FYI, if anyone is disturbed by descriptively bloody, gory scenes well… that should really be warning enough.

PS. This is only Part 17 because I figured if I cried while typing, your train of thought will at least be knocked off target.

….Part 17: Nothing….

Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother.

Khalil Gibran

…..

The small group of doctors walked briskly down the stairs, obviously annoyed at being woken.

"Why even bother?" a rather larger, shorter man with no hair and a doctor's bag said as he stepped in, "There's no points in fixing up a lamb before sending it to the slaughter."

"The commander and our leader don't want them dead," a tall woman with too much makeup offered.

He snorted, "Still a waste of supplies if you ask me," regardless, he walked over and took a look at the silent nations, "Filth," he remarked before turning to the other doctors, "Work quickly please. I want to sleep, not spend my whole night in a cellar."

The nations flinched as the medical staff descended upon them, poking and prodding them as they identified their wounds.

The tall woman strutted over and indifferently squatted down to examine Lovino, "What am I supposed to do for him?" she stuck her noise up, "He's half dead."

"Bandage him or something," one of them piped up before attempting to see Roderich's hand, "Stop the bleeding at least."

She nodded, annoyed. The woman got on her knees, let him out of his cuffs, and started to work on the numb Italian's wounds.

Roderich was rather calm as the doctor's descended upon them, after realizing that they were taking off their bonds to treat them. He allowed the doctor to take the bandages off his injured hand.

The Austrian hissed slightly as the final layer was peeled off, revealing the grotesque cut. What had been a simple slash has quickly evolved into a painful infected wound. The remaining skin around his knuckle was a disgusting yellow color, and white puss was spread all though out the raw flesh. Roderich sighed once the overall pain subsided and let the slightly horrified young doctor do his work.

He peered past him to check on the others in the room; Elizabeta was speaking with a female doctor, trying to hold back her anger while she insisted that she was perfectly fine beyond over all starvation and maltreatment (Roderich inwardly smiled; once a warrior, always a warrior). Peter was taking a similar approach to the situation, though he looked rather frightened and scared, but Roderich had faith that the boy could handle his own. He couldn't see Lovino from where he was, but Roderich could hear the doctors getting annoyed with the Italian's wounds, as well as their amazement that anyone could survive such deadly injures, nation or not.

Roderich turned again, looking across from him to get a view of the twins.

One of the doctors began to approach Alfred, making the American shake slightly in fear. Alfred started to back into the wall as he came closer, biting his lip.

"Leave him alone!" Matt growled, wincing from the movement on his arm, "Don't touch him!"

The doctor stopped. He quickly looked Alfred over before hurrying over to the Canadian's side, "Oh my god…" the young doctor breathed out, looking at the obvious tell-tale bulge of a dangerous fracture not just once, but twice one his forearm and again just above his elbow. He ignored the Canadian's anger-filled screams and forced the arm out of its shackles so that Matt dangled by his still shackled, good arm.

"Let go!" he screamed, pain suddenly shooting into the numb limb, "Let go!"

"Sir!" the doctor called to the other doctors, "Come quick!"

In a moment, all the doctor's in the room who weren't attending to one of the prisoners raced to them, "What's wrong with him?" the rounder doctor knelt beside him and opened his medical bag.

"His arm," the young doctor stepped aside, letting his superior take the struggling Canadian's arm, "It seems like it had been severely fractured in two places, then it healed incorrectly."

He gingerly forced Matt to turn slightly so he could flip the arm over, "That seems to be the case," the doctor ignored Matt's whimpering as he prodded a red mark on his arm, "By the looks of it, the top fracture severed a vein. By the amount of blood clotted, it must have happened over time."

"What do we do?" one of the nurses asked.

He sighed, annoyed, and pulled a long, broad blade from the bag, "We don't have the time or materials to save it, plus we're all way too tired to focus long enough to operate. The best and safest choice would be amputation."

"NO!" Elizabeta screamed, forgetting her bonds and trying to leap forward, "Stop, please!"

