Hello! Thank you for choosing to read this! I warn you that if you have yet to read the Davie strip you should read it before reading this. I added some things to the story to put England in it more. The part with England at the end and where he says to not be friends with Davie are not actually a part of it. And the flowers are forget me nots. America is kind of the narrator and I knew he would not know what kind of flowers they were which is why they are not mentioned.
"Who are You?"
"I'm Davie!"
"Can we be friends, Davie?" Davie!
"Of course! I tell you what? I have a really cool flower collection back home. Do you wanna see it?"
"Okay!" A little boy, whose name was Alfred F. Jones, aka what was to become the United States of America took the boy's hand and followed him back home. The house was gorgeous. The outside was constructed of a lightly painted wood, and a huge front porch greeted them. On either end, porch swings drifted in the breeze. Inside was just as beautiful. A darkened hallways led to some bedrooms, and in the front of the house, a kitchen was situated next to a cozy little living room fit with a fireplace and rocking chairs.
Davie pulled an old book out of a drawer. "Do you want to go back outside to look at these?"
"Yes, please!" America nodded.
America had never sat on a porch swing before, but he found that he quite liked it. It was not super scary, but it was much less boring than sitting on an ordinary chair. Those were for ordinary people, he decided. For hours they looked at all the different flowers, marveling at all the pinks, blues, oranges, yellows, and greens. But one page was empty.
"Where is that flower?" America traced his hand across the blank space.
Davie chuckled, "That is the page dedicated to a flower I have only been told about. An old sailor, actually, was the man. It is small, with a periwinkle blossom about the size of your hand, and its leaves are perfectly round. I have heard that it is rare and hard to come by, but I would give anything to have one."
"I can get you one," America tugged his sleeve. "I can find it."
"Really?" Davie stared at America.
America nodded. "I can! E-Arthur can help me. He is my big brother!"
"Arthur Kirkland? I believe I met him once. I owe him for saving me on my voyage here. Say, can you return something to him for me?" Davie turned around and lifted an old musket out from under a floor board. Even though it was made a while before, it had hardly been used and still glared with a fine polish. "Arthur gave this to me, and I wanted to give it back. I have no use for it. But make sure to hold it away from your face or it might fire and hurt you."
"I won't hurt myself, Davie!" America promised. He lifted the gun, using surprisingly little of his strength despite the weight and hauled it off the porch.
Davie waved, "Bye, kid! Go far and make your life worth it!"
"I'm Alfred!" America said. "My name is Alfred!"
When America got home, he looked. He looked, and he looked, and he looked for that flower. But nowhere did it appear. He searched for it under bushes and in trees. He peeked behind waterfalls and underneath stones. But the flower never showed up/
A few months passed, and America failed to see Davie or the flower. He spent his time in solitude, building his nation and trying to grow, although with the refusal of his colonies to expand, he did not grow taller.
Eventually, he decided to once again see Davie. Maybe his friend would have an idea as to where it was. Now there was a gate around his house. America slipped through it. "Davie! Davie!"
Davie looked at him. Now he was slightly taller and rounded in the belly. A second shorter man was standing with him. Davie flinched at the mention of his name. The man glared at him and asked him something quietly, motioning to America once or twice, but Davie shook his head. He grimaced at America with annoyance and a fake unrecognizing stare. He and the man shared a few more words with one another, and the man laughed at him, causing Davie to cringe. Then the two of them disappeared inside Davie's house. America could only just keep from crumbling.
"What about the flowers?" Davie did not turn around.What was going on? What was Davie doing? Why did he look different? Why did he not say anything about his flowers? America bawled for hours on the lawn before returning home. No one was ever there for him. Not even Davie. He sniffed.
Then England visited one day. "Iggy! Iggy!" America had been ecstatic to see his brother.
"Hello, America. You haven't been too lonely without me, have you?" England patted America's head.
America shook his head. "Nope! I made a friend! His name is Davie!"
"A friend?" England's smile faded. "America, you need to be careful about who you make friends with. We are different, and sometimes that can separate us from many things. Davie does not sound like the kind of person you should have as a friend."
"But Davie knows you! He wanted me to give you something!" America ran to his room, returning shortly afterward with the musket.
England sighed, "Put that thing away, Alfred."
"Why?" America trembled. England never called him Alfred. Not unless it was serious.
""Because," England hesitated. "You won't understand. Just put it in the closet."
"Yes, sir," America dragged the gun out of England's sight. When he came back, tears were in his eyes.
England lifted America into his arms. "I'm sorry, America. I know this makes you sad now, but when you grow up, you will understand. You know you are a nation like one of us, and we don't live in the same span as humans do. It can hurt to fall in love with or become friends with one of them, because when they are... gone... well... You just have to trust me. Never become friends with a human, and be careful who you... your nation... kill... Can I trust you to follow this, America?"
"Yes, England," America sniffled.
England smiled, "Cheer up, lad. Why don't we go do something?"
"Do you have periwinkle flowers?" America hiccuped.
"Back in England, I do, yes. Why?" England sat America in a chair.
"Can you get some? I heard about them from a man at a store. I want to know if they are real," America lied.
England straightened his coat, "Of course I have some. I can bring you some next time I come."
"Thank you, Iggy!" America grinned.
"Really, America, where did you learn that from? That frog France hasn't been visiting you, has he?" England groaned.
"No!" America scrunched up his face, "Ewwwww!"
