Book 4 - Spring

XXII - Doctor, Doctor

Russia finds himself on a couch surrounded by yelling and chaos. Noise drowns out his remaining thoughts, but none of it makes any sense. Russia examines the room, noticing it looks different.

Instead of the original furniture, the main room is full of smaller cots and large wooden structures holding mutely colored thread. A table had been partially pulled into the room, sewing machines lined up on the edge, some of which are still connected to projects. Half sewn quilts drape over the couch that he sits on, and he can see a few states pinning fabric together. Others mark things on paper and cut shapes into colored cloth.

A huge spinning wheel sits against the opposite wall, New Hampshire maintains the thread, twisting the fiber and pumping the pedals. Close by, wooden frames with colorful pins around the edges are surrounded by wooden tools that sit against easel backs or the wall. Pennsylvania's hands fly across one of the larger frames, long and practiced moments as he threads strings in and shoves it together. The movement is almost mesmerizing. His fingers are decorated with bandages and tied fabric.

Virginia takes another one of the frames and begins doing the same. Teens wander in and out, picking up projects or dropping off ripped fabric, broken wood, or moving other material. Montana is buried in old, stained clothes, a sewing kit by her side. Loud clanging and yelling outside flows into the house. Motion passes the windows and logs are tossed around like nothing. Oregon signs through the glass to Wyoming, who seems to respond.

Nebraska wheels across the house, her lap full of baskets of broken wood, plastic, and fabric. She stops by different stations, dropping off supplies. She adds to a pile by the back door. A strange, not quite rhythmic bang echoing from the staircase calls Nebraska back out of his view.

Knitting needles are tucked into the side of the couch. A sweater with one finished sleeve pokes out from under it. Sheets are tossed around the floor, some of them leaking unknown, fluffy stuffing. Pillowcases look sewn shut, but full. Then, someone grabs his leg. Russia squeals at the pulling and shooting pain.

Russia's head whips down and he holds back the instinct to kick Georgia off. Georgia kneels at his feet, examining his ripped clothes and the injuries underneath.

"Shit," she mumbles, "we don't got the med supplies for this."

"What about the others?" Russia asks.

Georgia's head whips up before her face morphs into a pained smile.

"I dunno why I expected you to ask about yourself."

"I'm making bandages as fast as I can!" Colorado shouts from another room.

"Well, go faster," Massachusetts scolds.

"Lulu!" Georgia shouts over her shoulder, "you got any ideas?"

"What about your Doctor friend?"

Georgia shoots up, her eyes bright.

"That there is an-"

"Finland!"

Georgia whips around and sprints out of Russia's vision, her eyes set with a determined look. Russia's eyes float back to where she was to see Texas.

His head is down, his hat tilted to match, and his shoulders are hunched. One hand rubs his neck as Louisiana storms over. He fidgets in place. Louisiana grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him down to her height. Russia sits up, getting ready to break up a fight.

"Why in the hell did you think that was a good idea you-" she sputters, her other hand in a fist at her side.

Texas looks away before lunging forward, wrapping Louisiana into a bearhug. He lifts her off the ground, his face in her hair. Louisiana tenses for a moment before relenting, wrapping her arms around him. Texas stands there, holding Louisiana tight enough to make Russia's chest feel tight.

Russia notes that Louisiana doesn't seem surprised.

Texas walks to the couch, his shoulders quaking. Louisiana reaches up and cradles his head. He sits down and Louisiana twists in his grip. She settles facing forward and pulls something out of her pocket. Russia looks a little closer and sees her spinning thread on a small rod.

'It looks practiced.'

"I take it it didn't go well?" Louisiana comments, facing down and spinning yarn with her hands.

"No," Russia replies, "it did not."

Louisiana huffs before lightly smacking Texas' arm.

"I told you you was being stupid. And don't cry in my hair."

Texas nods before curling around her, his head pressing into the back of her shoulder.

A flurry of movement has Russia's vision spinning as he whips up to watch. Georgia scrambles into the room, her eyes as wide as saucers. In one hand is a phone while she clambers up a door frame to keep from falling to the ground.

"Lu!"

"Yes?" Louisiana replies, not interested.

"We might have another source of info."

Louisiana sits up straight, and, with a look of fire, she shushes the rest of the room. The only noise left is the mechanical noises of the spinning wheel and the sewing machines. Occasionally the sound of the shudder would cut in between the clatter. He tries his best to ignore it.

"Who're you talking to?"

"Doc Jones. She says her nephew went to go work for a facility where he got roped into printing and documenting classified information. You wouldn't be-"

"Peaches. This is important."

"Well, the doc has some of the documents, watermarked as The Revolution."

Louisiana gasps, and Russia's jaw drops.

"And we might have to try to get him outta there, but it would mean Fin could get a thing to have an intuitive arm replacement."

Finland shoots up in her seat, a blur in Russia's vision.

"A new arm?"

Georgia holds out a finger and listens to the call for a few moments.

"Of course girl! I gotchu. I'll have to tell you more in person, okay? And when's the next opening you got. Cuz I've got some idiots here who need some intense shit... Nah, none of them are dying. Yet. Yeah. Oh? Okay, you got it. I'll see you there. You got extra med supplies too? Sweet! Thanks Ty!"

Georgia hangs up the phone and her face drops. Stormy anger fills her eyes.

"All of y'all who are injured are coming with me to get checked out in about an hour," she announces, "and in the meantime. Texas!"

Texas visibly stiffens and Russia swallows the nervous feeling that grows in his stomach at Georgia's look.

"Look at me."

Texas looks up, his face streaked with tears and his lip wavering.

"What in the Hell was you thinking? Leaving us high and dry? You don't even tell Dixie. You sneak out past him and York? You leave them to blame themselves over how you left?"

Texas buries his face back into Louisiana's shoulder.

"And-"

"Peaches," Louisiana interrupts, "it wasn't just Tex that left."

Georgia stiffens before nodding.

"Bama!" She barks, "Sippy! Care! Scar! New Mex!"

Said states scramble into view, shrinking under Georgia's gaze.

'I forgot how tall she is.'

Clanging on the floor above them catches Russia's attention. Metal against wood follows frantic footsteps. Georgia's eyes widen a little before a small, sadistic grin grows on her face.

"That sounds like York."