Allen peered at his reflection in the windshield of a parked car. He noted the rings under his exhausted pinkish eyes and the way his hair stuck up at odd angles. Behind Allen, Lutz was visibly miserable, questioning himself and staring at Allen through the windshield rather than himself. Allen sighed and pushed a hand through his messy hair, shivering a little when he brushed over his curl.

"I-I'm... I am sorry. Vhy I did that... I-I do not know..." Lutz' usual tough façade had quickly broken down after being confronted.

It was to be expected. Everyone knew the German was quite naïve and generally never used his strength, but even then he was more of the type to do Italy's bidding without question. He was fiercely loyal; a flaw of his that often went beyond the boundaries of morality.

"Why did Italy do this?" Allen asked in a low, monotone voice.

They made eye contact in the windshield.

"You vill hurt Italy."

Allen snarled, his face twisting into a look of sheer anger as he spun around and yanked the German's head down by his hair.

"Goddamnit, Lutz! Why the hell are you so loyal? You coward, you murderer, you-! You-!" Allen's shoulders heaved with each breathless pant, speechless as anger consumed him from the inside out.

He finally spat at Lutz' face, releasing the grip on the German's hair. Lutz wiped away the saliva on his face with a steely glare. Allen turned back around to face the windshield of the beaten up car, placing his palms on its hood.

"Why was it okay? Why? What made you ever think it was a good idea?" Allen growled.

"Italy told me-"

"No," Allen curtly interjected, "I am asking you why you did the dirty work."

Lutz may have looked cold on the outside, but on the inside his mind was frantically scrambling for an answer. His economy didn't depend on the fate of America. His people had no national quarrels or conflicts with America, nor did he loathe the nation.

"Huh, you don't know? I guess that's why Italy keeps you around," Allen grumbled with venom laced in every word, "you're his play thing-his puppet, an obedient dog. I bet he only realized you were missing when he needed you to do his dirty work again."

Lutz gripped the edge of the jacket tossed around his shoulders. Allen lazily turned around again, throwing an angry, expectant glare at him.

"What's it gonna be, lover boy? We all know you like the little fucker, but do you like him enough to kill for him? Huh? Is that it?" Allen sneered.

Lutz shook his head. He had to ignore that kind of reasoning. If he believed Allen, well, he simply didn't know what he would do with himself. Calming himself, he pushed his shoulders back and seemed to appear taller and stronger.

"You vere a threat. You could have ruled the vorld vith that kind of pover," Lutz dutifully replied as if reading from a script.

Allen squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his teeth.

"Yeah, that's a good reason to kill children."

Lutz didn't have anything to respond with. However loyal to Italy he may have been, he was surprisingly obedient to Allen. When the American ordered him to get in the passenger side of the car, he complied without complaint, little doubts beginning to worm inside his head. What if blindingly loving Italy had been a mistake? All he wanted was to protect Italy and make him happy, but at what cost?

No, stop it, Lutz. Keep yourself together for Italy.

Allen turned the car on with ease. He leaned back in his seat, knowing Lutz wouldn't do anything to sabotage him. They sat in silence as the car's engine sputtered to life, rumbling unevenly, but doing its job regardless. Allen pulled the car forward; a flight from England had taken them to Massachusetts, and from there, he didn't plan on stopping for a while. Lutz kept his eyes forward for the first half hour of the ride, but with the dead silence and tense atmosphere, his curious, wandering eyes eventually landed on Allen. Not just Allen, no, he also eyed the worn-out bomber jacket and its old, aged fur. His hair was messy and ruffled-a phenomenon that probably occurred after not brushing his hair for days on end save for his fingers frustratedly running through his own locks of greasy hair. Torn jeans matched his beaten-up converse, dried mud sticking to the laces and crusted flakes of the stuff occasionally fluttering from the bottom of his shoes. His hands gripped the steering wheel, a few small scars barely visible across his left hand going from his knuckles to his wrist.

What stuck out to Lutz the most was Allen's face. His tanned skin wasn't nearly as dark and refreshing as it once was a dream ago now that dark circles hung under his eyes. His chapped lips were reddened in areas where his teeth had bit into and torn skin off. And his eyes... Lutz had heard stories of the nation's childhood life; a cozy home housing the first of England's children, the quiet boy had been mild-mannered and pleasant to be around. Once, he had been ignored when war came to mind, and the only things he had that his brother didn't was a readied smile, laughter like chinking bells, and the kindest, joy-filled eyes to be seen.

Now? Those pink eyes looked like sprinkles of blood on a dead man's corpse. The anger his hands displayed as they gripped the steering wheel, the sadness Lutz could hear in his cracking voice, it was nothing quite as powerful as his eyes. Hopeless couldn't even begin to describe the look; he was dead and gone. Allen was hardly holding onto whatever bit of life and humanity he had left in him.

"Do you not have a lover...?" Lutz briefly questioned, instantly regretting it.

Allen kept looking forward. A wisp of some unreadable emotion lit up his undead eyes for the quickest moment.

"Shut the hell up, Lutz."

And he did. He directed his gaze forward once more, watching the sunset outside until the trees surrounding the road covered the sun's descent. He didn't dare look back, but out of the corner of his eye, he swore he could see a tear trailing down Allen's cheek.