I wanna know
Why you left me
To cover your own
And forget me
Though I have the loneliest heartbeat
Longing for home
A place that will want me

- "Cover Your Own" by Nine Lashes

Bucky stared at Steve in shock, numbly holding the phone to his ear and listening to the details of what Jake had done. He tried to imagine it—the cute little kid he'd last seen two months ago, stabbing a dog to death and then looking up at Steve, spattered in blood and expecting to be praised for it. The violence he could easily imagine. It was just...Jake.

"They started him early, didn't they?" Bucky muttered numbly. He should have seen that. He should have gotten through all of Jake's records, instead of letting them get taken away before they learned everything about him. Then this wouldn't have been a surprise. They would have been prepared. They could have taught him that not every animal was a threat.

"I was so scared," Steve said, seeking Bucky's gaze with haunted eyes. "When I saw him covered in blood...I thought for sure..." He shuddered visibly, running a hand over his face.

Bucky focused more closely on Steve's appearance. There were huge circles under his eyes, and the lines at the corners of his eyes seemed deeper than usual. He looked like he hadn't slept properly in days. Like he was barely holding it together.

"I don't know what to do anymore," Steve confessed. "I thought it would be safe out there, far away from everyone...but it wasn't. His whole way of looking at the world is just so...skewed. It's like he's speaking a different language. Except that it makes things dangerous for everyone around him. I'm afraid to take him anywhere now..."

Bucky could tell, from the earnest looks Steve was sending his way, that he was supposed to come up with some way to help him. But he couldn't do anything from here; he couldn't even reach through the glass and give Steve a hug. He couldn't help Steve watch Jake, nor could he observe his behavior and try to think of ways to change it.

Not like you'd be any help in the first place, the voice growled in his ear. He kills a dog, you've killed people. You're no better than him. He's a monster just like you, only on a smaller scale. If you were there, you'd only make him worse.

This wasn't the way he'd hoped this visit would go. Steve had checked to make sure he was all right and listened to what Bucky had to say, but Bucky could tell immediately that his attention was pointed elsewhere. Once he'd heard what had happened with Jake, he understood completely.

And yet...a small, bitter part of him twisted painfully when he realized that Steve was much more concerned with Jake's problems than his own. That's the way it should be, he told himself viciously, shoving the resentment down with all his might. Jake is his son, his primary responsibility, and he's only four years old. I'm an adult. I should be able to handle my own problems.

You can still ask for help, Stephanos murmured, his voice a gentle nudge in his mind.

But he's already dealing with more problems than he knows how to handle, the other voice growled. You don't want to add to his burden, do you?

"Buck?"

He looked up, realizing he'd fallen silent for too long. "Sorry," he muttered. "I don't think I'm the right person to ask what to do."

Steve opened his mouth to say something more, then seemed to think better of it and fell silent again. They looked at each other helplessly through the smudged glass.

It was only later, when Bucky was back in his cell, that he realized Steve hadn't asked him if all was quiet on the Western front. He usually brought that up when Bucky was particularly quiet. He could usually tell when Bucky needed it most.

Apparently, this time he hadn't noticed.

Steve paced restlessly around his living room. He'd gone to just about everyone he could think of for help with Jake. His attempt to get advice and support from Clint had backfired horribly. He'd called Sharon the day they'd returned home, but though they'd talked for more than two hours, she didn't have any insight for him. Naturally, he'd turned to Sam and Bucky for advice, but both of them seemed as much at their wit's end as he was. He'd hoped that at least Bucky, whose experiences were probably closer to Jake's than anyone else in the world, would have known what to do. But he'd been so quiet today, almost distracted, so it hadn't...

Wait. There was someone he hadn't talked to, who had personal experience as a child soldier and spy. Why hadn't he thought of her sooner?

Steve's pacing slowed to a stop as he pulled out his phone and tapped on Natasha's number. She should have been the first person he thought of when seeking advice for Jake's problems. Natasha didn't share many details of her past, even with him, but what little Steve did know indicated that her childhood hadn't been much better than Jake's. And yet, though her past cast its shadows over who she was today, it didn't hold her back. If anything, it made her stronger.

