Davie wiped the sweat off his brow as the summer sun beat down upon him. It was getting to be the hot part of the day, which meant that his mother would want him home soon. He sighed. Another day searching for something to occupy his time had passed, and Davie was still just as bored as ever.
Out of the dozen or so families that made up his "town", not a single one had a single child to play with. Well, no one worth playing with anyway. The older ones were too busy working and the younger ones were too little to do anything fun. The only other kid his age was dumb Sarah Sullivan, who made faces at him in church. Besides, she was a girl, so they weren't supposed to play together anyway. Davie tried to distract himself from his loneliness through a number of pointless activities including, as of today, trying to find all of the wildflowers pictured in one of his father's books. His mother had chuckled when he told her his plan saying that it was much too late in the year to find wildflowers, that they had all died months ago. Davie huffed when he heard that, and assured her that he could do it.
So far, he couldn't do it. He groaned at the thought of walking in empty-handed, but the sweltering heat won out and he began sauntering back home. Davie didn't get far before he heard a voice in the distance. It was saying something he couldn't quite make out, but he immediately recognized it as that of a child. His spirits immediately lifted as he followed the sound.
Soon, he came across a clearing. Sitting in the middle of the grass talking animatedly to a small rabbit was a little blonde boy. He looked to be just a few years younger than Davie.
"Hey!" Davie shouted out, giddy with excitement. The boy jumped a little and turns around, clearly startled by the sudden noise. Davie ran up to him, paying little attention to his fearful expression.
"I'm Davie!" he introduced himself, "What's your name?"
The boy blinked. "They call me America," he replied shyly.
"America?" Davie's face scrunched in confusion. "That's a funny name."
The boy, America, narrowed his eyes.
"Woah, hey! Don't get upset! I'm sorry. Your name isn't funny." Davie wracked his brain to think of a way to change the subject.
"Are you new here?" he asked.
America shrugged. "Kind of. I haven't been here in a while. We moved from up north."
"Wow, that's great! I was the only kid here for a long time and it wasn't very fun. It's boring playing by yourself all of the time." America nodded in agreement. "Hey, speaking of which, you wouldn't have happened to see any wildflowers nearby, would you?"
"No,' he replied with a shake of his head, "It's too late for wildflowers."
Davie crossed his arms. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"
"Why are you looking for wildflowers?"
"I'm trying to find every plant in this big book we have at home. So far, I haven't had any luck." Davie frowned for a moment before lighting up again. "Hey, do you want to help me?"
For the first time since they started talking, America grinned.
As the two made their way back to Davie's house, they talked about themselves. Davie told America all about his family and daily life. America quietly listened to it all, a small smile on his face. Finally, when Davie ran out of things to say, he turned to his companion with interest.
"Why did you move down here?"
"I got in trouble with the people in the town we lived in, so my big brother and I had to leave." America looked down with a guilty expression.
"Trouble? What kind of trouble?" Davie couldn't think of anything a kid his age could do that would warrant such a drastic decision.
"They tried to hang me."
Davie's head snapped up. "What?"
"They thought I was a witch, so they tried to hang me."
Somehow, that seemed unlikely. "Why did they think that?
America shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not supposed to say."
Davie rolled his eyes. "Come on! You can't say something and just leave at that!"
A look of uncertainty passed over the younger boy's face. "Well, okay. Um, I'm really strong. Stronger than a lot of people. And when I get hurt, I get better really fast. Also, I don't grow. I've been little for a long time."
He was clearly lying, but Davie didn't want to call him out on it. I mean, when he was that age, he told outlandish stories too, and frankly, he wasn't about to throw away a chance at friendship over something so silly. Instead, he tried humoring him.
"Wow, how did you get all of those powers?"
America smiled sheepishly. "My big brother says that God made everyone special, and that's the kind of special he made us." Suddenly, his face fell. "One time though, when he was really upset, he said that God forgot about us, but I don't know if I believe that."
Davie wished he hadn't said anything. Luckily, the conversation stopped when they finally reached his house. When Davie opened the door to the modest cabin, he found his father sitting in the main room cleaning his gun. That meant…
"Daddy, did you shoot something?" he asked excitedly. His father smiled and nodded to the back of the cabin where the kitchen was located. There, Davie's mother stood cooking something in the single large pot that they owned.
