Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia

I never thought that one day I would have to resort to something like this. But then again, I would have never thought that I would ever be in a situation this bad.

My mother was the daughter of a blacksmith, something that would have ensured her a promising future, a caring husband, a respected place in her village's community, a nice little house surrounded by orchards… The list could go on forever. But all this was thwarted when a rogue band of outlaws grazed her home village. They set up a provisionary camp there, attempting to out sit the recent purge of "everything filthy" that was issued by our king back then.

Her village was small and self-sufficient, rarely ever madding contact with other towns, aside from the infrequent visit of some merchant, so it was perfect for said band of outlaws. They wanted to keep things quiet nonetheless, so they occupied the local inn, and resided there as the kings they definitely weren't. And that was about it, even though I couldn't quite shake the thought, that the issue of payment for food and shelter the inn 'provided', seeing that it was simply taken, wasn't really settled. But that's not part of this story, as isn't their unlucky end they would find under the hands of the kings 'purgers'.

But despite their attempt to keep things low and quiet, they were still a rough band of men on the run, and as such the inevitable eventually happened. It was something the village's elders were very well aware of, but decided not to bother with, since in their eyes it was, again, inevitable.

So one particular evening some of those outlaws rounded up a bunch of girls, who were on their way back from an evening of tea and knitting that somehow dragged out into the hours of night. My mother was one of them.

They were herded into the occupied inn and were forced to serve the men ale and broth and whatever it was that inn served. It might have ended with some groped asses and some ill placed jokes, when most of the men simply passed out from too much alcohol, that was richly served that night, courtesy of the inn owner, but life rarely goes the pleasant way.

One of the men with either more alcohol tolerance than the rest, or simply more restraint had set his eyes on my mother. So when she left for home as one of the last, he followed her, having mimicked a cold out drunkard only moments before. He attacked her, after she had said goodbye to her friend, and was alone, he dragged her into the shadows between to almost adjacent houses and raped her.

Of course in a small village like that, this wasn't something to simply go unnoticed so the next day, everyone knew. The elders, who simply saw the incident as something inevitably didn't do anything and suggested her father to leave it at that. Which he did, because even he, with his massive arms toned from blacksmithing, wouldn't stand a chance against a bunch of pissed of thugs.

But that didn't mean that my mother wouldn't have to face the consequences. For her father, who held honor in high value, the thought of having an impure daughter who tainted his good name, was unthinkable. And thus he cast her out.

She never told me how she made it, how she managed to travel through unknown land, while discovering in the middle of the journey that she was pregnant, giving birth to me in the middle of a winter storm, and somehow managed to reach a city, where she soon would find not only a decent place of work but even a husband, who wouldn't inquire in how the hell she'd got me. And to be honest, I never asked, because I got the slightest of feelings that this story was far less pleasant than the one before, which wasn't pleasant at all.

Some years later my brother Emil was born, and with him our family finally seemed to be complete. Don't get me wrong, my mother didn't hate me, nor did she blame me for what happened to her, but Emil was someone who connected her truly with the one she loved, and he was also someone for me, who had always felt kind of left out, when I saw my mother with my new father.

So we were happy, we weren't exactly wealthy but we weren't poor either, my mother worked as a washerwoman, and my father as a carpenter. It wasn't an honorable work as a blacksmith, but still, we had a place in the community that was our town.

That was until life once again decided to stray from the pleasant way. While building the roof of the mansion of some show-off rich guy who'd set his mind on moving into the area, a part of the construction broke and my father along with his apprentice fell, and were buried under the rubble. Neither of them survived.

The accident caused quite the commotion, my father; whose work until then had always had the highest reputation suddenly was subjected to suspicion. Surely the roof wouldn't have crashed in just like that, so maybe the wood he was using was bad, or he did a poor job. My father of course was unaffected by all this, being dead has some perks after all, but since the townspeople couldn't turn on him, instead they turned on my mother and us brothers. Especially the father of my father's apprentice blamed us on his son's death. They weren't openly hostile, at least mostly, but they shunned my mother's business.

Somehow we still pulled through. It was harder, and there was more than one night when we all went to bed with empty stomachs, but we were alive and we were together, that was all that mattered.

My mother worked hard to make up for the loss of her husband and his income, she worked double-shifts, and she even took laundry home with her, to wash in her free time. Most of the townspeople refused to give her their laundry, but some of them remained faithful customers. It still wouldn't have been enough wouldn't it have been for the rich person who had built his mansion at the outskirts of our town. The sheer amount of laundry he had her wash every week was enough to barely get us through that week, even though he was incredibly stingy.

But that amount of work took a toll on my mother, and even though Emil and I helped her as much as we could, she became sick eventually. And just like that our world that we tried so hard to keep together, collapsed.

She kept working as long as her feet would carry her, as long as her arms still held strength, all the while coughing and spluttering blood into a hastily pulled handkerchief, anxious not to get any on the white linen she was in the middle of cleaning. We couldn't afford medicine, let alone a doctor, so all we could do was massage her feet, warm her bed with hot stones and cooling her burning skin with cold towels, when the work of the day was done, or rather not done, as her strength faltered more from day to day. There was no one in the town who would help us, so we didn't even bother searching for help.

And then one day she didn't get up, she didn't even try; she just laid there in her bed of straw, the bed linen thin and faded from too much use. This image will never leave me. Her shallow form lying in the midst of sheets, which had once been white, and were now a faded shade of a color I could not name, framing her pale face, specked with drops of blood. Her eyes clouded, so that the bright blue color was shaded into grey, restlessly looking around, without actually seeing.

Looking at her I knew that she was dying, right now at that very moment. There was no strength left in her, all burned out from the futile attempt to sustain our family.