"Good. Now I should get going if I am going to get you your flowers." England stood.
America leapt at England, "No! Don't go, Iggy! Stay! I don't wanna be alone!"
"America," England hugged the young nation, "I have to leave. I will be back soon with your flower. I will never leave you forever, so don't be so sad. You will be fine."
"But I am so lonely!"
"Listen to me, America. Feeling lonely is a choice. You do not have to be lonely. Just remember that I will be back, and it will help you. You are lucky, Alfred, to have someone here for you as you grow up. Most nations don't have have your brother- me- and I care for you a lot. I would never abandon you. Ever." England sighed. "Now, I will stay with you just for dinner. After all, you are the only one who will eat my food."
"Thank you, Iggy!"
"You really should stop calling me that, you know. It is not gentleman-like."
This time England was gone for years. And despite what England told him, America was lonely. He did not go see Davie, for he had vowed not to return for another time until he had the flower. America had yet to grow, but he never noticed, not once.
He knew he should wait until England returned with the flowers, but America was too impatient. He fled down the path to Davie's house. Maybe this time Davie would be normal again, he hoped. Maybe he would not ignore America. Alas, Davie was not as he was when America first met him. He was wrinkled now, and hunched over slightly in the back. He was growing a beard, only a garden of stubble on his face at the moment, but something that was soon to grow. Davie relaxed in his bed when America ran inside the unlocked door. A woman not much younger than he and a little girl sat beside him in the cramped room. When America burst in, the girl blushed. Davie stood to greet Alfred, and the girl hid behind him.
"Davie! I will have the flowers soon!" America smiled. Davie chuckled. He motioned to the young girl with the pigtail braid. Then he continued to describe her, ignoring the comment about the flowers.
America was confused. What about the flowers? Davie wanted those flowers so badly, and now... He frowned. America turned and left, his head down. What had become of the normal Davie? Why was he so different now?
England came back for another visit, but he never suspected a thing about America's friendship with Davie, for America had become a good liar.
"Hey, America. I got you some flowers. They were the ones you like." England brought in a bouquet of Davie's special flowers.
In that moment, what America felt was irresistible.
Those flowers were for Davie.
And he had to bring them to him right now. Not sooner, not later. Now.
"Hey, Iggy. I'm hungry." America tugged at England's elbow.
England frowned, "But you just ate! Lunch was less than an hour ago!"
"So? I want a snack." America begged.
"Fine," England said. "Just stay right here and I will make you something. How do scones sound?"
"Perfect!"
Once England was in the kitchen, America ran. America ran with the flowers spilling out of his arms. "Davie!" He was smiling, laughing, even. But when he got to Davie's front lawn, there was a crowd all decked in black. They were crying. The whole lot of them. A boy that resembled Davie as he first met him approached America and took the flowers from him. He began walking toward a long black crept up behind him, watching as this Davie put the flowers in it. Inside the box was Davie. The older weird Davie, just as he had seen him last but with the beard more grown. America dropped his arm to his side, not comprehending. Why was Davie sleeping in front of everyone like this? He was making them cry. Was this even Davie? He did not remember America. The nation whipped around to find the young looking Davie standing just a few feet away. America smiled at him a little in hope. "Davie?" The young Davie's eyes glinted with hatred and denial, something America never saw in the first Davie. The first Davie and the wrinkly Davie both had kindness. This Davie did not. He seemed to hate America. He glared at everything, but not a tear leaked from his cheek like it did from the other people.
America whimpered, "Davie? Davie, what's going on?" The young Davie turned away. America was frightened. Everyone grew ten feet in height before him and ten times as scary. They were monsters. They were beasts. They were there to hurt him.
Tears streamed down his face, and America whirled around. No one was watching him. No one was there to help. He was helpless.
"Alfred!" Someone grabbed America's shoulders and yanked him to his feet.
"Davie?" America blinked, expecting to see Davie, but instead, he found England staring at him, "Iggy?"
"What are you doing, Alfred? When I went to get you from the living room, you were gone and your flower vase was shattered! I thought someone had kidnapped you or killed you! You... you git, Alfred! Don't do that to me! I thought you were dead! I lost you!" England sank to his feet and clutched America tightly against him. America shook; he had never seen England cry like this before. America was supposed to be the one tocry. He was the little kid after all, not England. But in the moments that followed, America began to realize why exactly England was crying. He was scared. He thought America was gone. It was like in America's dreams where England was missing and there was no way for America to find him. He would wake up crying and England would sometimes come in to comfort him. Other times, America would be alone and would have to comfort himself.
"I'm sorry, England. I just wanted to give davie the flowers. I wanted him to be happy." America snuffled into England's shoulder.
"It's okay, Alfred, but you can't do that again. Davie is gone. You will never see him again, but he is in a place now that has millions of those flowers. So let's go home and have us some dinner, shall we?" England lifted America and carried him home, smiling when he fell asleep in the Brit's arms before the sun even set. For the next decade or so, England visited more often and for longer periods of time. America grew quickly and soon became even taller than England. But as history goes, his regular visits grew thin, and war eventually erupted between the two. Even then, in the time that America was still young and innocent, there was a bond between the two. A bond that was never fully broken. A bond of love so strong that it could only be found between siblings. Not a romantic love, like some mistaken people would try to convince people of, but a familial love that passes between kin. It was unbreakable, built by promises and disputes, by tragedies and adventures such as that of this one.