So many things
I wish I could say
But you can't hear them when you're so far away
I can't accept
The fact that you're gone
- "Dirt on Your Grave" by Project Vela
When Steve woke the next morning, he felt like he'd been run over by a bus. Everything ached, inside and out, so he kept his eyes shut for a few minutes more. As exhausted as he'd been, physically and emotionally, it had taken him forever to fall asleep. First he'd had to shower away all the blood and dirt, then he'd waited for Bucky to do the same. But even after they'd settled down in Bucky's bed, he hadn't been able to shut his brain off for hours.
Images from the day before kept disrupting his thoughts. Bloody bodies. Three graves. Wide blue eyes staring up at him...
Even though he had been the primary focus of his thoughts all through those sleepless hours last night, Steve still couldn't stop thinking about Jake. He'd been so focused on just getting to the Hydra base and rescuing the victims of Project Legacy, he hadn't done much in the way of planning his next steps. There had been so many unknowns, he hadn't known what exactly to plan for, even if he'd had the time.
Now the sheer scope of what lay ahead crashed over him. Jacob. His son. That little boy was his. His family, his responsibility. It would be his job to raise this boy for the next fourteen years. This was his life now, as much a part of him as being an Avenger. More, even.
What did being a father really mean? Steve had never known his father. And just as his mother had been forced to take care of him all by herself, now he was in the same position with Jake. He wasn't sure he could do it.
He thought back to how Jake had gone to the bathroom by himself and even untied his shoes on his own. How much was Jake able to take care of himself, and what basic life skills would Steve still have to teach him? Thankfully, he was only four, so they still had a bit of time before he'd have to think about formal schooling. And at least Jake could speak English, and Steve didn't have to worry about diapers...
He'd have to look into what kind of paperwork he'd have to fill out for Jake's citizenship. He'd probably have to do a paternity test to make everything official, and...
With a soft groan, Steve peeled his eyes open. His mind was swirling with questions and worries again.
He glanced over to the other side of the bed, but he'd already known in the back of his head that Bucky wasn't there; he hadn't heard him breathing. I must have been out cold, if I didn't wake up when he got out of bed...
Sighing in defeat, Steve slowly pushed himself upright and reached for his phone on the dresser. 7:24. Definitely time to get up.
He noticed that he'd gotten several texts, so he took a moment to glance through them.
Sam: I'm downstairs training, text if you need anything.
Tony: Don't worry about cleanup. Me Rhodey and Vision are handling. Will get the physical files.
Wanda: I'm in my room. Happy to help if you need it. Or a hug :)
Natasha: Working on the files from the base. There's lots, so it'll be a while. Let me know if I can help.
Clint: Hey cap. I swung by last night and grabbed some hand me downs we were saving for Nathan. Jake will outgrow them before we need them back. Left them outside your door.
Steve drew a deep, cleansing breath and let it out slowly. Right. He wasn't alone. He might not know what he was doing, but he did have people he could rely on.
As he got dressed, he realized that Bucky hadn't sent him a text. Well...he wasn't going to hold that against him, especially considering how much was no doubt weighing on his mind.
The common room was empty, and he couldn't hear anything behind the door to his room. (Well...Jake's room, now.) Steve retrieved the pile of clothes Clint had mentioned, then walked up to the door and raised his hand to knock.
Seconds trickled by. He didn't knock.
What am I going to do? What am I going to say? I'm not ready for this. He's going to look up at me with those big blue eyes, and he'll be able to tell right away that I have no idea what I'm doing...
He shook his head vigorously. Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter if I'm scared. He's my son. I'll figure it out. For him.
Taking a deep breath, Steve made himself knock before he could second-guess himself again. He heard a flurry of motion inside. "Jake?" he called. "Are you up? I'm coming in now, okay?"
Opening the door, Steve's eyes were immediately drawn to Jake, who stood at attention next to the neatly-made bed. Staring straight ahead, the little boy barked out at the top of his lungs, "Hail Hydra!"
The dissonance of those hateful words issuing from the lips of a kid who didn't even come up to his waist made Steve's mind reel, and for a moment all he could do was stare. Finally, he pulled himself together enough to say, "Um...you don't have to say that anymore, okay? I mean...I don't want you saying it. Understand?"
Jake looked taken aback, but he quickly said, "Yes, sir."
Steve cleared his throat awkwardly. It hadn't even been a minute yet, and he was already floundering.
