Scars Anecdotes and Other Stories

Lasciare Andare

Happy New Year! Let's start off with a new chapter!

January 3, 1946

Italy

Fascist took a deep breath. This...was going to be difficult, to say the least.

He'd been dreading telling his son the news, but he knew the longer he put it off, the harder on Italy it would be.

So here he was, having called Italy for a family meeting.

"Hey Dad," Italy was ravenously consuming a bowl of noodles. "Hope you don't mind, I brought lunch to this meeting."

Fascist nodded. "It would be cruel of me to deny your black hole of a stomach its nutrients."

"So what's on the table?" Italy asked.

"Italia," Fascist winced. "I've...got some plans I need to go over with you for the restructuring of our country."

"Okay..." Italy raised an eyebrow. "I don't think you have anything that's not already been looked at, but okay."

The elder peninsula could feel his chest throb with the weight of the news. "Italia...when the Italian Republic is officially founded...I'm going to let you take the full duties of an active country."

Italy simply kept munching on his pasta. That is, until the full implications hit him, making him slowly raise his head, spaghetti strings dangling from his mouth. "Dad? Are you...?"

Fascist hung his head. "I'm sorry, Italia. The time has come for me to pass the torch."

The bowl slipped out of Italy's lap, landing headfirst on the floor. The loss of his food didn't upset him nearly as much as the twist to his heart.

"Papà?" Italy asked tearfully. The look in his eyes reminded Fascist of the little boy he was not that long ago.

Fascist could feel tears welling in his own eyes. "This hurts me too. But I know you'll be fine, Italia. You managed while I was held captive by Reich."

"But that's because I knew you were alive!" Italy yelled. "This time, I know you'll be dead with no chance of coming back!"

"Italia..."

"I thought I'd get a few more years with you! After the war, I was looking forward to finally being open with you! I didn't get much of that before Reich's intervention!"

Italy's lip trembled, salty water forming giant beads that rolled down. "I walked through fire just to get you back. And now, you'll slip away from me, and no amount of fighting will change that."

The red-and-green country ran from the scene, crying heavily. Fascist shuddered at the noise and hugged his knees, a habit he'd picked up during his time with Reich. He tended to do it whenever he felt sad.

Warm tears tickled his cheeks and bled into his clothing.

"I'm sorry, Italia. But it must be done."

January 30, 1946

Things between father and son had been tense the past month.

Italy refused to come out of his room, and Fascist had no idea what to do.

But today, a little visitor arrived. One of Italy's dear friends.

"こんにちは, Italy-kun's dad!" Japan greeted eagerly. "Is he home?"

Her guardian America was with her. "Hey, sorry if we're dropping in at a bad time, but little Japan here wants to see Italy."

"No. It's fine. She might do him some good," Fascist allowed them in.