Ah-ha ha ha, another kink meme fill de-anon. In this case, the prompt was "State-tan's feelings on their father, America." Being the product of a long line of Texans, I just had to use him.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything involved in Hetalia. If I claimed to own Tex, he would probably shoot me.
There was a pop and a crackled as the camera whirred on. For a moment, the screen was dark. Within seconds, the image became clear.
A small, ordinary dining room. The table directly in front of the camera was empty, lacking even a cloth or placemat. On the other side sat a teenage boy, around sixteen, seventeen years of age, with dark hair and eyes and skin bronzed by the sun. He wore a denim jacket and a well-worn shirt and looked like he'd just walked in from the cattle yard and wasn't exactly thrilled about it.
He shifted in his seat, tugging at the cord that held the faded black Stetson to the back of his neck. "So, uh, why're we doin' this again?"
"It's a father's day present," said a female voice from behind the camera, pleasant and motherly. "I thought it might be a nice for America to hear how much he means to his children."
The teen chuckled awkwardly, pushing the rectangular glasses up to the bridge of his nose. "Look, Mrs. Obama, you're a nice lady and I'm sure you mean well, but I'm not sure a 'video testimonial' is really the way to go. Besides, Al ain't even my father."
"Oh? I was told America gave birth to all of the states."
"All of 'em but me, Vermont an' Hawaii. We're adopted."
"I didn't know that," the first lady said, taking on the tone of an inquisitive journalist. "So…who was your birth father?"
"France or Spain, I think," the teen shrugged. "Not that either of 'em are gonna own up to that, mind you. 'Supose it doesn't really matter. Big Sis is the one who raised me, after all."
"You mean Mexico?"
"That's her," he chuckled, nodding to the wall, where a small, old portrait of a simple but elegant girl with wavy black hair. "I used to trail around hanging onto the end of her skirt like them proverbial apron strings. I was just a squirt, mind yeh."
He smiled, his eyes glazing over as he thought back to the old days. He had something of a goofy grin on his face, twisting a bit of his ponytail – long, smooth and vaguely French – around his index finger. He tugged at the cord of his hat, pulling it around a few inches with every twist of his hand.
"We spent about a hundred years like that, 'til Sis got tired of Spain trying to tell us what to do all the time. She took about ten years wigglin' herself free, yeh know. Her lot ain't as organized as she would've liked. When she moved out for good, she took me with her, but she got so tied up keeping her folks together that she didn't have a lot of time to spend with a munchkin, so I kinda got left out on my own a lot."
"Is that when you met America?"
"Sure was. 'Bout 1820."
"And what did you think of him?"
The teen fell quiet, gazing past his glasses at the hat that now rested on his shoulder. "Texas…?"
The young boy twisted around, surprised at the voice, and gazed up at the grinning blond stranger. The man pushed a new felt hat back far enough to reveal his eye as blue as the western sky. "Woah, wasn't expecting to find a kid all the way out here. Guess you must be one of Mexico's. This your land?"
"Ah…" the boy, whose name at that time was Coahuila y Tejas, blinked. "Are…Are you talking to me?"
"Y-You're really talking to me?"
"Of course I am!" the man, America, laughed, patting the kid on the head affectionately. "Hey, I've got some people moving out here. Contract with Mexico and everything. Gotta stretch my legs a bit, you know? So if this is your place, I guess that makes them your people too. Take good care of them, okay?"
Tejas ducked his head under the pressure of the man's hand, gazing up at him uncertainly. America looked thoughtful, rubbing his chin. "You know, though, your head's going to get all burnt and blistered running around in this sun…"
He hummed to himself, pulling his hand away from the child's head to loosen the cord to his hat. "Here you go!" he announced, pushing the hat on Tejas's head with a grin that was, if possible, even larger than the one that came before. "It suits you."
"I…well, I kinda got passed around a lot when I was a kid. Nobody really bothered with my neck of the woods. But when the Old Three Hundred moved in, I finally had somebody to talk to. It was…nice."
"How sweet," said the First Lady with a smile. "What happened then?"
"I guess Al and I got too cozy," Texas shrugged. "It started making Big Sis nervous. She tried everything she could to rein me back in, including kicking some of the Americans out. But when she locked old Austin up, well, that was the last straw. I had to fight back."
"…It was pretty bad."
For Palm Sunday, the night was exceptionally dark, mostly because of the rain. He scrambled through the muddy streets, barely able to remain standing. When he reached the lonely house, secluded away from the rest of the world, he lurched up the path and threw himself at the front door.
"America!" he shouted, pounding on the door with both hands. "America, America, open up, please!"
"Texas?" came a voice from inside, accompanied by the noise of a lock rattling open. "I haven't heard from you in months. What's...wrong…?"