"I got a couple of opossums. Your mother's making them into a stew. And today's Saturday, so that means…"
"We get to eat it tonight!" Davie punched the air. His father glanced past him.
"Who's your friend, Davie?"
Davie turned to look at America, who he was embarrassed to admit that he had momentarily forgotten about. The little boy stood in the doorway looking wide-eyed and nervous. Davie gripped his hand and ushered him in.
"This is America. He just moved here. I was going to show him your big book with the plants."
His father hummed in response and smiled before turning his attention back to the gun. Davie led his new friend towards the old trunk that sat in the corner of the room. America watched with curiosity as he pulled out the giant book and lifted it triumphantly in the air.
"Look at this," Davie said with a smile as he flipped it open. America leaned over his shoulder to peer at the page. A small gasp escaped from his mouth as his eyes scanned the pictures.
"They're so pretty," he whispered, "I didn't know there were books with pictures like this."
Davie laughed at his wonder. "You've never seen a book with pictures before?"
America shook his head. "No. None of my brother's books have any. They just have words."
"Wow," Davie sighed, "That must be boring. Does he ever read them to you?"
"He used to, but he gets busy a lot. Most of the time I just read them by myself."
"You can read?"
America shrugged. "My brother taught me a while ago."
Davie nodded, impressed. He then backed away from the book to allow America to get a better look. The younger boy carefully tuned the pages, every new picture eliciting a new sound of amazement.
"You see," Davie explained, "What I'm trying to do is find every single flower in this book. So far, I've found all but one. Let me show you." He reached over and flipped the page to reveal another illustration. The flower it pictured had bright blue petals and a yellow center.
"Woah," America exclaimed as he pointed to the paper, "I've never seen a flower like that before!" He squinted at the words next to it. "It's called a forget-me-not. That's a funny name for a flower."
That was rich coming from a boy called America, Davie thought privately. "I've looked everywhere for that one, but still no luck."
America opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Davie's mother calling from the kitchen. "Dinner is ready."
The boys turned to look. Davie's parents both smiled at America.
"Would your friend like to stay for dinner?" his father asked.
"No," America answered, "It's okay. You don't have to."
"Are you sure? We have plenty to share tonight."
Davie watched as the boy took a moment to think it over. "Okay," he finally agreed, "If it's not a problem."
America acted like he had never eaten before. Between every bite of stew, he talked about how good it tasted and how his brother's attempts at cooking always ended in disaster. Davie's mother blushed at the compliments and his father laughed at the earnestness of the boy. When they were done, he thanked them over and over again for the meal.
Outside, the sun had already set, and the only light came from the full moon and the lantern that hung by the door. Davie's mother looked out the window with concern.
"Is your mother expecting you, dear?" she asked America.
He looked down at the ground with a small frown and shrugged. "I guess so."
Davie put a hand on his back. "Hey, it's alright. We'll see each other again."
At that, America perked up a bit. "Really?"
"Yeah, real soon."
A wide grin appeared on his face. "Okay!"
After America said good-bye to Davie's parents, the boys walked outside together. Before leaving, America turned to face the older boy.
"Hey Davie," he said, "I'm going to look real hard for that flower you want, and when I find it, I'll bring it straight over. I promise!"
"That sounds great," Davie replied, "I'll be waiting."
"Good-bye, Davie!" America called as he headed into the woods.
"Good-bye, America!" Davie called back as he waved at his new friend.
A/N
This fic is anachronistic af, especially the dialog, and honestly, it bothers me a little bit. :/
But at the same time, I don't really feel like doing a plethora of research over something that I'm sure only a couple of people would care about.
I did get a few things in there though. For one, apparently Colonial Americans didn't eat meat on Mondays, Wednesdays, or Fridays as well as during Lent or Advent. I don't know how they did it. I stopped eating meat on Fridays last Lent and it was torture. Then again, I'm used to the luxury of not living in Colonial America. Those guys were seriously troopers.
Anyway, this fic will have five chapter in all, including an epilog. I'm writing it because I've written comedy and horror, and I wanted to try writing tragedy. There's really not a lot of sad material in Hetalia, but when it gets sad, it gets sad.
