Sunflower

America patiently kneeled in his newly planted garden, tending to it merrily as he whistled the Star Spangled Banner. It was a glorious day out, that Saturday afternoon, and despite what many tended to believe about him, Alfred couldn't stay in doors on a day so perfect. The wind was blowing gently, rustling the leaves in the tree tops, and the weather was just ideal. It was almost like God had created this special day just for him. Inspired by the thought, he changed his whistling to God Bless America.

Even though the modern U.S. economy was largely industrial based, forcing the young nation to spend the majority of his time in D.C. or other large cities, the blonde still adored his farm lands. He loved gardening, loved taking care of plants and watching them grow. It was the closest thing he could get to parenting, since he'd never kept many pets, feeling guilty when he didn't have enough time for them. So he stuck to his garden, caring for his plants like he would children.

Today, with most of the flowers either planted and well on their way or nearly completely grown, Alfred focused the majority of his attention to weeding. Weeds were a nasty problem, like bad influences upon his children, and he would always patiently, thoroughly eradicate the problem. A slight smile tugged at his lips at the thought.

The sound of a car driving up alerted the nation that he would soon have company. A car door shutting rang in the air, but he didn't bother to get up, continuing his work. "America?" an accented call ruined the peaceful atmosphere out in the middle of nowhere, so far from any town that the American had worked so hard to retreat from.

"In the garden, Arthur," the younger nation called, a frown coming to his lips while he pulled a particularly stubborn weed, wishing it would just go away.

A moment later, the Englishman walked towards him, though he refrained from getting too close to the filthy gardener. Still so prim and proper. A bitter smile came to the American's lips, but he refused to let his old caretaker's presence put him in such a foul mood. Not on such a glorious day, when everything was so right with the world!

"Hello, Alfred," the island nation said, his voice stiff, clashing with the seemingly pleasant words.

"Hi, Artie. There something I can do for you?" He didn't feel like beating around the bush today. Honestly, he wanted the Englishman to leave so he could get back to his peace, get back to his gardening. He needed to spread the new fertilizer again.

The Brit seemed surprised by the bluntness of his usually chatty brother, but recovered remarkably well. "Well, I was wondering…Have you seen Russia at all lately?"

His attention instantly grabbed, Alfred stopped his work, sitting up on his knees to stare over at his elder brother. "Russia?"

"Yes," Arthur nodded uncomfortably. "It would, uh, appear that he hasn't been seen around for a while and people are starting to get...anxious."

The American frowned. "So you automatically assume I had something to do with it?" His voice was hard. He didn't like being accused of things. He didn't like it when people just assumed.

"No! Not at all," England said quickly. "I was just wondering if you'd seen him recently. You, uh…Well, you always monitor his movements rather closely, and I just thought perhaps—"

America held up a hand to silence the rambling Englishman. The younger nation stood and stretched his back out a moment, before walking closer to his brother. "No," he answered, letting his annoyance show in his eyes. "I haven't seen him lately."

"Well I was just wondering," Arthur's smile was uneasy, forced, and not doing a very good job of hiding his fear.

America never understood why people were so afraid of him, but then, he never said anything about it. It was probably better this way. He was the world's leading Superpower, after all, he and Russia, so it was actually a good thing that other nations feared him a little bit. It made them listen so things could be resolved quickly. That's what his government always said, and Alfred never went against it. Never really had the need.

"Okay," he said simply, releasing green eyes from his heated gaze. "That all?"

"Y-Yes, that's all," the shorter man nodded quickly. "I, uh, suppose I'll be leaving then, shall I?"

The younger man shrugged one shoulder. "Suit yourself. Bye."

"Goodbye."

"Oh! Be careful of the gate on the way out," he called while pulling out his shovel. "It's broke."

The Brit waved in acknowledgement before he left. The terrible squeak of the gate ground on Alfred's nerves before he heard a car engine start, telling him the Englishman had gone. Frowning as he followed the car and the trail of dust it'd left behind until it was out of sight, the blonde sighed before shaking his head, turning back to look at his sad little gate, hanging nearly uselessly now on one hinge.