Then he remembered the stack of clothes in his hands. "I got you some new clothes," he said, setting them down on the foot of the bed. "Here, why don't you pick some out to change into?"
Choice. That had been important for Winter, so it would probably be important for Jake too.
But Jake just stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights.
Steve remembered how long it used to take Winter to make choices about things as simple as which shirt to wear. He just needed to backtrack to that way of thinking again. He'd done it before. He could do it again.
"Here," he said, sifting through the clothes and putting together two outfits, complete with clean socks and underwear. He pushed the rest of the clothes out of the way. "Pick one of these outfits to wear. Go ahead and use the bathroom; you can wash your face and your hands while you're at it. And when you're done, just go out into the hallway and turn left to get to the kitchen, okay? I'll see about getting us some breakfast."
Once he started listing the steps to take, Jake seemed to relax a little. His eyes were still wide as he looked down at the clothes on the bed, but he didn't look quite as intimidated as before. At least, Steve decided to interpret his expression that way.
Steve left him contemplating his choice of outfits, and made his way to the kitchen. He decided he'd just go with scrambled eggs and buttered toast. Something quick and simple to begin with. He suddenly wondered what kind of food Jake was used to. He had to have eaten solid food, right? Bucky had been fed through tubes, but he'd also been kept in cryo for most of those seventy years. They wouldn't have done that with a growing boy.
His mind began to wander as he started whipping up several eggs in a bowl. Where was Bucky right now? Had he eaten? Was he with Sam, or...had he gone for a walk? Down a certain path to a clearing in the forest...
If not for Jake, he might be there himself right now. But he did have someone waiting for him to make breakfast, so he forced his mind away from that thought and poured the eggs into the sizzling pan.
By the time he noticed Jake peeking timidly through the doorway, Steve had filled two plates with a piece of buttered toast and a pile of scrambled eggs (half as much for Jake—how much did you feed a four-year-old, anyway?), and had poured two small glasses of apple juice.
"Hey there," Steve said with a smile, patting one of the stools at the island. "Come on, hop up. Let's eat."
Jake (who had picked the outfit with the plain green sweater, rather than the one with a grinning cartoon train) clambered onto the high stool, and immediately his gaze latched onto the plates of food.
"Eat up," Steve said, setting the plate down in front of him and sliding into the seat next to him with his own food.
As soon as the plate touched down in front of him, Jake grabbed his spoon and began shoveling food into his mouth at top speed. He bent over the plate with no regard for table manners at all, using his fingers almost as much as the spoon. By the time Steve sat down and took his first bite, Jake was already halfway through his eggs. He didn't even wait to finish one bite before shoving more food into his mouth.
"Whoa, easy there," Steve chuckled. "You're pretty hungry, huh?"
Jake's eyes snapped towards him, but he didn't stop shoving food into his mouth.
As he ate at a more sedate pace, Steve realized that he hadn't given Jake anything to eat the night before. He'd been so preoccupied with the outcome of their raid on the Hydra base, he hadn't been very hungry. But he hadn't stopped to consider how hungry a growing boy might be after a harrowing experience like that. By now, he must be starving.
Jake only slowed down when he'd stuffed the last morsel of food into his mouth. He used the last bit of crust to wipe up the last few crumbs on his plate, then crammed it into his mouth and sat there chewing, his cheeks as full as a chipmunk's. As frenzied as his eating had been, the area around his plate was surprisingly clean.
Steve waited until Jake had swallowed his enormous mouthful before saying, "There's more eggs in the pan if you're still hungry. You want some more?"
Jake's eyes flitted from Steve's face to the pan and back. He licked his lips, then said quietly, "Yes, sir."
"Coming right up." Steve scooped another spatulaful of eggs onto Jake's plate, but before he set it down again, he said with a smile, "Let's try to slow down a bit this time, huh? The food's not going anywhere."
Jake started wolfing down the food again, until Steve gently chided, "Finish each bite before you take another one, okay?" He followed Steve's instructions, though he still ate at top speed and barely chewed before gulping down each bite.
As Steve ate, he watched Jake watching him. His free hand was curled around the plate almost protectively, as if he was afraid of a bird swooping down and snatching it away. Or...afraid of Steve snatching it away.
What was breakfast like in a Hydra base? What scenario was Jake used to facing in the morning? Jake wasn't undernourished; his cheeks were round with baby fat. Hydra would have made sure he was growing up healthy and strong, if only for him to be more effective for their plans.
