Having someone to talk to about such grim things is a weird sort of solace that brings about a few pangs of homesickness. It's the sort of peace he finds in talking to Russia, or rather having Russia patiently listen while America fails to keep all of his fears and darkest thoughts in and watching them overspill onto the floor like dirty rain out of a clogged gutter. Not quite comforting, but it relieves the pressure of trying to keep things bottled up all the time.

"First time, right, there's five, right? I need to brush up on that stuff. Not that it applies to me unless an event makes me human, but that ain't the case right now. Definitely don't feel like it."

He scrubs extra hard at a spot trying to make sure, and yep, the wall cracks a bit under his strength. Time to calm down a bit. It helps to hear that Daryl doesn't think he's a complete insensitive freak for looking at the situation with a measure of positivity. Death is always painful, but it doesn't have to be as painful here.

And he even looks placated until the ghost question arises, at which point his almost calm stare twists in disgust.

"I hate ghosts they are always haunting things and need to stop just go be dead if I say they're not real maybe they will go away forever," he whispers harshly. The undead aren't a problem, but ghosts freak him out like nothing else.