[The other is right and mirroring his sigh, Timothy leans back in the chair he sits in, balancing the two legs on the ground as he puts his feet up on a box, hands shoved in his pockets.] I'm just rambling.

[He admits quietly, trying to quell the urge to continue to do so because no, Bucky doesn't have the answers to that and Timothy's stupid to burden him with that kind of questioning.] But you didn't and you're right, feeling like this won't help I just--I don't know, like I'm still scrambling to sort out my own memories about this place. Like my brain's been scrambled and now I have to put back the pieces.

Like a stupidly huge puzzle and I really hate puzzles.