"Alright, we'll be back in a few hours!" Finland says from where he's standing at the edge of the roof. "And this time, we're not going to let ourselves get distracted." He fixes Denmark with a beady gaze at that.
Denmark shrugs. "I already apologized."
"Be careful," Norway says. "And try to bring back some water."
"We will," Sweden responds.
Sweden and Finland head down the ladder. Iceland watches them until they reach the ground, then looks away. He hasn't set foot on the ground since yesterday, after their little fiasco. He's afraid to. He's so, so afraid. But Iceland has done his best to not show it, and his best is fairly good.
"And now, we wait," Denmark says. He's a little antsy, and Iceland knows that it pains him to see the others risking their lives without him.
"And worry," Iceland says, sitting down on his army jacket.
"That too." Denmark reaches into his backpack for his pack of playing cards. "Anyone want to play a game?"
Norway gives him a look. "A game, right now? Really, Denmark?"
"It'll pass the time," Denmark responds.
So they play. It's mindless. Iceland knows that all of their thoughts are with Finland and Sweden. He hopes that they're okay, and there's a part of him that's yelling at him that he should've volunteered to go with them.
But that tiny part is overwhelmed by the sheer force of his fear. Fear for himself, his family, and the world that he loves. Fear that this will never get better, fear that some of them won't make it, and the tiny nagging voice that assure Iceland that the rest of the Nordics would be better off if he were gone.
Iceland squashes that voice deep into the darkest corners of his mind.
I'm not going to let that drag me down. I'm going to be brave, he thinks. I have to be.
One hour passes. Then two, then three. Still, there's no sign of Finland or Sweden. The city is silent, eerily quiet.
Finally, it's been four hours since they said goodbye to Finland and Sweden. Denmark's smile has become forced. Norway's expression has tightened. Iceland feels a hollowness growing in his chest.
And just when they start to lose all hope that either of them are coming back, a happy shout reaches their ears. It comes from the alley.
Iceland darts up, and Denmark and Norway follow him. He looks over the edge, and sees Finland waving cheerfully at him.
"Guys!" Finland shouts. "Come down here! We've found something you should see!"
Iceland makes sure that the pistols in the holster on his waist are fully loaded, and that the M16 that hangs from a strap that runs across his back is in working order, then starts to climb down the ladder.
When he reaches the ground, he straightens up to look at Finland. "What is it?" Iceland asks curiously. "Where's Sweden?"
Finland's smile broadens. "You'll see soon!"
They follow as he walks out onto the street, crossing it and heading down another. Iceland can feel his heart rate escalating just from being on the ground. He tells himself that it's okay, that if Finland is happy then Iceland should be too. So he tries to quell the fear with the knowledge that his family is right beside him, and that Finland is a good enough shot to buy them time enough to escape if they need to.
The city is still quiet, and there is no wind. It's a relatively hot evening, and Iceland is starting to regret wearing his army jacket.
They keep on walking for around half an hour before noises finally start to reach their ears. At first, Iceland is apprehensive and afraid, and he clutches his gun closer to him. But as they draw nearer, he realizes that the voices are laughs.
Iceland steps around the corner of a building, and follows Finland as he clambers over a pile of rubbish that serves as a barricade against outside forces. The alley is shady, but Iceland can easily see Sweden sitting next to some more people, all of them encircling a small campfire.
It's Germany, Romano, and Italy.
How the hell is Italy still alive? Iceland thinks. It's probably the joint effort of Romano and Germany…
"Finland! You're back!" Italy says cheerfully, waving at them. "Come over here! We've got dinner!"
Iceland sits down between Norway and Sweden, looking around the fire at the faces that he hasn't seen for ages. They're all worse for the wear. Germany looks exhausted, probably from the effort that it takes to keep both Italy and Romano alive. Romano looks crabby, and has dark circles under his eyes. Italy seems okay, but Iceland can sense that there's a damaged part of him that will never be fixed.
"Hello," Germany says. "It seems you've found us."
"It seems we have," Norway responds. He looks like he's about to say more, but Denmark intervenes.
"Do ya guys have water, by any chance?" he asks hopefully. "We ran out a couple of days ago."
"You don't need to ask them, Denmark, Sweden and I found a whole lot of water! We were walking from place to place, ducking in to see if any had been stashed or stored, when we met these guys at a pharmacy!" Finland says. He chuckles. "Of course, we were about to shoot each other before we recognized who we were. Good thing for all of us that Italy butted in."
Italy smiles when he hears his name, and says, "I knew it was Finland and Sweden from the moment I laid eyes on them! I didn't want them to get shot."
How Italy knew it was Finland and Sweden is beyond Iceland; the Italian seemed to love walking around with his eyes closed all the time.
Finland passes out the water, and Iceland chugs his down gratefully. Even though it's warm and tastes like plastic, Iceland swears that water has never tasted sweeter than it does now. He sighs contentedly when it's finished, and sets the empty water bottle aside.
"How have you guys been surviving?" Germany asks.
