Paint It Red

{2}

"Italy, you need to eat something!" demanded Germany. Italy had only eaten a quarter of his pasta. He had never eaten so slow, nor had he ever rejected a meal that wasn't made by England.

"Don't worry Germany," Italy half smiled. "I'm just not that hungry today."

"You're always hungry."

"Not always..."

"Ok then. If you're not going to eat, then go to bed and get some rest."

Italy stood up. "Ok Germany. Buonanotte!"

Something was wrong with Italy, and he knew it. Voices kept ringing in his head.

He's a bastard!

Stop being a lazy dick and start fuckin' that bitch up!

Germany doesn't like you because you're a doormat that only obeys him for food.

"Sh-shut up!" Italy whimpered. Something inside his was torturing him with negative words and disbeliefs. He couldn't handle it, and he clawed at his head to try and make the voices stop. He ruffled his hair and whimpered when they wouldn't.

Then finally, they did. The voices had stopped.

For now. 

Italy examined his arms and frowned.

"Hmm...I should really star to get to training on time, or else I'll never be as buff as Germany..." He undressed and put on his sleeping shorts, but not his usual pink top. He started to stare at the gun on his bedside table. Germany had given it to him, just in case there was an attack while they were sleeping. He had never used it before though.

You should use it. You should kill Germany with it. It'll get him out of the way!

Italy gasped at the sudden voice. What was wrong with him? He realized that he was changing. He never wanted to go to training! He always thought his figure was fine, and he always wore a shirt to bed.

Until now.

Kill...come on! Kill him dammit! You should obey me!! Do you want to get pushed around for the rest of your life?

Italy almost screamed. But instead, he suddenly dropped into a deep sleep, right there on the floor. 

He found himself in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by darkness. Then he heard footsteps. He waited, expecting someone to come out of the darkness.

There he was. It was him. Italy was standing before him.

Only, it wasn't Italy. At least, it wasn't him. It didn't seem right, any of it.

The man leaned down to him and, holding his chin, tilted his head up.

It wasn't him. This man's eyes were blood red, and Italy could see that they were nothing alike.

"Who...who are you?" he whimpered.

"Why, I'm you of course," the other man replied with a sadistic smile.

"Were you the voice in my head?"

"Our head. Yes, that was me. But I'm definitely being honest."

"Wait," Italy said, confused. "What do you mean by 'our' and 'honest?'"

The other man glared down at him. "I mean, I can help us. Help me help you. I have been trapped in your mind for centuries, waiting for you to get weak enough to let me take control."

"But I don't understand!" Italy exclaimed.

"Veneziano...aren't you tired of that stupid Brit attacking you? Of being bullied? Aren't you tired of being below the winning ranks?"

"I-I-I don't know...I guess...no! No...no, I'm fine!"

"LIAR!"

The man slapped Italy across his face.

"Oh, you mean to tell me you're fine with being tortured by those idiots?" Italy was slapped again.

"WHY DO YOU THINK YOU ARE HERE WITH ME?! I AM THIS CLOSE!" 

The man threw his arms up in anger, then kicked the whimpering nation in the stomach. Italy was now rolling on the pitch black floor, hugging himself in pain.

"Pl-please stop..." he whimpered.

"NO! YOU'RE TELLING ME YOU'RE FINE WITH THIS!" The man started to kick, scratch, punch, slap. Italy sobbed in pain.

"TELL ME. ARE. YOU. FINE. WITH. THIS?"

"...no..."

The man stopped. "Say that again?"

There was a moment of silence. Then Italy tackled the other man to the ground. "No! Stop it!"

But the man just grinned. "You are tired of it. Let me help you." He showed no fear or pain from the attack. 

"H-how?"

"Just say please!" he sang.

Italy stayed there in silence, while the man smiled deviously to himself. His destiny was finally going to come to pass.

"...please."

The man clapped giddily. "Thank you for setting me free. I'm afraid, however, you are going to have to take my place in this prison!"

"Wait, what?" Italy gasped.

"I'm going to help Italy become number one. But not you. Me. Then again, I am you, in a sense. I'm going to help myself, in other words."

"WHAT? NO! You can't do this!" Italy began to slam the man on the ground repeatedly, showing surprising strength as he yelled. "NO-NO-NO-NO-NO!"

"It's too late now."

And with that, Luciano clicked his fingers, and vanished.