"Steve?" Natasha sounded a little out of breath. "Is this another dating-advice call, or is it a Code-Red-time-to-save-the-world call?"

"Neither, actually," Steve began, then hesitated when he heard what sounded like a fist hitting flesh, followed by a cry of pain. "Sorry...is this a bad time?"

"Kind of," Natasha said distractedly. More sounds filtered through—labored breaths, muffled shouts, the sound of swift blows traded back and forth... "If it's not too urgent, could I call you back tomorrow or something?"

"Of course," Steve said quickly, trying to imagine what Natasha was up to. "Um...should I ask...?"

"Probably not. Plausible deniability and all that. Don't worry, I got it covered." A thunderous crash of breaking glass interrupted her. "Sorry, gotta go!"

"Be careful," Steve said, but she'd already hung up. He sighed, staring at the blank screen of his phone. It still felt wrong to be stuck on the other side, unable to help his friends fight or even know what danger they might be in.

Well...at least Natasha hadn't sounded too worried. Hopefully that meant it wasn't a 'Code-Red-time-to-save-the-world' situation.

Steve got ready for bed, but he didn't feel sleepy in the slightest, his mind too full of the worries that had kept him awake for the past several nights. He puttered around the apartment for a while, washing the dishes and straightening things up—anything to keep himself busy so he wouldn't have to think.

But eventually there was nothing more to do. Steve turned out the lights, making sure the lamp on the table in the hall was on, in case Jake needed to find his way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. He hesitated, his eyes trailing from the lamp to the closed door of Jake's room.

On impulse, Steve walked up to the door and listened carefully. All he could hear was the usual language recording playing softly. He eased the door open, poking his head in and looking at the dark lump in the blankets that was his son.

"Look at the stars," Bucky's voice spoke in the darkness, repeating the sentence over and over in different languages. "There are so many stars in the sky... The stars are beautiful, aren't they?"

Steve left the door ajar and tiptoed over to the bed. Settling onto his knees, Steve let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Jake looked so peaceful in sleep, curled up in a little ball under the covers, one hand clutching a corner of his pillow. He breathed deeply, all tension gone from his body, the worried lines in his forehead smoothed out.

"The moon is bright tonight," the recording continued. "Can you find the moon?"

Steve looked wistfully at Jake's sleeping face, at his dark eyelashes lying still against his smooth skin. At the end of the day, it didn't matter how much trouble Jake brought him, or how little affection he received from him. Jake was still his son, and he would never stop loving him. He just wished Jake could understand that.

"I like to look at the stars," Bucky's soft voice filled the air. "Would you like to look at the stars with me?"

The ache in Steve's heart twisted a little. This was the closest he could get to either one of them right now, wasn't it? He could listen, he could watch...but they were both out of reach. In that moment, he thought he would give just about anything to be able to pull them both into his arms.

Heart in his throat, Steve quietly got to his feet and retreated. For a moment, as he carefully opened the door, he thought he caught sight of movement from the bed. But Jake must have just shifted slightly in his sleep, because he lay still and silent when Steve looked over at him. Softly closing the door behind himself, Steve left Jake to his slumber.

Steve woke with a jolt and a sharp intake of breath. He had one disoriented moment to realize he was lying in bed—and he wasn't alone.

Dim light flashed on something metal. Sharp. A knife, darting towards him—

Steve threw his right arm up to defend himself. A burst of pain slashed down his forearm. He swung his arm out, knocking the knife to the floor with a loud clatter. Someone shuffled back away from him.

Reaching awkwardly across his body with his uninjured left arm, Steve fumbled for the lamp. For a heart-stopping moment, he couldn't find the switch, and he was sure another attack would come. But nothing happened.

Finally, the lamp turned on, flooding the room with light. Shading his eyes with his left hand, Steve looked wildly around the room for his attacker. But there was no one in the room except for...

"Jake?"

Sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, Jake gaped up at him with wide, terrified eyes. Trembling like a leaf, he braced his hands against the floor, as if preparing to run for his life, but he remained frozen in place. At his feet lay the largest knife from the kitchen, now stained with blood.

