Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, teams, or previously written story lines contained in this story. There is no profit made from the writing and publication of it.

Author's Note: Part 10! There will only be 3 more stories before this series is complete. This one is multi chapter. For those still reading thank you so much and I hope you like it!

Trigger Warnings: Discussion of experimentation on children, child abuse, death of children, and suicidal thoughts. It's dark before it gets better. Please protect yourself and your mental/emotional health.

"Can't sleep, Captain?"

The Soldier kept his voice soft and low, so soft that, even though he knew The Captain could hear it, the microphones wouldn't pick it up. He knew that if he were to actually open his eyes and check that The Captain wouldn't have moved a millimeter. They had to be careful. If their handlers or the doctors knew that they were awake, that they were talking casually, it would mean more training, despite the full day of it they'd already had that had pushed their bodies to the breaking point and so often in the past, past the breaking point. But, from experience, their handlers would say that if they had energy to talk to each other they had energy to train and The Captain couldn't do it. Not right now. He'd disobeyed the handlers again, refused to train with the sniper rifle. And they'd beaten him for it. Beaten him so badly that he'd been coughing up blood by the time they'd stopped and allowed The Soldier back in the room with them so that he could prop The Captain up and take him back into their cell.

It was just short of a miracle that they allowed them to stay in the same room still. But, they'd found out quickly that trying to separate them was more trouble than it was worth. They hadn't learned from the broken arms and noses The Captain and The Soldier had given them when they tried to make them sleep in separate cells. But, soon enough they'd learned and they'd gotten bigger, stronger, better trained guards, whose arms and noses were either harder to reach or harder to break. He wasn't sure how long ago it had been, but it hadn't seemed so very long ago, when they finally did force them into separate cells and tried to train them apart from each other. They hadn't spoken about it, but somehow, he and The Captain done the same thing. They'd stopped eating, stopped drinking. Even when they were fed through tubes and hydrated through needles, they'd only sat in the middle of the floor when they were taken for training. No matter how much they were beaten or threatened, they'd just…One doctor, the only one who'd ever seen them as children, people, and not just assets, had said that they were willing themselves to die when they'd had him strapped to the table, feeding tube down his nose again. He figured it was about right. The Captain was the only bright thing in his grey world. What did he have if they weren't together? The handler had told the doctor that allowing them to will themselves to death was a waste of the millions they'd spent on them and more importantly of the last viable sample of genetic material they'd had to clone Barnes and Rogers, whoever they'd been.

The handler had ripped the feeding tube out of his nose, thrown his weakened body over his shoulder, and marched through the halls, being followed by the doctor, almost begging him to just put the boy down. They'd come to The Captain's door and the handler had kicked it in, then pulled The Soldier down off of his shoulder. He'd held The Soldier in a headlock, cutting off his air, and putting a gun to his head.

"My pay'll get docked, but eventually the bosses'll get over only having one of you. So you choose, Cap, is it gonna be you or is it gonna be this lil' fucker right here?"

The Soldier had never seen The Captain the way that he'd been that day before and he'd never seen it since. The Captain's normally pleasant face, smiling even at the worst of times, was twisted into an expression of rage and hate.

"Yeah," the handler had sneered, "That's got you going, doesn't it? C'mon, little fucker, make a decision. You or him…"

"Smith…" The doctor had sighed, "Just let the kids go. I'll talk to them. I'll get them to cooperate."

"Shut the hell up, Jones. They probably listen to you less than they listen to anyone else. Fact, I'm not sure what the hell you're still doing here. You were important when these fuckers were being made, but with Barnes dead and Rogers off the radar we aren't getting any others out of you."

"Smith, they're just boys."

"They're assets. And you?" The handler had pulled the gun away from The Soldier's head and pointed it right in the doctor's face, "You're getting on my nerves."

The handler firing the gun, killing the only doctor who'd ever tried to see them as human, set something off in The Captain. He'd launched himself at them, using every bit of training they'd ever given him, the strength of whoever he'd been cloned from flowing through him as it never had before. First, he'd broken the arm that was strangling The Soldier and, using his own training, The Soldier had rolled away and come up in a defensive stance, regardless of the black taking over his vision. He'd watched The Captain tear out the handler's throat with his teeth and grin ferally with the blood still dripping before he'd collapsed. The last thing he'd felt were The Captain's arms around him as he picked him up and rocked him back and forth.

They'd never tried to keep them in separate rooms again. And they'd left them alone for three whole days, letting them find comfort in each other, dropping food and water through the slot of the door, no training. It had been the best three days of their lives even if training since then had been hell. They'd nearly killed them every day and The Soldier was concerned that today they may have gone too far.

