This is just a little plot bunny that's been growing in my head for the past year or so, ever since I published the story Divided He Falls. This story, And They Never Knew, is a sort-of sequel to it (It's not canon to this story, but reading it would give you a better idea as to what inspired this one), and I'm fairly excited to share my ideas with the world. I'm honestly not sure how long this will be, or even if I will finish it, but I figured that I might as well start publishing it so I'll be motivated in my writing and y'all can read it.
I usually don't write OC stories, but in this case I thought it necessary.I hope you like the characters I've made for this. Plus, Molossia and Lithuania need more love, haha. And hopefully Prussia's presence make this awesome.
Anyways, thank you for reading And They Never Knew. Apologies in advance for any typos.
Warnings: Major Character Death, Suicide, References to Depression, References to Child Abuse, and Molossia Being A Jerk
Chapter 1:
Walter Kennedy O'Brien, Secretary of the United States Department of Domestic and International Liaisons, had seen a lot in his life. Not only that, but he expected to see a lot more before he decided that it would be time for him to retire. After all, his entire career had been dedicated to protecting (but mostly getting out of trouble) the personification of his country, that being one Alfred F. Jones.
His story of discovering the existence of personifications had been rather unique, yet not. In his early years, sure, he'd been gunning to be a homicide investigator, detective, or another similar position. Young and ambitious, he'd wanted to work his way up all the way to the position as secretary and serve his country in the best way he knew how.
Of course, things hadn't really turned out that way.
When he'd gone to George Washington University, a naive freshman right out of high school, he'd ended up having an English class with a blond-haired kid, who'd back then been around his age. They'd been partnered on a research project together, and that was when Walter had learned the man's name.
Alfred F. Jones was… odd. Even now, almost fifteen years later, that was the only way Walter could think to describe him. When he'd finally figured out that Jones wasn't a normal human, it hadn't even been as much of a shock as it should have been. He'd confronted Jones about it before class, to which the young man had simply laughed it off and told him to pay attention to their professor. That night the FBI cornered him walking back to his dorm and carted him off, spewing something about "national security" and the like.
If he was completely honest, Walter had been expecting to "disappear" and never be heard from again. He certainly didn't expect Jones to saunter into his holding cell and offer him a job.
The DDIL, as it was abbreviated, was known to outsiders as a dead-end job, and hired employees in similar manners to the way Walter had been. What the rest of the world didn't know was that their secretary sat in the Presidential Cabinet and was just as influential as the Secretary of State or Defense. Once deemed trustworthy, Walter was "convinced" to drop out of college, informed of the existence of nations, and hired by the department.
Any reservations he had about the arrangement had almost no time to fester, however, for any department whose job was to manage a personification was a difficult and busy one. Not even taking into account Alfred himself, there were economics to study, security to fill, planning for World Meetings, worldwide travel, and foreign politics with the other nations to take care of, sometimes all in the same day. The reach of the DDIL went far into every other department, and Walter soon found himself rising rapidly through the ranks. After getting roped into helping Alfred save Maria, the personification of Mexico, when she was kidnapped by terrorists (now that was a long story) and the 2016 presidential election, he found himself as Secretary at 34, the youngest in the Cabinet by over a decade.
It had been a busy life, but also one of friendship and hard work, one that let a person knew that they were really doing something to help the world. And after it all, Alfred, though a bit obnoxious, happy-go-lucky, and stupid, had become a good friend.
So when Walter found his charge lying at the base of a building, paramedics surrounding him and desperately trying to revive him when it was startling clear that he was dead, it came like a punch to the gut.
It had been a day like any other. Well, not really. The Fourth of July and the week-long World Summit had happened to coincide, and any member of the White House could tell you that was a recipe for disaster. Walter had been running back and forth, from one task to the next, with the rest of his department, anxious to make sure the first World Meeting of his career was a success. He'd hardly even seen Alfred, save for in passing, for the past two weeks. When he'd gotten a call from the nation's phone, he certainly hadn't been expecting the speaker to be a terrified janitor muttering that the owner of the phone had just jumped off a ten-story building. Walter had come as soon as possible.
But he was still too late.
Now, the July sun beat heavily on the back of his neck as he pushed his way through a crowd of morbidly curious civilians. He watched the paramedics announce the time of death. He numbly directed his department as they came onto the scene, securing the area, putting Alfred on a stretcher, and waiting for him to inevitably wake up.
They wait a week. He never wakes up.
The evening after they decide to declare Alfred F. Jones as permanently dead, Walter cries for a long while.
Jason Baugh, or the Micronation of Molossia, as he was more commonly known, was known to have had a complicated relationship with the United States of America.