Stunned, Steve looked down at his right arm and saw blood pouring from a jagged cut that slashed halfway up his forearm and then curved around the side. He hastily pressed a corner of his sheet to the gash to stop the bleeding.

"Jake...what...what were you doing?"

But Jake didn't seem able to speak. He just stared up at him, face white as a sheet. Well...whiter than this sheet, with a bright red stain spreading steadily out from his arm...

Still holding the sheet to his arm, Steve clumsily reached over and grabbed his phone, keeping an eye on Jake as he called Sam's number. It took Sam a few moments to answer—what time was it, even? As soon as Sam mumbled some kind of hello, Steve said, "Sam, I need you here. Right away."

Sam sounded slightly more awake when he said, "Copy that."

Steve didn't put down the phone with any great force, but Jake flinched anyway. "Jake," he said, trying to keep his voice as calm as he could though his heart was still pounding, "I need you to talk to me. Why did you do this?"

He could hear Jake's teeth chattering. "Be...Because..." He could barely speak for how violently he trembled, his voice no more than a thin whisper.

Steve's arm throbbed as he stared at Jake in consternation. With both Michael and Lucky, Jake had lashed out because he felt threatened. But Steve had been fast asleep, a threat to no one, so why...?

"Because you're...you're m-my...you're my mission."

The words were spoken in no more than a whisper, but Steve started as if Jake had screamed them instead. Because this meant that it wasn't just that Jake didn't look at Steve as his father. He didn't even see Steve as his handler, or the replacement for Vino's training and discipline.

He saw Steve as a target. An enemy. Someone to be eliminated.

In a horrifying way, it made sense. The first thing Jake had ever asked him was, Are you Captain America? Of course Hydra would have been training Jake to fight him one day. He was Hydra's worst enemy. So he was Jake's worst enemy too.

It wasn't just that Jake didn't love him. They couldn't even have a relationship.

All along, when he'd thought he was getting through to Jake, when he'd thought Jake was warming up to him or at least getting used to the routines of his new life...Jake was planning to kill him.

Nothing felt real. Steve felt as though he hadn't really woken up, and everything happening around him was all part of the continuing nightmare.

Sam bandaged his arm, but the cut wasn't too deep, so he decided it didn't need stitches. Steve convinced Jake to go back to bed, though he would probably spend the rest of the night trembling in terror under the covers. Then Steve told Sam in an undertone what had happened, while they cleaned the knife and soaked the sheets in a basin of salt water to get rid of the bloodstains.

Once he'd heard the whole story, Sam said the last thing Steve had wanted to hear: "You need to call Dave."

Steve spent hours trying to argue and reason his way out of it, but in the end he knew Sam was right. This wasn't just a playground fight gone too far. This wasn't just a dead dog. Jake had attacked his own father, apparently intending to kill him. It was out of his hands.

So as soon as the time seemed halfway decent, Steve called the number on the business card Dave had left him. Just as when he'd visited the apartment before, Dave didn't react with shock or horror to hear Steve's story (at least, not as far as he could tell over the phone). He simply said, "I'll be there as soon as I can."

While they waited for Dave's arrival, Steve went to get Jake up and dressed, while Sam took care of breakfast. Jake seemed just as terrified as he'd been before, scrambling to follow Steve's directions and watching his every move with wide eyes. Steve tried to speak as gently as possible, but it didn't seem to help. Every time he looked at his son, his right arm throbbed and something twisted in the pit of his stomach.

As Jake was nervously finishing the last of his bacon and eggs, the doorbell rang. Steve's heart pounded as he let Dave into the building and waited for him to make it to the top.

Everything was happening too fast. One minute, Dave was shaking his hand and asking if he could speak to Jake alone. The next, he was sitting down with Steve at the kitchen table and explaining that he strongly recommended sending Jake to one of the residential treatment centers he'd talked about before. Steve recognized it from the brochure.

"It's an excellent facility," Dave said through the ringing in Steve's ears. "A New Hope is in Westchester, only an hour's drive away. The grounds are spacious, and the staff are the best of the best. They specialize in helping children with emotional disturbances, and those who struggle in social situations. Jake will be given a room of his own, and you'll be able to visit him every day. He'll receive the professional care he needs most."

