[He's quiet, listening, picturing in his mind what that might have been like. His own experiences before were not so different -- vague recalling, dread about a time when by way of magic and someone else's power, he was not himself. Lancelot frowns, looks over to Bucky, to his arm, and he murmurs.]
Perhaps it was also that among with the memories that they tried to take from you.
[Because that's what it is, isn't it? Another force ripping away what isn't theirs and leaving behind only pieces.]
... The monsters and weapons aren't so far off. We were fighting them.