But maybe Jake had to fight to get enough to eat. Maybe they took it away if he didn't eat it fast enough, so he'd learned to eat as much as he could as fast as he could.
The toast was suddenly very dry in his mouth. After he'd swallowed the crust with difficulty, Steve cleared his throat and said softly, "You want some more?"
Jake looked between Steve, the pan of eggs, and his empty plate. He hesitated and bit his lip.
"It's okay," Steve reassured him. "You can have as much as you want. What do you say? Should I put it on your plate?"
Jake's gaze slid from one of Steve's eyes to the other, as if trying to read something behind them. Then he looked down at his hands and mumbled, "Yes, sir."
Steve gave Jake the rest of the eggs, wondering if Jake would be eating this much at every meal. He did have the same enhancements as any other supersoldier, so he would have an accelerated metabolism too. Steve had no idea how much an average four-year-old boy ate, so he couldn't even try to calculate how much bigger of an appetite Jake would have.
Steve got up to let Jake eat the rest of his breakfast in peace, hopefully with fewer worries once Steve turned his back at the sink. He smiled as he wondered what Sam would say when he heard what a bottomless pit Jake's stomach was. It had taken him a while to stop commenting on how much food the three of them went through in a week. Truth be told, it had taken Steve several months to get used to needing so much extra fuel for his body, back in the beginning.
There was a strange sound behind him, and Steve turned around just in time to see Jake turn to the side and throw up all over himself. He grabbed the trash can and darted to Jake's side, but it was too late. His breakfast was already in a puddle on the floor.
"It's okay, Jake, you're okay," he said, lifting Jake out of the chair and carefully depositing him at a safe distance from the mess. "That's what happens when you eat too much too fast, see?"
Jake's cheeks were white, his eyes round as dinner plates as he gaped at what he'd done.
Steve grabbed a napkin and wiped Jake's mouth and the front of his sweater as best as he could. Miraculously, it seemed to have missed his pants and shoes. "It's okay," he said, smiling encouragingly. "We'll just try to take it easy this morning. Why don't you take off your shirt and go pick out another one while I clean up here. It won't take long."
Jake rushed off down the hallway without a backwards glance.
Okay, we'll just be more careful next time, Steve thought, grabbing a roll of paper towels and starting to mop up the mess. At least it was all on the hard floor of the kitchen, so it was easy to clean up. He's just nervous, and he ate too much on an empty stomach. It hasn't sunk in yet that he's safe here. Only natural. I'd be scared too.
After wiping that area of the floor down with disinfectant and washing his hands, Steve turned around and almost stepped on Jake. He stumbled back a couple steps, his brain stalling.
Jake lay face-first on the cold kitchen floor, not wearing a shirt. Steve would have been worried that he had fainted or something, except that Jake held his arms rigidly to his sides, his whole body as stiff as a board. A clean shirt and sweater lay folded up next to him on the floor.
"Um...Jake? What are you...?"
"Ready to receive my correction."
Steve stared down at the boy's bare back, the smooth skin covered with goosebumps from the cold.
Correction. Punishment.
Steve's hands curled into fists. He couldn't breathe.
Slowly, Steve sank to his knees next to Jake, who peeked warily at him from the corner of his eye without turning his head. Steve wanted nothing more than to reach out to his son, gather him in his arms, and hold him close. He wanted to reassure him that no one would ever, ever lay a finger on him again.
But he could see the dread in every tense line of Jake's back. Terror in his eyes. Apprehension in the tight grip his fists had on the fabric of his pants. Steve couldn't stand the thought of making any of that worse, even for a few minutes.
So as much as his heart screamed to reach out, he held still.
Finally, he found his voice again. "Jacob," he said as gently as he could, forcing all of the pain and anger out of his voice. The only thing this boy needed to hear right now was exactly how much he cared for him. "I'm not going to punish you. It wasn't your fault. And...one more thing. Look at me, please?"
Jake turned his head, his eyes still wide with fear.
Steve met his gaze with a smile. "I love you, son. And I am never going to hurt you. I promise."
Jake stared at him in obvious confusion, but slowly his fists uncurled and his shoulders began to relax.
"Okay," Steve said, smiling when all he wanted to do was cry. "Now, why don't I help you get that clean shirt on? You must be getting cold."
There was a thoughtful crease in Jake's brow as he obeyed.