They ignored her cries and continued to discuss the issue, "Do we have everything we need to stop the bleeding once we do?" someone asked, "And what can we do with the arm."

"This is a basement, where's the furnace?" the short doctor looked around, dropping Matt's arm. The Canadian winced, but was to shocked to say anything.

"Found the furnace!" a nurse called from farther back in the basement.

The doctor stood when she came back, "Wood burning?" She nodded, "Then start a fire. Once it's ready, put this knife in it up to half the blade. When it's red hot, pull it out."

The nurse took the knife from his hand and ran off, "Well don't just stand there, idiots!" the doctor barked to the others, "Get some cloth, a bag, some pain killers if we have any extra. And for God sakes, someone sit on him or something so he stops moving."

They all worked quickly, gathering supplies and setting up a small, make-shift surgical area around him.

Roderich watched in silence, allowing the now shaking doctor fixing his hand to work without a single struggle. The Austrian bit his lip to keep from calling out to him, instead forcing himself to keep his eyes trained on the teen. He wanted to be able to say that he at least watched. Roderich knew he could never face the nations, Elizabeta, Francis, himself, if didn't at least watch the horrible act that he felt partially responsible for. He should have done more; there was so much more Roderich felt that he could have done for him. He could have forced Matt to rest, he could have splinted him better, there had to be something he could have done to stop this from happening, but Roderich didn't, so he gladly would take the fault.

"Is he your son?" the doctor's voice from beside him knocked Roderich out of his thoughts.

He shook his head, examining his freshly bandaged hand, "No, he's not."

The doctor was silent, just looking at him. The man stood up, then went over to the other side of the isle to assist his fellow medical staff.

Two of the larger doctors pulled Matt's other arm out of its shackles and forced him face down on the ground so that his good arm was pulled against his back and that his broken one was laying on the cold ground. One of the men sat down on his and grabbed the arm to keep him from moving.

Matt looked up awkwardly, finding himself to be facing the shelf, and, by craning his head slightly, managed to get a view of his brother on the other side. Alfred bit his lip, hoping that he wouldn't tired out again and black out. His mindset was very similar to Roderich's; Alfred felt that his weakness was to blame for this, he was the stronger one, he was supposed to be protecting him, this was all his fault.

"Are we ready to start?" the round doctor asked around. Everyone nodded and they began to descend upon the Canadian once more.

Matt struggled against their hold to know effect, "Stop!" he started to cry again, scared beyond his wits, "Please!"

Alfred fought weakly against his chains, tears rising to his own eyes. He hadn't felt this horrified since he himself was the one in danger. He had to do something.

"Hand me the saw," the doctor knelt down, "Let's get this over with."

"No, please!" Matt practically screamed.

"Can someone please gag him or something?" he barked to a nurse, "Anesthesia or otherwise, just shut him up before I leave him dying!"

All the medical staff hesitated for a moment, not really wanting to touch the filthy prisoner any more than they currently were.

The doctor who previously had attended to the Roderich turned to the Austrian slightly, considering what he was supposed to do, when an idea suddenly hit him, "S-Sir? Can I try something?" an angry grunt was his only reply, "Thank you sir."

He rushed over to Roderich, undoing his chains, "Can you quiet him down?" he asked, helping him to his feet.

Roderich ignored the immediate shock enough to nod and walk with him.

"Just do what you can," the young doctor shook his head and walked away to help the other doctors start the amputation.

He watched him walk away for a moment, than quickly pushed his way though so that he sat next to Matt's head. He made sure not to block the small gap between the twins visions, adjusting himself in the little space that remained and let Matt bury his face in his side.

"Sh…" he soothed, trying to stop his crying, "It won't hurt for long I promise. There's no choice, please calm down."

"I'm scared, papa…"

Roderich stopped for a moment and moved his hand to the teen's hair, "V-Vous serez amende," he bit out in roughly spoken French, "Il va bien se passer."

"Are we ready to begin?"

Alfred struggled against his chains even harder as the round, annoyed doctor aligned the saw with his twins arm and started to cut.

