How do you love when your heart is broken?
How do you speak when you feel outspoken?
I can forgive and be forgiven
By learning to heal with a heart wide open
With open hearts, despite the stakes
We take a chance on our mistakes
A brand new day, we will embrace
An open wound that heals with grace
And all the fears that we will face
In this time, and in this place
When you can say, and I can say
We loved with every step we take, I'll be okay
- "I'll Be Okay" by Nothing More
Bucky frowned as he listened to Steve's explanation of what he'd seen in Jake's mind with Wanda's help. He wasn't too surprised. Bucky sighed, leaning back against the headboard. "Yep," he muttered. "Sounds like Hydra."
Steve ran a hand through his hair for what had to be the tenth time in the last five minutes. His voice had shaken several times during his description, and when he'd talked about Yuri breaking Jake's ribs, his hand had ghosted over his side as if he could feel the pain himself. It was much harder for him—he had never witnessed this brand of Hydra's brutality firsthand. Not that he didn't know the facts of what kinds of things had happened in that base. He just wasn't used to actually seeing it.
"This is what they were doing to him," Steve said, staring blankly down at the blankets over their laps. "No wonder he keeps expecting me to punish him every time he gets something even a little bit wrong."
Bucky scooted closer to him, grasping his hand. He ran his thumb over Steve's ring until Steve finally looked up again. "Well...now we know, right?" he said gently. "We have a better idea of how to help him. We at least know some things we can start researching, right?"
"I don't think we're going to find a manual on this," Steve groaned.
"Come on, haven't you read 101 Ways to Teach Your Hydra Victim How to Love?"
Steve's smile was only half-hearted. "Yeah...I know we can do this. I'm just not sure exactly how."
"But you know," Bucky mused, "we might be in over our heads here."
Steve frowned. "What are you saying?"
"Just that maybe we need Jake to...see someone professional?"
Immediately, Bucky realized he'd hit a sore spot. Steve's jaw clenched and his expression closed. "What, like Ross keeps hinting at? I'm not putting Jake in some kind of institution, Bucky. That's the last thing he needs right now."
"Okay," Bucky said hastily. "I'm just saying...we might need some outside help."
"We have Sam," Steve pointed out. "He knows a thing or two about psychology."
"Yeah, but Sam's not a child psychologist," Bucky said.
Steve sighed and nodded. "And I guess it's not fair to ask him to put his life on hold...again."
They fell silent for a few moments, thinking over the problem. Bucky absently fiddled with Steve's ring as he tried to think of a solution.
When he looked up again, he found Steve squaring his jaw and staring into space with a familiar stubborn expression. "I'm sure we can do it," Steve said. "I mean...just look at you." He smiled hopefully, squeezing Bucky's hand. "I helped you get this far, didn't I?"
Bucky couldn't resist smiling back. And as he thought over what Steve had said, his heart lifted a little with Steve's optimism. But he still felt obligated to voice his misgivings. "Yeah, but...I kind of had a head start, you know? I had memories of you...and the way life used to be. I had help figuring out what my goal was, at least. Even if it took me a long time to figure out how to get there. And Jake doesn't have any of that. Hydra's all he's known."
Steve frowned thoughtfully. "He doesn't realize he's connected to us. He doesn't know what it means that he's part of this family. He still thinks that we're just his...handlers or something."
Bucky nodded. "So...we need to find some way to bring out that connection. But what?"
Steve leaned back against the headboard. "I think I might have an idea."
After breakfast the next morning, Steve led the way down the path through the forest. He and Bucky shortened their strides so Jake could keep up, which made the trek longer than usual. Part of Steve wished he dared to hold Jake's hand or even carry him, but he supposed he should be grateful for more time to figure out what exactly he was going to say when they got to their destination.
If he was completely honest with himself, he was a little afraid of going back to the graves. He hadn't been back even once since the night he'd buried them. Sure, he'd talked with Bucky about their children and ordered the gravestones. Eve and Grant, especially, had been present in the back of his mind all this time. But he hadn't gone back to pay his respects at all.
Jake offered a perfect excuse and an engrossing distraction, but he wasn't Steve's only child. He'd been neglecting his duties, but that was going to change today.
