Chapter 3

The voice, loud and clear, starts to read chapter 2 aloud. The nations, curious as to what happens next, keeps silent and listens to the voice.

"By the time the December ship comes, there is no one left in the shelter that had come in with him…"

While the voice continues to describe Sealands depressive stay at the bunker, the nations begin to talk among themselves.

"Will an apocalypse ever happen?" seems to be the main concern in the room. Liechtenstein bites her lip and looks at her big brother. If such thing were ever to happen, she knew she would be safe in her brother's arms.

She returns her gaze to the big screen and listens to the voice yet again. In the story, it seems like Sealand isn't fond of gossip. He tries to ignore it as much as possible due to the endless streams of death and hopelessness, even as there's brough more people into the shelter. But none of them seems to survive for long, and Liechtenstein's fear of death grows stronger with each passing minute.

A boy shakes Peter's shoulder. "Did y'hear?"

Peter eyes him warily and goes back to his work. "No."

"'verybody they found was in th' Netherlands an' France, 'cept for one."

"Yeah!" The second boy nods enthusiastically. "They found 'im above the German border."

"So?"

"So, they found 'im on the last patch 'f dry land in Denmark. Y'know, the one that sunk? They said 'e was speakin' Swedish."

Sealand jumps up from his seat. Maybe it's Sweden? He listens carefully as the Voice describes how he (the other him?) run over to find him.

"I heard they found a guy in Denmark…didn't they bring him in?" He asks.

"Yeah," the man replies and jerks his thumb in the direction of the wall. "Brought him in first. They wanted to keep him close to the doors."

Peter frowns. "Why?"

The man just laughs. "Less distance to carry him in the morning. People are already staking claims on his clothes."

Oh fuck, Sweden thinks to himself. Tino takes his hand and tries to ease the worry in the taller man, but to no avail. The swede, who wouldn't normally like to admit it, is terrified. He can't shake the thought of Sealand discovering his dead body out of his head, and he silently wishes that it's not him.

Peter's eyes widen at this and he pushes away from the man and begins to search the walls, looking for any sign of who he is looking for.

Sealand listens, anxious and afraid, while the voice speaks. Please, don't let it be him, he prays to himself. Please, don't let it be Sweden. His thoughts are interrupted by the Voice.

A sob tears through him as soon as the covers settle. It's just a stranger. No one that he knows. No glasses. No calloused hands. Not who he wants to see.

Relief seeps through Sweden. Naturally, he would have wished that Peter found him or that he found Peter, but better that it was a random person rather than Sweden that Peter had found.

Peter is also relieved about the news. He couldn't bear it if his Papa was dead. Even if he logically knew that this was only fiction and not real, he wouldn't be able to bear it. But the relief is soon overthrown but sorrow, as Peter he listens to his other self, staggering away from the sick person and throwing himself on to his bed.

He never found England and this is no different. He never should have gotten his hopes up. Sweden is dead. Finland is dead. The land is dead, the people are dead, the animals are dead.

Everything is dead.

"Papa…" he chokes quietly into his pillow.

The response he wants never comes and the sick man is dead before the day ends.

"Wow, this is despressing" Prussia murmurs. No one has any comeback to that.

Sealand, horrified by the story, cuddles deeper into Finlands arms. The Finn is at first too wrapped up in the story to register Peter's movement. However, when Peter whines and looks up at him with scared blue eyes, he comes back to real life and smiles softly down at his adoptive son. Sealand, content with his Mama's smile, settles down and they both listen to the voice, who continues on.

There is one stormy night where Peter's rest is interrupted.

He is laying on his stomach with the blankets drawn up over his head when the steady drip of the rain is suddenly broken by the muffled sound of the metal clasp on his backpack being undone. It hardly makes a sound; barely a click. But for the split second it exists, it ruins the rain and Peter flies up in bed and meets the startled eyes of a man on the floor. He stares up at Peter from his place on his knees, the backpack held in both hands, and for a moment, they just look at each other before the man scrambles to his feet and tries to run.

"Give it to me, you little shit," he grabs the front of Sealand's shirt and yanks him up, drawing his fist back. "Give it to someone who actually has a chance."

