s concerned, and thus everyone else is concerned.

“Well,” Washington tilts his head, “There’s games like Animal Crossing, where you build up a peaceful island community. Pokemon, where you catch little monsters and battle others. COD is on there too, I think--”

“What’s Cod?” Robin chirps, leaning forward wirh large eyes and a growing smile.

“Ah-uh...it’s a game where you play as a soldier and kill others. It’s a first-person shooter. I don’t think that’s--”

“I wanna play it!” Robin claps her hands, gleefully. Beside her, Adam also looks far too gleeful at the idea.

Washington’s gaze flicks back to Pennsylvania, lounging on one of the recliners and watching them.

“Uh-- you sure?”

“We wanna play it!” they both say.

“Can we play it on the big moving-picture-box?” Robin asks, tilting her head in excited curiosity.

Washington nods his head numbly, “Yeah- Yeah, we kinda have to play it on the tv. Gimme a sec.”

He turns around on his knees, scanning the game shelf for the Call of Duty case, turning on the PS5 and inserting the disc. He grabs four of the controllers and heads back to the couch, dropping one on Pennsylvania’s lap as he passes.

Washington passes two of the other controllers to the kid versions of his parents, settling into his own spot with the first player controller.

“Alright, let me get it started and I’ll show you the controls..”

“What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.” Washington mouths to himself, desperately minagling with the controller in his hands.

He and Pennsylvania were on a team, and he can see his grandfather swearing under his breath as he clutches his controller in a white-knuckle grip.

On the opposite end of the couch, Adam and Robin are laser focused. Gentle nudges against each other as they get headshots on him and PA from the other side of the map-- when their characters should only take up a few pixels.

The seconds count down slowly. Everytime Washington or Penn manage to get a kill, the other kid is ready to take vengeance mere seconds after.

The point disparity between the two kids and the two full-grown States is embarassing.

The countdown turns red.

5, Robin lands another kill against Penn.

4, Washington lands a hit on her, only for Adam to somehow appear from behind to get a pointblank.

3, Washington is killed not long after respawning.

2, Washington gives up.

1, the match is over.

Washington slumps in his seat as the kids bounce up and cheer.

“We won!” Robin squeals, throwing her small arms over Adam’s thin shoulders.

Adam himself is grinning, hugging her back as they abandon their controllers on the couch.

Robin detangles herself, hops off the couch, and bolts down the hallway with joyous cries of,

“Poppa! Pa! Daddy! Adam and I won the Cod game!”

Adam himself wiggles his way up into Penn’s seat, tucking himself under the Keystone State’s arm as the older man droops back onto his recliner.

Penn squints down at Adam suspicious.

“When did you learn how to aim a gun?”

Adam just blinks up at him, smiling, before snuggling closer.

Down the hall, Robin’s excited chatter changes directions, likely as she’s lifted up and passed around between her father's arms-- as they often do, apparently.

Washington sighs, standing up to put away the controllers and turn off the PS5. He’ll probably turn the tv back on, most likely to a cartoon channel. Adam and Robin can be entertained for hours by the ‘moving-picture-box’.

Penn leans back, gets comfortable, and settles his arm over his son’s tiny frame.

Soft, rattling breaths coming from the boy begin to concern him.

He slowly shifts the boy up, high enough that Penn can rest his own head against the kids, and presses his cheek to Adam’s temple.

A steady warmth radiates under the boys skin. The average fever the boy always has, but Penn knows it could get worse at the drop of a dime.

“Papa?” Adam questions quietly, “Is somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” Penn leans back, allowing the kid to shift back into his own comfortable position, “Just wanted to check.”

Chapter Text

Being woken up in the middle of the night by various footsteps and barking voices is not an enjoyable experience.

But it’s an experience Dexter-- Wyoming-- is currently living through.

Grumbling, he sits up and throws his covers to the side, stretching his arms above his head as he stands up.

The hardwood floors are cold against his feet as he walks to his bedroom door, swinging it open and looking out into the hallway.

He sees several other bedroom doors open, his fellow disgruntled and confused States all looking around the now empty hall.

And then Gigi is bolting down the hall and down the stairs,  their shortsleeve button-up pajama set the only thing most of them see before the sound of cabinets being thrown open is heard downstairs.

Down the hall, the medical room’s door is open. There are voices, concerned and furious, and the sound of things being moved.

Gigi sprints back up the stairs and disappears into the medical room, but the door isn’t closed.

Some States grumble and start to shut their doors. Whatever their grandparents are doing, most of the others want no part of it.

And then the voices are cut off, the closing doors paused, by the sound of coughing.

Loud, bone-rattling, wet coughing-- followed by the sound of someone retching.

A few of the voices start back up again, softer this time.

Dexter takes a single step out of his room, the first and only one, and slowly makes his way down the hall.

The others watch him curiously, waiting for whatever information his newly acquired mission will grant them.

He peeks his head around the doorframe to their little hospital room, and the sight sucks all the air from his lungs as his skin pales.

Adam— Dexter’s dad, no matter young the man is right now that is still his dad— is pale, skin almost grey. There are dark bags under droopy green eyes, his temple leaning against Grandpa Penn’s midsection, the Keystone State holding him close by arms wrapped around his shoulders.

His Grandpa’s eyes are narrowed, teeth bared in a snarl as Adam’s eyes droop further. Massachusetts is taking temperature and blood pressure, his brow furrowed as he mutters to himself. In the room, the other OG’s are scattered, each murmuring among themselves.

Robin is on her tiptoes next to the bed, holding one of Adam’s hands.

Dexter can see a small trashcan near the bed, and he doesn’t have to look to know Adam had gotten sick.

He knocks, quietly, only to freeze when all eyes turn on him. All except for Adam, of course, who’s small chest rattles with a cough that shakes Dexter down to his core.

“Uhm…” he says smartly, “Is…is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Georgia answers easily, “We have it under control. Back to bed.”

“But— what’s wrong?” He asks again, stepping further out from behind the doorframe, “Is— is dad okay?”

“He’s fine, sugar,” Virginia hums, “We’ll tell you kids all about it in the morning, okay?”

Wyoming nods slowly, anxiously as he slowly steps back out of the room.

He turns to look down the hall, seeing the curious faces of his fellow States.

“Dad’s sick,” he whispers, “Gigi said they’d tell us about it in the morning.”

More nods, some shuffling, some muttering, but soon all their doors are closed. All of them asleep to the sounds of coughing.