((Hey Hey hey! YOU MIGHT WANT TO READ THIS BEFORE YOU START THE STORY. So this is just a little one shot that was spawned a good while ago when I was 'roleplaying' with a friend. Basically I was France, he was Russia, and it was in the future, during the start of WW3. Russia wanted to cause America's downfall, and he enticed France to be his ally, promising him money, weapons, and Britain's life in his hands. Naturally, Britain would be America's ally, and this story was pretty much my idea of how Russia would get Britain to give up the war and submit completely. France has no idea that Russia tortured America like this though. Also, after this story, I imagine America would give up, because Russia threatens Britain's life, so the war would be won, and Russia and France would be governing America. WHEE. Ok, read on and enjoy my dahlings!))

An abundance of foul curse words bounced off of the walls as the enraged Brit was dragged down the dark, musty corridors. He struggled, kicked, pulled, and screamed, but the grip around his arms was iron tight; the chains around his wrists and ankles too strong to give way. He hardly noticed as he was dragged into a dark, dimly lit room and chained to the wall. He barely registered the set of chains on the wall opposite of him, or the light smell of blood drifting into his nostrils. All he saw were the Russian soldiers who had captured him, and the creepily happy smile of the Russian standing in front of him.

"Privet, comrade Britain. I trust you had the pleasant journey here?"

"Sod off you rotten piece of shit! I swear, you better let me go right now or I'll tear you to pieces!"

The Russian only laughed. "And how would you be planning to be doing that, what with you being chained to the wall?"

He continued to laugh at the enraged response, and long string of curse words. After a moment, however, he began to look bored.

"I assume you understand why you are here."

"Fuck you! I'll never give up! No matter what you do to me, I'll never give you what you want! Never!"

The normally pleasant smile was replace with a cruel, murderous grin that shut the Brit up and sent shivers down his spine.

"Da, da. That's what I figured you'd say. So I'm not planning on doing anything. To you. Kol kol kol..."

There was a brief, shocked moment of silence before Britain thought to respond. He opened his mouth to inquire as to what exactly he was doing here then, when the sound of a very familiar voice shouting profanities reached his ears.

His jaw dropped open, and his face paled, although it was difficult to see in the dim lighting. He mouthed one word; "No..."

"Da. Say hello to your cell mate, comrade." Russia grinned even deeper as a cursing America was dragged into the room. The soldiers were having a harder time keeping the American from escaping their grip, and it took four rather than two to drag him into the room and chain him up. The only thing that stopped him dead in his tracks was the sight of Britain. Their wide, shocked eyes met for a few seconds before America began shouting at Russia once again.

"Let him go you damn bastard! It's me you want, so let him go!"

The Russian laughed. "Oh, it is not so, comrade. I need both of you. And here we are. So let's begin shall we?" He took a few steps towards Britain, his back to the enraged American. He pulled a folded document out of his pocket, unfolded it, and shoved it in Britain's face.

"This is a document of surrender. In it, you relinquish all rights of your land to Comrade France, and agree to allow him to govern you as he sees fit. You surrender from the war, and cease supplying the Americans, although you won't need to for much longer, because he'll be surrendering soon as well." He chuckled at this, pausing for a brief moment before continuing.

"You will pay Comrade France the damages of war, and will relinquish hold of all of your weapons to me. And a few other, smaller details. All you have to do is sign it, and everything will be good to go."

The Brit was silent for a moment before his face contorted with anger and he spat at Russia, his saliva landing directly below the Russian's eyes, dripping slowly down his face. Russia slowly straightened himself up, took a cloth from his pocket and wiped away the mess, then chuckled, and turned to America, stuffing the document back in his pocket.

"Оставьте нас!" He demanded, and instantly the guards fled the room, the door slamming shut behind them. For a few moments, the only sound was the rustling of Russia's coat as he removed it from his body, laying it over a rusty looking chair. His scarf followed. He stood in front of America silently for a brief moment; then, unexpectedly, he lashed out, his fist slamming painfully into America's jaw. The blonde cried out, mostly from shock, as his neck snapped to the side from the force of the blow. Seconds later, a thin trickle of blood made it's way down the American's cheek from where Russia's gloved knuckle had split the skin.

"You bastard!" Britain shrieked, struggling roughly against his chains. Russia whirled around, pulling the document from his pocket once again.

"You will sign it now, da?"

Britain glanced helplessly at America, but the blonde glared forward and shook his head.

"No...you can't force me to do it! I'll never do it!" Britain shouted, fueled by the American's resilience.

"Very well. Suit yourself. I've got plenty of time, da!" This time, his fist connected with America's stomach; once, twice, three times, four times...slow and methodical. On the fourth hit, there was a resounding crack that echoed through the closed off room. A strangled cry echoed on the concrete walls as the blonde tried desperately to hold back his scream of pain as much as possible. America was gasping for breath, tears welling up in his eyes. Russia had broken multiple ribs for sure.

