Bucky shrugged. "Believing in a higher power makes it easier to blame your actions on someone or something else." He replied rather cynically. "Because that's how people work. If they can push the blame on someone else, they usually do."
"That's true." Steve agreed casually, "But finding connection, even if it's not there. All these people come together to empower each other– it's interesting." He sighed, studying Mary, a golden nimbus behind her head and her hands outstretched like she way embracing someone, listening, forgiving all those who came. It reminded him of the scene in Romeo + Juliet, where Juliet lay unconscious, moments from awaking, moments from death.
Bucky shrugged again. "I suppose so." he replied, shifting and uncrossing, then recrossing his arms. "Still." he shook his head. "They're looking for someone to blame."
"–Or someone to give them hope." He glanced at Bucky, hope. "The world's a messy place…and sometimes, you're lucky enough to find someone– something, to look up to. –Believe in them in an unexplainable way." He smiled quietly, glancing at Mary again, I've found that someone. Haven't I?
Bucky shrugged. "Yeah, maybe." He replied, though he sounded unconvinced. He kept his arms crossed, his eyes flashing around the church silently.
Steve sighed, "Do you think there's God? That all of this–" He gestured broadly, "Was planned, meant to happen?"
"No." Bucky replied after a moment. "I don't." He shook his head, not looking at Steve. He just looked around the building. "If I did…I'd be going to hell."
Steve sighed, "The Lake of Fire…" He shook his head, "We've all done bad things…but I think death is the highest form of punishment. I don't think it's ethical to have something after that." He glanced around the empty church, wondering if the people who came here with religious and mystical ideas of a real place where pain is basically non-existent found comfort in thinking so. "Some might argue that religion is an unwanted response to the pain of living."
Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You sure got wise, punk." he said, and for a moment he sounded so much like the old Bucky, like the Bucky before HYDRA, that even he was surprised. Then he blinked, and it was gone.
Steve’s heart leaped a bit at Bucky’s words. He knew it was only a slip; a sliver of Bucky’s old self. He sighed, smiling a little to himself, “…I don’t know.” And he really didn’t. All this was coming out of nowhere, or at least it felt that way. Everything in the world was so different now, faster, but he had time to think. “I’m just tryna make sense of all this.”
Bucky shrugged a little. "Still. The way you're talking is…" he sighed softly. "I don't know." The ex-Winter Soldier didn't know quite what he was saying anymore. He didn't know why. There were so few whole memories in his head, and the fragments that were there didn't quite make sense.
"Yeah…" Steve chuckled quietly, "I don't know either. Everything's different now. I'm just glad I'm not telling this to a therapist or anythin' like that." He knew how his words sounded– like he had a problem opening up to people. And he did, because he'd been seen as weak for as long as he could remember, now, he had someone who knew he was strong.
Bucky's mouth twitched in a faint smile. "I see." he replied after a moment. He shrugged, running a hand through his hair and wishing he remembered more.
"What do you think?" Steve asked, though it felt like he'd asked that too many times. He just wanted to hear him talk. "About– all this." He gestured broadly.
"This church? Or this time period?" Bucky asked, arching an eyebrow at Steve, eyes flicking around the church again. He shrugged. "Because I'm not sure. About either one."
"I mean– all of it I guess?" Steve shrugged, "Just– everything. What do you think about it?"
Bucky shrugged. "I don't know." He replied slowly. "It's just… different. I would guess. I don't remember." He looked around the church, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know." He repeated.
It was the answer Steve expected, but not the one he secretly wanted. 'Everything is changed…I don't know if what I feel for you was there before or I'm imagining it, or if I'm starting to understand what's between us,' Sounded satisfactory to him, even though they were not a reflection of his own thoughts. He chuckled, "Yeah, different is right. But what do you feel when you see all this stuff?– the people, the buildings, the music. It was pretty eye-opening for me."
Bucky shrugged. "You want the truth? Afraid." He replied after a long moment. "That's what I feel."
"It's good to feel afraid." Steve said out of nowhere, "It means you still have something worth living for, worth fighting for." He shocked himself at his own reply, eyes flickering up to Mary like she'd possessed him. "Fear is good, most of the time."
Bucky blinked slowly. "If you say so." He replied after a moment. "I don't think so."
"What, you don't think fear is proof of a dedication to live?" He turned to him, "It's a weapon against others and a potential lifesaver for yourself. Fear is what keeps you alive, that's what I think. What do you think?" Steve prompted, a little scared as to what Bucky might tell him about fear.
"I think fear is built up from too many bad experiences, or an overactive imagination. I think that searching the shadows for a handler or waiting for someone to come up behind you and grab at you isn't a good thing. I don't think it's a dedication to live. It's just fear of what will happen that you can't stop." Bucky's blue eyes were a little cold, a little distant.
Steve nodded, he had a point. Bucky had lived so much of his life in fear– it had taken over him. "What you're describing isn't fear. It's trauma." He smiled apologetically, "You're living in fear, and it's not just fear anymore. It's become more than fear. It's killing you from the inside out."
Bucky shrugged his shoulders a little, eyes flickering around the church. Searching the shadows for a handler that wasn't there anymore, and wouldn't ever be again. "Maybe." he replied after a moment.