Steve glanced over at Bucky as they stepped out of the bare-branched shade of the trees and into the clearing. Bucky's face was pale as they drew closer to the three mounds of earth, but he seemed relatively calm. Steve wasn't sure when the last time was that Bucky had been here, but hopefully this would be a better experience for him. After all, he had his whole family with him this time.
Grasping Bucky's hand in his, Steve beckoned Jake closer and stepped up in front of Mabel's grave. Though his face remained stoic, Bucky's hand clutched Steve's desperately, like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
When Jake stepped up beside them, glancing curiously at the graves, Steve gently rested his hand on Jake's shoulder. Jake stiffened a little, but didn't pull away, so Steve kept his hand there. For several minutes, they all simply stood staring at the graves.
Steve breathed in deep, drawing strength from the family that surrounded him. He squeezed Bucky's hand before letting go, then knelt down to look Jake in the eye. But when those blue eyes met his, so wide and nervous, every word he'd been thinking of disappeared from his mind, and he had to start over from scratch.
"Hey, buddy," he said gently, "I bet you're wondering what we're doing here. I just wanted to explain to you about...your family. You remember how I told you that I'm your father?"
Jake nodded.
"And you remember that day we came to get you, to bring you home? You might remember that there was a woman who died, and we brought her body back with us." Steve licked his lips nervously as Jake nodded again. How much should he explain to a four-year-old? Would any of this make sense to him at all? "Well...that woman was your mother. You came from me...and her."
He gestured towards the mound under which Mabel's body lay. Jake's eyes flicked over to it and back, and he nodded in comprehension. He didn't look too confused, so Steve continued. "She also had some more children, just like you. That one is your little sister, Eve. And that's your little brother, Grant." He pointed to the graves on either side.
Jake followed Steve's pointing finger with his eyes, but it was impossible to tell what he thought of this new information.
"And then there's Bucky," Steve added, rising to his feet and putting a hand on Bucky's shoulder. He glanced over and saw Bucky giving Jake a small, sad smile. "Bucky is your mother's father. Your grandfather. Does that make sense? You came from her," he pointed at Mabel's grave, "and she came from Bucky."
Brow furrowed, Jake looked between Steve, Bucky, and the grave. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then quickly looked down at his shoes, clamping his mouth shut.
"What is it, Jake?" Steve asked gently. "Did you have a question?"
Jake timidly glanced between the two of them, then said in a small voice, "But Bucky doesn't tell you what to do."
It took Steve a moment to understand what Jake meant. To someone who didn't really have a concept of what a family unit looked like, maybe he thought that a 'father' simply meant someone who was in charge. With that logic, Jake must think Bucky should be in a position of higher authority than Steve. And yet Bucky didn't order Steve around.
"Not usually," Steve conceded. "But it's not about one of us telling the other what to do. We're a family. That means we take care of each other. We're connected, because we love each other."
He took Bucky's hand in his again, then slowly and carefully grasped Jake's as well. "I love Bucky. Bucky loves me. And we both love you, Jake. Do you understand?"
Jake nodded, though his brow was still furrowed. He pointed at the graves. "Is that why you killed them? 'Cause you didn't love them?"
Bucky recoiled, yanking his hand out of Steve's. His face had gone as white as paper, and he was visibly trembling.
Jake's words hit Steve like a physical blow, but he pushed that pain aside to deal with later. Dropping to one knee again, he held Jake by both shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "No, Jake," he said clearly, speaking loudly enough that he knew Bucky could hear him too. "Bucky and Uncle Sam did everything they could to try to keep Grant and your mother from dying. The only ones at fault for any of their deaths are from Hydra."
He could see the confusion clearly written all over Jake's face, but he glanced over at Bucky and decided he would have to wait to explain things further. Bucky looked like he was about to either break down or run away.
"We'll talk about this later," Steve said, getting to his feet and putting an arm around Bucky's shoulders. "For now, Jake, all you need to know is that we do love your mother and your siblings. Very much. Okay? Now, let's go back inside."
Jake obediently followed them, but he still looked confused.