Steve stared at the brochure, identical to the one he'd tucked away in the bookcase the last time Dave had visited. This was the one thing he'd always told himself he'd never even consider, so far removed from the realm of possibility it wasn't even a last resort. And yet, once again, someone was telling him this was his only viable option.

He glanced over towards the living room, where Jake was supposed to be coloring with Sam at the coffee table. Jake peered around the couch in their direction, but as soon as he met Steve's gaze, he hastily returned his attention to his color-by-number book.

Jake. His poor, timid, abused little boy, staring fearfully up at him in a cold Hydra base. Tearing up all of his belongings in the throes of a temper tantrum. Glaring up at Steve, small fists clenched by his sides and jaw set stubbornly. Standing by Steve's bedside, raising the kitchen knife over his head...

But he hadn't just been afraid of Steve as another authority figure like Vino and all the others he'd known before. He hadn't just been throwing temper tantrums or testing his boundaries. All along, he'd seen Steve as his enemy. His target. He feared him...maybe he even hated him...

Steve wasn't a father to him. Jake didn't even see him as a positive part of his life. Even after all this time, after everything Steve had done to show him otherwise, in Jake's eyes, he was just a threat. So maybe there wasn't anything more he could do for Jake. Maybe...this was the right thing to do.

Running a hand through his hair, Steve looked up at Dave, desperately wishing he would take back what he'd said and recommend something else. "You really think...this will help him?"

Dave's smile was sympathetic. "I do," he said softly. "I know this is a hard decision to make, Steve. An impossible choice. But I think you can see what I see: This is more than you can handle. That is not a reflection on you as a parent," he added with a placating gesture. "You love your son very much, so I know it feels like abandonment, to send him away to a place like this. But Jake has unique challenges and setbacks, ones you don't have the professional training or experience to tackle. So in the end, isn't it more loving to ensure that he gets the best care possible?"

Steve swallowed with difficulty, dropping his gaze to the tabletop. Under the table, his fingers were twisting around each other helplessly, mirroring the tangle of despair that used to be his heart.

"This doesn't have to be forever," Dave continued, his voice gentler than ever. "Perhaps some distance is what the two of you need, and once Jake learns healthier ways to cope with his emotions and communicate with others, you can come back together stronger than ever."

And so, feeling like he was stabbing that kitchen knife through his own chest, Steve reluctantly nodded.

Steve had struggled for hours to think of an alternative. He'd consulted everyone he could think of for advice, and they'd all said the same thing. Even when Natasha called him back that morning and he explained what had happened, she agreed that the best course of action was to put Jake in a residential facility where he could get 24-hour care and professional therapy.

"Honestly, I wish I could have had some of that when I was a kid," she'd said. "Maybe it wouldn't have taken me so long to turn my life around."

It wasn't what he wanted to hear. It wasn't what he wanted to believe.

But...it was happening.

Someone else was controlling his body. A stranger calmly spoke to Dave, then went through the motions of packing up Jake's belongings into a rolling suitcase that was almost taller than Jake himself. That stranger also calmly explained to Jake what was happening, helped him into the car, and set out on the long drive to A New Hope. But it wasn't him.

During the drive, Steve was vaguely aware of Sam doing his best to keep their spirits up with light-hearted comments. Steve caught a few of his jokes, like, "A New Hope? More like The Therapist Strikes Back!" He knew that normally he would laugh along, but nothing seemed funny today.

All too soon, they pulled into the parking lot in front of New Hope, a large brick building that looked a bit like a castle. The grounds stretched out to either side with lush, green grass; Steve caught sight of a forested area in the back, and what looked like a small stream with a footbridge curving over it. A group of children were running around the playground in the front, their cries of mirth echoing through the warm air.

Dave led the way into the building, and took charge through the rest of the proceedings. They went on a tour of the facility, looking in on brightly-colored classrooms and playrooms, friendly-looking offices stocked with toys and games for group or individual therapy, a cafeteria with small round tables in cheerful colors, the cozy little bedroom that Jake would call his own, with walls painted to look like an underwater coral reef, complete with tropical fish and waving strands of seaweed.