America's words trailed away as he opened the door. His eyes widened, and his expression melted away with horror. "Oh my god."
Texas could barely stand, sagging against the side of the house. His shirt was missing three buttons, exposing the still-raw bullet wound that was burnt into his left breast. An identical wound – almost an exit wound, only it was fresh, barely hours old – mirrored it on his back, dripping blood on the front step.
"Help…me…" the younger teen groaned, and collapsed into his neighbor's arms.
"The Alamo hit me pretty hard. We lost a lot of good men there. Heroes all," Texas said reverently, as though he were intoning an ancient prayer. "Then Goliad…I got shot in the back with that one. Just like all them poor souls."
His interviewer was quiet for a moment, giving him a chance to revisit his lost before she prodded him on. "And America?"
"He patched me up real good, talked me down, took me home," Texas said, and smiled. "When I went off to San Jacinto a month later, he came along. Heh. The look on Sis's face when we nailed those bastards was pretty priceless. She realized I had America on my side even after everything she'd tried, and, well. That was the end of that."
"You were independent for a while then, weren't you?"
"Sure was," the teen's grin spread, and he thumbed his nose. "The Republic of Texas, the Lone Star Republic. And I tell you, after a hundred and fifty years of living under somebody else's thumb, the freedom felt damn good."
His confidence faded a bit as he sobered up, his gaze becoming distant again. "Still…it was awful rough. We didn't know nothing about the oil back then, see, so I didn't have a lot of resources to go around. Not to mention, I was up to my neck in debt, and none of those high-and-mighty European bigwigs saw fit to acknowledge me, and Mexico was still breathing down my neck at every turn. I tell you, I don't think I would've made it if it hadn't been for ol' Al.
"I guess you could say the annexation was pretty much inevitable."
"That's when your father adopted you."
"I already told you, ma'am, Al ain't my father."
"Sorry. So, how have things been between you since that time?"
"I don't know what you want me to say," Texas sighed, rolling his shoulders and sitting up straight in his chair. "It's been over a hundred and fifty years, you know. Half my life, and I've lived a damn long life. We've had our ups and downs, good times and bad – if you wanna hear how bad, well, just bring up the 1860s next time you're talking to South Carolina."
He tugged the hat off over his head and held it in his hands like a treasure. It had faded over the years, mostly from exposure to the sun, but it had been well taken care of. He fingered the felt edges, smiling secretly to himself with a sigh.
"America, he…he can be a real bastard sometimes," he chuckled. "But yeh know, so can I. Important thing is that we do what we can to stick it out together, no matter what. And as much as I hate to say it, I…I really love the guy. I really do."
Blushing, Texas shoved the hat back onto his head and pulled it down almost over his eyes. "Keep it between us, okay? You, me and Al. If California ever finds out I said that…"
The First Lady chuckled behind her camera. "My lips are sealed."
"Good," Texas pushed up his hat and glanced her way awkwardly. "So are we done here?"
"Just one more question."
"Why, after everything you two have been through, and even after he adopted you, do you keep insisting that America isn't your father?"
Texas rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, it's kinda complicated…"
Behind him, the kitchen door cracked open, and a voice called. "Hey, Papa!"
A cute girl with long, wavy black hair stuck her head into the room. She was about twelve years old, wearing a white dress and glaring at Texas with the determination that only a child can muster against their parents.
"Are you gonna talk in here all day or what?" she demanded. "You said you'd help me sort out these budget reforms!"
"Sorry Mexie," Texas said apologetically, nodding to the First Lady and her camera. "We're almost done here. Give me a minute and I'll be right there."
"Si, I promise."
She disappeared. Texas sighed and turned back to the camera. Its operator was significantly confused. "Wait, was…was that New Mexico?"
"Yup. Looks just like my sis, don't she?"
"She called you Papa."
"That's 'cause I am her Papa."
"But I thought you said America was the father of all the states except you and…"
Texas shifted in his seat. "He is."
The teen dropped his head down to stare at the table, pulling his hat down in an attempt to hide his raging blush. The first lady gaped at him a moment, but all she could manage was another, mind-numbing, "Oh."
"I think we're done now," muttered Texas, who was now as red as one of his chili peppers.
"Yes. Yes, I agree. Thank you."
And she turned off the camera.
Quick Notes: Lots of Texas history in here, which I'm sure you can look up on Wikipedia easily enough, since that's where I refreshed my memory. About New Mexico, though…well, half of the land that makes up New Mexico was sold to the Federal Government by Texas to cover their war debts, and the other half was claimed from Mexico after the Mexican-American war, which was one huge border dispute about where the soon-to-be-annexed Republic of Texas ended and Mexico began. So I figured it made as much sense for Tex to be her 'Papa' as anybody else. Hope nobody takes offense to that.