Here's my first ever Hetalia fanfic and the big opener to my collection of States one-shots. They will mostly go in order of the nations meeting the states, but this is not a specifically plot-based story.

I don't own Hetalia. I only own my interpretations of the states, though I have drawn influence from other people's state fics. The portrayals in this story are not meant to cause offence, but there will be occasional inclusion of somewhat sensitive historical/social/political topics.

New York Minute

America tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the last speaker to finish and checked his watch for the hundredth time. He really needed to get out of there, and soon. He was already supposed to be on his way, and, if he stayed much longer, his phone would start blowing up. Plus, when he finally did get to where he was supposed to be, he was going to get chewed out for being late. Just as he feared, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

He quietly pulled it out and held it under the table as he read the first messages.

Where the fuck r u, Dad! U said u'd b here!

- Mark

Daddy, please get here! Mark's going apeshit! You know what he's like in baseball season!

- Elsie

America couldn't help but curse under his breath. It was another infamous baseball season. While America wasn't supposed to support any one team over another, as he didn't want to show favoritism, he had promised New York and New Jersey to sit with the Yankees fans this go around (and, man, had he had to apologize to Massachusetts, who had screamed and cried for hours before putting on a mask of indifference and making passive-aggressive comments that America would've more readily expected from the Southerns).

"Pay attention, you twit," England muttered sharply to him.

"Can't," said America. "I'm late for another meeting."

"You shouldn't make plans during world conference days. It's your own bloody fault."

"But it couldn't be any other day."

"What's so bloody important that you -?"

"Will you two cease the chit-chat back there?!" came Germany's sharp voice. "Someone has the floor!"

"Sorry, but can I be excused?" said America.

"Nein! We must all stay until the end of the meeting!"

"But, it's really, really, really important."

"Nein! You will remain in your seat."

"But, you don't understand-"


America shrank back in his chair while many of the other nations snickered at him. Damn it, they didn't know what they were getting themselves into. He'd never allowed one of his meetings to coincide with something as important as a Yankees vs Red Sox game. He wasn't suicidal after all. And, if New York wasn't in the stadium soon, things could turn very ugly very fast. America scanned the room for a quick exit; it was the only chance of saving everyone from the hellfire that would rain down on them.

Aha! Someone left the window open, he thought with satisfaction. Granted it's a ten story drop, but it's a better alternative than New York storming in here.

His mind made up, America jumped from his seat and charged for the window with a cry of "FREEDOM!" Only to be grabbed by the back of his jacket by an irate Germany.

"What do you think you are doing?!" Germany shouted.

"Let me go!" America cried out. "I'm trying to save you idiots! Do you have any idea what you could unleash on us all?!"

"What are you -?"

But that was as far as he got. Suddenly, the room began to shake.

"Oh no, I'm too late," America said fearfully.

"Ve~! Germany, I'm scared!" cried Italy.

"Vas ist das?" said Germany.

"It's too late," said America. "You've unleashed him."

Before anyone could say anything else, the doors to the conference room were sent flying off their hinges and a dark fog materialized. From out of the midst of it came the figure of a teenage boy, maybe seventeen at most. He was somewhat unusual in appearance. His skin was a somewhat olive tone, making him look neither white nor specifically any other ethnicity. His amber eyes were thin and stern. Over his dark brown hair was an 'I Love New York' baseball cap. He was also decked out in attire that clearly indicated he supported the New York Yankees.

"Hey, Dad," the boy said coldly to America. "You're late."

"Sorry, kiddo," America said. "The meeting was running a bit long. But, I'm free to go now."

Germany, not realizing what the problem was, though surprised that the boy had just called America "Dad," was not going to permit more disruptions.

"I don't know who you are," Germany said. "But we are still in the middle of our conference. You will have to wait until -" Again, Germany was cut off. This time by the teenage boy grabbing him by the front of his suit, dragging him to the window, and holding him at the edge.

"The game starts in ten minutes," the boy said in a deathly calm voice. "If I am even one second late to it-" He released his hold on Germany for half a second, causing the nation to start falling backwards through the open window, before grabbing his tie to prevent him from dropping. "You get the picture."

Germany looked quickly around the now-terrified room for anyone willing to help him. Finding none and seeing the murderous intent in the boy's eyes, which seemed to be filled with an unholy fire, he knew he had no choice.

"America, you are dismissed," he said.

The boy pulled Germany back into the room and dropped him rather forcefully to the floor. The boy then practically dragged America out the door. The silence they left in their wake was like a lead weight over the confused and fear-stricken nations.

The next day, America cheerfully strolled into the conference room and was surprised to see everyone already there and staring at him intently.

"'Sup, dudes?" America said brightly. "Sorry about that business yesterday."

"America," said Germany in a serious but slightly cautious tone, "who was that boy who tried to drop me from the window last night?"

"Hm? Oh, that was New York."

England was the first to react.

"What the bloody hell do you mean that was 'New York'?!" he screamed.

America just quirked an eyebrow in response.

"You know, he's New York. One of my states."

Everyone exchanged surprised looks, which just served to confound America further. Why on earth were they acting like it was such a big deal?

