Italy had a bad feeling again. He didn't know why because everything looked pretty peaceful in Chicago so far but that little nagging feeling inside of him was warning him of something, and he wasn't sure what.
He tried to ignore it and focused on England and France bicker yet again. They were now bickering over what they were going to eat for lunch, because America said he was getting hungry.
"French food." France declared. "America, do you have any French restaurants around here?"
"Oh nonsense." England scowled. "America, remember the food I made you when you were little? Didn't you love them? Right?"
America laughed nervously, not knowing what to do. Italy reckoned that America didn't want to pick sides because it might come back to haunt him (and even Italy knew that America wasn't a fan of hauntings).
"Ve...how about Italian?" Italy asked.
France considered the idea. "Hmmm, well, Italy is a pretty good chef, after all."
"Oh, so you're saying that I'm not?" England asked.
Normally, France would say yes but he stopped himself and reconsidered. From what he was told from America, America wanted every single country in the world to join the Best Buds Group and that alone was a feat that wasn't even considered possible by today's standards. But then again, France had reasoned that he would indeed like to see a time, even if it was just a day, where everyone trusted everyone.
Even at the Olympics or some World Cups the countries seemed a little wary.
"I think we should have Italian for a change." France said, giving England a small smile.
"Italian it is!" America said enthusiastically, glad that the argument was finally over. "Let's go!"
They never quite made it to the closest Olive Garden, where America said he wanted to go to. Fate is a funny thing; anything is a possible factor and how htings play out depends on everything; time, position, location, who was there, how many were there, if a certain someone was there who could change things for the better or the worse...there is an infinitive number of possibilities the future could play out.
Italy wasn't sure if fate had done this, and he wasn't sure what would happen if it wasn't there, but all he did know was that it had happened, and maybe, just maybe, it would help decide the victor in the entire doppelganger ordeal.
Dark England and Dark Italy had found them before they could get to eat. They came in a pretty bad time; England was worn out from slightly overusing his magic, America was still trying to mess with his wounded hand (the bandage itched him like mad), France had his hands full with America because of that and he was trying to look after Italy, and Italy was...well, Italy.
"Please don't hurt us!" Italy pleaded at once, suddenly realizing why he had that horrible bad feeling. "We just want to eat some pasta! I'm begging you, I'll tell you everything I know, even though I don't know a lot! Where's my white flag when I need it? I wish I didn't leave it at home; I knew it would be useful but I didn't bring it! Don't hurt us!"
"Italy, calm yourself." England said harshly, clapping his hand over Italy's mouth. Then, after Italy submitted himself into whimpering, England regarded his doppelganger coldly. "So you're the real one, aren't you?"
Dark England mirrored England's glare. "Thou hast slain my copies. Wherefore they have fell?"
"They may be copies of yourself," England said calmly. "but they aren't you. They can be wounded but their wounds won't close up. Yes, they faded away."
Dark England stared at England for a while, and the two refused to let up their piercing gaze. "Thou fell them, a feat I never warrant. I do myself wrong; I refuse to assume such foolish thoughts. Ere today I thought myself cunning and careful; thoughts assured me soundly, mayhaps excessively? Assurance overflowed my cup to result in me drowning by my own thoughtlessness. What relief that doth shine upon me-warmth returned and breath breathed regularly-that I have finally sought thee out. Many thanks to the divine magic-the mystical power that heeds my commands to do me right- that doth right my wrongs. Alas, thou art hunted by the huntsman." Then he paused. "Nay, huntsmen. Come anon, Italy's hatred."
Italy stared at his own doppelganger. Dark Italy, who came from behind Dark England. Dark Italy mirrored Italy's stance; they both stood with their hands to the side, their feet together, and their head slightly cocked. The difference was that while Italy had an apprehensive expression, Dark Italy had the exact opposite.
"So now we meet face to face." Dark Italy said slowly.
England, France, and America glanced between the two Italys. Dark England didn't look at his partner, but rather he studied their expressions and their wounds, if they had any. "Wrapped with soiled cloth, stained by dirtied crimson blood...Who hurt you?"
America frowned and gave England a sideways glance. "Is he talking to me?"
"Yes."
"It's about my hand, isn't it?" America groaned.
England raised an eyebrow. "Yes."
"Well, you see, your copies blinded me with the lights-"
"Magic." England and Dark England corrected.
"Yeah, that." America coudln't help but roll his eyes a little. "Anyway, I couldn't see and I accidentally shot my hand."
"What odds you have." Dark England muttered.
"What odds indeed." England murmured. Then England raised his voice. "Are you here to finish us off?"
Dark England smiled.
"Figures." England grumbled. But he shot a nervous look towards the others. America was most likely out of ammo, France- England dind't even know if France came prepared with any weapons; this was his first time out on a mission type of task in the whole ordeal, and Italy was still rambling on about surrendering and to not hurt them.
England himself wasn't in good shape either, not anymore. He still felt somewhat fatigued. If only they had encountered them after they ate. Food restored energy, and it seemed too cruel for them to fight before lunch.
