Sealand never had felt more alone than right then.
He was dressed in a black suit that he had described as coal upon first seeing it. The only splash of color on him was the small blue and white buttons that held his suit together. His soft blond hair barely contrasted his light skin tone and he had to resist fixing it, having started to hate the feeling of it being brushed back and held down by too much gel for his liking. His eyes (which had once been described to him as reflections of the sea when he asked what they looked like) barely scanned the world around him, instead focusing on his lap and his moving hands.
His fingers tugged at the h loose strings which had begun to fall from the edges of his suit. He had spent the car ride here pulling and tugging, trying to forget about the surrounding world by focusing on the small things, such as these strings. They were worn and frayed at this point from his relentless pulling at them. He saw part of himself in them; he too was slowly falling apart.
He twisted the strings into multiple knots, finding distraction in practicing. Small fingers changing small strings. He considered trying to form shapes with them—he had seen Uncle Denmark do something similar with bread when bored while baking—but decided against it when he couldn't think of any shapes to form. He wouldn't have had a chance anyways, though, as soon he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.
Sealand glanced over at the other on his right, quiet blues looking at each other from different faces. Red hair—Sealand insisted it was strawberry—was also brushed back to try and tame the wild hair which was normally always sticking out in any direction. As if the other had just had Denmark come by and ruffle his hair. They were dressed in a similar black suit as Sealand himself, though theirs hadn't been torn apart at the edges and had green and white buttons to compliment it.
Ladonia simply shook his head, raising his nose a bit in disappointment at the other's childish behavior. He was silent in his judging, and yet Sealand felt the sting of it just as much—if not more—than if he had yelled it out. The other looked forward again, having had given his warning as if he himself was so much better. He always did treat Sealand as some lesser, as if the boy did not know how to function on his own.
Sealand's hands clenched into small fists and his jaw tightened. He hated how smugly the other had been treating him recently, especially considering recent events. But one glance at the silent Tino on his own left, and he realized that right now was the moment to be fighting. He dropped his hands as they relaxed before moving to sit on top of them. He hated giving Ladonia the satisfaction of victory, but he didn't plan on starting a fight.
Tino had his hair carefully brushed and was in a suit similar to Sealand and Ladonia's. His buttons were like Sealand's and yet they had a different gleam to them that the micronation hadn't yet been able to pinpoint what it was. Finland's face unsettled Sealand slightly, though. It was the most neutral, expressionless countenance ever found on the Finnish man. He wasn't smiling nor was he frowning. He only seemed to have a small glare on his face, as if the wall in front of him held all the problems.
It was just the three of them sitting in the row, a small and broken family in front of a crowd of respectful individuals who had come to offer words. Sealand had guessed that this fact was what angered his "Mama" the most, as there was originally suppose to be six of them sitting in the row. Or perhaps it was the rumors that had begun to circulate around their group, poisonous words that ripped apart ancient ties. Words with too much evidence to be disproven upon first glance. Sealand hadn't believed a single one, but he didn't know what was going through his parent's mind at the moment.
And of course, the source of discontent could always be stemming from the casket that gleamed from the center of the small area in front of them. It was a dark blue, like someone had taken a drop of the night sky and painted its glossy surface with the color until the universe was trapped in it. Such a hopeful color for such a morbid object. A grave, hiding the image which nobody could see.
Sealand's gaze was drawn away from the casket, which he had started to stare at unknowingly, to the doors in the back of the church as the sound of someone approaching and then the doors creaking open. His heart leapt when he saw blond locks, praying that he was back. That this had all been a misunderstanding and that there was no need to have a funeral for a body that was no longer in the casket.
But then the blond turned out to be too light and a head with a bandage wrapped around his ears was visible. Iceland was silent as he awkwardly walked down the isle, tugging at a dark brown suit nervously before taking a seat on the left side of Finland. The two shared a silent conversation with one locked glance before Iceland turned away in shame and Finland's gaze hardened.
The funeral began not too much later after that incident, but if someone was to ask Sealand what happened, he would've been unable to answer. He faintly remembered someone speaking, followed by Finland and Iceland, and then a long period of silence. Then some whispering and someone had been dragged out for starting fighter. He recalled spiky blond hair that stuck right up, but couldn't swear on it. He just knew the room smelled less like smoke once the person had left. Someone with white hair and a ruby gaze had followed not too long after. Sealand didn't know why they had started a fight in this occasion, but he had an assumption.