Finland explains to him everything that had happened from the attacks to where they are now, how they had been confused and unsure and scrounging to survive, how they had found the gun store, how they'd raided a camping store and took what they could find (that's where Iceland got his army jacket), and how many close calls they'd had with both gangs and the horde, though none of them had been caught yet.
"And what about you?" Sweden inquires.
"Well, after everyone started breaking apart into groups, Prussia and Italy decided to stay with me, and Italy brought Romano with him. We were just as confused as you were, at first. The plan was simple. We just had to make it through each day, and hope that things would get better. I already had weapons with me, a G36, a pistol, and two knives, but neither Italy nor Romano had any weapons with them. I gave Italy my knife, and Romano has my pistol.
"We've had one run-in with a gang, and more run-ins than we'd like to count with the hordes. The one with the gang happened three weeks ago. They caught us unprepared, but we were able to fend them off. They did manage to shoot Romano in the ankle, though, so I've had to carry him for the past weeks. Also…. Also, we're not sure where Prussia is. He vanished a little while ago.
"Really, we're just trying to make it through each day. That's all we know for right now," Germany finishes.
Finland looks over at Romano. "Have you wrapped the wound and disinfected it?" he asks.
"What do you think?" Romano snaps. "This is the fucking apocalypse, do you expect me to be a walking first-aid kit?"
"Is that a yes, or a no?" Finland asks. "It sounds like a no."
"Actually, I fixed him up as best I could. I think that he'll be okay," Germany says. "He just needs to give the wound time to heal."
"Hey, we have dinner!" Italy says, waving a can of pasta at them. "Germany, can you heat these up?"
Germany opens them and places eight cans of pasta by the fire, close enough to the flames and the embers that they'll warm up rather quickly.
They're sharing quite generously, Iceland notes, wondering how they can afford to be so kind. Maybe they have a lot of food stashed up, or maybe they have a reliable place to find more. Either way, it's a kindness that Iceland appreciates greatly.
"Here," Germany says, nudging a can toward Iceland with his boot. "It shouldn't be scalding. Just a bit warm."
Iceland picks up the warm tin can. It's hot enough to make his hands uncomfortable holding it, but he doesn't set it down. He hasn't felt warmth like this since before the attacks. The Nordics decided that it wasn't a good idea to have a campfire, and that it might draw unwanted attention to them, but at this point, Iceland really wasn't complaining.
He gulps down the pasta, tilting the can back and letting its contents slide into his mouth. The pasta isn't that hot, but it was warm enough to taste absolutely delicious. Iceland savors every last bite.
Around him, the others are feeling similar feelings.
Norway is sitting cross-legged, scooping out the pasta with his hands. He may not be smiling, but Iceland has been around him for long enough to know that he's content. Denmark has tipped the entire can into his mouth, and swallows all the pasta in just a few bites. He lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, and closes his eyes. Finland is eating it like Norway, and he's got a smile upon his face. Not a fake one, like he's had for the past while now, but a real, genuine smile. Sweden tips the can into his mouth, but he doesn't gulp it all down at once like Denmark. When he finishes, he sets the empty can next to Iceland's. His features have softened out a bit, and he looks rather peaceful.
"That was delicious," Denmark says, patting his stomach. "I haven't eaten something that tasted that good since everything went to shit."
Italy smiles at him, and says, "Hang on, I've got something else!" He rummages through his bag, and pulls out a bar of Hershey's chocolate. "Here!"
He passes it around, and Iceland finds himself with two squares of milk chocolate cupped in his hands. He lifts one carefully to his mouth, and takes a little nibble.
Holy hell this is the best thing that I've ever had, he thinks, and shoves the rest of the chocolate in his mouth. It's just so good.
The taste is sweet, but not too sweet. It's rich, and Iceland realizes how much he actually missed the taste of chocolate. It's simply sublime.
"Where did you find all this food?" Iceland asks, sitting back a little.
"There was a huge supermarket that we found a few weeks ago. We're still living off what we got from there," Germany responds. He looks at the darkened sky. The sun went down a while ago, and it's started to become quite cold. "It's probably not safe for you to return to wherever you're hiding in the night, so why don't you stay here with us?"
The Nordics look at each other. They left all their stuff back on the rooftop, and they just have the clothes and weapons that they took with them.
"Thank you," Finland says, "I think we will."
Iceland finds a spot on the ground that doesn't seem too uncomfortable, and curls up. He sets his weapons right beside him, close enough that his hand is on the handle of one of the pistols.
If he's honest with himself, Iceland is completely terrified of sleeping on the ground. He was afraid of being on it in the day, yes, but being on it in the night is a completely different story. Sure, there's a small pile of rubbish at the mouth of the alleyway, serving as a slight barricade, but that's not really going to do anything.
But Iceland doesn't want to be honest with himself, so he tries to be comforted by the fact that he's in the company of nations who are incredibly good at fighting.
He closes his eyes, and the last sight he sees before falling asleep is Germany prodding the embers in the fire with a stick, stirring the ashes.