"Why are you so concerned about the others?" Dark Italy asked England. "I thought you hated France, and I thought that America and Italy didn't matter to you."
England took that offensive. "Do you honestly think that I care for only myself?" he demanded hotly. "On my word, I swear that I'll protect them all. Even the frog."
"Why how generous of you." France said sarcastically. "Merci beacoup."
"Don't make me take back my word." England scowled.
As France harrumphed, Dark England murmured, "Why waste thine energy for them? Hath you forgotten wars with them? Hath the memory of thy hatred left you already?"
England said nothing.
Dark England looked sullen for a moment. "I see. My humor, vanished. If thou vows to protect, then I beseech thee otherwise."
"I didn't think that you'd be one to plead." England said in a low voice.
Dark England let out a sharp laugh. "My good man, never once didst I mention I was done. Hasty thou art."
"Like a hare?" America asked as England elbowed him.
England's crimson eyes danced in amusement. "A hare? What, thou art not a man, but a hare? More like a bawd, if not a hare."
"Hey, that's what the others said!" America said, laughing. "What does that mean anyway?"
"Oh quiet, you." England snapped at America.
Dark England took a few steps forward but the four backed up a little. Dark England stopped and smirked. "How now? Thou act like young uns when thou art hundred year old nations."
"We're cautious. We don't trust the likes of you." England replied.
"Fool, we are you." Dark England said haughtily. "If it offends thee to have me in thy presence, I'm terribly sorry. My work is to strike thee down, take thee in, and lock thee up. I-"
Dark England was silence by a blast of ice blue. He was forced several feet back, his heels digging into the ground and kicking up dirt. "Thou art moved when I have yet to move?" Dark England demanded angrily when he crouched down to keep his balance.
"I'm terribly sorry." England said with a small smirk. "But I never thought that a fragment of myself would be so boring."
"Take thy word back!"
England put on a face like he was considering it. Then he shook it and said, "No, I would rather not." And shot another bolt of magic towards Dark England.
Dark England deflected the bolt and sent a massive ball of fire their way. The fire was quenched by a jet of water colliding into the ball and the ball hissed as steam enveloped it.
The steam blocked their eyesight but England knew better and yelled, "France, keep everyone here, especially America!" England ran forward as America complained to France ("How come it's his turn to be the hero?" America asked. "I didn't get a big chance last time.)
The humidity created by the collision of the water and fire prompted England to sweat immediately after he left the other three. The steam was thick and breathing was difficult but England moved on. Using his magic to guide him through the steam, he located the silhouette of Dark England and balled up his fist tightly.
Dark England suddenly turned on the spot and blocked England's punch, holding on tightly to his fist until England cringed at the sheer strength. "Count thy lucky stars, boy." Dark England sneered. "If thou hath no importance to me, I count it not a sin to kill thee."
England gritted his teeth. "Watch your tongue. Do you realize who you're talking to?"
Dark England spat, "All talk and no bite. Come on, sir."
"How can I if you're holding me here?" England demanded, but he inhaled deeply in order to get air; the steam was still rather heavy despite it starting to settle down around them.
"Come, sir." Dark England yelled. "Have at thee!"
"Stop being so bloody noisy!" England used his free hand to shoot a small streak of red to his doppelganger. Dark England grimaced but he didn't release England. Instead, he created a ball of black-red energy and shoved the dangerous magic in England's stomach.
England coughed up blood once the magic touched him. He didn't know this curse, and he wasn't sure what it would do. Dark England gave England a small cocky smile. "Lo, thou art felled by my hand."
England was thrown backwards with such force that he hit the ground hard. He felt his shoulders tear open, blood flying into the misty air. He uttered a cry of pain, gasping for air, clutching his shoulders where he had met the ground first. Squinting his eyes, he saw that Dark England stood where he was, unaffected, ninety feet away.
France, America, and Italy had seen a blast of dark red light in the settling steam and they watched as England's body flew past them. Italy cried out in horror after England lifted his head from the ground weakly and collapsed, unmoving.
Dark England was still there, so England wasn't dead. "Of course not." France said to Italy hastily. "You need to get rid of their people and their government before you can kill a country."
When Dark England approached them, America stepped out in front of France and Italy and said harshly, "Don't you dare take another step forward."
Dark England's eyes scanned America for a while, and after he seemed to deem America weakened by his wounds from earlier, he said, "Draw if you art willing."
Italy whimpered in fright when Dark England beat America and tossed America aside. America landed a few feet away from England, sprawled and unconscious.
"Italy, flee." France ordered to Italy as Dark England turned to look at France directly in the eye.
"N-no."
"Italy!" France turned his head to give Italy a cold glare. "Désolé, but you have to go."
"I can't leave you." Italy cried, hanging onto France's arm. "I-I...I don't want to be alone."