The ground was cold beneath him. It seeped through his coat and his two shirts, burrowing deep into his bones. The air was frigid against his exposed skin. His right hand was freezing. Well, both of his hands were cold, but he could only feel the right one. It was so cold it ached. The breeze that rustled through the bare branches of the trees stung against his cheeks.
It was going to snow. He hadn't seen a single flake yet, but he could smell it. He could feel it when he looked up at the heavy clouds obscuring the sky. He used to think snow didn't smell like anything, but that was before Siberia. Before cryosleep.
Bucky lay on the ground next to Mabel's grave. He knew it didn't do any good. It wasn't like she knew he was there. It wasn't like he was keeping her company. Wherever she was, it certainly wasn't here.
But he didn't know where else to go. Or what to do.
He hadn't slept at all last night. Well, maybe he'd dozed off once or twice, but the memories churning through his mind had seen to it that he hadn't gotten any rest. He'd lain in bed with Steve's arms wrapped around him from behind, listening to Steve's steady breathing as he slept.
That was good. Steve needed as much rest as he could get. He had his work cut out for him, taking care of his son. Jake.
Bucky wondered what they were doing while he lay here in silence. He didn't know what time it was, and didn't feel like pulling out his phone to check. But judging from the amount of light, it was probably mid-morning. Maybe noon. Hard to tell, what with the time of year and the clouds.
Maybe they were eating lunch. Bucky hadn't had anything for breakfast, but he still wasn't hungry. Besides, his mind immediately shied away from the thought of walking into the kitchen where the others were probably congregating. They might look at him with sympathy, or they might be distracted. Steve, he knew, would be focusing his attention on Jake. Making sure he was taken care of. Making sure he was okay.
No one would blame him for what had happened the day before. Most likely, no one would even talk about it.
Bucky didn't want to talk about it either. He didn't want to think about it. Yet here he was, lying on the cold earth with a mound of dirt settling to either side.
Maybe he was here because Steve wasn't. Not that he expected Steve to lie uselessly on the ground next to people he couldn't help anymore, not when he had a living, breathing son to care about. He certainly wouldn't want Steve to do that.
But Bucky wasn't the same as Steve. He didn't have that kind of distraction. He didn't have something pulling him forward into the future, forcing him to keep moving. So he stayed still. He lay flat on his back, helpless, useless.
Just like he'd always been.
Have you eaten yet?
Sam's making spaghetti.
It's just the two of us and Jake in the kitchen. The others are fending for themselves tonight. We're eating a bit early. Sam says it'll be ready at 5:15.
Steve frowned down at the string of texts he'd been sending for the past half-hour, which were all still marked unread. Finally, he sighed and sent one more before stuffing his phone back into his pocket: Hope you're okay.
For the moment, Steve pushed thoughts of Bucky to the back of his mind. Instead, he focused on the delectable smells of tomato, oregano, and garlic filling the kitchen. He looked over at Jake, who stood in the corner by the fridge, watching Sam pouring the noodles into a colander in the sink.
"Hey, Jake," Steve said. As gently as he spoke, Jake immediately tensed all over. "Why don't you help me set the table?"
Jake's eyes flitted over to the dining table, which was long enough to seat all of the Avengers at once if necessary. He stared up at Steve, looking completely lost. It was an expression Steve was already growing painfully familiar with.
Steve smiled reassuringly. "Here, I'll show you how."
It was with a strong sense of deja vu that Steve demonstrated to Jake where to put the plates and glasses, and which side of the plate the silverware went. It wasn't so long ago that he'd given the same lesson to Winter. Jake watched every movement he made with the same intent expression Winter had, like he was memorizing every detail of a complex math equation.
When Steve handed the final plate to Jake and had him set everything in place, Jake quickly followed Steve's instructions, lining up the silverware next to the plate even straighter than Steve had done. Jake took a step back, then gasped slightly and darted back in to flip the knife over so the edge pointed towards the plate. He backed away again, staring at his feet.
"Good job!" Steve said. He noticed that Jake's tense little shoulders were trembling slightly, so he let even more enthusiasm enter his voice. "That was really well done, Jake. I'm honestly impressed."
Slowly, Jake raised his head and peeked up at Steve, his eyes wide with surprise.
"What do you say, Sam?" Steve called over his shoulder. "Didn't Jake do a good job setting the table?"
Sam, who was pulling a pan of garlic bread out of the oven, looked over with a grin. "You do your Uncle Sam proud, kiddo! I've never seen anyone do a better job of setting the table."