If anyone had asked Bucky what they did the rest of the morning, he wouldn't have been able to tell them. The world around him was a blur, a vibrantly-colored swirl that he slogged through without being able to make sense of any of it. He went through the motions of a normal day, but it was a little like the way he felt when the Words were controlling him. He went where he was told to go and did what he was supposed to do, but all of his insides were frozen.
But this time, the words controlling him weren't a string of random Russian words. They echoed around his head in Jake's voice, the innocent curiosity of his questions turning into accusations. You killed them...because you didn't love them.
Nothing broke through the fog until Jake went down for his afternoon nap. Bucky felt as though he were looking down at himself from a great height, a man standing pointlessly in the middle of the common room, unable to do anything. He watched Steve back out of Jake's room and walk over to him.
It felt like Steve had to cross a thousand miles just to get to him. When Steve drew him into a warm embrace, Bucky finally felt himself slipping back into his own skin. "'M okay," he mumbled into Steve's shirt.
"No, you're not." Steve sighed, resting his chin on Bucky's shoulder. "I'm not really okay, either. But...you know he wasn't trying to say something hurtful, right?"
"Yeah," Bucky sighed. "I know."
"He's just trying to make sense of all these unfamiliar concepts," Steve continued, patting Bucky reassuringly on the shoulder. "He's trying to understand what happened, and how he fits into it all."
"I know, I know," Bucky said hastily. Somehow, hearing the perfectly sound explanations only made him feel worse. It made him feel like he was blaming Jake for not knowing any better than the horribly narrow view of reality that Hydra had cursed him with.
But it wasn't Jake's fault at all; it was...
"Mine," he whispered.
"What?" Steve asked.
"Nothing," Bucky said hastily, pulling away from Steve and heading for the door. He didn't know where he was trying to go, he just wanted to get away while he still could. Get away from Jake's curiosity and Steve's sympathy...
"Buck?"
Something in Steve's voice pulled Bucky up short before he could even reach for the doorknob. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Steve sitting on the couch, staring down at his clasped hands with a rather forlorn expression on his face.
"Is it okay if I'm...can I be a little selfish?"
Bucky turned back with a frown. "What do you mean?"
Steve peeked up at him, and the resemblance to the timid look Jake often wore was like a slap in the face. "Can you stay?"
The turmoil in Bucky's heart stilled as he looked back at Steve. That's right...he wasn't the only one hurting right now. He knew how Steve's mind worked. He knew that Steve blamed himself, at least in part, for their children's deaths. He even carried some of the weight of the Winter Soldier project in the first place—not that any of this was actually his fault.
But Steve's own son had asked him if he'd killed his children. Of course he was hurting.
Bucky walked back over to him and took Steve's left hand in his, so that their rings clinked together. "Yeah," he murmured, heart aching. "I can stay."
Over the next few days, Steve kept a close eye on Bucky. He had the others train on their own so he could spend more time with Bucky during Jake's naps. The last thing he wanted was to let Bucky fall back into another pit of despair. He would do just about anything to prevent that from happening.
In the moments that he was completely honest with himself, Steve knew that he also wanted some extra comfort of his own. He couldn't just let himself brood over what he was feeling most of the time; he had to focus on teaching Jake about normal life. But sometimes, that was very hard to do. Sometimes, he would look down into Jake's solemn eyes, and all he could think about was Jake's automatic assumption that Steve was a murderer. How matter-of-fact his question had been, as though it weren't horrifying at all.
It had been a while since Steve had suffered from vivid nightmares. Even right after the raid on the Hydra base, he'd usually been too exhausted to dream much. But now, he dreamed almost every night. Some of the nightmares were just vague flashes of what he'd seen in that base. Others involved Jake standing on the graves and pointing accusingly at him, shouting, You killed my mother!
Worst of all were the dreams where he stalked through endless shadowy halls, carrying a bloody knife. Door after door would open before him, revealing tiny prison cells. Each one was furnished with nothing but a small cot, on which lay a small child.
He killed each one. He stabbed them through the heart, blood splashing over his merciless hands. He would kill one after another without remorse, then move on to the next cell.
He woke up crying more often than not. And if not for Bucky lying at his side, Steve wasn't sure how he would have been able to cope. But Bucky was always there, ready with reassurance and understanding. He was probably the only one who could comfort Steve in those moments.
