He still doesn't got it, never had anyone other than a handful of Wakandan elders try to accommodate him ambling around with one arm because he's far more soldier needing a non-physical kind of rehabilitation than he is a struggling amputee, but there's a certain weariness on his face that seems to have developed over years of not really understanding why other people have their hangups and beliefs and concerns that Bucky hasn't developed in HYDRA captivity. He accepts it without further question the way he almost shuts down and accepts far too many things at face value so as to get past the disagreement and arguments, and just shrugs. Mostly for the kid to see, it seems. He might not look a hundred and six years tired but he's fast feeling it.
Bucky manages not to scrub his face at least and breathes out an almost inaudible sigh.
"I have no other missing limbs. I don't know what else is relevant." The suspicious-looking kid can describe whatever Bucky sinfully left out in their last five months together.
"And you? Are you some kind of alien?" Not that he automatically assumes everyone on the planet will have tried lasagna by a certain age. He's got the rebellious teenage swearing down pat maybe. But it's also the questions - who pays a visibly non-food-delivery-service for food? - and the way he cuts into it. Nobody's real name is John Doe. A fully grown man wouldn't acknowledge a kid as a partner, let alone take them on any dangerous adventures where partners tend to venture. From where Bucky is standing their relationship looks more parasitic than anything else. Arthur is dependent on the young man's eyes. And John Doe needs an Earthly guide, or at the very least help him navigate the social environment and all their unspoken rules and customs that dictate their behaviour.
For all Bucky knows, they both had a hand in killing the lady of the house and that's why it smells like bleach in here. But he'll save his theorising until he figures 'John Doe' out. As long as they're not harming anyone, it's not his business to pry.
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Bucky manages not to scrub his face at least and breathes out an almost inaudible sigh.
"I have no other missing limbs. I don't know what else is relevant." The suspicious-looking kid can describe whatever Bucky sinfully left out in their last five months together.
"And you? Are you some kind of alien?" Not that he automatically assumes everyone on the planet will have tried lasagna by a certain age. He's got the rebellious teenage swearing down pat maybe. But it's also the questions - who pays a visibly non-food-delivery-service for food? - and the way he cuts into it. Nobody's real name is John Doe. A fully grown man wouldn't acknowledge a kid as a partner, let alone take them on any dangerous adventures where partners tend to venture. From where Bucky is standing their relationship looks more parasitic than anything else. Arthur is dependent on the young man's eyes. And John Doe needs an Earthly guide, or at the very least help him navigate the social environment and all their unspoken rules and customs that dictate their behaviour.
For all Bucky knows, they both had a hand in killing the lady of the house and that's why it smells like bleach in here. But he'll save his theorising until he figures 'John Doe' out. As long as they're not harming anyone, it's not his business to pry.