Everything looked so peaceful and inviting, the perfect setting for a child's upbringing. Steve hated every inch of it.

The traitor in charge of Steve's body moved his hand, filling out the proper paperwork at the front desk. On the outside, he calmly signed his name on the dotted line. Inside, he was screaming.

And then...then it was time. He watched from a million miles away as Sam squatted down in front of Jake and said, "You take care, kiddo. Don't forget your Uncle Sam, okay? Here, gimme five."

As Jake half-heartedly slapped Sam's hand, glancing around nervously, Steve spotted the look on Sam's face. Despite the chipper tone of his voice, and everything he'd said to convince Steve to go through with this, he looked like he would rather be anywhere but here. His eyes were overly bright as he straightened up and stepped back to give Steve his turn.

Steve sank to one knee in front of his son, and the cold stranger that had led them both here vanished. Once again, it was just him and Jake.

Jake met his gaze for a moment, then quickly looked down at his feet, gripping the hem of his shirt with trembling fists. His little shoulders rose and fell with his shallow, fearful breathing.

Yes. Maybe it was best for Jake to not live with Steve anymore, if he was this terrified of him.

He wanted to hold Jake in a tight embrace, to kiss him on his soft round cheek and brush dark strands of hair off his forehead, but he held himself back. It didn't matter what he wanted. Jake's comfort and well-being came first.

So all he did was give Jake a smile that made his chest ache. "You be a good boy, okay, buddy? Daddy has to go now. But I'll be back to see you tomorrow, and you can tell me all the fun things you've been doing." He drew a deep breath, swallowing the lump in his throat so he could continue. "I love you, Jake. I know you might not understand or believe me, but I love you no matter what. And I always will. I promise."

Jake said nothing. He didn't even look up. Eventually, one of the New Hope employees stepped forward, speaking kindly to Jake and holding out her hand to lead him off and get settled in his room. Steve remained frozen where he was, watching them go. It felt like a hook had been embedded in his heart, and Jake held the other end of the fishing line. The farther away he got, the tighter that string pulled. Any minute now, it would yank his heart right out of his chest.

Right as the woman was about to lead Jake around a corner, he peeked back over his shoulder at Steve. Then he was gone.

For a moment, Steve just sat there. Then he noticed Sam holding out a hand to him, and accepted the help standing up. Dave was talking to him, and Steve murmured a response without really being aware of what he was saying. He was dimly aware of Sam looking at him in concern and then speaking to Dave, but Steve didn't care what they were talking about. He just turned and walked out the front door.

His chest felt hollow and cold. Maybe his heart really had gotten ripped out. It was a wonder he wasn't leaving a trail of blood behind him.

Sam caught up with him at the car, carrying a folder of materials Steve realized Dave had probably been trying to give him. Helpful information on what to do when you were such a failure of a parent that you couldn't even live with your own child anymore...

Grabbing the keys Steve had fished out of his pocket, Sam gently pushed Steve towards the passenger side. Steve didn't have the energy to protest, so he just did as Sam wanted. They didn't say anything on the hour-long drive back home. Steve just stared blindly out the window and tried not to see Jake walking away from him, again and again and again...

Sam gave Steve half an hour to himself. Half an hour in which Sam wearily paced around his own apartment, trying to get a few chores done that he'd neglected in all the chaos of the day. But he couldn't seem to focus on anything except his own thoughts, sluggishly churning through everything that had happened.

He wasn't particularly surprised it had come to this. It had been apparent for weeks now that Steve had bitten off more than he could chew, even with Sam helping as much as he could. As a single father suddenly taking care of a four-year-old, Steve would have had a hard time no matter what, but Jake's unique issues made it even more challenging. Sam hadn't wanted to say anything, but ever since the incident at the park, he'd been waiting for the day Jake would be taken away.

That didn't mean he was happy about it, though. Over the past several months, he'd grown to love Jake as much as Sarah's children, as if he really were Jake's uncle. Despite how cold and serious Jake always was, Sam enjoyed spending time with him. He loved pulling silly faces and making jokes that elicited nothing more than a confused frown. How was he going to fill his days, now that there was no one to babysit? And since he wasn't actually related to Jake, he wasn't sure he would be allowed to visit him at New Hope. Maybe they could see if they could get special permission, since Jake only had one real family member who could actually visit...