Steve couldn't suppress a chuckle as Jake blinked several times. He didn't seem to know what to do with such high praise. Maybe setting the table wasn't that big of an accomplishment, but Steve doubted Jake was used to much in the way of positive reinforcement. They could afford to be lavish in their compliments.
After putting all the food on the table and grabbing a pillow from one of the couches for Jake to sit on, they were ready to eat. Bucky still hadn't responded, but Steve tried not to worry. It took enough of his focus to keep reminding Jake to slow down and chew his food thoroughly, and to try to gauge whether he actually wanted seconds or not. Steve was still trying to learn the difference between ravenous hunger and desperate fear that he wouldn't get to finish his plate.
Having Sam there during the meal helped Steve's morale even more than he'd expected. He'd spent most of the day with no one but Jake—they'd spent the morning getting him settled in his room, then on a tour of the building that doubled as a formal introduction to all of the others. When Steve had noticed Jake begin to droop after lunch, he'd remembered that small children needed to take naps. Initially, he'd intended to spend that time looking for Bucky, but instead he'd found himself making phone call after phone call, asking questions and setting appointments to get Jake's citizenship straightened out.
So it was nice to get to the end of the day and talk to someone who didn't call him sir at the end of every sentence.
"...and he could feel something slimy and oozy on his hand, like tentacles," Sam was saying, wiggling his fingers at Jake to demonstrate with a gleeful grin. "He was too scared to scream, but he managed to reach over and flip on the light, and at last he saw...the spaghetti monster!"
Steve laughed, as much at Sam's goofy expression as the story he was telling. Pushing his plate away, Steve said, "Did Riley come up with that whole story on the spot?"
"Yeah, and he told it better than I did," Sam said with a chuckle. "He almost got me to believe him...until the spaghetti monster thing."
Steve looked over at Jake, who had listened to the entire story with a confused furrow in his brow. Now he was trying to lick spaghetti sauce off his fingers and mostly just succeeding in spreading it around his mouth more. With a grin, Steve said, "I think somebody's ready for a bath."
Jake started slightly when he noticed Steve looking at him, and he froze with one finger in his mouth. He looked so adorable that way that it took a lot of effort to refrain from reaching out to ruffle his hair. Instead, Steve held Jake's napkin out to him and said, "Here, wipe off your mouth and hands a little bit first."
As Steve gathered up the plates, Sam said, "Don't worry, I got the dishes."
"Thanks," Steve said, glancing over at the one clean plate still sitting on the table. "Could you..."
"Save a plate for Bucky?" Sam finished, taking the dirty plates from him. "Roger that, Rogers."
Steve rolled his eyes as he led Jake down the hall. "Never heard that one before."
To prevent Jake from accidentally smearing spaghetti sauce on something, Steve had him wait in the bathroom while he went and grabbed something for him to change into. He picked out some footed pajamas with dinosaurs printed all over them, grabbed clean underwear, and took them back to the bathroom.
The door was still wide open, but Jake stood in the middle of the room, completely naked. His clothes and shoes were in a neat pile at his feet, and he stood shivering slightly as he waited.
Steve paused in the doorway. He wondered what Jake was used to. He wondered if he wanted to know how Hydra had treated him when it came to hygiene. At the very least, it seemed that Jake assumed he was supposed to strip right out in the open where anyone could see.
Did he even know the meaning of 'privacy'?
Well, they would get to that eventually. For now, he just needed to be sure Jake was clean. "Okay," he said, closing the door behind himself and setting Jake's clothes on the counter out of the way. "Why don't you use the toilet if you need to, and I'll get the bath ready."
As Steve began filling the tub, carefully controlling the temperature so it would be comfortable for Jake, he couldn't help thinking of the communal showers he'd seen in the Hydra base. No walls, or even curtains, between each shower head. Had Jake showered alongside rough Hydra agents? Would he have to wait until they were all done? Would they have used up all the hot water, forcing him to take cold showers? Was he used to walking through concrete hallways, his hair wet and dripping, until he reached his tiny cell with only a thin blanket to wrap around himself?
Clenching his teeth, Steve turned the water off. I'm going to give Jake a bubble bath as soon as I can, he decided. And I'll buy some bath toys. A toy boat. Maybe a rubber duck.
Forcing a smile back onto his face, Steve turned to find Jake standing in the middle of the room again. "Ready?"
"Yes, sir," Jake said, but the uncertainty in the way he eyed the tub told the real story.
