A/N Well, fuck, I lied. I have to do one more disclaimer...thing.
Disclaimer: OC!Onatah/Native America belongs to ~sessystalker on deviantART. I have a link to the fanart on my profile, so if anyone who wants to get a better insight on Native America can see it for themselves d:
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Prompt 11: "Native America, Part I"
Minnesota saw her one day while France was out with Canada – he couldn't understand why her eyes were wet and why she was painted red, but he knew deep down that it was the white man that had done this to his mama.
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Minnesota sat with his legs criss-crossed on the rubbery grass, a bored look surfacing on his face. He folded his thin arms and leaned against the pine tree behind him. Canada sat directly across from his brother and was playing with Kumajirou—for once, the polar bear hadn't forgotten who the thriving nation was and happily consented with the pre-adolescent caramel blond's hand running through his clear fur. The two were supposed to be cramming time to be together because France had planned another trip back to Canada's house for the third time in a row – this time, Mathieu was asked to come along and he was overjoyed at the thought of going back home for a little while.
That decision, as Minnesota soon learned, completely left out the little French territory. He was going to be home alone—not the type of loneliness where he had a barely noticeable Canadian to talk to when he was bored out of his mind, it was the loneliness where he literally had no one or thing to converse with. And, he didn't want to sound like a whiny brat but, the growing boy was a little afraid.
Yes, he was left behind by France and Canada before, but that didn't make the situation at hand any better. In fact, as his adoptive family packed a few of their belongings and left for days to weeks at a time, Minnesota was frightened with each of their recent trips. He had a theory – one that seemed so outrageous and disputable, but it haunted his conscience each night. He felt like France and Canada were preparing him to adjusting to life without them—as though they were going to pack their things one day and never come back. The thought alone was enough to scare Minnesota out of his wits and he desperately wanted to hold them close, just so they wouldn't leave him alone.
Yet, here he was, sitting across from his Canadian brother, sending him daggers for choosing to spend time with that God damn beast for a pet instead of a living human. The duo were supposed to be spending the first half of this blistering hot June (or Juin, as France affectionately said) day together. France told them to get all of their activities done before the sun reached its highest peak in the sky because that's when the two blonds were going to leave. And, judging by how dangerously close the older blond nation was with his arms wide open, it was that time to bid a temporary farewell to his family.
The goodbyes were always right to the point; France always tried to bring up his boys that there was never a 'true' goodbye, but more of a 'See you later' type of departure. Despite the mixed emotions that fluttered in his tummy, today's farewell was no different. "Mathieu! Come along now, we have to get going if we want to remain on schedule~" The blond stopped just a few feet short of his two silent sons and motioned for his oldest to stand, who obeyed without protest. The Frenchman then laid his eyes on his youngest, the latter of whom remained on the ground. "Minnesota~" France purred, "can I get a farewell embrace, mon fils?"
France vainly tried to hoist the expanding territory in his arms, but a few factors kicked in on why he couldn't. First off, Minnesota's fist collided with the Frenchman's cheek—he'd forgotten that the boy had a particular circle of personal space and would get vehemently physical if the circle was penetrated. Next, Minnesota was getting too big to hold up, as remembered when France had just yesterday tried picking up the boy, only to have his knees buckling and collapsing underneath him moments afterward. And lastly – Francis denied this numerous times, but it was still an unfortunate possibility – his body was getting too old to continually toss around his son and catch him.
Instead, he opted to pet his boy's hair after standing up from the blow to his face. "M-Mattie, bid 'Adieu' to your little brother," he stated coarsely. Canada stood next to France in an awkward stance, not really sure what to say to keep the conversation going. Minnesota got the gist of what his brother felt like, so he shrugged it off and gave the Canadian a nod. Twiddling his thumbs nervously, Canada repeated his sibling's action before wrapping his arms around a sleepy Kumajirou and cradling the bear in his arms.
"Au revoir, Minnie," he whispered softly. France offered his hand to the shy Canadian, who took it hesitantly, and the two walked away on a beaten-up trail. Minnesota watched in indifference as the men were off. A few moments of standing directly below the scorching hot sun, the boy sunk to the ground and crawled underneath his tree.
All alone.
-.-
A few hours lingered by leisurely, reminding Minnesota that he had to go back inside France's large house soon. He spent his time outside for the remainder of the day, waiting until the sky became a mesh of several soft colors and the air cooled down considerably to stand up and stretch. He was barefoot—it was only naturally of him to be so on such an arid day. Hell, if he could, his shirt would've been discarded along with the ugly black boots that were popular for about a week in France, but he choose to keep it on. The shirt, his father figure said one day, was made out of the finest Chinese silk that was to offer, and he knew how crushed Francis would be if it was discovered on the dirty ground.