Russia had broken the gate, broken it about a week and a half ago when he had come to talk to America about spying. The Slav had been furious, but be that as it may, Alfred couldn't see there being any reason for the stupid commie to hurt his poor gate. It hadn't done anything but do its job, and it suffered because of it. He was going to have to fix it, he knew, but at the moment, the young man was more interested with his garden.

Taking up his favorite shovel, America put it over his shoulder before fetching his wheelbarrow full of fertilizer. As he scooped the fertilizer and began spreading it around his precious flowers, Alfred frowned when he thought of his conversation with England only moments ago. He was still insulted that the little nation had accused him of seeing Russia recently. He hadn't. A week and a half wasn't recent. Or that's what he believed.

Stupid Russian, getting him into trouble when he wasn't even around! It was one thing to cause trouble when you were actually present, like when the large nation had come here, screaming and threatening Alfred with that damned pipe of his, but it was another when he wasn't even there and managed to get America into trouble. How was it that Slav could annoy him that much, even now that he was gone?

Shaking his head to rid himself of the unpleasant thoughts, Alfred began whistling again. The fertilizer had really done wonders for his little garden, he mused. He'd made it special himself, and it really seemed to be helping the plants. They were so much perkier and brighter, sturdier even. It made the blonde smile.

He had all kinds of flowers in his little flowerbed. Roses, tulips, carnations, and zinnias, to name a few. But without a doubt, Alfred's absolute favorites this year had to be the sunflowers. In all his years of gardening, he had never grown such beautiful, tall, healthy sunflowers. They seemed to reach for the sky longingly, as though wanting to make it to the stars. They were stunning, and America couldn't have been more pleased with their development if he tried.

Finishing spreading the fertilizer, the American decided that he needed a break. Taking his shovel and wheelbarrow, he put them back in his little shed before walking up the steps, and into the house. He peeled off his gardening gloves carefully, setting them on the counter gently. He pulled out a glass and poured himself some lemonade. It was cold and refreshing, something to be cherished in the fine outdoors.

Stepping over the ruined chairs and table, grabbing his gloves off the counter and stuffing them into his back pocket, Alfred went to sit on his porch. Distractedly he registered the messy state his kitchen was still in, but he couldn't bring himself to clean it at the moment. It would take a lot of work to hall all that ruined furniture out, and, of course, quite a bit of bleach to get rid of the stains.

Sitting down in his rocking chair with a contented sigh, Alfred sipped his lemonade happily from the shade of the porch. It was a truly gorgeous day, just the way America liked them. Vaguely, he wondered what the others were going to do to look for Russia, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. They would be searching quite a while, he imagined.

Finishing up his drink, the young man stood, realizing that his flowers probably needed a drink too. Turning on his new facet after putting on the garden hose, Alfred began watering, happily humming America the Beautiful. He watched with satisfaction as the fertilizer darkened, the nutrition it held seeping into the ground. That's what made his flowers grow so beautifully, he was convinced, that special nurturance.

With all the chores done and night swiftly approaching, there was really nothing else for Alfred to do today but go inside, get something to eat, and go to bed. Supper was a quiet affair as he simply made himself a sandwich, though he was a little upset he couldn't find the pickles. That other jar kept getting in the way. And afterwards, the sleepy American lumbered up the stairs to brush his teeth before flopping onto his bed.

He had had a busy day, and his muscles were stiff and the bruises still hadn't healed up all the way, but he was content, happy with the day's honest labor. He managed to roll over on his back to take off his glasses. He set them carefully next to the neatly folded scarf on the night stand. Turning on his side, even through blurred vision, Alfred could make out the shadows of his sunflowers in the moonlight, and he couldn't help but be pleased with them.

"So beautiful," he mumbled, yawning. In a matter of seconds, he was fast asleep, dreaming of his wonderful sunflowers that grew to touch the stars. Who knew Russians made such excellent fertilizer?

Author's Note: …Because I always see crazy Russia fics, have written several of my own, and thought it was only fair to write a crazy America…Other than that, I don't know why I did this. I really have no idea what this is. . Guess I've been gardening out in the heat too much.

Please drop me a review on the way out, as I'd be most beholdin' to ya. Thanks!