"It hurts," The Captain admitted, staying just as still and quiet as The Soldier, "Hurts when I breathe."

"It'll heal," The Soldier said, a little desperately, tears in his eyes he couldn't allow to fall, "It always does."

"Always," The Captain sighed, his breath rasping as he exhaled.

"They need both of us," The Soldier mouthed to himself desperately, over and over again, The Captain's breathing punctuating it, until he slipped into sleep.

He didn't know how long he'd been sleeping fitfully when a sound they'd only ever heard once before tore him awake. It was a klaxon that sounded all through the compound. The first time they'd heard it had been not long after the doctor was killed. One of his newest nurses, a woman they'd liked, who's eyes were kind, sometimes sad, as if she actually cared about their pain, had run. They couldn't say exactly what she'd taken because she'd destroyed the lab on her way out. And because they liked her, they'd been glad, couldn't stop smiling, when they'd heard she got away. They'd known, with her sad eyes, that she'd never last long. Those who had sympathy for The Captain and The Soldier never did.

But, no one came to their door the way they had that night, as if they were afraid their little experiments would get away, which meant only one thing.

"We're under attack." The Soldier jumped out of the top bunk of their shared bunkbed, but The Captain didn't get up. He didn't even open his eyes. His skin was pale, his lips were almost blue and his breathing was rasping even worse. The Soldier took one of his hands and pressed it to his forehead.

"I protect you this time."

He turned around with a snarl when their door slid open, ready to fight to the death, but then straightened out of his stance in shock when he recognized the face. Instead of deep brown eyes, they were crystal blue and instead of dull brown hair it was a striking red. Instead of blending into the background no matter where she went this woman was one who was born to stand out. She was so different, but he recognized her. And the fact that she had come back made him trust her, just a little.

"Soldier," She said softly, holding out her hands to show they were empty. She slipped gracefully to her knees so that her head was lower than his. He could see in the way she moved that she was well trained, but the fact that she was leaving herself vulnerable to him made him trust her even more.

"The Captain," He said, motioning to the other boy, "He needs help."

"We'll help him," She murmured, moving over to the bed, her capable hands running over the other boy's feverish face, then pulling up his ragged shirt to see the damage done to his ribs, "Oh, l'vionachik, it's all going to be okay. Lastachka," she turned back to The Soldier, "I'm going to take you both somewhere safe. Somewhere you can be happy."

"Happy?" The Soldier asked, confused, "What is that?"

The kind eyes filled with tears that he knew, just like himself and The Captain, she would never let fall, "I'm going to take you somewhere you can learn."

Clarice was awake before she knew what had awoken her, blinking confusedly, trying to figure out what it was that had pulled her out of one of the first good nights of sleep she'd had in months. She loved their babies more than anything and she'd forever be grateful that Astrid and Anwen were born so close together so they could be each other's constant companions as they grew, but she'd forgotten just how tiring it was to care for an infant. She wasn't as young as she'd been when she was caring for Cerabeth, which was hard, and there were two babies now to care for, which was harder, but there were also three of them to share the load and Cera was a trooper about not complaining and doing what she could to help them all out.

Cera. That was it. She was screaming.

She was screaming!

"Fuck!" Eggsy was out of bed before Clarice could even untangle herself from the sheets. She saw him reach for the gun he normally kept in his side holster and panic for a moment when he realized that he wasn't wearing it. It was one thing that they'd all agreed upon when Eggsy and Tilde moved in. Eggsy's work dealt with firearms, that was just a fact of life, but any time he was home, all firearms would be locked in a fingerprint coded gun safe. Always. She had conceded to the umbrella kept at their bedside as it was non-lethal.

"Eggsy, love," Clarice threw herself out of the bed and took a moment she knew she could spare to calm her husband, cupping his face in one hand and massaging his tense neck with the other, "It's okay, sweetheart. Cera's okay. It's a nightmare. Just a nightmare."

"Nightmare?" Eggsy was coming back to himself now.

"Just a nightmare," Clarice repeated.

Eggsy took a deep breath, "Got it."

Then he was out of the room and heading for their girl's room. It was at that exact moment that the babies started to scream in reaction to the commotion.

"I've got them," Tilde said quietly, pressing a kiss to Clarice's hair and then making her way to the nursery across the hall.