His memory sharpened at the burial service. It had been a few hours since the start of the funeral and despite how tired he had begun to feel, Sealand didn't even think the idea of him falling asleep was possible. He stared down at the hole in the dirt, watching as the casket was lowered into the ground before dirt began to pile on top of it. Sealand watched the few selected countries place the dirt on top of the night sky until it was hidden from view. As it had disappeared, his heart had tightened until he felt himself have to take in a sharp breath to try and calm his burning chest.
They were burying family. Burying secrets and lies. Sealand knew that they all wanted this done, just by the way they pushed the dirt in. As if trying to hide the fact that there was a body right there. Trying to hide the fact that the unforgettable had been done and now there was a hole in the universe that could never be filled.
A hand was placed on his shoulder and Tino led him and Ladonia away from the grave. None of the three had cried yet and their tear-free faces all had similar expressions of just simplicity. As if they were robots who emotions had been shut off, and now they simply functioned at the default level. Sealand felt like this was not how they were suppose to be and yet he could not stop himself from feeling and acting this way.
Sealand was pulled from the group as they walked by a new hand. It was smaller than the one he missed and yet it was more gentle than it had ever been before. The boy glanced up at England, his expression unchanging as he scanned the man over to take him in. A simple black suit and carefully tamed bright blond hair. And for the first time in a while, bright green eyes that shown with deep worry for the boy.
England crouched down and placed another hand on Sealand's other shoulder, his face set in a small frown. "Peter," he said softly, surprising his younger brother slightly. Sealand had not been expecting to be addressed in such a casual and yet comforting way. Normally only the Nordics and some other micro nations actually called him by his human name.
"Peter," England continued after a deep breath, "I wanted to come check on you. You've never been this quiet before and I know that this must be hard-"
"Please no."
Sealand didn't realize it was him who had interrupted until England gave him a slightly shocked look. He hadn't recognized his own voice because of how quiet and small it had sounded, as if someone half his age had spoken. But once he started speaking, he found it hard for him to stop. "I don't want to hear the same speech that everyone else is going to say. If you're going to talk to me, please talk to me. Don't just recite the same speech."
England looked at him in shocked silence before his face shifted to an unknown expression. His eyebrows shifted upwards to have the edges curving downwards and the corners of his mouth twitched a bit, as if deciding whether to curve up or down. Then he sighed and nodded. "You've grown," he mumbled, his gaze clouded as if remembering something. "Alright. No speech. But Peter, I am worried about you. You haven't shed a single tear and are just not normal your normal self."
"Do you blame him?" Finland asked, finally walking over. He placed a hand on Sealand's shoulder, moving England's hand away. And then he gently tugged the boy closer to him and away from England, his hand moving from the shoulder to carefully hold him protectively. Ladonia stood on his other side, watching with a neutral expression.
England stood straight up, tugging on his suit before patting it down to remove it of all wrinkles. His eyes scanned Finland and Sealand felt like he had witnessed another silent exchange, similar to what had happened in the funeral room with Iceland. "Of course not," England huffed. "I'm sorry. I should be making my leave." With their conversation cut short, England left Sealand behind with the other two.
"What did he talk to you about?" Finland asked Sealand, his eyes softening as he gently rubbed the boy's hair back. His hand shook slightly at the action and Sealand reached up to gently hold it with his own, smaller hands.
Sealand squeezed the Finnish man's hands gently, something he had seen his father, Sweden, do in the past when Finland got upset, worried, or sad. "I'm fine, Mama." Finland's eyes turned sadder at the name, but he seemed to relax. "He just wanted to offer condolences."
Finland nodded. "Did he ask anything about your uncle? About Denmark? Did he say anything?"
Of course. England had been one of the people who had been discussing it recently, though Sealand didn't think he had been against Denmark. In fact, Sealand distinctly recalled England arguing for Denmark's side. He hadn't known it until just recently, but it seemed his old caretaker and his uncle had begun to heal past rivalries and form an unlikely friendship.
"No," Sealand answered. "Nothing about the rumors, nothing about Uncle Denmark." Sealand glanced around them, staring to feel small. He had to get away from all of this. If Finland was worried about England asking, than perhaps others had already brought it up. Sealand could not handle someone asking him about that right now. Or, at least not here, at this moment. "Did you bring it?" he asked suddenly, trying to change the conversation and get a way to escape the situation.
