A/N: I originally published this in 2012 as part of a fic called "Just Yesterday," which I intended to be a series of vignettes about Davy's childhood. I've come to realize that I'm never going to run with that idea, but I'm leaving this up as a standalone. Apart from this author's note, it is completely unrevised.

"Just Yesterday" also had a second chapter, which has been taken down. It will not be reposted because it too extensively references a headcanon I no longer subscribe to.


Manchester, England

December 1961

Davy pulled open the door and stepped out of the bitter cold into the warm, cinnamon scented shop. The portly man behind the desk looked up and smiled.

"Davy! How are you?"

"I get by, Buddy." He said, fighting to close the door against the fearsome wind. Buddy chuckled a little as he watched the boy's struggle.

"Here, let me do that." The older man stepped in and closed it with ease.

"Some wind today." He commented, strolling back to his post.

"And how!" Davy exclaimed, rubbing his gloved hands together.

"Would you care for some tea?" Buddy offered. "I've already put on the kettle."

"I'd love some tea. Nothing quite like it on a day like this."

"That's a fact. C'mon back to my quarters and you can take off your wraps." The boy quickly complied and followed the older man, even though he knew the way by heart.

Buddy Berry had owned and lived in the back of this little shop, which he had proudly named The Silver Bells, for as long as Davy could remember and ever since he'd been a little boy, he'd been coming here. It sold a little bit of everything it seemed, but to Davy it was so much more than a shop. It was the setting for many cherished memories that he wouldn't have traded for all the tea in China. Buddy was like a grandfather to him.

Granted, Davy loved his own grandfather dearly, but he was so dreadfully…formal. He'd much rather sit drinking tea and quizzing him about the gospel on Sunday to see if he'd actually been paying attention during church. But Buddy would join Davy and dance around to Elvis records while laughing the entire time.

Upon entering Buddy's messy but comfortable living room, he tossed his coat and hat onto the back of the sofa, then peeled off his gloves and put them inside the hat. Ever since the older man's wife, Paula, had died, the rooms were rarely cleaned, and then only when Davy's mother and a flock of her friends used force to come in and straighten things up.

Upon sitting down, Davy heard the kettle whistle. He'd always found the squealing a very comforting sound for some unknown reason.

A moment later Buddy emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray that contained the teapot, two cups, a sugar bowl, the creamer, and a plate of lemon slices. Davy grinned wryly. Buddy knew very well that they both always took their tea black, but nonetheless he always provided cream, sugar, and lemon, just in case one of them changed his mind.

He placed the tray on the coffee table and sat down in an armchair opposite to Davy. While waiting for the tea to brew, Buddy struck up a conversation.

"So, how's your sister?"

"Bea's fine. You know the average tribulations of an eleven year-old." He smirked. An older brother himself, Buddy just grinned mildly.

"And your parents?"

"Mum and Dad? They're great. So is Grandfather. Mum's in a frenzy about our Christmas party, though." The older man nodded wisely. Anna Jones was famous for her annual Christmas party.

"Your mother is putting a lot into that party."

"You're telling me."

Both went silent for a moment.

Buddy was the one to break it. "The tea should probably be ready." He lifted the top off and nodded in approval at the contents. He poured it into the two cups and handed one to Davy.

"Cheers." Davy said, raising his mug.

"Cheers." The other man reciprocated, taking a long swig from his cup. "You're right. Nothing quite like tea on a cold day."

Another period of silence followed as they both easily drained their teacups and went for seconds.

"So, have you got the nutcrackers yet?" Davy finally asked as he emptied the teapot.

As long as anyone could remember, Buddy had been making nutcrackers by hand, and they were popular because of their zaniness. Never would he just stick to regular kings and warriors. By his standards, that was dull. No, he always had to come up with something a little…exciting. Over the years, Davy had acquired quite a collection, including Buddy's most acclaimed creation: a Dracula nutcracker.

The portly man grinned. "I have four. I wasn't going to put them on display until tomorrow, but I'll make an exception for you. Wait here." The man quickly left the room.

Davy took the plate of lemon slices and began lining them up in different ways. It was therapeutic for some reason that he couldn't figure out.

"Here they are." Buddy announced as he reentered the living room, cradling four clean-shaven nutcrackers in his arms. Davy replaced the plate of lemon slices as the older man set the quartet on the table. Davy started at them from the left, beginning with the tallest one.

He wore a red and white checkered shirt and slightly faded blue jeans that he knew Buddy had painfully stitched himself. In his hand was a rope, the kind Davy had read about cowboys looping around the necks of cattle, stiffened enough so that it might be suspended in midair. A knitted green cap rested on his dark hair.

But it was his eyes that captivated the boy most of all. They seemed to almost burn, perhaps to say, "If you mess with me or mine, you'll get it", but yet, at the same time, somewhere in that rich brown lay a certain gentleness. It never ceased to amaze Davy what Buddy could do with a paintbrush.

The next nutcracker was just slightly shorter than the last. His brown, nearly black hair was almost unnaturally curly. He wore a drummer's uniform like those that the British Army had worn during the American Revolution. The resemblance to the ones in his history books shocked Davy; from the bearskin cap with metal plates to the yellow and red jackets to the white pants and black boots, every detail seemed perfectly in place. In his hands were two straight drum sticks, elevated slightly above the handmade drum hanging from the nutcracker's shoulder. The drummer grinned impishly, as if he were about to pull a trick on someone. His roasted chestnut colored eyes reflected similar gaiety.

The third nutcracker was just barely smaller than the drummer. He looked something like a medieval page. His sandy hair was cut in that distinctive, near the ears fashion and he donned what looked like baggy shorts, with tights beneath, and what appeared to be a long-sleeved, white-collared purple shirt. Around his waist was a black pouch and on his feet were shoes that looked similar to Mary Janes. He clutched a scroll that had but one word on it: PEACE.

And his solid brown eyes did, in fact, appear to be those of a peacemaker. They were mostly filled with compassion, but there was perhaps a hint of anger there. Anger over people fighting.

The fourth and final nutcracker was significantly shorter than the others. He was dressed a little flashily, in a pinstripe suit and red tie. His chocolate eyes were just the slightest bit fiery. But within there was a kindness that, to Davy, did not go unacknowledged. His dark locks were meticulously combed, and in one hand he held a pair of red high heels, while in the other was a hand-carved wooden dictionary.

Overwhelmed by the beautiful craftsmanship, Davy looked eagerly at Buddy. "How much do these cost?"

The older man's face softened. "Davy, you know I could never charge you for anything. You remind me too much of my son, Nigel, God bless his soul. Just tell me which one you want and I'll wrap it up for you."

"I want all four." He declared.

"Then I'll wrap all four." Buddy took the quartet in his arms, in a similar fashion to that which he had carried them in with, and exited the room.

By the time Davy had put his wraps back on and walked out to the shop section, Buddy had them wrapped in white paper and they had been placed inside two brown bags.

"Thank you Buddy. I really appreciate it."

"It's nothing, Davy. You'd best be getting home, though. It's already getting dark and apparently there's heavy snow in the forecast."

Not very surprised by this piece of information, Davy wrapped both arms around the bag and pushed the door open with his back.

"Goodbye, Buddy."

"Bye, Davy."

The snow was already starting to fall pretty hard, so he quickened his step.

Davy had no idea what had induced him to get all four of the nutcrackers. He usually only took one or two, but there had been something about these four that he just couldn't put his finger on. It was like they weren't meant to be separated.

Well, it doesn't matter now. They're mine.

And it was the truth; at the time, it really didn't matter.