"Here, come feel the water and tell me if it's a good temperature for you." He swirled his hand through the water invitingly.
Jake crept closer, giving Steve a wide berth. His eyes never left Steve's face as he carefully bent over and slowly slipped one hand into the water.
"Is that comfortable for you?" Steve prompted after a moment or two.
Jake started to nod, stopped himself, half-shook his head, nodded again, then pulled his hand back and pressed his wet fist to his chest, looking confused.
"Well, why don't we try it like this for now," Steve suggested. "And if it's too hot or too cold, just tell me and we can adjust it. How does that sound?"
Jake nodded, but he didn't move. He just stood there looking at Steve, as if waiting for directions.
"Have you ever had a bath in a tub before?"
Jake hung his head. "No, sir."
"That's okay," Steve said. "I can help you. First you just have to get in the water. Do you want to hold my hand while you get in, so you won't fall?"
Jake eyed Steve's extended hand like it was a snake, but after a moment he slowly reached out. Steve grasped his son's small hand and held it firmly as Jake stepped into the tub. He could feel Jake's start of surprise as he stepped into the warm water, but he didn't slip.
Steve didn't want to let go, but as soon as he coaxed Jake to sit down, he forced himself to release his grip on that small hand. Kneeling next to the tub, he said, "See? That wasn't so bad."
Jake just watched with wide eyes as Steve unhooked the shower hose and used it to wet Jake's hair. Quietly explaining each step of what he was doing, Steve lathered up some shampoo and gently worked it into Jake's hair, carefully keeping it out of his eyes. Then he rinsed the shampoo out again, gently running his fingers through the dark strands.
While Steve worked, Jake sat stock still, taking everything in. He didn't jerk away from Steve's touch like Winter had in the beginning, but it was clear that he was ill at ease, so Steve tried to move carefully and make sure Jake could anticipate everything he did.
And if Steve took an extra minute to run his fingers through Jake's hair, pretending he was making sure all the shampoo had been rinsed out but really just relishing the physical contact...well, who was counting?
Steve supervised Jake cleaning the rest of himself with a washcloth, scrubbing his back for him and helping him rinse off with the shower hose. "There we go," Steve said, hanging up the shower hose again. "All clean. Bet that feels better, doesn't it?"
Jake's eyelids were drooping as he cautiously nodded. Hopefully he would sleep well tonight.
Steve took Jake's hand again as he helped him out of the tub and wrapped him up in an enormous, fluffy towel. Jake tried to hide several enormous yawns as Steve rubbed his hair dry, helped him into his new pajamas, and ran a comb through his hair. He looked down in satisfaction at his warm, clean, well-fed son.
"Okay, Jake. Bedtime."
As he followed Jake back to his room and watched him climb into the big bed, Steve wondered if Jake would let him tuck him in. Kiss him goodnight. Tell him a bedtime story.
Well...maybe they'd work up to that. Bathtime had seemed nerve-wracking enough for the poor boy.
"Good night, Jake," he said from the doorway. "I love you."
Once again, Jake just looked at him in confusion, but Steve smiled and softly closed the door. He turned away and let out a breath of relief.
One day down... How many more to go?
He glanced at the time. It was only 7, but he was already so exhausted he felt like he could sleep for twelve hours straight. Part of that was probably due to how little sleep he'd gotten the night before, not to mention all of the stress since the discovery of Project Legacy.
And no one had ever told him how draining it was to be a father.
Eventually, Steve decided to take a bath of his own. When he almost fell asleep in the water, he admitted defeat and made his way to bed. He was smirking to himself at the thought of what Sam would say (probably something about old men and bedtimes) as he stepped into Bucky's room.
Bucky was already in bed. He lay on his side, facing away from the door. He didn't move when the band of light spilled across the bed from the open door. Steve switched off the light in the common room and tiptoed in, moving around as quietly as he could as he put his things away and then slipped into bed.
"Bucky?" he whispered before lying down.
The steady breathing didn't change at all. Steve couldn't decide if that meant Bucky was fast asleep or just pretending.
He wanted to ask where Bucky had been all day. He wanted to tell him everything that had happened with Jake. He wanted to hold him. He wanted to say nothing at all, and know that someone understood him anyway.
Instead, he leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "Sleep well, Buck."
Love is patient and kind.
- 1 Corinthians 13:4
Author's Note: They say it takes a village to raise a child. Steve doesn't have a village, but at least he has supportive friends :)
