Within the stillness of the apartment, his voice was the only thing that rang through, seemingly diverting all the attention to the speaker, and the speaker only. Years of being accustomed to the silence seemed to have perished almost instantly, as an anomalous desire for a cacophony of sorts began to emerge. The awkwardness was tangible, heavy in the air around them, and only with the existence of a rumpus could it be, at the very least, alleviated. But not now. Now it was as silent as the dead of night, and all of a sudden he wished it wasn’t. The difficulty to respond in an appropriate manner was amplified when, after listening to nothing but the quietude of the room, he was faced with a set of replies that was even more bewildering. Eyebrows knitted ever so slightly, he tried to process the man’s words slowly— one by one. Whatever he meant, Axel expected a form of explanation for it, but failed to receive one following his cryptic statements. With the questions regarding his uncle’s surprising visit becoming more hooked into his brain, he tried not to allow curiosity, suspicion or confusion to show upon his countenance; preferring a more noncommittal approach before things become less obscure.
When the other began to introduce himself, Axel wanted to stop him right then and there. He wasn’t as daft or stupid as some thought him to be. At times, it was a facade, other times he was genuinely unaware, but overall, he wasn’t a complete dunce. He remembered, despite not having a firm hold of memories that included the veteran, the times where they would meet and talk. He was but a child back then and though his knowledge on the world around him was limited, he didn’t care. He knew well about his uncle, even before they officially met, and for the other to think that he could forget him now was simply absurd. Axel wouldn’t, regardless of his long absence. His words seemed to have been calculated properly, but there was one sentence that simply sounded comical to his ears. ‘Something like your uncle’. No, that wouldn’t explain the true nature of what James was to him. He wasn’t something like Axel’s uncle, he was Axel’s uncle, whether he accepted it or not, that was what he was in the boy’s eyes, even now. But he had an inkling as to why the other would say such a thing, though all he did to exhibit his attentiveness was through a mere nod of the head. He felt as though it would be better if his answers were to come later on.
To his clear surprise, however, the other stopped, and moved away, opting to settle down on his sofa. Was it because he appeared too stoic? Or perhaps he now viewed him as a threat? Maybe what he had been displaying all along seemed intimidating to him? Nonetheless, the man finished, and the boy felt as though he had been deeply propelled into a more intricate plight now that it was his turn to say something. But his lips were dry and his mind was everywhere at once and he couldn’t even focus. His tongue was betraying him and he silently hoped that the rule of civility could be rewritten just for this moment. Unfortunately, not everything could go the way he planned, so he tried to brace himself for what would come.
“I know who you are, and yes— that is my name.”
He knew. Webbing of thought returned and spun itself in the soldier’s mind. His eyes again left the boy, and inevitably landed on what wasn’t his. Out of habit - and a small percentage of fascination - he moved his hand of iron. Felt the movement of each and every single part of it where his flesh began. He’d make it his, some day and in some way, but now was not the time to thank the creators by using its strength on them. His ears were what brought his mind back to the real world. Though one was dead and one was alive he was sure he himself was the only to hear the subtle noise iron sliding against iron made.
What did the boy see when he looked at him. Bucky had only ever truly seen his reflection obscured, or blurry, like in one of those mirrors at a carnival, he could see himself in the bionic arm. He’d seen his older self. Bucky. An image, a face with a story. It didn’t feel like his story of his face. It was an unnecessary string of thoughts, as there was a more important face to see and a story to hear. He was wasting his regained control of mind on himself, but the boy mattered too.
His nods were shallow. He knew. But there was no being sure whether it was lie or truth the blond told. His muscles warped his expression into the smallest of smiles. To hell with questioning things. He wouldn’t close his eyes in order not to see, but keep them wide open to see both wrong and right. At last it was on his shoulders, the weight of consequence, his decisions. “It’s nice to meet you.” He didn’t know when he did get so fearful, but he was taking a chance when he lifted his hand for Axel to shake, finally finding his voice. “You’re my best friend’s 'accident’, huh?” This boy was what the old and dirty, ugly note that kept him balance lead to. In ulterior recollection, it wasn’t a note like he’d always believed, a bunch of numbers and letters, but blond hair and a calming voice those insolubly familiar blue eyes. He wouldn’t think of asking for the world to be bigger, and take him away from this place.
The door swung wider and the boy stepped back to let the other in. His hand was rigid where it had been gripping upon the door firmly. The gesture was considered somewhat subduing, he thought— to have something to grasp onto for the moment as an ongoing reminder that these events were actual and happening right before his eyes. You could say that he deemed it hard to believe. After all, he spent all these years wasting away a profusion of his hopes for something that was so trivial and stupid and childish.