He was the only one who knew what it was like.
Steve felt bad for leaning on Bucky so much these days. He knew Bucky was hurting as much as him, if not more. But at the same time, Steve couldn't bear the thought of not turning to Bucky. When he woke in the middle of the night, trembling and barely able to even look at himself, how could he not roll over and cling to the one person he knew would never push him away? When thoughts invaded his mind to the point he could hardly keep from breaking down in front of Jake, how could he do anything else but reach for Bucky's hand?
"I'm sorry," he mumbled one night, when Bucky had to shake him awake from yet another horrifying dream. He buried his face in Bucky's shirt, waiting for the powerful shudders to die away. "I'm sorry I... I'm sorry you have to...deal with me like this..."
"What are you sorry for, idiot?" Bucky grumbled, wrapping his arms tighter around Steve. "How many times have you done the same for me?"
"But...I should be...y-you're hurting too..."
Cold metal fingers combed through his hair, the soothing motions reminding Steve strongly of the days he'd cried himself to sleep every night after his mother died. Bucky had been there for him then, too. Every night, he would hold Steve and let him talk, or cry, or whatever else he needed. He'd never complained then, and he wasn't complaining now.
"It doesn't matter if I'm hurting," Bucky murmured. "I've always got space for you. And when you let me help you...well, it's easier to believe you keep me around because you actually kind of like me, not just because I'm...you know, a charity case or something."
"You're not a charity case." Steve drew a deep, shaky breath, closing his eyes and pressing an ear against the steady beat of Bucky's heart. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again. "Sorry for being selfish..."
Bucky snorted. "If this is selfishness, I'll eat my arm." He brushed his hand across Steve's forehead and pressed a kiss to his clammy skin. "Let me help you, Stevie. Please. It's...actually helping me too, you know."
"Really? How?"
Bucky was silent for a few moments, then whispered, "Because if you feel the same way I do, maybe I'm not a freak after all."
Anger swirled with the guilt and horror tightening Steve's chest. "Is Brad telling you you're a freak?"
"Is he telling you that it's your fault?" Bucky countered.
That brought Steve up short. He'd never considered before that the voices Bucky heard might be similar to what went through his mind. After all, Steve didn't hallucinate phantoms hovering over him, or hear audible voices that he confused with reality. But...what if the things he thought in the back of his mind were no more true than the lies Bucky's hallucinations told him?
"Yeah," he whispered.
"Then I guess we just need to remind each other of the truth, huh?" Bucky patted Steve's back soothingly, just like he always used to do. "It wasn't your fault, Steve. Not even close."
Even just those few words made it easier to breathe. Why was it so hard to believe when he was trying to tell himself the truth, yet it was effortless when Bucky told him?
"And you're definitely not a freak," Steve said, snuggling closer and closing his eyes wearily. "No more a freak than I am."
"Well, now you've got me worried."
They both chuckled softly. Steve realized that he wasn't shaking anymore, and the images of his latest nightmare no longer crowded in on him whenever he closed his eyes. Smiling slightly, he drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Every inclination in Bucky's heart was to withdraw. To pull back, shut himself off from everyone around him, and brood in isolation on the dark thoughts plaguing his mind. It was what he normally did when Brad kept reminding him of every time he'd ever failed the people he cared about.
But every time he felt like curling up in a corner and wallowing in the pain and guilt, he realized that he didn't have the luxury of doing that anymore. It wasn't just about him and how awful he felt; he had to consider how Steve and Jake were affected by this too. Not that they hadn't been affected by his failures before, but he was finally facing up to his responsibility.
It was high time.
Nightmares were finally catching up to Steve, it seemed. He kept on waking up in a cold sweat, shaking all over, and for once Bucky was the one who had to do the comforting. In all the long months since they'd been reunited, both when he'd still been Winter and after he'd taken off the mask, Steve had only had a fraction of the nightmares Bucky had. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd heard Steve cry out in his sleep or seen him wake up in tears.
But it seemed that Jake's simple question had unlocked a door in Steve's mind, letting out a horde of dark thoughts and emotions. He didn't say much about the nightmares, but he didn't have to. Bucky could easily imagine the sorts of things weighing on his mind these days.