The nations listen as the man and Sealand fights for the backpack, not quite believing that a man can be so greedy that he is willing to steal from a child.

Peter starts to reply, but his struggles are cut short by a loud, metallic bang.

The nations perk up at this, curious as to what made that sound. The people in the shelter seems frightened of the sound and for good reason, they learn. There hasn't been anyone visiting the shelter in months, and as the voice explains, rumors of violent raiders have nestled into the minds of the shelter residents and stacked with the rampant sickness and everyday violence, paranoia has taken hold of every person there. There's no reason not to be afraid.

Silence sweeps over the bunker and no one utters a sound when the doors creak open, rain and wind immediately overtaking the hushed, hidden crowd. Peter folds his arms and hides his face between them, making himself as small as possible and listening, tense, as heavy footsteps begin to echo through the shelter.

America is on the edge of his seat. He loves apocalypse stories, and while he prefers movies over books, this story is easily becoming one of his favorites. The writer really knows how to keep you entertained, he thinks to himself. He listens carefully as a nameless figure enters the bunker.

He is tall and soaked with the rain, his face hidden by what looks like the tattered remains of an old bed sheet, eyes shielded by dark welding goggles, their lenses streaked with rain and mud.

"Hello?" A hoarse voice calls. "Anybody alive in here?"

Peter's head snaps up. He knows that voice.

The nations look around the room. Who could this mysterious figure be?

"Maybe it's you, Papa!" Peter exclaims and looks at his father hopefully.

Sweden nods and hopes it's true. He can't bear to think that Sealand will be all alone in this.

"P-Peter…?" There is another stretch of silence, this time broken by hushed, vapid whispering as the other residents watch the stranger yank his goggles and wrap off, revealing a shock of overgrown blonde hair and wide, blue eyes. He drops the sheet and Peter's face crumples.

"Mathias!" He cries voice cracking, and throws his arms around Denmark's neck, clinging to him when his knees give out and he collapses against him in a trembling mess.

All eyes are on Denmark, who is just as surprised as the rest of them. Then again, it makes sense, Mathias thinks to himself, he's Peter's favorite uncle!

"So, looks like it's you and me, kid" Denmark looks over at Sealand, who is sitting in Swedens lap right beside him. Peter grins and throws himself sideways to hug the Dane. Denmark wraps an arm around Peter and grins. They both smile at each other for a moment before diverting their attention back to the story.

"Peter," he breathes quietly. "Peter, you're…" he draws back enough to cradle Sealand's face in his hands, his good eye looking him up and down, disbelievingly assessing him before he breaks out into a wide smile and hauls him back into his arms, swinging him back and forth, laughing loudly and burying his face against the young man's shoulder. "Holy shit, Peter!"

Tino smiles and tears begins to form in his eyes. Thank god that Peter found Denmark. He will definitely be safe with him!

As Peter clutches to him and sobs into his jacket, the others start to slowly come out of hiding and a circle begins to form around them, suspicious eyes darting to the rifle on the floor and the large bag on Denmark's back. Before Peter can even catch his breath, one of the crooked veterans of the shelter steps forward and grabs the back of Denmark's coat, pulling him back enough to get his attention.

"Who are you?" Her eyes narrow when Denmark ignores her and shakes her hand off, going back to smothering Sealand against his chest. She frowns and shoves at him. "I asked you a question!" She barks. "What are you doing here?"

"Ugh, like, who does she think she is?" Poland groans and leans back in his chair, who looks seconds away from tipping over.

Denmark turns around and glares at her. "Do you mind?" He growls and pulls Sealand closer. "In case you haven't noticed, we're kind of having a moment here."

The annoying lady, who the nations learn to be Mitchell Donovan, demands that Denmark leaves. She explains that there aren't enough beds or food, but Sealand comes to his rescue.

"No!" Peter wriggles out of Denmark's arms and stands protectively in front of him. "Please, he can have my cot and some of my rations a-and…" he coughs wetly and scrubs his hands over his eyes. "Don't make him leave." He steps back and grabs Denmark's hand, pulling him to his feet and holding tightly onto his arm. "Please don't make him leave."