Clarice took a moment to calm herself before she followed her husband to her eldest daughter's room. She knew from experience when she was younger that she had to be completely calm before she went in to help Clarice. Even though her mutation did have physical aspects to it, it was primarily mental and her mental mutation also manifested in such a way that meant she was extremely sensitive to the emotions of her child. They'd discovered it just after Cerabeth was born when they'd thought that her fluctuating emotions were the result of postpartum depression. But, no medications or therapy were helping. It was a visit from Charles Xavier and a few lessons on mental blocking that finally allowed her to separate her emotions from those her baby was feeling. Xavier was almost certain that Cerabeth would manifest some sort of mental mutation as she grew because of how powerful the connection was to Clarice. As Cerabeth got older and learned to mentally block herself it had been that much easier for Clarice to keep their emotions separate, but the mental exercises that were as natural as breathing any other time were next to impossible just after Cerabeth had had a nightmare or at other times of high emotion. It was at those times that Clarice had to make sure that her mental shields were as strong as they could be so that Cerabeth didn't have to worry about her own.

With a final deep breath and her shields as strong as they could be, she made her way down the hall and into Cerabeth's room. The screams had long tapered and Eggsy was holding their little girl close rocking her back and forth as he stroked her hair.

"Come on, sweetheart," He murmured, his refined accent slipping with his worry for their girl as well as his comfort of being in his own home, "Come on now. Talk to me."

"Da!" Cera sobbed.

"Oh baby." Clarice moved to the opposite side of the bed and wrapped her arms around her daughter's shaking form from behind.

"Mama!" Cera leaned back into her and Clarice kissed her forehead and stroked her hair.

"It's okay, baby," She murmured, "It's okay." Slowly, but surely Cerabeth calmed until the sobs became sniffles.

"Do you want to talk about it, luv?" Eggsy asked gently. Cerabeth nodded sleepily as they helped her lay back down in the bed and straightened out her covers around her.

"It was Uncle Jake," She said around a big yawn, more asleep than awake, "There was fire falling from the sky and he was so sad. So sad and so angry. And black. In his heart was black, like falling into a deep lake and not being able to get out. Like drowning."

"What a scary dream," Clarice murmured, laying down next to Cera and holding her close, more to comfort herself than Cera, who probably wouldn't even remember the dream in the morning, "But, you know Uncle Jake always comes back to us, right? Even though he sometimes has to go far away and do hard things. He always comes back."

"Can you come back from the black?" Cerabeth sighed, before her eyes fluttered closed and she was fully asleep again.

"Kid her age shouldn't be worrying so much," Eggsy said, brushing her hair back from her face and tucking her favorite stuffed camel under her arm. A gift, of course, from Uncle Jake.

"She and Jake have always had a special connection. Don't get me wrong. Jake loves all of the nieces and nephews, but there's always been something between Cera and Jake. They just…they get each other. She always worries when he goes out. I think it was two years ago, maybe two and a half, Jake was captured on one of his team's missions. He was tortured. They broke his hands, stabbed him, punctured a lung. He almost drowned in his own blood, from what Carlos and Pooch told us later. That's the only other time I remember her screaming like this since she was really little and had night terrors. The…only…other time. Oh god."

"Babe?" Eggsy called after her as she ran out of the room.

She reached her phone just as it rang.

"Jake?" She asked.

"The officer and the chaplain just left, sweet girl," Her Papa's voice was rough with suppressed grief, "Your Daddy's not taking it very well. Will you come?"

"Of course. I'll be there as soon as I can." Clarice felt numb as she hung up the phone.

"My love?" Tilde's voice was gentle in her ear and Eggsy's arms were strong around her.

"Jake's gone," Her voice came out as a whimper just before her knees gave out and she fell to the floor, weeping.

He couldn't sleep. No matter what he did, he couldn't sleep. He'd tried pills, he'd tried booze. He'd even resorted to drugs, but he was what Hydra had made him. An almost perfect copy of Steve Rogers, Captain American himself. Pills worked for all of an hour the first time he tried them, then his body had burned them off. Alcohol had done nothing at all, but he hadn't actually expected it to. The one- and only-time alcohol had had any effect on him at all had been the one time that Uncle Thor had brought Asgardian liquor to a barbeque. But, he'd been so sick the next day it had kind of turned him off to the feeling in general. Drugs had had about the same effect as the pills. They'd worked the first time for about an hour, but then the effect had faded and had never worked again. His body had gotten used to it too fast.

