Two days have passed since Sweden died.
The phrase still seems unrealistic to Iceland. How could Sweden, the strong one, the stoic one, the protector of the Nordics die?
In his entire life, Iceland has only seen two people that are really, truly broken. Two people that lost what they cared most about.
Germany and Finland.
And Iceland didn't have much time to observe Germany after Italy died. He just got the chance to watch him hold off the rest of the gang and save their lives.
Iceland has more than enough time to observe Finland now that both Sweden and Sealand are dead. His shoulders are stooped, and he walks like he's a kicked puppy. He's gaunter than Iceland has ever seen him, and there are black circles under his eyes. Finland doesn't sleep. He sits and stares off into the night, not really looking at anything.
But the worst is when he talks or smiles. His voice is dull, and completely emotionless. It's a rasping whisper of the liveliness that it used to contain, and every word is long and drawn out, like Finland isn't exactly sure of what he's saying when he's saying it.
He's become a robot. Being beside them but not actually being there. He'll smile when Denmark says something funny in an effort to try and lighten the stormy and melancholic mood, but the smile is closer to a grimace. His eyes are empty.
Currently, he's sitting on the edge of the building, legs dangling off it, and staring far off into the distance. Iceland walks up to him.
"Finland," he says. Finland doesn't acknowledge him, but Iceland knows that he heard. "We're going to leave this city."
Finland nods mechanically. He gets up, and turns around to face Iceland. "Good."
"We're all ready to go," Denmark says. "Let's get the hell out of here."
They climb down the ladder, landing on the ground with a slight thump. The walk to the edge of the city passes slowly, as no one talks. Finland stares straight on ahead, hand on his gun, and Iceland is fully aware that if he hears any noise apart from the sound of his family he will turn and shoot it.
Norway walks with a limp. Since Finland has turned… well, turned mechanical, he hasn't been the best of medics. Norway's wound got infected, but he refuses to admit that it hurts him.
Finally, they reach a place where the houses start to narrow out, and Iceland starts to see more overgrown grassy areas and trees.
There's something else, though. A lone figure, standing at the exit to the city. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, and Iceland stops walking before he can see the sadistic smile that he's sure rests on the man's face.
It's the leader of the gang.
Behind him, there's a line of about thirty people, each one of them with a gun. They block the road, and Iceland realizes that they're not going to be able to pass this way. One of the figures looks familiar, and Iceland squints. He lets out a small gasp of shock when he realizes who it is.
Prussia.
"You're not going anywhere, I hope?" the leader says. "I never got to pay you back for all those deaths that you caused."
"That we caused?" Denmark spat. "You fuckers killed our friends."
"And you killed ours." The leader shrugs, then walks back toward the rest of his gang. He stops beside Prussia, and turns around. "This man says that he knows you. Is that true?"
Denmark gasps. "Prussia?!" he asks incredulously. "What the hell are you doing there?"
"They have Germany," Prussia says. "They have my little brother."
He sounds like he's trying to avoid bursting out into tears. His voice has a hitch in it, and it sounds so pitiful that Iceland starts to feel sorry for him.
"Germany's alive?" Denmark asks, shocked. "I thought they killed him."
"Oh yes, we kept your other blonde friend alive," the leader says, but Iceland can tell that something's off with the way that he says it.
He's lying.
It's faint, very faint, and Iceland wouldn't have recognized it if he himself weren't an expert at lying. The telltale whispering note to the leader's speech, and the way that his face is an impeccable mask. His body posture is rigid, well rehearsed.
Iceland looks around. No one else can tell it, and Norway and Denmark look extremely shocked. Finland's expression hasn't changed, still the same blank stare.
"While we kept him alive, I'm afraid that we can't do the same for you." The gang leader walks forward again, tilting his head slightly. "What happened to the big blonde fellow? He die or something? Kind of looked like an idiot."
Finland snaps his head around, whirling to look at him. He stamps forward, eyes narrow and full of the first emotion that Iceland has seen in him for days. Fury.
"What the fuck did you just say?" he demands.
The leader laughs. "Touch a nerve?"
Faster than Iceland can see, a quick blur of movement, and Finland has his rifle up, aimed at the leader's face.
"I'm going to shoot you now," he says, and pulls the trigger.
A splatter of crimson paints the air, and the leader's body topples over, hitting the ground with a dull thud.
"He just shot th' boss," one of the members yelled. "Let's kill 'im!"
The gang surges forward, Prussia included.
"Finland!" Denmark yells. "We have to get out of here!"
Finland nods, and he turns around and starts sprinting. They all start running, moving as fast as they possibly can. The bullets make whizzing sounds beside Iceland's ears, and he has to grit his teeth to keep from crying out in fear.
He looks behind them at Norway, who's fallen back a bit. The limp is slowing his running.
"Hurry, Norway!" he calls, and propels himself forward faster.
Eventually, they reach a place where the sounds of the gang following them are muted. Denmark turns into an alley, and they follow him, catching their breath.
"We've gotta go somewhere safe," Denmark pants. "Let's go into the sewers."
"That's where the zombies are, idiot," Norway says. His voice is ragged from heavy breathing. "I'd rather be with the gang than with the undead."
"The zombies are up here, too," Finland says. "We go into the sewers, at least for right now."
No one wants to argue with Finland after everything that he went through, so they quietly comply. Denmark wrenches the manhole cover up with the butt end of his rifle, and they crawl in after him. He shuts it, and they're alone in the complete darkness.