Looking towards the direction of the palatial mansion, Minnesota's eyes narrowed. He wasn't ready to go in there just yet, and with no one to bother him, he could go out far into the wilderness and spend time reliving his roots. A smile curved on his lips – 'Oui, that's what I'll do,' he thought lamely to himself and turned away from his home. Brushing off his long braid on his shoulder, the territory sauntered into the dark brush that was on his right.
Screw what he thought earlier—this was freedom from France! How could he have worried over something as trivial as his adoptive dad and brother leaving him? Even if they butted heads from time to time, they were a family and stuck by each other through thick and thin. Minnesota just had to think of this as a break from his faux family and have real fun with his other family, the family Mother Nature provided year-round. With each step came a faster pace, and as his pace became swifter, the colony began to laugh. Not the smug, maniacal laughter that he bellowed out in front of Francis and Mattie, but a genuine snicker.
It was absolutely liberating racing through the unfamiliar areas of this thick forest. Even though Minnesota hadn't lived out in the wild for so long, he could still leap over huge rocks and fallen tree limbs as though he were flying like an eagle. He could crawl underneath spaces that appeared to only fit his head and used the soles of his bare feet to slide down grassy hills as though he were skating. Remnants of the fireball in the sky were still shining gently when he finally reached a dead end – a glistening lake in his northern land.
With the sky beginning to fade away into an inky night, the sun resisted the urge to set and instead, its scarlet beams bounced off the sloshing waves of the hidden oasis. Minnesota, not wanting to perturb the beautiful sight with his abrasiveness, slightly rested his back against a dead pine tree and stared in awe at the fragile beauty of this rare moment in nature. The lake was shimmering ruby shards of liquid and the waves rolled delicately to the shore before pulling back. This motion became repetitive, but he didn't care. He just basked in the warm feeling the sight gave him in his stomach.
It was at that moment he saw her. She sat far off to the side, hunched over and hugging her knees to her chest while her feet were dipped in the moist sand. Her head had to have been resting on her limbs, for it was rolled forward and her ravenous tresses, though stained with mud and pebbles, completely hid her face from view. Very, very quietly, Minnesota tiptoed in the direction of this mysterious lady and came up behind her. Reluctantly, he extended a hand to the woman and gently tapped her bare shoulder, revealing his position.
When she withdrew her face from the confines of her bony arms, a look of shock, horror, and recognition twisted on Minnesota's face at the sight of the woman. It was the one who had birthed him so long ago, the one that loved him unconditionally despite the time they had apart, the one he called his mother. It was Maamaa Onatah(1), the personification of Native America.
Minnesota was overcome with a horrid realization and he fell backward, landing onto the smooth sandy beach and hard on his bottom. She wasn't anything like the Native America he remembered—his maamaa was a strong nation, and was indubitably cunning. She could flex herself out of a terrible situation with a bat of an eye and a whisper of love and lies. So powerful Native America was, he remembered her being, that she was the admirable heroine of his life. And now, she had been reduced to this... this weeping stranger.
Her buckskin clothing had been stripped off her body a long time ago, he mused, when he noticed that she was nude. Her sticky hair hid her breasts and her nether regions, though she made sure her arms were crossed to keep her little boy from peeking at her scarred body. Her lips were bruised and bloody and she lapped away the excess crimson fluid to keep her mouth from getting dry. And, as Minnesota lay on the sand, motionless, he could see in her misty, auburn ashy eyes a look of irrepressible fright and anguish. It was that exact look that sent Minnesota in a tizzy because, in that split second, he was thoroughly convinced that this woman wasn't his mother.
Onatah could see her boy fall to the ground, even through her blurry vision, and she forced her body around to help up the binoojing. "Mnisota!" she whimpered as she weakly crawled over to him. Hearing her plea, the brunette sat up quickly and gave his mother a bewildered stare. Had this weary woman really have been his mama? "M-Mnisota? Oh, miigwech Great Spirit~ Negoosis, are you all right?" She yanked his wrist and forced him into a tight embrace with the quivering woman – almost instantly, Onatah sniffled in his head as she rocked back and forth, still holding him close to her heaving chest.
Resting the side of his head over her heart, Minnesota could feel the vital organ pulsing erratically and he squeezed his mother good and tight, trying to comfort her with the fact that she now held someone who wasn't so foreign to her. Nuzzling his nose into her breast, the Native boy felt a thin fluid running across his lips and, curious as he was in the midst of the willowy hug, he opened his mouth slightly and tasted something that was terribly bitter and copper. He made a face in her chest and tried to wipe away the sour liquid off of his face.