Ever since Steve had woken him in the middle of the night, Sam's thoughts kept circling back to what Jake had done. It was so hard to imagine quiet little Jake, who was usually so careful to stay out of everyone's way and not draw attention to himself, going so far as to actually try to kill Steve. Sam kept on trying to think of some other explanation for what had happened, but nothing else made sense. Hydra had clearly told him that his ultimate goal was to kill Captain America, and he'd finally tried to live up to those expectations.

It hurt, patching up the wound on Steve's arm and knowing that Jake had put it there. It felt a bit like a betrayal, after such a long time of doing nothing but pouring love into him. And if Sam felt like this, how much worse must Steve feel?

Finally, Sam ordered a couple pizzas, pulled a six-pack of beer out from the back of his fridge, and carried them up to the top floor. When he let himself into the apartment, he found Steve sitting on the couch, just staring into space in the light of a single lamp. He looked up slowly at Sam, who smiled half-heartedly and hefted the pizza boxes. "Cheese or meat-lover's?"

Steve only ate about half a slice before he set his paper plate down with a sigh. He took a large gulp of beer, then just sat staring glumly at it.

"You ain't gettin' drunk, dude," Sam reminded him, putting a large slice of cheese pizza on his plate and shoving it back into his hands. "Even on an empty stomach. So you might as well fill up on food instead."

"Not hungry," Steve mumbled, trying to put his plate down on the coffee table again.

"Eat anyway," Sam insisted, nudging it back into his hands. "You'll regret it later if you don't, when your stomach's trying to devour you from the inside."

"Sometimes I hate this body," Steve sighed, but he reluctantly started eating again, so Sam was satisfied.

In the end, Sam managed to coax him through three slices (more of a snack than a meal, by Steve's usual standards). Then Steve just sank wearily back into the couch cushions, not saying anything.

Sam had intentionally sat right next to him, and now he took his cue, sitting quietly and not pressing Steve to speak. The silence stretched out between them, heavy with the emotions of the day. But that was okay.

He didn't know how long it was until Steve finally spoke. "I don't know why I ever thought I could do this."

"I do," Sam said quietly. "It's because you love him. Of course you wanted to try. And you did your best."

"But it wasn't enough." Steve stared straight ahead, his jaw clenching. Sam thought he could see tears beginning to glisten in his eyes. "I...I should've known. That I'd fail in the end."

"Hey, hey." Sam drew an arm around Steve's shoulders, shaking him slightly. "You are not a failure, Steve. You're giving Jake what he needs right now. Isn't that the best way to love him?"

Steve nodded, but didn't seem completely convinced. He met Sam's gaze, and he looked so miserable that Sam pulled him into a hug. Steve sank into the embrace, gripping Sam with such strength that Sam could tell he'd been needing one for a long time.

"It's okay, brother," Sam murmured, patting Steve on the back as his breathing grew a little ragged. "It's okay."

"Do you...really think...I did the right thing?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut at the raw pain he could hear in Steve's voice. "Yeah," he whispered. "I think you did."

Steve's arms tightened painfully around him. "Doesn't feel like it."

Sam kept patting him on the back, not pulling away even though Steve was holding him so tight it hurt to take a deep breath. "You know," he ventured, "if you ever want to talk to someone, I could always hook you up with somebody at the VA or something..."

"I don't need therapy, Sam."

"Everybody needs therapy."

"No...I can't..." Steve let out a weary sigh. His voice became nothing but a hoarse whisper that Sam wouldn't have been able to understand if it hadn't been right next to his ear. "Have to be strong...for them."

Sam didn't push the issue any more than that, just patted him on the back. After a minute or so of silence, he realized that Steve had fallen asleep.

My heart throbs; my strength fails me,
and the light of my eyes—it also has gone from me.
My friends and companions stand aloof from my plague,
and my nearest kin stand far off.

- Psalm 38:10-11