There had been times in the past when he'd felt this way, when his mind was just moving too fast to allow him rest. When that had happened in the past he'd done one of two things. The first was turning to his family. Jamie and JoJo were the other parts of him. Simply being around them could calm him and when they laid on either side of him and wrapped him up in their arms his body relaxed and his mind quieted, always. But, as they got older they knew that they'd have to find ways to be without each other. They were a little too co-dependent. So, they saved each other for their worst times. And Jake could still exhaust himself and quiet his soul with his Cerabeth. He'd loved her completely from the moment she was born. Chasing after her, making her giggle, never failed to put a smile on his face. And, if everything else failed, playing with Cerabeth, trying to exhaust his body so that his mind could stop, he could always run around the woods with his Papa, his Dad, and his siblings, in a game part chase, part survival training, part war game, Pasha in their ears, never telling them whose side he was actually on. He was very aware that not all families played the way they did, but then again not every family included four super soldiers, three mutants, the most powerful mage in the multiverse, and super genius.

But, when he was away from them, when there was no family around him he turned to his computers. He lost himself in the internet, in coding, in watching over his family when he was away from them, in keeping his team safe when the intel they were given was too little or too late. When he was behind the screen of a computer, there was nothing that could stop him. He knew just how powerful his body could be, even though he almost never showed it to others, but he had no such qualms about his mind. As far as he was concerned, his mind was his greatest asset and there was no one, not even Uncle Tony, who could match him when he was behind a computer screen.

Unfortunately, Clay knew that, had utilized that skill more than a few times over the years he had been with The Losers. And Clay didn't want him communicating with the world outside of the nowhere town in the ass crack of Bolivia they found themselves in. Because if no one else knew they were alive, it followed that Max wouldn't know they were alive and until Clay figured out what they were going to do, he didn't want Max to know that they were alive. Jake had tried to tell him, a thousand different times it felt like, that he knew powerful people who could help them. He'd even been willing to tell him everything about his family that he'd always held back from the team. Clay was his colonel, after all, and they were in a hell of a position. They were going to need help. But, Clay hadn't wanted to listen. He'd ignored everything Jake tried to tell him. So, Jake had decided to go behind his back, get in contact with his family, ask for help. But, when he'd gone to get his laptop in the dead of night he'd found it smashed beyond repair along with his satellite phone, his personal phone, and the personal phone he hadn't even told Cougar about. Clay hadn't said anything, but the look he'd given Jake the next day had made Jake want to reach out and display his rarely used strength to strangle Clay with one hand. Only Cougar's hand on his shoulder, holding on, the thumb rubbing back and forth minutely, had kept him grounded, kept him from snapping their colonel's neck.

After that, without family, without his computers, his thoughts wouldn't stop. No matter what he did, he couldn't make them stop. He couldn't stop seeing it, again and again and again. Children, some even younger than his Bethy. He'd helped to put them on that bird. Children he'd spoken quietly to in their own language, not wanting his team to know just how many languages he actually had in his brain. He'd told them that they'd be safe, that they'd get back to their families or, failing that, that they'd be helped to find new families. That they never had to worry about anything again. He'd winked, making them giggle at the secret, just before the chopper had taken off. And then he'd watched in horror, his eyesight not letting him miss a thing, as those tiny bodies burned and fell out of the sky. He'd fallen to his knees, the vision of his nieces and nephews superimposing itself over the vision of the sweet faces who'd never been able to be happy and cared for as his nieces and nephews were in their short lives. He hadn't been able to breathe then.

He felt like he still couldn't breathe now as he laid on the roof of the derelict, abandoned house they'd taken over. The air was too wet, it stuck in his lungs. He couldn't breathe, couldn't close his eyes without seeing their faces. Couldn't bring himself any sort of peace. He took out his knife, flipped the blade open. He knew how stupid the idea was, but maybe just maybe, he could get some of this horrible failure out of his veins if he just…he put the blade to his wrist. It wasn't like it would kill him. He would heal too quickly for that. He was about to press down when a hand reached out, slowly, gently, and laid on top of his, not taking the knife away, not pressing down, but just holding his hand there. He looked up into the deep brown eyes that had adored for so long.

"No, mi amor," Cougar said quietly, "No."

"I just need everything to stop, Cougs," Jake said, hearing just how pleading his voice was, "I can't…can't breathe. Can't think. I just need it all to stop."

"Then, come here," Just as gently as he'd set his hand over Jake's he moved it and opened his arms, "Come take your rest in me, mi amor. Let me silence your mind."

"Cougs," Jake set his knife down and moved toward his lover, who laid back and welcomed Jake into his arms. Jake allowed his arms to come around him and laid his head on Cougar's steadily rising chest. There, in Cougar's arms, listening to the sound of his heart and looking up at the stars, for the first time in weeks Jake allowed himself to grieve. Allowed himself to feel no shame as he cried out the pain, the fear, the yearning for his family. And when he'd cried himself dry finally, finally, his mind slowed and quieted enough.

And he slept.