Matt had never felt a pain worse than what he felt at that moment. He couldn't hold back his screams anymore, the burning, searing pain in his upper arm too unbearable any longer. What was worse, the pain wasn't even focused in a place it had been before; they were cutting above the fracture on an unbroken part of the bone. It felt like all the air around him was suddenly pressing down on his chest.

"Breathe…" the Austrian urged, "Just breathe, Mathieu."

"Get the knife from the furnace," the doctor ignored the touching moment, as he started to cut away muscle, finally reaching bone.

Roderich looked up slightly to see how the medical staff was doing, but immediately regretted it. The Canadian's arm was covered in scarlet red blood that continued to gush out rapidly, so fast that some of it was blue for brief moments. The doctors continued to cut away at the torn flesh, causing horrible ripping and slicing sounds to fill the silence, sounds Roderich had never even known could be heard. Blood covered the ground like a slippery, sickening carpet that stained all of their clothing its red color. The arm itself was limp, pale, and all most lifeless, though the scarlet liquid dripping from it showed that it still clung to its owner desperately. Mathieu shook in Roderich's arms, the convulsions growing stronger and stronger with each slice; all Roderich could do was pet his hair and shush the teen.

Alfred looked on in horror as the doctors severed his twins arm. He wanted to scream. He wanted to make them stop. He wanted to hold him and tell him it was all going to be okay. He wanted to help him. But he was too weak to help him. Alfred couldn't whisper comforting words into his brother's ear anymore, he couldn't even reach him. There was a time when he could simply rip apart the chains and pull the Canadian close, protecting him from their enemies. But now he was worthless to him, to everyone.

And all he could do was watch.

"It's alright, boys," Roderich whispered turning to the wall slightly, "It's going to be alright."

Alfred bit back a cry as he struggled to get closer, the chains holding him back. The other sobbed pathetically into Roderich's side, deaf to the anything besides the burning pain in his arm.

Then suddenly, the pain turned to numbness. There was still a stabbing in his shoulder, so Matt knew he was bleeding heavily and quite possibly close to death, but the major feeling was nothing. Simply nothing. He tried to move his fingers, his hand, his arm; nothing happened. The world suddenly had white around its edges, and the gentle hand brushing his hair started to wipe his tears away from his face.

A slight stinging joined the stabbing as the medics started to stitch the wound closed and stop the bleeding. He heard Roderich speaking to one of the doctors, but the words were lost to his blurry mind. The pressure on his chest was lifted as the man holding him down stood up. Matt remained limp as he was lifted off of the ground and into stronger arms.

Roderich stood up and held him close to his chest, careful of the bandages that covered the stump. The young doctor that had allowed Roderich to go to Matt led him back to the other side of the hall, chaining Roderich's good hand and leaving the other unchained.

"Isaak!" the round doctor called over to the other, "You better be right about this or the commander will have your head."

"What could they possibly do, sir?" 'Isaak' asked taking the keys and unlocking (and shocking) Elizabeta, "They need to be kept alive, no? If we don't at least treat their wounds properly, they will very likely be infected."

"Very well," he grunted as he and the other doctors left, "But stand guard till the soldiers come to watch the door if your unchaining them."

Isaak nodded as he released Peter, whom immediately flew into Elizabeta's waiting arms, "If you need anything, or if he gets worse, just call," he told Roderich, than left.

Elizabeta laid Peter down at Roderich's side and helped Alfred and Lovino stagger over to them. Once she had them settled, the Hungarian threw herself into Roderich's side and cried in anguish and horror. Peter crawled into Lovino's shaking arms silently, too stunned for tears, and the Italian was so dazed that all he could respond with was a few weak tears.

Alfred fell at his twin's side, taking his remaining hand and pulling him out of Roderich's arms feebly. He hugged the Canadian to his chest and ran a hand up and down his back, tears slipping down his cheek.

All he could do was hold him and cry for the loss that he could never give back. This was wrong. This was cruel. But Canada had been right; this was inevitable.

….

….

….

….

Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

….

….

….