"Fine. He can stay the night." Her hand closes into a fist and she points at him. "But I want you gone in the morning, do you hear me? And if you touch anything that doesn't belong to you, you'll be in the pit with the rest of them. Understand?"

Denmark listens as his other self agrees with women. He's not a big fan of her, and when she tries to make a run for his riffle, he growls. Luckily, his other self in the story, comes to the rescue.

"I don't think so," he snarls, grinning when she glares furiously at him. "It took me too long to find that to let you have it. This is mine and so is this," he pats the bag on his back. "And if I catch any of you touching it," he nods at Peter. "Or touching him or any of his things, I'll bash your face in before you know what's happening." He smiles warmly at her, cocking his head. "Are we clear?"

The nations cheer. Denmark obviously hasn't lost his gift for threatening people when it really counts. They listen as the women scoffs and turns on her heels, leaving Sealand and Denmark alone.

"I can't believe you're alive…" Denmark murmurs. "How did you get out of England?"

Peter crouches down and hides Denmark's boots under his coat. "I dunno." He straightens back up and shrugs his backpack off. "I can't really remember anything. One of the boats picked me up and brought me here." He opens his bag and starts to pull a box of calorie bars out, but Denmark's hand drops on his and he shakes his head.

"Keep it," he says and bends down to grab his own pack, unzipping it to pull the flap back and draw out an unlabeled can. He grins and crosses his legs and motions for Sealand to sit in his lap as he pulls a dented spoon from his pocket. "It's my treat."

Peter nods and stashes his bag back away, eagerly crawling up to sit on Denmark's legs, his back flush with the larger man's chest, smiling when the Dane's arms pull the blanket around them both and he starts to wrestle the can open.

The nations are silent while they listen to Sealands surprise, when he discovers the can contains spaghetti. The nations are surprised how quickly the two of them tears through the can of spaghetti. But then again, they must be hungry if food is scarce.

Denmark resettles himself on his side and Sealand is quick to follow, curling up against him and holding on to the front of his ratty shirt. He's still a bit wet and smells like sweat and smoke, but not the chemical kind. He can't quite place it, but it reminds Sealand of a campfire. Campfires that he used to have with…

"Uhh with who?"

"With me and Finland" the reply comes from Sweden, who's got a sorrowful expression on his face. He makes a mental note to go on more campfires with Peter.

Peter swallows thickly. "Um…"

Denmark wraps his arms around him and tilts his head down so that he can look at him. "What's wrong?"

"Have you…" his fingers tighten in the fabric of Denmark's sweater. "Have you found anyone else?" He asks quietly.

The question that everyone has been dying to ask. Who else is alive?

There is a long pause wherein Denmark exhales slowly; a rattling, thin sound. "A few," he says after a moment. "I found Spain in Naples… he's missing a leg but he's doing all right."

"You were in Italy?"

"For a little while. Feliciano is hanging in there but Romano is dead."

Italy shrieks and looks at Romano. Romano tries not to let it get to him. It's just a stupid story, right? But before he can continue this stream of thought, he is engulfed in a tight hug.

"Stupid! It's just a story, I'm not actually dead" Romano exclaims. His expressions soften, when he see's his little brother's frightened expression. "I'm right here" he adds and let's Italy hug him for a while longer, until he shrugs him off and forces his attention back to the screen.

"They had Monaco with them and they're trying to dig people out of what's left of the Capitol. They had heard a rumor that Prussia and Germany were still kicking so…" he trails off.

"Wooo! I'm alive!" Prussia jumps up from his seat and makes a little happy dance. The celebration is short lived, though, when he is pulled down by Germany, who's clearly a little embarrassed by his brother's action.

"But you haven't found…"

"No." Denmark cuts him off. "No one that we're looking for." His arms tighten around Sealand's waist and he pulls him closer.

No one that we're looking for. The sentence says everything. The Nordics looks at each other. They know exactly what Denmark means by that. Yet, the thought is almost too hard to grasp. They are family. They are supposed to be together! Always.

Denmark is silent. For all the decades he has been alive, he has ever experienced something like this. He has been separated from his family countless of times, but somehow, this is different. This isn't right, he thinks to himself, as the voice continues the story.