"And now? Will you sign it?" He turned back to Britain, once again shoving the papers in his face. This time, Britain faltered before he responded. He couldn't sit here and allow Russia to beat America to death. But this was his entire being he was talking about here. On the other hand, how could he be so selfish? Russia had only been able to capture America due to his weakened state because of the nuclear bombings. However, the same things had happened to Britain.

Besides, the last time he thought only of himself, he lost America for what felt like a lifetime..could he let that happen again?

"N-no..I refuse to sign them."

"Damn right. I'm f-fine..d-don't do it..Britain..." America gasped, folded over on himself, the chains pinning his arms up in what had to be a rather uncomfortable position.

/I won't let Russia use me to hurt Britain...I won't.../ The blonde thought determinedly. He would suffer for his...his...friend. He was the hero. He would let Russia beat him to death before he would let Britain sign his life away. He had to.

After a few more minutes of back and forth beatings and angry shouting, Russia wandered over to his coat, after Britain refused to sign the document again. Slowly, he retrieved a long, firm, lead pipe from the coat, weighing it in his hand for a few seconds, before turning to smirk at Britain.

"You will sign it now?"

Britain looked with anguish at the broken and bleeding American across from him, feeling completely torn. America lifted his head, spat blood onto the floor, and sent Britain a glare that read, 'If you sign it, I'll never forgive you.'

"N-no. I will not sign it." This time, the Brit didn't sound nearly as determined.

"Are you sure?"

Emerald eyes flitted to America's steely gaze, hesitation in Britain's voice as he replied;

"...Damn sure. N-never..." He stated weakly. Seconds later, an anguished cry echoed through the room, immediately after an excruciatingly painful crack. America's legs buckled beneath him as the pipe smashed into his shins once, twice, splintering them, rendering him unable to stand.

The chains around his arms caught him right before his knees smashed into the floor, nearly pulling his shoulders out of their sockets.

He tried desperately not let it show just how much pain he was in. He could pull through it. For Britain. He could do anything for Britain. Anything. He wouldn't beg the man to sign his life away, like he knew Russia wanted him to do. He would stay strong, and make sure Britain never signed it, even if it killed him. And at this rate, it just might.

This continued for what seemed like hours, but couldn't have been longer than 30 minutes. Russia would shove the papers in Britain's face, and Britain would weakly refuse to sign them. Then, Russia would beat various parts of America's body with various objects. He even went as far as repositioning the American's chains so his back was facing out, ripping off his shirt, and whipping him. By now, the Blonde was limply hanging from his chains, shaking from the pain, covered in his own blood.

Britain wasn't doing much better. He wanted to be strong. He didn't want America to get beat this badly, only for him to do what Russia wanted, but at the same time, he didn't want his...the American to get beaten at all. So many feelings were welling up in his chest. Pain. Anger. Hate. Sadness, no, anguish. And...love? No...he could never admit it. Not now. Not when he was at his weakest.

Russia was beginning to get bored. He had plenty of time, but preferred not to use it. He still had to put the stubborn yet weakening, beautiful Chinese man under his power, which would be much more interesting than this, since he had to deal with China gently. Beating and owning the raven would have the opposite of the desired effect.

And so, with an agitated sigh, Russia made a decision.

He had reached his final act of torture for the day.

Britain could only watch helplessly as he denied the Russian of his signature once again, his eyes looking desperately at the bleeding wounds on America's back for a brief moment as Russia began to unbuckle his pants. He slowly pulled his belt from the loops, tossing it aside. Then, grabbing onto America's hips quite roughly, he ripped the tattered fabric of the American's pants from his body, leaving him completely exposed. And then, right as it settled into Britain's mind what the Russian was about to do, he unzipped his own pants, worked his rather aroused cock out, and slammed it into America without any warning.

A cry of pure agony ripped through the American's already raw throat, tears instantly pouring down his cheeks, the salt stinging the cuts on his face. Similar tears streaked down Britain's face as he cried out desperately, begging Russia to stop, but the man ignored him. He only smiled viciously as he dug his nails into America's hips, slamming his cock in and out of the unprepared entrance. Blood quickly began to trickle out, sliding down America's thighs as Russia continued to pound mercilessly into the blonde, biting at the bloody flesh of his back, raking his nails up his thighs, and twisting bloody fingers into the American's golden locks to wrench his head back, nipping at his earlobe and sucking hickeys onto his neck.

"You damn bastard! Stop! Dammit! Fuck you! FUCK YOU!" Britain screamed every profane word he could muster. His entire body felt weak. He was helpless. Why wasn't it him? Why wasn't Russia abusing him? It was his land, his life, that the Russian wanted Britain to sign away. Why wasn't he beating him?

/Because he knows that if he beat me, I'd let him beat me to death. But I won't let him do that to Alfred..my precious Alfred.../ He squeezed his eyes shut as memories from the American's youth assaulted his mind. The same, sweet little boy that he had named, raised, and loved, always loved...that boy, all grown up, was chained to a wall being brutally beaten and raped at the Brit's expense. The images didn't mix together. He hated it. He hated the images. Hated himself. But most of all, hated Russia for what he was doing, and for what he was about to force Britain to do. Someday, well after this war was over, he would make the Russian pay. Little by little he would build himself back up. He would build America back up. And then, he would crush Russia, and that traitorous snake of a Frenchman. Someday, but not today.

