A/N: I mentioned you guys are awesome, right? I did? Well then, on to the story!

Fear of a Nation

The Long- Awaited Italy Session

"Doitsu! I don't want to go! It'll be scary!" Italy sobbed hysterically. Germany sighed. "I know, Italia, but everyone has to do it. I'll be waiting right here to pick you up."

"Promise?"

"Ja."

"And you'll have pasta?"

"Lots of pasta."

Italy sniffled and wiped away a trail of tears. "In that case... Okay. I'll go." Germany just rolled his eyes. "Go on in, Italy. I'll be waiting for you right out here."

Italy fairly skipped in, thing about pasta, and cooperated nicely with the pretty blonde doctor as she strapped him down and the small Japanese guy gave him a muscle relaxant. In the past decades, Italy had grown strong as well.

He was still a spastic crybaby, though. It was part of his charm.

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Italy woke up sitting at a table at an outdoor café in Rome. In front of him was a glass of wine and a bowl of angel hair spaghetti with sauce and meatballs. "Ve!"Italy cheered. He grabbed his fork and dug into the little bowl of heaven.

WHAM

Italy screamed as a wall of force barreled into him and knocked the pasta away from him. In the process, the table and Italy's chair fell over so Italy landed on his butt. "My pasta!

A figure, presumably the thing that knocked him over, was hunched over the bowl and shoving the food down his throat. It turned to glance at Italy, who froze upon seeing the stranger's face.

The figure looked emaciated. His cheekbones stuck out over his hollow cheeks. His eyes were dark brown and burning with hungry violence. "Not enough food," he rasped. Italy shrank back. "W- What?" "Not enough food for my family." The man abruptly stopped talking. He had spotted something behind Italy, and hi gaunt complexion turned even paler. "Why isn't there enough food?" Italy asked. "Ask him," the stranger spat. "He's back.""Who's back?" Italy cried. The stranger only turned tail and sprinted at breakneck speed down the street.

At this point, Italy's face was very pale, his knees were shaking, and his palms slick with enough sweat to be used as oil. He hadn't seen a man that desperate since...

Italy slowly turned on his heel to see what the pasta thief had run away from.

A tall man with smile lines around his eyes and flabby cheeks smiled down at him. "Feliciano," he rumbled with a smile. "It's been so long.""Ben... Benito?"

he Italian fascist grinned at him. :Feliciano, friend, look at what this country has become!" He swept his arm to gesture at Rome. The streets were dirty with dust and litter. Flowers in boxes had wilted. A few buildings were beginning to show signs of decay. "Feliciano, trust me again. I will make all of this better. I will construct a new Rome, and a new Italy. A better one, a more prosperous one. The poorest Italian will never go hungry!" Feliciano wished he would stop saying his name.

"Oh, Feliciano... You're all dirty." True, Italy had felt limy since laying eyes on his former boss, but he didn't realize he was making his feeling so obvious. Mussolini reached for Italy's hand and held it, lifting it for them both to see. Italy' hand was smudged with dirt. "allow me to clean it for you. That man has touched you, made you unclean," Mussolini half- ordered, half asked. Italy nodded mutely.

Mussolini guided him to the side of the café where a tap stuck out of the wall. As Mussolini bent down to twist the knob, Italy's eyes turned a malicious purple. "Odd, this knob seems t be a bit stuck..."

Italy pulled his pistol out from its hiding place in his belt behind his back. He aimed carefully at Mussolini's neck and pulled the trigger.

As soon as the fascist's body hit the ground, Italy's eyes faded back to their usual honey- brown. He looked down at the body at his feet, face void of expression. "Mai piu," he told the copse.

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Italy came to. The scientists watched him warily as he wordlessly let himself out. As promised, Germany was waiting for him outside in his jeep. "Take me home, Ludwig," Italy said flatly after strapping himself in. "But Italia, I brought pasta-"

"I'm not in the mood."

Germany did the smart thing and shut up.

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"Uh... That was Feliciano, right? Not his brother?"

"That was definitely Feliciano."

"What did we just witness? What was he purple- vision thing?"

"I believe that in the high- stress situation, Italy subconsciously reverted to his Mafioso side cope with the return of Mussolini."

"That's an acceptable answer. How well do you think he dealt wit that?"

"Well, it was... efficient. Decisive."

"Cold- blooded."

"That too, but in the face of that kind of man, I'm willing to let it slide."

"I move to see Feliciano as still fit to be a nation."

"I second that."

"I agree."

"Fantastic. Next!"

A/N: So today I became an expert on Mussolini and fascism. Tomorrow, it's Germany's turn. This will be fun.

Love you guys! Thanks for the PMs, reviews, favorites, follows and reds. See you later!

Roxy