After gently shoving his mama away, Minnesota examined her bare body by brushing away Onatah's hair and he was stunned at the sight of an oozing wound on the crook of her neck. Tears were spilling down his mother's cheeks and she looked away from her son's gaze, ashamed of what he saw. "Negoosis, look away. Your pure, undefiled eyes should not have to see such an unearthly sight." His eyes traveled up to his mother's, and his heart clenched when he saw the clear drops of tears brimming at the corners of her orbs before they fell, making a trail down her chin and into her neck. He slowly brought his hands up to her cheeks and he wiped them away with his rough fingertips, only to make way for another trail of tears to slide down her reddened cheeks.
"Maamaa, don't cry, s'il vous plait? It hurts me to see you like this..." His softened eyes and the inadvertent use of a foreign word forced her to smile sadly and she ran a tired hand through his thick locks, finally calming down after a bit of weeping. Native America sighed deeply and she gently coaxed her son into letting go of her warm face. She tenderly brushed her hand against the wound on her neck, wincing as she did so, before running a hand through her own messy hair.
"... Mnisota," Onatah breathed affectionately, "please, do not worry about your old mother. These tears I weep—they're for my- gaawiin, our people. These tears," she guided his hand over the moist trail on her face, "are not falling because I am sad—they fall for the ones that are hurting and dying." Minnesota's hand trembled in hers and he gave a scared look. Gently pecking him on one of his chubby cheeks, his concerns were soothed for a moment. She then turned his body around and weakly pushed him towards the brush. "Mnisota, go, please—and never come back until you're ready."
Until I'm ready? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Minnesota wanted to cry out, but Native America pushed him further out into the brush. "W-wait, Maamaa-" But it was too late for questions – she'd shooed him far enough that he was quickly surrounded by the dark shadows of trees and bushes. He whipped around in a full circle, only to see more and more brush blocking his view from that beautiful red lake and his wounded mother. "What do ya mean 'until I'm ready'? Where'd ya go? Maamaa? Maamaa! MAAMAA!"
-.-
Minnesota could feel himself being swept off of his bed and into someone's oddly comforting tepid arms. He, with his eyes still tightly shut, struck the person in the chest repeatedly, thinking it was a stranger that was trying to take him away. "Shh, Clotaire, it's only Francis..." The man's gentle purring voice sang through the boy's ears and Minnesota felt his stomach tighten from the guilt when he opened his eyes to confirm that it was, indeed, France consoling the boy. Latching onto the silky fabric of the Frenchman's nightshirt, Minnesota's wails were muffled as the image of Onatah was glued into his mind.
France rocked the boy soothingly, trying to alleviate his son's crying with whispered words of incoherency. When that wasn't doing anything – perhaps even making things worse – the blond sighed and cradled the boy closer. He began to murmur a sweet French lullaby in the binoojing's ear and rubbed his back softly. "Tout le monde est sage~ Dans le voisinage... Il est l'heure d'aller dormir, le sommeil va bientôt venir...(2)" Minnesota's body, though still quivering violently, began to relax in the man's arms and France grinned sleepily at the feeling. "Mon fils, it was nothing more than a dream, a demented delusion. There's nothing to be afraid of, I'll always be here for you~" he mumbled faintly. The boy's choked sobs resounded in the darkened room as he nervously wriggled in the blond's arms. Seeing how daunted his territory was, France laced his fingers through Minnesota's ravenous locks, much like the way Onatah did in his dream.
"Mon fils, would you like to talk about it?" the blond inquired lightly. Setting the boy back in his warm bed, the frog continued to stroke the personification's hair. Minnesota jerked his head away from France and vigorously rubbed his eyes. The memory of his mother in such a state was still fresh in his mind, even if it had been a dream. "Minnesota?" Avoiding eye contact with the older nation, Minnesota turned his body around to face the other side of the room, salty tears still streaming down his face as the words Native America said had, at last, processed fully in his mind. He pulled his legs close to his chest and his half-lidded mocha eyes glanced up at the vigilant Frenchman's eyes.
"... I'll talk when I feel ready," he merely stated before dozing off into a dreamless void.
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1 – Ojibwe and Iroquois for "Mama Onatah" (I'm not exaggerating the 'ah' sound for the Chippewa spelling of 'mama,' they really do put in two A's for the word. As for those who oddly don't wish to see OC!Native America or didn't read sessystalker's comments on her artwork, "Onatah" is Iroquois for "child of the earth")
2 – This is the final verse in the French lullaby "Dodo, l'enfant do" (English: Sleepy Time, The Young One Sleeps) In order, the English lyrics are:
Everyone is calm
All around
It's time for all to sleep
Sleep will come soon
A/N I failed at making this seem like a "Did it or didn't it happen?" type of oneshot xD I guess not everyone can pull off the "Inception" sequences quite like...Inception lol Oh yeah, when Native America was crying, it references the Trail of Tears, the movement of Native American nations which is described today as an act of genocide, as thousands of Native Americans died en route to the relocated reservations and such.