Bleeding Out

Take Journey's Advice

  America looked down at his chicken sandwich and felt his stomach twist. He was here with his family, enjoying a meal, when his brother was trapped in some abandoned factory, being mercilessly tortured at the hands of the Shadow.
  He pushed the wrapper of chicken sandwich away from him, feeling his appetite slip away.
  "You a'ight dad?" New York looked up at him from his seat at the table.
  "Well." America sighed. "We've found Dixie. Everyone is fed and alive. I should be feeling better, shouldn't I?"
  The state shrugged, then winced, then let out a string of hacking coughs.
  America gently patted the state's back. The county was a bit surprised when he didn't flinch away.
  "'M fine, 'm fine." New York wheezed. He took a sip from his water.
  "You sure?"
  The state nodded.
  America gave him a sad smile. "The boroughs again?"
  New York coughed again. "Yeah. Brooklyn and Staten."
  "You need rest just in case they decide they wanna part ways."
  "They know I'm weak. They're at least trying to get along." New York took another long draw of his water. "And I could handle it."
  America decided to let it go. New York's boroughs have always seemed to cause trouble for the state. They had a tendency to split apart into six whole separate beings- there was the Bronx, Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island, and another one whose name no one could remember because he represented the other parts of New York that weren't the boroughs.
  "You're gonna have to eat to face whatever this thing is." New York sat back in his chair. "And go save stupid Dixie."
  America smiled a bit. New York had always been snarky and honest and arrogant. He gets that from me probably.
  "I don't even know how to fight this guy." America ran a hand threw his hair.
  "Well it should be corporal, right?" New York asked. "With Dixie's blood and all."
  "Well yeah... But I don't know how to kill it. Or if we can ever kill it."
  New York sat back up. "Let us come with you."
  "Sorry." America shook his head. "This is something I need to resolve by myself. I've let myself get comfortable. I'm plenty strong, sure. But I haven't stood up for myself in a long time."
  New York rolled his eyes.
  America looked at his sandwich again. New York was right. If he was going to be at his full strength, he needed food. And sleep. But he had already had sleep. He should be good for a couple days.
  "I'm going tonight." America cleared his throat. "We can't risk him moving. And we've narrowed down the location."
  "Okay." New York rubbed his neck. "Want me to get the others?"
  America thought for a second. "Yeah."

  "No parties tonight while I'm gone." America pushed his favorite pistol into the duffle bag. "And no one over. Especially not the Mexican states. Got that Ari?"
  "Hey," Arizona snorted, "it wasn't my idea to toilet paper Germany's house."
  America smiled. "Also, no sugar Florida. Or alcohol. And make sure the territories get to bed on time, no waiting up for me. No running with sharp objects."
  Florida rolled his eyes. "It's just like when you're going to one of those old UN meetings or something."
  "I'm serious." America gave Florida a glare.
"Yeah just like old times." Texas joked. "But we'll keep everyone safe. And not on fire. Ari."
  "It WASN'T my FAULT."
  America felt the corners of his mouth turn up. He opened his arms. "Alright. Group hug."
  They all gathered around and gave America a big squeeze.
  "You sure you're going to be alright?" Hawaii looked up at him through her one eye.
  "Yeah." America laid more ammo in the bag gently. "I just need to stretch then I'll be good."
  "You know what you need Dad?" Florida asked, a smirk on his face. "You need an eighties training montage."
  America sighed and dropped the duffle bag as the states exploded, shrieking at the top of their lungs with joy.
  "ALEXA PLAY SEPARATE WAYS BY JOURNEY!" Florida screamed.
  "Guys-" America tried, rubbing away his headache.
  "HERE WE STAND!"
  "-worlds apart-"
  "-HEARTS BROKEN IN-"
The whole room seemed to take a deep breath. "TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! TWO! TWOOO!"
  America looked up from his hands at his screaming children. Even New York had joined in. He shook his head and turned to sneak up the stairs.
  Through the hall, he felt the music pound from beneath him. Florida was right- he needed to get in the mood. America pushed open the door to the training room, filled with the sun's rays.
  He pulled off his shirt and sat cross legged on the floor. He breathed in, and out, feeling the cracks on his chest flex slightly.
  From talking to the other countries and looking at history books, America noticed people thought he rushed into battle unprepared. That he had always fought with only his strength and sheer luck on his side- which was partly true. Believing in yourself and luck only took you so far, though.
  He sat there, breathing, feeling the cords of his neck tense. When America broke the chains of Britain, and found no one would help him but France, he had to rely on his strength. He had to learn how to trust himself. His instincts.
  America had lost trust in himself- war crimes, scandal after scandal, political discourse- it all tainted his name.
  He needed to return to his roots. Needed to remember why he fought against Britian, against the Japanese Empire and the Nazis, against himself. Family. Friends. Freedom.
  Sitting and telling yourself that you don't deserve these things would put you right where he was now. With cracks and broken family.
  By the time he opened his eyes the sun was low, almost scraping the horizon.
  So know it was time for the eighties montage, except instead of training and punching stuff it was getting gear. America pulled on his most flexible set of cargo pants, his dark brown holster, broken-in combat boots, second favorite shirt, and last but not least, his favorite pair of sunglasses.
  America looked at himself in the mirror, seeing the outline of his cracked chest in his shirt. He pulled out his handgun and cocked it with a loud snapping sound.
  Downstairs a few states were lounging on the couch.
  "Looking good Dad." Oregon encouraged.
  "Duffle bag. And thanks." Florida tossed America the bag he had asked for.
  "Does this really feel like a final battle of sorts?" Texas asked. "Because it just feels like you're going on another business trip."
  "Maybe it's better to pretend I'm going on a business trip," America admitted. "But next time you see me I'll be dragging Dixie across the porch."
  They all laughed at that.
  America pushed open the door, took one last look at his family, and went down the old oak steps.

Bruh 💀 this story is almost over
Thanks for all the amazing comments y'all really keep me going 💖
Sorry its been taking so long to pump these chapters out. I needed a final battle feel to p r e p a r e and stiff, and Journey is the way to go.