Before France could say anything, Dark England shot another bolt of magic to France, and France pulled him and Italy out of the way. France pushed Italy away from Dark England and yelled at him to go, but Italy refused to leave them.
France knew that Italy wouldn't and his sadness reflected in his light blue eyes. "Je suis désolé...Je suis très désolé...I'm sorry...Italy."
Italy yelled as France turned around and charge into the mist at Dark England. A few minutes later, France too was thrown aside and Italy was the only one left.
"Excuse me, England's hatred."
Dark England turned his head to look at Dark Italy, who was watching at the sidelines. Dark Italy walked up to Dark England's side, watching Italy shake in terror. "May I?"
Dark England glanced at Italy and then at Dark Italy. Seeing no harm, he said, "Ay. Thou hast my honor."
Dark Italy stepped forward as Dark England stepped back. Italy had never been in such a horrifying situation as this before. There were too many things that seemed unreal, like England's magic for example. Since when did he use magic? Italy didn't know; maybe it was a secret talent England was trying to keep hidden.
And then the fact that an actual physical form of hatred was right in front of him, and it was his own, made it seem too surreal, too much like a nightmare.
Italy tried to think of good things like pasta and sharing a warm (and not cold) bed with Romano and he thought of Germany and Japan, and he also thought of all of the fun times they all had together.
He didn't want to fight.
"Why do we have to fight?" Italy asked quietly. "Why do you want to fight? Is fighting so much fun? Is it worth to see the pain, feel the pain, and see what happens because of it?"
"It's futile to ask a question like that to someone like me." Dark Italy said.
"Someone...like you?" Italy repeated. "You are me, and I am you, right? It's like me answering that question, and I don't think fighting is a good way to solve problems. Germany says that you have to accept who you are, and what you have done. I know there were a lot of wars that I didn't like, but I like to look at the bright side-"
"There is no bright side of war." Dark Italy snapped. "War is dark. War is blood. War is not glorious like people make it out to be. War is madness, war is bloodshed, war is hell."
"War is very bad." Italy agreed. "But it brings everyone together as family-"
"It kills people."
Italy faltered and Dark Italy said under his breath, "War isn't necessary, but war happens. We came to accept that long ago because, well..." Dark Italy smiled a small smile. "We begin wars."
And then Dark Italy reached into his jacket, pulling out a gun. He raised his arm, pointing the weapon at Italy. The hammer clicked back and Dark Italy rested his finger on the trigger. "And we'll begin this one."
But before Dark Italy could pull the trigger, Italy leapt forward and embraced his doppelganger. Dark Italy's eyes widened with surprise as he was knocked off his feet at the sudden hug. Italy tightened his embrace and cried into his shoulder.
"Why do you want to begin wars? Can humans really be this hateful to other humans? Why can't we just forgive? America tells me he wants happiness but wars happen to help achieve it but what good do wars do if it only causes more suffering?" Italy sobbed.
"Do you really enjoy pain? Do you really like to see people cry and hurt and torn? Hatred does this to people and how can we achieve happiness if we let hatred control ourselves? We have to calm down and trust one another and we can all be friends! No more grudges! No more pain! No more tears..." Italy's lower lip quivered for a while, and then his shoulders shook as he weeped into his hatred's shoulder.
"I don't want to hate anymore." Italy whispered.
Silence. Italy heard himself breathe heavily, weary of crying. He felt helpless, but the only thing he could hang onto was himself, or rather, a fragment of himself. It was all he had left.
"Italy..."
Italy slowly lifted his head off of his doppelganger's shoulder and looked at him, his face tear stained.
Dark Italy looked down at Italy and to Italy's shock, Dark Italy had tears running down his cheek. "Are you able to stand up for yourself?" Dark Italy asked quietly.
As Italy stared in surprise, Dark England barked, "What is this? Art thou decieved? Regain hated control, man!"
Dark Italy ignored Dark England and waited for Italy to respond. "I'll do my best..." Italy said quietly.
Dark Italy's grip weakened and a small, quivering smile took its place instead of the scowl he had. As Dark Italy's tears dripped down his chin, his red eyes faded and they took on the normal warm brown eyes Italy had. He looked just like Italy now; there were no signs of the sinister redness in his eyes.
"I see..." Dark Italy murmured. "You really do want everyone to be happy, don't you? I...I can't feel any of the hatred in your heart anymore. Even your dislikes aren't as strong right now..." Dark Italy glanced up at the real Italy and gave him a small laugh. "Ve...I'm happy. I'm happy that you want peace and happiness. I think...I think you deserve it. Take care...and don't get caught up in anymore wars, okay?"
Italy's eyes brimmed with more tears. "Okay."
Dark Italy nodded and said softly, "Good luck...Italy."
And then Dark Italy faded with the wind that blew over them; his image disappeared into the air and left no trace behind. Italy felt whole again; he didn't know he had felt like he was missing something before, but for some odd reason, he felt oddly at peace.
Italy looked up at the sky and smiled, no longer crying. Maybe, just maybe, world peace was attainable.