When he had been born, back in 'ye olden days' of 1962, it had been America who had found him and raised him. His childhood had been rather normal, if secluded from public life and devoid of his father figure (if one could even refer to Alfred as that) more often than not. By the time he had reached adulthood in the 90's, their relationship had frayed quite a bit, though not to the point of anger. In his youth, Molossia hadn't understood why Alfred wouldn't come by very often, though by adulthood he had figured out that the man simply hadn't known how to go about raising a child.
It was disappointing, if he was honest, but Jason had long since gotten over it. After all, Alfred was only 19 biologically, and still a child himself when held to many of the other nations' standards. Of course he didn't know what to do with a kid. If he was completely honest, Jason would've just run off instead of taking the opportunity to raise a child. So even as their relationship cooled, Jason was sure to remain cordial to Alfred.
By the turn of the millenia, Jason had taken to trying to avoid Alfred. Though he'd never admit it, through the years, Alfred had started to grow a bit… intimidating. The man was a child prodigy, and was everything Jason wasn't: social, likeable, smart, and most importantly, powerful. How was he ever supposed to measure up to it, much less make his own life in the shadow of the world's greatest superpower?
When Sealand had gone around making that little micronation group of his, Molossia had reluctantly joined, if only for the social experience. He'd hardly ever interacted with other people his age, much less other nations, and the change was a welcome one, if really, really annoying at times. But he seemed to have found his place in the world, and for that, he was happy.
And then that place was ripped out from under his feet and left him reeling in an eternal freefall.
It had started during a run-of-the mill World Summit. Jason hadn't been in attendance, of course, but he'd been in town the help the DDIL (of whose jurisdiction he also fell into) get ready for Alfred's birthday party, of which, as usual, the entire world was invited to attend. With Wy and Sealand arriving on the second, Ladonia and Kugelmugel on the third, and finally Seborga the morning of the fourth, the group of friends were all ready to party the night away.
Then Alfred never showed up.
At first they'd assumed he was only running late or had bumped into Canada and France, who had forgotten some of their things at the meeting place and were running late as well. When the aforementioned nations arrived without having seen head or tail of the man, the jovial atmosphere soon began to fade into one of worry. Like everyone else who tried, Jason attempted to call Alfred but was only met with voicemail. When no more news came and with no host to officially start the party, the attendees began to trickle away as fireworks erupted into the nighttime sky.
Two hours without America, and England had started talking about going to look for him. Two and a half and the DDIL called Molossia, apologising for the delay and telling him to inform the others that Alfred had been called in for an emergency meeting and had to leave for the next few days.
The World Summit proceeded for the rest of the week, curiously absent of the world's superpower. Molossia spent it standing in for the United States, taking meticulous notes, trying to remain in the background even as everyone else subtly watched him, and unable to answer anyone's questions. The DDIL and Secretary O'Brien were frighteningly silent, and the few agents Jason could get ahold of were just as clueless as he was.
On the twelfth, three days after the meetings had ended and the nations had returned to their respective countries, Secretary O'Brien sat Jason down and told him that the personification of Molossia would now be taking over duties as personification of the United States of America.
Alfred F. Jones was dead, and he wasn't coming back.
Rebecca Jones' life had been, quite honestly, rather unremarkable. Fulfilling, but unremarkable.
She was born on October 19, 1822, somewhere in the area of San Francisco. Her father, Alfred F. Jones, had found her as a baby, and had raised her as his own. She had an older brother, Thomas, and later a younger brother, Joseph, both adopted nations themselves.
Alfred had been an amazing father, and Rebecca couldn't have wished for a better childhood. They had to move every few months, being nations and all, but her Pa had always held her when she felt lonely, and wiped her tears away when Thomas was a bit too rough with her. First, they'd lived in and around San Francisco. Then it was Texas, then Baja California, Ohio, and in 1832 they'd moved to Missouri, where they'd found Joseph. Thomas and her had always been close, often wrestling and running amok in the wild. They shared the same love for the wild, adventure and unknown.
She and Joseph… not so much. Joseph as a person was fine, but he had always been a sickly, if hardy, child, and rarely left the house. He was a daddy's boy, being desperately attached to their Pa, and always had his nose stuck in one book or another. He hated large crowds, easily bruised, and was frail and small. Rebecca and Thomas had looked down on the youngest of their family, thinking him silly.
Things continued in this fashion until Rebecca was biologically 10 and physically 8, in the spring of 1834. Thomas, for lack of a better term, grew up.
They'd been in Minnesota at the time. Soon after they'd arrived, her brother had become dreadfully sick, at one point sustaining a terrible wound to the leg without explanation, terrifying their father. But by the end of the year it had passed, and as they took a wagon out to Indiana, he underwent a growth spurt that aged him from 13 to 17 almost overnight.
