Every second he spent with that man, every second filled with rape and blood and torture, was retribution.

So he was told.

Every day he went without food was to pay for a live lost to starvation. Every lash represented a lost limb. Every thrust – with pipe or penis – was to reconcile a Jew or Pole or Russian killed in those camps (those horrid, horrid camps).

At first he tried to resist; surely God could not be so cruel to punish one who admitted and regretted and asked – no, begged – for absolution? Surely not (Surely not). But slowly, he began to crack, his unshakable resolve beginning to falter. Perhaps this was just. Perhaps this was retribution. He had committed a sin of flesh and blood and dignity and would pay with his own, be stripped of all three until he was less than a shell of what he had been.

And so the great empire broke under the Russki's hands, loosing all but his name; personality, identity washed away with the anal blood that swirled down the shower drain. And when he was released, told his debt was paid and he was free to go – free to return to the life he no longer had and the family he barely remembered – he was different. Fractured.

His brother noticed first, looking through the hollow smiles and empty laughs and down to the damage done. Because he truly believed he had received what he deserved and that every second of his punishment was a step towards an unattainable forgiveness. He believed – believes – he could suffer forever and yet never have suffered enough to make up for his sins (Sins that weren't even his. Not really. Not really.)

Slowly, tenderly, tediously he was reassembled, pieced back together with familiar hands and glued in place with the cautious, dainty affection he had always secretly craved.

But still, even after the repairs had been made, he was a changed man. Softer. Quieter. The narcissistic exuberance he was once known for was gone, replaced with fear and the knowledge that hell is indeed on earth.

A/N: Yay! I posted something! This is my first contribution to the Hetalia community, a one-shot I wrote in the blank pages in the back of my Spanish dictionary. It doesn't quite fit in with the chapter story I'm writing, so I figured it would bode well as a one-shot. My happiness due to some recent events in my life prompted me to type this up and post it. Please tell me what you think! Do I stand a chance in this fandom?