"A-all right! All right! I'll sign it, dammit! Just stop! Please!" Britain finally cried out desperately, tears streaming down his dirty face. The Russian smirked. /Perfect./ He finished quickly, pulling himself out and watching almost amused as his seed trickled from the American's abused entrance, mixing with the blood. Then, he tucked himself back in, slowly pulled the bloody, leather gloves from his hands, tossed them aside, and handed Britain the papers with a pen.

"No! B-britain, please, don't d-do it! I-i'd rather...die..then see you...see him..please...s-stop!" America croaked desperately, his entire body trembling, chest heaving, breath wheezing painfully from his lips.

/And...and I would rather give up everything, then let you die. This time, I'll do it for you, instead of for myself./ Britain thought, wanting to cry even more, but he couldn't. He'd cried out every tear he had.

Seconds later, the deed was done. France officially had full ownership of Britain, and Russia would travel to his country to retrieve every last weapon. It was all over for Britain, and he knew that soon, America would be forced to give in as well. Russia grinned, re-folding the document and returning it to his pocket. Slowly, he gathered his coat and scarf, then left the room. Seconds later, guards returned, unchaining America and watching as he slammed into the floor with a shriek of pain. The blonde didn't move after that. He just lay there, perfectly still. The only thing telling Britain that he was still alive was the slight movement of his body as he took in each pained breath. The guards left, and instantly the Brit struggled to get closer to America. To wrap the beaten man in his arms and make everything better.

He couldn't reach. He was literally able to pull himself three feet away from the American before his chains threatened to dislocate his shoulders. He cried out in frustration, cursing the damn Russian. He got what he wanted. Why torture either of them any more?

"Please!" Britain sobbed, straining as far as he could, his eyes never leaving the broken body of his beloved American.

"Please let me hold him! Let me dress his wounds!"

Russia laughed, clearly amused by Britain's desperate pleading.

"So now you beg me? Once he is broken and bloody on the floor, you beg me? After you allow me to beat him near to his death, you plead with me? You are a selfish man. Everything you will be getting you will deserve. And now, you will never know if he lives or dies. This will be the last you will ever be seeing your beloved America." The Russia smiled viciously at Britain as he calmly returned his coat and scarf to his body, tucking the bloodied pipe into his coat.

"Стража!" He hollered. Instantly, two guards rushed into the room, standing at perfect attention.

"Уведите его и очистить его раны. Склонны сломанных костей, то приковывают его."

The guards nodded, lifting America up by his arms and beginning to drag him from the room.

"Britain...A-artie...I love you..no matter what..I-I'll come s-save you..." America gasped out, rushing to finish what he had to say before he was out of the Brit's earshot.

"I'll save you..."

And then he was gone. Britain let out an anguished, heart wrenching cry that left his throat raw. The worst part was that he his tear ducts were dry. He couldn't even mourn over what would likely be his Alfred's last words to him.

"What did you say? What did you tell them? You bastard! What are you doing with him? You fucking bastard!" The Brit screamed, struggling against his chains until a loud pop echoed through the room, followed by a pained cry from the Brit. He'd managed to pull his right shoulder out of it's socket.

"I will leave you like this until Comrade France comes to collect you." Russia said, sounding rather amused. "Good day, Comrade Britain." And with that, he left the room, the slam of hte cell door resounding painfully in his ears, leaving Arthur and his pain and anguish alone together in a cold, dark room that smelt sickeningly of Alfred's blood.

For him, this was the end, and he would never even have the chance to apologize for what he had put Alfred through. He'd never have the chance to tell him he loved him.

For even as he told himself he would build himself back up and free himself and America, he knew deep down that he would never see his beloved blonde again. He would spend the rest of his miserable existence in a cell, much like this one, his mind forcibly replaying the horrendous images he was forced to see here, over and over again, until he slowly withered away. As soon as France signed the document, Britain would no longer be a nation. This was what weighed the heaviest on his mind, and he hated himself for worrying more about his own status, his own future, than the broken American.

"You are a selfish man." Russia's words echoed in his head, the truth weighing heavy on his heart.

"Alfred...I'm so sorry..." He whispered the words that his beloved would never hear.

"I'm so sorry...I couldn't be your hero for once..I hope someday...you can forgive me..."

((All right! A quick update! I have the next chapter of A Tale Of Slave And Master over half done! I just have to think of some more filler stuff and it will be posted, with any luck, in the next week. However, I have been working like CRAZY. Seriously. My boss has be working almost everyday, plus I'm trying to get some friend time in with my besties. A Drunken Mistake is probably half finished, and I know it's ridiculously over do, but it will probably be a little while longer, and I'm having a bit of a difficult time with inspiration. And my other unfinished stories...there's one that I don't think I've even STARTED the next chapter of...and...I really don't know what I've written and finished and what stories I even have...so...be patient my babies, and I hope this satiates you somewhat! Good bye for now! Kisses! MUAH. MUAH.))