"Amérique, mon ami," France said, "do you mean to say that your states have personifications?"

"Well, yeah. But it's not like that's odd. I'm sure you guys all have your own states and provinces with personifications, right?"

"Well," said Germany, "some of us used to, but they often ended up vanishing when they joined to form unified countries."

"What? That's crazy. Stop saying crazy stuff, Germany."

"I am serious, America. And, if your states are personified, why did that one last night call you 'Dad'?"

"Well, because I'm his father, duh."

"What do you mean you're his father?!" England shouted again.

"Um…Just what it sounds like?"

"Ohonhonhon," France replied. "America, you have certainly been busy, then. You do have fifty states, do you not?"

"Well, it's not like I knew it would happen or anything."

"You still fathered fifty children!" said England. "How is that even possible?!"

"I am so proud of you, Amérique," France added with a teary-eyed smile. "How many lovely ladies did you entice into your bed to get such a wealth of les enfants?"

America looked rather uncomfortable with that question and there was a faint flicker of sadness that passed through his eyes.

"Two," came a sharp voice from further up the table.

All heads turned towards where a sultry young woman sat. Her skin was a soft mocha brown and her hair was such a shade of black that there was a blue tint to it where the light hit. Her brown eyes were keen and sharp.

"Hey, Mexico," America said awkwardly. She hadn't been at last night's meeting, though someone must have filled her in on what happened because she hadn't been surprised by the other nations' interrogation of America.

"America," she said stiffly. "How are my Texas, California, Nevada, Arizona, and New Mexico?"

"They're fine."

Mexico gave a curt nod.

Spain's eyes went wide and he looked from Mexico to America and then back to Mexico in disbelief. His little Mexico had been involved with America and had children, and Spain hadn't heard one word of this?! If he wasn't collapsed in his chair from shock, he would probably be trying to throttle America.

"So, you and Mexico…?" England said, more calmly this time.

There was definitely some awkward tension as America and Mexico stared each other down. Mexico had a kind of sad, almost hurt look and America's expression was strangely unreadable. Something had happened between the neighboring countries and it had definitely been something painful.

"That is in the past," said America.

Mexico gave an angry huff and turned away from him.

"Well, if Mexico is the mother of five of your states," England continued, "who is the mother of the rest?"

"None of your business," America said with unusual harshness. Everyone looked at him in amazement. America almost never lost his temper. He could be loud, obnoxious, and arrogant, but he was rarely ever truly angry at anyone. Even his relationship with Russia was more a kind of love-hate rivalry that only simmered a bit these days, but never descended to any real anger (well, unless Russia did something to genuinely hurt one of America's friends; then the rage came out).

America must have realized how that statement had come across and took a deep, calming breath.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But I do not want to talk about that. And, even then, not all my states even have a biological mother."

"So they just appeared like countries do?" said Germany.

"I'm not exactly sure. I just remember, after the Revolution ended and Congress was making plans to recognize the states, I started feeling really sick and dizzy all the time. Then, the day that they officially designated Delaware the first state, I had this splitting headache and passed out. When I woke up there was a baby lying next to me. And that's how it went on for a while.

"Look, guys, I still don't get what the big deal is. I know I'm not the only one with kids who personify states and provinces and stuff."

"America-san is correct," said Japan. "My prefectures all have personifications. But they are not children, though."

"Well, Canada and Mexico both have their own kids back at their homes."

"Mexico and who…?" just about everyone said simultaneously.

"I'm Canada," said a quiet voice.

"Guys, he is literally sitting right there," America said, pointing to his northern twin.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" said France, his attention now focused on Canada. "Mon petit Canada, you are a papa and you didn't tell moi?"

Canada sank low into his chair. For the first time ever, he wished he could stay invisible. Unlike America, he had purposefully refrained from bringing up the existence of his children because he sincerely was trying to keep them hidden from the outside world. Unfortunately, America had just ruined that secret. Mexico, too, had been hoping to keep her children secret, because she didn't want Spain prying into her personal life. The two of them realized they probably should have clarified things with America instead of assuming he would realize the importance of such a secret; he did have a tendency to blab about things he wasn't specifically told he couldn't talk about.

"Seriously," said America, "I don't get what's so weird about this."

"Why haven't we met any of your states before now?" said England.

"I just thought it was something nations don't talk about. I mean, Canada and I talk about it, because we're bros and our kids like to hang out together now and then. I guess I figured you all just didn't like to bring up your own children in conversation. Seems I was wrong.

"Look, maybe it will be easier to explain if I have one of the kids present. I'll just call New York and ask him to come back in. I want him to apologize for his behavior anyway."

Germany looked like he'd rather eat a bucket of broken glass and rusty nails than see the personification of New York ever again. The other countries were similarly wary. However, America had already sent the text and it was too late to stop him.

Not ten seconds later, there was a knock on the door to the conference room, which had been reattached before the meeting. America smiled and stood up to answer it while the other countries looked at each other in disbelief. There was no way that kid could've gotten there so quickly, right? However, when America opened the door, there was the same teenager from last night, looking noticeably calmer, much to everyone's relief.

"Hey, kiddo," America said. "Thanks for dropping by."