"Denmark?" Peter whispers.

"Mm?"

"Um…could you…" he trails off. "Can you take off your gloves for a second?"

Denmark hesitates but nods and awkwardly reaches around Sealand to strip off his gloves and tucks them away in his pocket, fanning out his fingers when Peter reaches forward to lace their hands together, his so much smaller than Denmark's when the older man clasps his hands over Peter's. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, a faint smile working the corners of his mouth up when the Dane's warm, scratchy palms brush across his knuckles, distant familiarity appearing in the back of his mind when the realization hits him. It's such an asinine, little thing, but it makes Peter want to cry all over again.

Denmark's hands are riddled with calluses.

Denmark swallows thickly. He knows that Peter is reminded of Sweden, and he can't help feeling a little jealous and forgotten. He has always wished to be good enough for his family. To protect them and be worthy of their love. But, according to himself, he has never been good enough for that.

The sun threatens to set, and hunger gnaws at the nation's stomachs. They agree to end the meeting for today and continue the story the following morning.

"If that is all, I declare this meeting for adjourned. We will meet again tomorrow at 8 o'clock. Sharp." Germany emphasizes the last word with a stern glance, overlooking the room. Many of the nations doesn't bother with Germany's sharp tone, though, too tired and hungry to care.

"How about we all eat dinner together?" Finland looks at the rest of the Nordics before continuing, "We haven't done that in a while."

Peter jumps up.

"Yes! It'll be like a family dinner" the younger nation excitedly exclaims.

Sweden can't help but look fondly at his son. Peter seems to take life in a stride, something that always baffles Sweden and makes him love him even more.

Denmark smiles to himself. He has missed this so much. The fun and happy quality times with his family has become some of his most sacred memories.

He follows, as Peter takes Finland's hand and drags him out of the room with Sweden hot on his heals. Norway and Iceland walk calmly behind Denmark, who seems just as excited as Peter.

'He's an actual puppy' Norway thinks to himself as they reach the cafeteria. He watches as Sealand finds an empty table and promptly plumps down on the bench. Denmark is quick to follow Peter's advice and sits beside him. Finland quickly takes Peters other side, while Sweden, Iceland and Norway take the bench on the other side of the table.

They quickly decide on what to eat and Sweden goes up to order for them all. Meanwhile, the rest of the Nordics talk among themselves.

"So… it was quite a surprise to see you enter the story, Denmark" Finland muster up the courage to say. He is happy Denmark is there for Sealand, but also worried as to how the story will unfold.

Denmark shrugs. "It was. I hadn't really seen it coming either" he pauses before looking down at Peter, "but in this way I know I'm going to be fine. You have my back, right?" The question is meant for Peter and the young nation grins.

"Right!"

Before Peter can say anything to support his statement, Sweden returns with the food, and all thoughts are thrown out of the window, as his plate of warm spaghetti carbonara is put in front of him. Peter dives into his food with not much care or gusto, simply too hungry to care.

Sweden contemplates scolding him about his table manners, but his stomach grumbles with hunger and he lets it go, instead settling for eating his own dinner. Peace falls around the table as the nations begin to eat and enjoy their dinner.

Denmark lets his eyes fall around the table. He watches as Iceland picks up his food with one hand while the other hand is wrapped around his phone. He seems completely engrossed in his phone as he eats, not once glancing up from the screen on his phone. Denmark is curious to know as to what is so exciting on the phone that Iceland won't look up from it, but he doesn't dare to ask, afraid to ruin the peaceful moment with his family.

Lost in thought, Denmark doesn't notice when Norway gets up to leave until it's to late. The Norwegian curtly nods and thanks for dinner before excusing himself to his room. Not soon after, Iceland leaves to go check on Hong Kong and then there's 4 people left at the table.

Finland, Sweden and Sealand are wrapped up in a conversation, and Denmark, feeling excluded, decides to let the small family be alone and leaves. Somehow knowing that he won't be missed at the table.

As Denmark goes to bed that night, a loneliness settles deep in his chest and he can't help but get lost in his own dark thoughts.

Author: I hope you guys enjoyed it. Let me know what you think!