Not my fault I got pulled out of my space and time before I could hit a rock. Blame erosion. [ Sometimes fatalistic humor was all you could hold on to during an impossible moment. Death and taxes being the only two constants you could measure by.

It takes him a moment to process that Bucky is talking about Hannibal and Will gives a small snort ... that turns into a coughing fit. When he recovers, pulling the sheet more firmly around himself he gives a nod. ]

Small favors. [ The words are pithy, but the sentiment behind them is deeply sincere.

But that does raise a question. ]

Is there anyone else? [ His reality may be skewed, but the inquisitive mind chugged on, already churning on trying to understand what the fuck was happening here. ]