He watched Ladonia frown in confusion at the question, even more so when Finland reached into his suit and pulled out a small item. It was a flag, tiny but the perfect size to fit in its destined place. Finland handed Sealand the flag before closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and releasing his grip on the flag. "Why don't you go put that up?" he proposed, already knowing the boy would ask.
Sealand nodded and soon he was running. He weaved between nations, his hair loosing its clean look. Soon it was wild, blond sticking out in every direction so that it looked like he had just rolled around on the ground or just dried his hair off after swimming in the sea. Finally, he came to a stop at the headstone, looking down at the fresh dirt. The brown was a lighter shade than the surrounding land, a reminder of how fresh the grave was. And yet, even though it had barely been ten minutes since the end of ceremony, it looked as if this was how it always had been.
Sealand glanced down at the flag, brushing his hand against the fabric. A deep blue with a bright yellow cross; the Swedish flag. The colors had always reminded Sealand of a sun in the middle of a wonderful sky. Or, perhaps, of his Papa's eyes, which were always twinkling despite his neutral face.
Something wet hit the flag and Sealand pulled up a hand to feel his cheek. A line ran down his cheek to his chin, the ghosts of water still there. Soon one line became two and soon Sealand had to hold the flag to his chest with a shaky hand. His breath was coming in via an uneven amount of air, and he began trying to wipe away the rapid tears.
"Why did you leave, Papa? Everyone says you should've come back. You were suppose to come back!" he accused, glad the crowd had already shifted away. "Why didn't you come back? Nations don't die for good! Not from something like a stupid fire!"
The fire. They had all been home except for Denmark, who had been out drinking with some friends. Sweden had been hosting the Nordic family reunion at his house. Sealand had been fast asleep in his room when the fire started. He hadn't woke up at first. He didn't know everyone else had escaped. Sweden had run back in to save him.
Only Sealand had returned alive.
No one, not even Finland, would tell him how he had died. They just said he had run back inside without a word and that was all. Nothing else had been said and Sealand was left standing in a dark void of questions. His memories ended with him falling asleep and started with him waking up alone in a hospital.
Alone. Sealand felt so alone.
Sweden had become his shelter over the years. His "Papa." He hadn't known he needed someone until he had found himself depending on the Swedish man. And while he could survive on his own—Sealand would continue to state that until the end of his days—there was a sense of belonging he had found by being in Sweden's family.
"You need to come back. Mama is sad and I need you to come and do that thing where you make a really bad joke and he laughs. And Ladonia is being smug like always and you need to give him a lesson. And... Uncle Denmark is in a lot of trouble and you need to help him. People are saying he killed you..." Sealand mumbled.
"I don't know what to think," Sealand admitted. "I never would've thought he'd do something like that. But people are saying you both have fought a lot in the past and he's not the happiest when drunk and I know he was out drinking..." Sealand began to choke on his own tears and hiccups, "but I still don't think he would've done that. Mama says that he's changed and wouldn't do that, but he didn't come today and I know she's worried about being able to defend him now."
"Life is just a mess," he cried. "Please just come back. You've always promised me you wouldn't let anything happen to me but how can you protect me if you aren't here? You were never going to leave me alone... Why did you leave me alone now?"
Silence. Deafening silence.
Sealand realized now that him standing there, talking and begging, was useless. Sweden wouldn't just appear out of the ground as a zombie or lower from the skies like some guardian angel. He was buried six feet under Sealand's feet and he was going to stay there no matter how much the micronation screamed and cried.
Sealand closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm scared, Papa. They say only a nation can kill another nation and make it permanent. Does that mean someone is out there killing nations? Which nation? I'm scared. I don't want to die," he whispered, the tears returning with a new wave of fear and pain. "What if someone did murder you? What if one of us next? I can't loose Mama too. Or Uncle Denmark or Norway. Or even Iceland. I'm scared, Papa."
Sealand finally took the flag and put it down on the top of the headstone, the flag draping down right next to the name: Berwald Oxenstierna. A human name, so that if anyone found this grave, the existence of nations would remain a secret. Even something as simple as headstone was not untouched by the secrets that suffocated the lives of every nation.
Secrets. The web that had wrapped itself around all the nations. Even Sealand had his own secrets, fabricated lies he had unknowingly or knowingly woven to protect himself from both friend and foe. He stared at the grave with a sudden realization that perhaps his father was not the only one buried. Perhaps they were all buried and trapped in a web of secrets.
And Sealand had a feeling that Sweden's death had just ripped the web open.