The change hadn't been very welcome. Rebecca found that she and Thomas couldn't play much anymore, as her older brother was much too strong and unfamiliar with his body to be of much fun. Alfred in particular had been particularly perturbed, often staying up late writing letters to unknown recipients, muttering about independence and how Mexico needed to keep her territory. What territory he was talking about, Rebecca hadn't the faintest idea, but she had a feeling that Thomas knew more than he was letting on.
After their brief stint in Indiana, Alfred moved them east to Vermont, then left for a time, leaving Thomas in charge. For nine months, they only received the occasional letter from him, and even Thomas eventually admitted to having had no idea where their father was. 1836 passed quietly with only another bought of sickness in Joseph that had, by that time, become routine.
Their father returned in the spring, and brought with him little trinkets and gifts from D.C., Charleston, and Houston as an apology. Once spring came in full force, he announced with a grin that they were going to "try and get away from things" (Rebecca had little idea what those "things" were, but knew better at that point than to ask). The next month they were on a ship sailing for London.
The first part of the trip had been tense, for lack of a better term. As soon as they had arrived Alfred had dyed his hair brown, slicked it back, and kept them well away from the metropolitan area, government buildings, and officials. He'd been on edge for the week they stayed in Great Britain, mumbling to himself about "Tories" and "getting caught." Only once were they on the ship set for Stettin, Prussia, did he relax.
It turned out that Alfred had a friend in Prussia, with whom they were staying. Or, rather, his friend was Prussia. Gilbert Beilschmidt was a loud, vibrant man, the first non-familial personification Rebecca met, with a younger brother of his own, a six-year-old boy named Ludwig. They were welcomed warmly, if very quietly, in Berlin, where they stayed for the next three years, the longest the family had ever stayed in one place.
Thomas and Gilbert got along great, and soon were very good friends. Gilbert had taken to teaching the eldest Jones child the ways of strategy and war, and Thomas learned German with only a little difficulty (Rebecca never could get the hang of the language). Ludwig, just a year younger than Joseph, certainly wasn't any fun at all, and as he and Joseph grew close, Rebecca found herself increasingly feeling left out. The ways of the Prussian court was too stuffy and polite for her taste, and she was expected to behave like a young lady that she increasingly came to detest.
Eventually, however, their stay came to an end. In the fall of 1840 they left Berlin and sailed back home to New York, where Thomas, now physically 19, attended Washington College for a couple years. Then it was on to West Point so Thomas could get the military education he had been vying for ever he'd met Gilbert. After he graduated, he and Alfred had had a huge argument over whether or not he could enlist in the army, of which the patriarch of the Jones clan eventually won, and they moved out to Missouri, much to Thomas' horror and Joseph's delight.
It was probably for the best that Thomas didn't move on to join the military, for as 1845 shifted to 1846, his health abruptly began to fail him. Alfred soon began to worry, and they hurriedly packed up and began the walk to New York City so he could get the best doctors to help heal his son. They never made it.
On February 19, 1846, Thomas died in his sleep, just a day out from New York.
The death was a shock to Rebecca, now 14, who had still idolized her brother despite their age difference. Joseph, now nine, cried for weeks. Alfred was destroyed and didn't respond to his remaining children's pleas that they needed to be taken care of.
They buried Thomas in a graveyard near Edison, and stayed there for just over six months. Near the end of their stay, Gilbert arrived on a ship, having dropped everything, including his life in Prussia and his younger brother, to help them out over the next couple years.
They eventually set sail for California. In 1848, Alfred set them up in a small cabin he and Gilbert built with their own hands, far enough away from society to have a clear head and be alone, but not so far out that they weren't on the dangerous frontier. With the Gold Rush just beginning, Gilbert and Alfred made money selling food and supplies while Rebecca and Joseph tended to a small garden.
There was a space empty in their lives now, and her Uncle Gilbert could never fill Thomas' place, but their lives fell into a simple contentment.
Then, as 1850 approached, she, too, began to feel weak.
Rebecca knew she was dying. At first, she didn't say anything, and simply spent more time in bed. She put off telling her family in fear that Alfred would truly break with the loss of a second child. Eventually, though, when the truth did come forwards, Alfred only reacted with a sad resignation, and told her he loved her with all his heart.
As the year progressed, Rebecca found herself accepting her lot in life. A failed nation, a might-have-been, destined to fade in the memory of even her own citizens. And that was okay. She was the daughter of a wonderful man, who take care of her citizens on she was gone, and had two awesome brothers, even if Joseph was a bit of a wimp. Gilbert, too, was like the uncle she'd never had, and few people could boast to having met the personification of a European power.
And so, on September 9, 1850, Rebecca Felicity Jones, the Republic of California, died peacefully, with a smile on her face.
Then, on July 4, 2018, she woke up.