And, as unbelievable as it was, it seemed that he found Bucky comforting. Bucky did his best to remember how he used to help Steve, back before the war had changed everything. He used to be the closest thing Steve had to family. Now that he was actually family, that meant Bucky had to go above and beyond everything he'd done before.
It was easier to deal with his own guilt and grief when he spent so much time and effort helping Steve with his. He simply didn't have the time to listen to Brad or dwell on those sinister whispers. Not when he spent his days helping Steve treat Jake as much like a normal kid as possible, and his nights holding Steve and reassuring him that none of this was his fault.
Especially for the first few days after their little visit to the graves, Bucky felt a strong urge to avoid Jake. After all, why would he want to spend time with someone who thought he'd murdered his own daughter? But he couldn't give in to that urge. Steve needed his help, so he couldn't be selfish like before.
Besides...he loved Jake. For all his oddities and inexperience and silences, Jake was impossible not to love. He was interesting, even entertaining, in his own way—not to mention adorable, with his plump cheeks and big blue eyes. And he was in dire need of being given a chance. How could Bucky not give him one? He hadn't been able to do anything for Mabel, but he could do something for Jake.
The weight of this knowledge would hit him from time to time as the days turned into weeks. When he was supervising Jake sharpening another knife (they'd moved on to kitchen knives after they'd finished Bucky's personal collection). When he handed Jake another crayon to help him finish a color-by-number (which seemed less stressful than asking him to draw his own designs). When he sat on the couch next to Jake, with Steve on the other side, watching Bambi together (Jake seemed very confused by the animals talking).
I love Jake. Not just because he's Steve's son. Not just because I'm obligated to, as his grandfather. I want him to smile. I want to watch him grow up. I love him, Steve loves him...and I want him to understand what that means.
Was he still jealous of Steve? Maybe a little, when his thoughts strayed a little too far. But it was hard to stay bitter about two people he loved so much.
Bucky was probably just imagining things, but as time went on, he thought that maybe—just maybe—Jake was slightly more comfortable with him than he was with Steve. Whenever Steve was around, Jake would be on his best behavior. He would sit ramrod-straight, never speak out of turn, and kept glancing out of the corner of his eye at Steve, keeping him in sight at all times. But when Bucky was alone with Jake, he seemed slightly more relaxed. He would get absorbed by whatever task they were doing together, and at least for a few minutes, most of the tension would leave his body.
But Bucky was probably just imagining things. Probably. No, definitely. There was no reason for Jake to feel more comfortable around him than around Steve.
Jake even began asking him a few tentative questions when they were working together on something. Bucky began to recognize the signs that he was about to ask something. He would start glancing over at Bucky every few seconds, take a breath like he was about to say something, then hesitate again. And if Bucky asked him what was on his mind or at least smiled encouragingly at him, Jake would ask his question in a voice barely above a whisper. His whole body would tense up when Bucky would begin his reply, as if expecting punishment for daring to speak. But Bucky tried to keep his voice as gentle as possible when he answered, and it seemed that was enough encouragement to keep the questions coming.
On one of the days they were sharpening knives, Jake started fidgeting and looking over at Bucky. As he settled the whetstone into its stand, Bucky smiled down at him. "What's on your mind?"
Jake, who stood on a chair to reach the counter, peeked timidly up at him. "Um...I-I asked Uncle Sam...but he said...he said to ask you...um...ask you..."
"You can ask me anything, Jake," Bucky said gently.
Finally, those big blue eyes met his and held steady. "How come your arm's made of metal?"
Bucky looked down at his metal fingers curled around the whetstone. Truth be told, he was a little surprised it had taken Jake this long to ask. Maybe he'd just been too scared until now.
"Well..." he said thoughtfully, dripping some water on the whetstone and picking up the kitchen knife they were sharpening, "I hurt my arm. Really bad. They had to cut off what was left of it and replace it with this one instead." He turned his metal hand over, watching his fingers glisten wetly in the light.
"Did your other arm get hurt then too?"