The worst part was for us, that we couldn't help her. I didn't have to ask Emil to know that we felt exactly the same. We would have given everything to save the woman who despite all her hardships had loved us and cared for us. Who raised us to be proud of the work we did with our own two hands, no matter what anyone would say. But there was nothing we could do.

A few days later she was dead, we buried her behind our small house on a field of grass, where flowers bloomed in spring time, where she had hung up the laundry for drying and where the wind had played with her beautiful hair on the rare days she had left it open.

Emil cried that day, he cried while pushing his small weight on the shovel to wrestle dirt and stones from the unyielding earth. He cried, while I carried the limp body of our mother, enveloped in that same sheet she died on, and gently put her almost weightless body in the grave. He cried while we shoveled the earth back on her pale peaceful face, until she was no longer visible. And he cried that night into my chest, when we both tried to find some sleep.

I couldn't cry, I simply couldn't find the tears.

I was 17, and Emil had just turned 15, and now our life has reached rock bottom.

It hadn't gone unnoticed that our mother was dead, of course since she was in charge of part of the town's laundry that wasn't really something that could go amiss for long. And so the next few days some of her customers dropped by and left their condolences and occasionally some food, which got us through those days. But that soon stopped and we were at the point on which I started that little story. The point on which I realized, that it was now my turn to keep this family together, as small as it had become.

At first I was at a loss on what to do. I couldn't really count on Emil to help me; he was still to shaken up from the death of our mother. And besides, I couldn't bring myself to burden him further with my sorrows. So I quietly let him eat the lion's share of our meals, let him sleep on mother's bed, while I slept on the sorry excuse of a bed that he and I had shared until now, some rugs on the floor and a faded blanket of linen.

All the while I kept searching my head for any ideas, and when I finally came up with one, the thought of it scared me.

There was a certain establishment on the other side of town, where certain services were offered. And as it happened they found themselves in dire need of…

Oh what the hell, it was brothel and they were in search of new whores. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately for me, depending on how you like to look at it, they were lacking male whores. Why I knew something like this? My mother was a washerwoman, and had had still had some friends in that business, friends who would come over with heir load of laundry so that they and my mother could have a big soap and foam party. And through those occasions they tended to gossip, and for two nearly adolescent boys that gossip especially that about the brothel, was quite interesting. Well back then for other reasons than today, obviously, but still.

Granted that gossip wasn't exactly new, since the last joint laundry meeting had been quite a while ago, but seeing that we hardly had migration with other settlements, it was likely that they hadn't had the possibility to stock up yet.

So I decided to try my luck, despite the fact that the fact of selling my body off like that terrified me, and that I didn't even want to think about the pain and the humiliation that would go with it. But one look, one simple look at my brother, who sat in mother's bed, looking with empty eyes into worlds I couldn't begin to fathom, hardened my resolve. Maybe I would have made it without whoring, if I were on my own, I could leave this town, and try to find my luck, but I had my brother to take care of.

And there was nothing in this world that would keep me from trying to make life better for him. Maybe that was what kept my mother going, what kept her wasting herself away, even after it had long been clear that she herself wouldn't make it. Maybe she just loved us like that.

For a moment there I could almost feel tears fill my eyes. Almost.

Emil moved, his foot unintentionally grazing the wall the bed was placed against, and that sound dispersed the emotions that had begun to form in my mind. The tears were gone.

"Emil, I'm going out for a bit." I didn't expect a respond, the more surprised I was, when he turned his head to look at me. Then he nodded slightly and returned to his mindless staring.

This small display of reaction, of acknowledgement transformed my iron resolve into one made of steel. Yes, being the grandson of a blacksmith results in some weird allegories obviously.

With new found determination I walked through the town at a brisk pace, stopping only at the pond on the eastern side, not so far away from my future employment to check my looks. My application very much depended on them after all.

A pale boy, no a pale young man looked back at me, his eyes ringed with shadows and a weary look in his eyes. My hair was not exactly well kempt, but still giving off a slightly silky look, and the curl I couldn't get rid of added to my charm, at least that is what I liked to think. The cross-shaped barrette, a gift from Emil, held my hair out of my face, I liked it at this length, or else I would have cut it off. I tried to smile to heighten my appeal, but all I managed was a tired twitch of my lips. I sighed inwardly, not being confident about my success.

I clearly didn't like the idea of whoring my body to just anyone, but as it seemed that was my only choice right now, there was no one in this town who would hire me, believe me I tried that, when it became clear that my mother was overworking herself. I wasn't even sure, they would. And what would happen if they didn't? Would Emil and I starve to death? Would we just die out there in our small house that thanks to our father at least was still in a remotely good shape? Would we…

I stopped myself, before I would lost myself in depressing thoughts. I had to stay confident; I had to believe that it would work out.

I got up, took one deep breath and walked straight to the front door of our local brothel. Thinking of it, since the brothel opened its doors, we had quite a rise in population. People seemed more willing to settle here, while having the prospect of female, or male for that matter, company from time to time. And since it's not exactly cheap to afford the services of a whore the new inhabitants weren't the usual poor fellow, who earned enough to just make a living. But the new residents were potential customers; so far the brothel didn't attract new employees. Hopefully that wasn't a bad sign…

I had reached the door, and before my balls would leave ma again, I knocked.

I won't delve any deeper in what followed, I got the job, I got told how things worked at that place, what was expected from me, what I wasn't allowed to do and everything else that would be important for me.

That very first day was entirely spent on explaining me the basics; my real work would start the next day, or rather evening. And with that dreaded thought I returned to Emil, to bring him the good news. Of course I wouldn't tell him, of what nature my employment was, I simply would tell him that I helped out at the local tavern as a waiter.

At least one of us should go to bed with the innocence of his mind and soul still intact.

...