Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.
A/N: I think this series could definitely use more important female characters (or at least Ukraine should actually appear more than once or twice).
"Oh?"
Upon opening the cabinets over the sink in Germany's humble abode, Italy had fully well expected to see his special container of pasta stored in there. Instead, all he saw was nothing but a few cobwebs and mothballs. His hair curl flopping downward, his carefree smile slowly fading, his left eyebrow twitching erratically, something deep inside the psyche of the young man was beginning to come apart. He loved pasta more than anything else in the world, and to be denied it was nothing less than the greatest offense to humanity that he could imagine. Slowly, he closed the cabinet doors and called out to Germany, who was still in the other room.
"Germany! Germany!"
"What is it now?" The tall, blonde man stepped into the kitchen, sighing, "How long do you plan on staying here, anyway? The neighbors have started to talk...it's really embarrassing for me..."
"Where's all the pasta, Germany? Where's all the pasta? It's supposed to be right in here!"
"You ate it all yesterday, you gluttonous fool!"
"Then...then can we go buy some?"
"I have no interest in wasting even more money on you and your pasta fetish,"
"Please? Please? Please? I swear I'll be good, Germany! I swear I'll behave! I'll even go to war with you if that's what you want! Just please, give me pastaaaaaa! Waaaaaaaaah! Waaaahahaaaaah!"
Germany thought it over for just the briefest of moments. "I'm sorry, but no." And with that, he turned around and proceeded to leave the room.
Still sobbing profusely like a spoiled child, Italy darted out of the building, and quickly made his way over to Japan's place; surely, he thought, his other best friend in the whole wide world would have some pasta with him!
At Japan's house...
"I'm sorry, Italy, but I don't have any pasta."
"Whaaaaaaaat...?"
Japan sighed. "I do have fish, though...lots and lots of fish...pretty salty stuff, too,"
"W-Why don't you have any pasta, Japan? You had some last time I visited, didn't you?"
"That's because I bought it for you since you were the guest."
"Can you buy me some more pasta, then, Japan? Pleeeeease?"
"I'm sorry, but I cannot. It takes alot of money to fight in a war, you know."
"Oh..." Italy pouted, staring down at his own two feet, feeling completely dejected by his own friend. He didn't seem to care much that Japan did not intend this or anything. At the same time, Japan was terribly guilty for having to turn down his ally's request, but he had no choice. It had been like this for quite some time for all three Axis powers.
"Umm...will you be alright?"
Italy didn't say anything for a short while, and then he suddenly exclaimed with a jump, "Oh! I know! I'll go and ask Mr. France if he has any pasta! I'm so smart!"
"W-Wait! Don't do that! He's one of the Allies! He's our enemy! Italy! Don't go! Italy!"
At France's house...
"Oh, so you want pasta, eh, my little friend?"
"W-Well, we're not really friends or anything, but yes, sir, I do want pasta!" Italy saluted the blonde man, who let out a hearty laugh in response. Leaning slightly forward in his chair, France brought a glass of champagne to his lips, taking a tiny sip. Italy had a cup of tea with him, but he didn't drink it, since it was most likely laced with date rape drugs.
"I do believe I have some pasta in the kitchen if that is what you're looking for..."
"Yata! Mr. France, you're the best! Thank you so much!"
"Ha ha, it's no problem, dear Italy, but in return, I need you to do something...for me...understand?"
"Sure! Anything at all! What is it?"
"Do you really think you can do it? You're well-known among the Allies as being a bit of a wimp,"
"For the sake of pasta, I'll do anything!"
France's expression suddenly became deadly serious, and he said, "If that's the case, then what I want you to do for me is this: I want you to become my wife."
"Your wife, eh?" Italy blinked.
"It's more like my sex slave, to be perfectly honest!"
Less than two minutes later, poor, traumatized Italy was running as fast as he could for the sake of both his life and his virginity. His next destination: his older brother Romano's tiny home.
At Romano's house...
Italy gently rapped his knuckle against the door of Romano's house. "Heeeey! Romano, it's me, your little brother Veneziano! Open up and give me pasta, ve!"
"...iot!" A mumbled voice said from beyond the door.
"Huh? Is that you, Romano?"
"Idiot!"
"You think I'd give you pasta, when I love it about as much as you do? Get real! Besides, that potato-sucking bastard you love to hang around with can probably get you some pasta, right? You don't need me, your older brother, at all! I definitely don't want to get caught up in any more trouble because of your naivety!"
"B-But, Romano, you need to listen! I don't-"
"Go away!"