It took Bucky a moment to realize what Jake meant. His eyes fell to his right arm, exposed for all to see since he'd rolled up his sleeves. Crisscrossing red lines covered his forearm from wrist to elbow, impossible to ignore. And yet, his scars no longer carried the shame they once had. They were simply a part of him now, a record of a time now gone. Another piece of his story.
"No, that was different," Bucky said quietly. "I did that myself. I was...scared, and sad, and frustrated. I felt trapped, and I thought that maybe hurting myself would make it easier somehow." He ran his metal thumb down the longest scar. "I thought pain was the only thing I deserved. Punishment for the things I've done."
He looked down at Jake, who was quietly absorbing every word, eyes fixated on Bucky's scars. "But your daddy saved me from that," Bucky said with a smile. "He showed me that I'm worth a lot more than I thought I was. I'm worth a lot more than what they told me."
Did Jake see the connection to his own life? Did he understand what Bucky was talking about at all? He couldn't tell what Jake was thinking, but the crease between his brows indicated he was thinking hard.
The more time passed, the more natural this new life felt. Bucky got used to having Jake around. He got used to sharing Steve with him, and living around many more people than just Steve and Sam. He even grew accustomed—as much as anyone could—to the weight in his heart.
Steve's nightmares eased off after a while. At least, he stopped waking up with a cry on his lips and tears in his eyes. Bucky was glad Steve wasn't in as much distress as before, but a tiny, traitorous part of his heart almost wished he still had a reason to hold Steve close in the middle of the night and tell him everything was going to be okay. He wished there was more he could do. He wished he knew how to be more helpful than just hanging around and occasionally babysitting Jake for an hour or two.
When he let himself stop long enough to think about it, Bucky also felt like he was...waiting for something. It was like holding a breath in, waiting for a chance to let it out, his chest growing a little tighter every day.
That tension loosened a little once spring came to the Avengers compound. The first time he found tiny little yellow flowers blooming on the lawn, he immediately pulled them up and took them to the clearing, scattering them on the graves. It was a paltry gesture, he knew, but...it was something, at least.
Every time he ventured outside, he pulled up a few of the prettiest flowers he could find and made a scraggly little bouquet for Mabel's grave. If he found enough, he would also lay some on the other graves.
He didn't know what most of the flowers were called, but he couldn't help wondering if Mabel would have liked the way they smelled. If she would have stuck one behind her ear or twisted the bouquet into a crown. Or if she'd just stare at him, uncomprehending, wondering why he kept giving her handfuls of weeds.
In the meantime, Bucky kept his eyes peeled for dandelions. At least he could show Jake how to make a wish and blow the fluff away. He knew what he would wish for. He'd wish to see a smile on a certain little boy's face.
As winter passed into spring, Steve felt like he might be getting a handle on this whole being-a-father business. Well, he still wasn't sure some of the time whether Jake even liked him at all, but at least everyone seemed to be getting used to the idea of their family situation by now. They had a routine, and everyone had their roles to fill.
For the first week or two after Bucky's birthday (and the visit to the graves), it was all Steve could do to keep going through the motions. His mind was occupied with all the dark thoughts he'd been avoiding ever since their discovery of Project Legacy, and he didn't have much extra brain space to think about anything else besides meeting Jake's needs as best he could.
But gradually, as March slid into April, the fog in his mind began to clear. He felt as though he'd been sleepwalking for ages, but finally he was waking up. And the first thing he noticed was how much Bucky was doing to help. Not just holding Steve when he needed to cry or listening to him when he needed to vent his muddled thoughts. When Steve was up half the night tossing and turning, he would wake up long past his usual time, only to discover that Bucky had already gotten Jake up and started on his breakfast. Or he would find himself at a loss when trying to think of what activity he could do with Jake next, but Bucky would pipe up with an idea or two, and make all of the necessary preparations.
It was a far cry from how distant and disconnected Bucky had been right after they'd first brought Jake back. To be perfectly honest, sometimes Steve felt like Bucky was doing a better job at parenting Jake than he was. Jake seemed more comfortable with him, anyway. Sometimes, when Steve was in another room, he would hear Jake talking to Bucky—usually just asking a question or making a short comment, but...he was initiating conversation. Of course, as soon as Steve entered the room, Jake would clam up and eye him like he was a feral dog straining against its chain.
