Iceland would've stayed there forever, or at least until Denmark woke up again as one of the undead and killed him as well, but the people from the Camp West (that's what they were calling what they had set up) found him, and brought him inside the walls.
He didn't eat anything. He didn't drink anything. All around him he could see faces, but they were blurry and didn't mean anything.
Nothing meant anything, not anymore.
Soon, he starts to see familiar faces.
There's France, standing beside him, his normally lustrous hair seeming dull and ordinary. France looks defeated, and the light seems to have gone out of his eyes. He explains how England and Spain both died in the midst of a horde while he was forced to watch from his perch up on a building. He stands beside Iceland for a moment, and gives him the faintest of smiles.
Next, it's Russia. Iceland should've known that he'd survive; he wasn't sure if there was a thing in the world that could kill Russia. His ashen blonde hair was matted, and his eyes were cold. Still, the touch that he gave Iceland on his shoulder was gentle.
Latvia. He explains to Iceland how Estonia and Lithuania died to save him, and he gives Iceland's hand a little squeeze. He's extremely gaunt, and any sort of noise makes him jump with fear.
Netherlands. His hair isn't as spiky as it used to be, and his expression is one of constant defeat. He tells Iceland how he couldn't save them, how he couldn't save Belgium and Luxembourg. How they died in his arms. It hurts him even more when he finds out that Denmark is dead, and he leaves Iceland's room with his head bowed.
Greece. He looks exhausted, and there are dark circles under his eyes. He says how he and Turkey started off together, but the gangs got Turkey before he could rescue him. Greece's posture is bent and crooked, and he stares hollowly off into space, like Finland used to do.
Cuba. It was only a ninety-mile boat trip to Key West, so he had the easiest trip there by far. When Iceland told him how Canada died, he clenched his teeth together so that he wouldn't cry. He was sorry for all the times that he had mistaken Canada for America, and grieved for the fact that he would never be able to apologize to Canada again.
And that was it. Out of all the countries, those were the only ones left. France. Russia. Latvia. Netherlands. Greece. Cuba. And Iceland.
He supposes that he should be at least a little grateful. The other countries take him under their wings, and soon enough he finds himself okay on the outside.
He'll do activities. He'll walk down to the ocean every day, careful not to touch it, with Hanatamago at his feet.
Internally, everything's a grey mess and ruin. His family. His family is gone, and they're never coming back.
In the nights, Iceland will look up at the stars. He'll wonder if they're watching him, if they're able to see him from wherever they are.
He builds them little graves, finding the rock and carving the letters into it himself. He makes one for Germany and Italy and Romano and Canada as well, and even one for Prussia.
But the ones that he truly cares about are those of his family.
Sealand's is small, and a pale bluish grey. An innocent, happy micronation. A memorial for Finland and Sweden's son.
Sweden's is tall and dark. Sweden, who stood by his family. Sweden, who was silent and brave and heroic. Sweden, who had sacrificed himself for the one that he loved most in the entire world.
Finland's is smaller, and the palest of whites. Finland, who would always smile even though he might not truly believe in whatever he was smiling about. Finland, who always tried to look on the bright side. Finland, who made sweets and baked goods for the Nordics, grinning as they ate them together. Finland, who was killed by the one that he loved most.
Norway's is tall and slender, and the grey has a hint of purple in it. Norway, whose shyness kept him around his family more than others. Norway, who was Iceland's precious older brother. Norway, who had found Iceland all alone in the snow so many years ago. Norway, who Iceland had known would always be there for him. Norway, who had let himself die in order to save his family.
Denmark's is big and bright. Denmark, the self-declared leader of the Nordics. Denmark, the one who would always smile the biggest and laugh the loudest. Denmark, who loved his family with a fierce and burning passion. Denmark, who would make jokes that got even Sweden and Norway to crack a smile. Denmark, who had given his all to deliver Iceland to safety. Denmark, who had requested that Iceland shoot him to put him out of his misery.
And Iceland had.
Even though he knows that it was too late, that Denmark was going to turn into a zombie anyways, he still blames himself. He keeps on thinking that maybe if he hadn't shot Denmark, there might've been a cure. Something that would've allowed the last remaining member of his family to accompany him to safety.
The grave markers are beside the sea, in a place where the tides can't get to them.
It's sunset. Iceland is sitting beside them, and he lays a flower from one of Key West's many overgrown gardens on each of their graves.
One for Sealand.
One for Sweden.
One for Finland.
One for Norway.
One for Denmark.
Iceland bows his head. He doesn't cry as much anymore, and the feelings have gotten a little better. His heart is still broken though, and he knows that nothing that he ever does will change that fact.
Hanatamago is sitting beside him. She seems to know so much more than any dog should be able to, and she's realized that the rest of her family is never coming back to her. So she stays with Iceland, and tries to protect him as best she can.
Iceland realizes that Hanatamago is the last thing that he has to remind him of his family. He picks her up, cradling her close to his chest.
He stands.
"Well, Hanatamago," he says. "It's just you and me, and the endless expanse of the sky and ocean." Iceland looks up again. "Don't worry, Hana. They're watching us. They know that we're okay. They know that the didn't die in vain."
He brings his eyes back to the ground, and starts walking away from the graves and heading toward the rest of the nations, his new family.
From somewhere in the evening sky, a star twinkles.
And so life goes on.