Italy couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Romano..." He had always expected at least his older brother to be there for him, but now it was like the poor man had been abandoned by everyone he trusted, even by the people he didn't trust at all. It was devastating, and he couldn't even cheer up without getting to eat some pasta. He waited a little while longer with hopes Romano would open the door eventually, but when that didn't happen, Italy solemnly went on his way.
As Italy wandered back to Germany's place, his stomach let out a loud growl. It was already noon and he hadn't eaten a thing all day; he had been expecting to get to eat pasta, but unfortunately that seemed like an impossibility. Italy crawled into the house through the window, as usual, and went into the kitchen to see Germany standing around. Italy knew he only had one chance left to appeal to Germany to buy him pasta.
"C'mon, Germany! We're...we're friends, right? I really need this; I really do! You don't understand what it's like living without the pasta! Nobody else is helping me, but I always believed I could depend on you, Germany!" Italy reached out, grabbing Germany's arm to drag him back over. However, Germany quickly pulled himself away.
"I said no!" Germany barked furiously, "If you want to eat pasta so badly, then you need to learn to make your own money, Italy!" His bright-blue eyes seemed to say it all. In reality, Germany was having a tough time with money at the moment, especially due to France's meddling, so he couldn't risk loaning any cash to Italy. However, he had too much pride to openly admit that.
"Ah..." Italy gasped; he had never seen Germany so angry with him in a long time. He thought he could get away with anything.
"I'm sorry...look, I'm going to go and get dressed for the meeting today with the Allies forces. Just find something else to eat instead, alright?"
"Waaaaaaah..."
In a state of utter shock and visibly shaken, Italy collapsed onto his knees. His wide, dark-brown eyes were brimming with tears. As he stared at Germany's retreating back, a strange emotion began to overtake him. It was not sadness or fear like usual, but pure rage. He had hardly ever been angry at anyone before, and he didn't expect he would become angry at his best friend. However, this was not any normal type of anger. Italy was practically seething; he wanted pasta, and Germany dared to deny him of it. He had suffered so much torment and bloodshed over the years, and now, without pasta to comfort him, he couldn't handle it. He heard a voice, a familiar voice, whispering to him from the shadows, telling him that Italy shouldn't let this go. He should get revenge. He should get his pasta whether Germany wanted him to or not. He deserved it.
Finally, Italy snapped.
"Oh, Germany...?"
"Huh?" Germany barely turned around before a knife was plunged deep into his right shoulder, and two other knives were thrust into his legs. Blood spewed from the wounds, drenching Germany's white shirt and pants with the crimson liquid. Even worse than that, obviously, was extreme pain. Screaming, Germany toppled over onto the floor, which only worsened the agony as the writhing around dug the blades further in. Standing tall over the injured man was Italy, who, disturbingly enough, wore a playful grin on his lips.
"Germany...can I have some money to buy pasta?"
"Ugh! Oh god...fuck! Ah, shit, it hurts like hell...I-Italy, you..."
"Pasta, Germany! I need pasta!" Italy purred, licking his lips. He truly looked like a madman now. Even his hair curl looked more like some sort of frightening horn.
"Italy...why did you do that...oh, dammit..."
"Not until you give me money for delicious pasta, Germany! Please?"
"N...N..."
"What was thaaaaat?"
"Gaah..."
Italy giggled insanely. Streams of tears were pouring down his cheeks and dripping onto the tiled floor. "All work and no pasta makes Veneziano a crazy boy!"
"What the hell...argh...are you t-t-talking about? You're always blabbing on about stupid shit...fucking moron...gah, it hurts like hell..." German groaned through clenched teeth; the pain in his arm had lessened slightly, but it was still impossible for him to even lift himself off of the ground at this point. The wet blood also would make it too slippy to stand. He was completely at Italy's deranged mercy. Italy was not very pleased. In fact, he looked more pissed off than he already did.
"Pasta...pasta...pasta...pasta pasta pasta pasta pasta pasta pasta pasta pasta...!"
Germany felt a terrible chill overcome him, and combined with the throbbing pain in his legs and arm, he found himself gradually losing consciousness. He ended up regretting of not having bought that extra package of pasta for Italy, after all. Italy slammed the heel of his foot against Germany's stomach over and over again, laughing. He then started to scream about pasta once more.
As Italy howled in his incoherent rage, and Germany laid helplessly in a puddle of his own blood, a malevolent figure was watching from the shadows. A tall man, in a long brown coat, with silver hair...and an eerie smile...