Steve knew why. It was all due to Vino and the other cruel Hydra agents who had raised Jake. In Jake's eyes, Steve would be the most potentially dangerous person, because he was in charge. So Bucky and even Sam were safer people to talk to. With Steve, Jake hardly ever said a word except in answer to a direct question.
Patience, he told himself daily. Patience. Winter didn't come around in a day or two either. Remember how long it was before he even let you touch him at all? Remember how long it took him to figure out what it meant to be your friend? And he chose to go live with you. Jake didn't have a choice. He didn't choose you. He didn't leave Hydra because he wanted to leave. He doesn't have any memories of you, either. It's going to take even more time for him.
So Steve tried to just enjoy the tiny steps they were able to make. Jake might be quiet and timid, always trying to avoid anyone's attention, but he was still a curious little boy who had a lot to learn about the world. Steve loved watching the thoughtful little furrows creasing his forehead whenever he was trying to understand something. Steve could practically see the gears turning when they would read picture books together and Steve would point out the different characters in the pictures. Many of the books featured families, even the ones about talking animals. Steve couldn't help paying extra close attention to the interactions between fathers and sons in these stories. He wondered if Jake was too.
As spring arrived and the weather began to warm up, one of Steve's favorite things to do was spend time outside with Bucky and Jake. As someone who had spent his entire life within concrete walls or at most a cheerless courtyard with nothing to look at but the cold Siberian sky, Jake didn't seem to know what to do with the verdant plant life that sprang up everywhere. Whenever they went for a walk, or even just headed over to the basketball court, Jake couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the flowers, the grass, the trees...
Once the weather was warm enough to be comfortable, at least when wearing a jacket, Steve would often take a blanket out to a sunny patch of grass on the lawn and sit there with Bucky and Jake to read or draw or put puzzles together. He wanted Jake to soak up as much sun and fresh air as he could, to make up for four years spent practically in a cave. On a stroke of inspiration, Steve bought a book with lots of detailed pictures of flowers and trees, and he would have Jake help him identify the plants around them.
Though it was chilly, on Easter all of the Avengers had a picnic lunch outside, sitting on the grass a stone's throw from the river. It was the first time in a long while that Steve had done anything special for Easter; the year before, Sam had made a big batch of egg salad for lunch, but that was about it.
This is how it should be, he thought, looking around at all of his friends and family scattered around on blankets, eating food they'd all helped make. And once everyone was finished eating, Steve helped Jake with an Easter egg hunt that the others had put together in between making food. Jake looked a little confused at first, but after a minute or two he got into the game, darting back and forth to find the brightly-colored plastic eggs hiding under bushes and behind rocks. Of course, he probably thought this was a test of his observational skills or something, but Steve tried to believe he was having fun in some way. At the very least, the hunt provided Steve with many opportunities to praise Jake and tell him what a good job he was doing.
And it was almost worth it just to see the way Jake's eyes widened in shock when they started opening the eggs to find little candies and cute stickers inside. Though Steve didn't quite understand it, he thought the best moment of all was when Jake pried open a bright green egg with a sticker of a winking frog inside. He looked up at Sam in astonishment and whispered, "A frog in a hole!"
Sam laughed so hard he fell over backwards.
All the same, as the days rolled on, it was hard for Steve not to dwell on how slow their overall progress seemed to be. It was hard not to listen to the quiet thoughts in the back of his head that he was failing as a father.
It didn't help that Secretary Ross kept calling him, at least once a week. Ignoring the calls didn't seem to discourage him at all, nor did Steve's cold, terse replies when he did pick up the phone. Steve didn't understand what Ross was trying to achieve at this point. Ross kept on prying for details about Jake—what he was up to, how he was adjusting, whether or not he had any behavioral issues—and he didn't seem fazed even though Steve didn't give him an inch. He just kept asking, and dropping subtle implications that maybe Steve was in over his head and ought to accept whatever favor Ross was offering him.
What, do you want to raise him? Steve wanted to ask Ross sometimes. You think you could do a better job? You think you or anyone else could possibly love him more than I do?
No. It wasn't possible. It simply wasn't.
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
- 1 Corinthians 13:7