"Yeah, yeah, old man," New York said. "Can we get this over with? I got two business meetings, a dozen resumes to look over, lunch with the mayor, about twenty different other things, and then dinner with an up-and-comin' Broadway star to get to. So, let's make this quick, a'ight?"

"Sure. Everyone, this is Markus Alexander Jones, the state of New York."

"Yo, Pops, I toldja, it's just Mark these days."

Just then, there was the sound of a phone ringing. New York held up a finger to indicate everyone should be quiet as he pulled out a cellphone and began to chat heatedly with someone on the other end. In Mandarin Chinese. He must have also been saying some rather vulgar things as China looked mortified and not a little frightened. New York seemed to be getting angrier and angrier, causing the countries to slowly sink under the tables where they were seated to avoid drawing his attention. Finally, in a fit of rage, he yanked off his trademark baseball cap and threw it to the ground. This would not have drawn more than a little bit of notice, had the cap's removal not revealed that New York's dark brown hair was styled in a very familiar, spiky coiffure.

New York managed to calm down enough to end his conversation and close his phone with a sharp snap.

"Fuckin' shysters," he muttered before turning back to the countries. "Anyway, sorry I freaked you guys out yesterday. But, let it be a lesson to you, never stand between me and somethin' I want."

"York," America cautioned.

"Fine. Sorry you guys are such pussies that-"

"York, I mean it, you're not leaving until you give a real apology."

"Ugh. Okay, okay. God, you're such a klootzak."

Netherlands, who had been smoking his pipe (against meeting regulations), suddenly inhaled sharply and began coughing as he caught that last, rather crass word spoken in his own language. When he'd gotten the little fit of smoke inhalation-related breathing disruption sorted, he looked very closely at New York. At first glance, Netherlands had seen nothing in the youth's appearance that he considered familiar. However, the removal of the cap left not only the boy's hairstyle (almost exactly like Netherlands' own) visible, it made it easier to make out smaller details in the shape of his face and the sharp, stern curve of his brow that showed an unmistakable familial connection to the Netherlands.

That was when Netherlands remembered. A colony of his own that he'd dedicated so much time, effort, money, and, dare he say, a degree of affection into making only to end up losing it all to England when he could no longer afford to keep it. The all-but outright theft of his New Netherland had been one of the reasons why the Netherlands had been so quick to recognize America as an independent nation when the boy had separated from England.

"A'ight, I'm really sorry I freaked you all out," the boy repeated. "And I'm sorry I nearly threw that guy out the window." He pointed to Germany as he said that. "I'll try not to let it happen again."

"That's all I ask," said America.

"Can I go now, Pops? Time is money, after all."

Netherlands felt an unusual sensation in his chest. Was that what having pride in someone else felt like?

"Sure, sure. And keep your eye on Wall Street. Last thing we need is another stock market crash."

"For fuck's sake, Dad, now I'm not gonna sleep because you put that thought in my head!"

New York now seemed to be rather panicked and whipped out another phone, which he stared at as if it were a time bomb.

"The DOW is up. It's still up. God, no! It just dropped an eighth of a percent. Now it's up again. Still up. God damn it! Stop going down! Okay, it's stabilized."

"Run along, you neurotic, little mogul."

New York turned, picked up his discarded cap from the floor, and left the room, still staring and screaming at the stock app on his phone. America just shook his head fondly and looked back at the other nations, who seemed almost as shell-shocked as they had been the previous evening.

"Yeah, New York's always been a bit high-strung," he said. "And be thankful he was in such a good mood."

"That was a good mood, aru?" said China in disbelief.

"Of course that was a good mood. After all, the Yankees beat the Red Sox last night. If they'd lost, New York would've probably knifed a few people and set some stuff on fire."

Everyone looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. Well, not everyone. Mexico and Canada knew enough about New York so as not to be surprised. And the Netherlands seemed more contemplative than anything else, as though he was determining ways to justify homicidal tendencies in regards to a sporting event; he must have come up with something, as he nodded his head solemnly, as if silently agreeing that such a response was perfectly sensible.

"So," America said after a lengthy, awkward pause, "since you all don't seem averse to kids, I'll tell mine they can drop in now and again."

The rest of the room just stared blankly at his smiling face.

Author's Note:

Klootzak – a Dutch insult that translates as "ball sack," or scrotum, and is used in a similar fashion to "asshole" in English when applied to a person.

The Netherlands is one of America's oldest friends and allies, as a matter of historical fact. The Dutch were among the first to recognize us and the first US embassy was built in The Hague. My mother thinks the reason why the Dutch were so eager to be our friends was because they never forgave Britain for taking away New Netherland (now New York and parts of New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, and Delaware). Some of my ancestors were Dutch colonists in New Amsterdam (now New York City) and one of those ancestors even married a colonist from New Sweden.

The baseball rivalry between New York and Massachusetts is infamous, as most Americans know. I could easily see the personifications fighting over which team Daddy America will show support for (and the same can be found in any of the other states' sports rivalries); America, though, I would believe, just likes having baseball and tries his best not to favor one team or another. There's a similar situation for (American) football. Personally, I don't understand the appeal of watching organized sports, but to each his own.