For all the patience he knows this method of communication demands from Arthur, Wrench has little of his own when it comes to reading those handwritten messages. He doesn't wait for the full text to reveal itself; instead, he stands close and watches as the other man forms the letters on the page, much like the way the letters come together between the two of them. By the time Arthur is done writing, Wrench is usually ready to respond again immediately.

Only he doesn't know what to make of any of that. The words aren't wholly unfamiliar, but they have no context in his version of reality. Eldritch gods and cursed stories he's never read. It would all be a little harder to wrap his mind around if they weren't currently standing in the middle of the 1960s in a town he's never even heard of.

Wrench doesn't know what to make of all of that, so he takes the easy route.

Bucky and I haven't spoken. Haven't spoken to many people. You can guess why.

He shrugs, mostly to himself. Wrench wouldn't have thought to tell Arthur even if he did know Bucky any better, assuming the man would've already known. But he can see where that's an unfair assumption. He knows how little he knows compared to how much people talk, because of the ways they tend to talk around him too.

He said he took your sight. But you're not mad at him?