Axel was no longer a kid who would view the world with big blue eyes, looking forward to a better tomorrow and a brighter day. There were things that he didn’t understand back then but not now. Life had fed him a spoonful of lessons that could never cease to be remembered, forever echoing in his mind as messages of caution. It was why the sudden arrival of his uncle was something that would take him awhile to process and digest thoroughly, because those warnings that he knew so well had withered away in the mere span of minutes, and he wasn’t sure if he should raise his hopes up once more, or to simply quell these inane expectations for good. He hated dilemmas as much as he hated to be stuck in one.
This was his uncle, for crying out loud. No matter how much he tried to tell himself that, it was just too hard for him to believe. He really thought he had lost him. Perhaps Bucky belonged somewhere else, then; some place where trust could easily be found along with warmth and affections. Perhaps the makeshift family that he had wasn’t enough for him. Perhaps they weren’t enough for him. And what made him think that it was enough for him now? Everything was almost the same, minus the part where cracks were starting to show upon their facade of ‘intrafamily concord’. Axel had always known, but was never one to speak up. These things are better off unspoken, he thought.
So he kept to himself and maintained a strong veneer because now he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer, or if he wanted any of this, or if he wanted things to be like the old days again even though he knew it couldn’t. He simply looked at the other wordlessly and waited for him to step inside; tension tangible and heavy in the air between them. No words fell off his tongue once he closed the door and looked towards the stranger; eyes gazing with a glint of something close to hope that Bucky would say something, anything, to soothe his nerves. He just waited, like he had been subconsciously doing all this time.
Exceptional was the belief this was a good idea. Exceptionally moronic. He knew there was something to understand, but he didn’t know just what. His days were running backwards, he would never remember yesterday, and guess about tomorrow. He’d nothing, no reality and no one to beg for guidance to. Even as his eyes at last landed on the boy, he saw right through him. “Look.” He wasn’t at a loss of words, the cause of his tentative pause was the oddity speech had become to him. “I don’t know why I’m here either.” There was no silver lining, no way not to be judged for what he used to be. This was how it always was, and there was no way around it. His expectations were high, and his mind set for the possibility to be the recipient of violence, in any form. All he’d ever been ready for, the only thing he’d ever been ready for. There was no rush of recoil and defence however. And his mind didn’t waver from collected and feverish streams of unlimited normal thought. It was so unusual he grew fearful and his eyes left the boy. What if he didn’t know, what if he knew nothing. It was likely to be worse than knowing more about himself than he could want. He could not even know his name either.
The run of time held him in a cell not of bricks and iron bars, but of faded hopes and tragedies he had failed to prevent. “My…. name is James Buchanan Barnes…. They said I’m something like… your uncle.” Something told him not to tread lightly around the blind spot his boundaries were in the blond’s presence, but this compulsion he foolishly ignored. His emphasis on his words was slow, and he nodded his head as if it were approval the words he’d chosen were right. Equally lessened in pace was his movement, as he seated himself on the next best piece of furniture. In the eye blind to all but his present it reasonably looked like comfortable carelessness. But Bucky knew to dread disrespect, and standing tall was often viewed as a threat.
“You’re Axel.” His brows furrowed and translated his sudden remembrance of how unusual the boy’s existence was forced to be seen by himself. But he knew miracles always were unusual. As from one thought to another his mind jumped, his eyes seemed to find the bravery to view the other’s blue ones. It seemed to wash few of the tensity he held away, but enough to make a difference. And he ceased to question existence alone, but who of them was really considered older? How long did the kid live, and how much of his life was considered living?
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[ With a relieved expression unfurling over his visage, he takes the cloth gratefully and gently presses it to the wound. His mouth opens to thank the other, but instead a pained shriek tumbles out. Axel flinches at the sudden surge of searing pain, surprised by what Bucky’s done. Keeping it far, far away, he shoots a brief look of indignation towards the other, but makes no attempt to berate him. Whatever would keep them out of harm’s way. ]
”They were wearing masks.”
[ Skilfully Bucky restrained the oncoming grin at the noise. The shrug he gave in response was so minimal due to the control he maintained of his demeanour it was almost like the flinch of the boy. ]
"It’s not that bad.“
[ Whether or not Axel was simply playing dumb, Bucky was fairly willing to put up with it, for now. Confident he would eventually coax the information he yenned for out of the blond. ]
"Yes, you said that already. But you must’ve seen something while you got your ass handed to you.”
