I pulled myself through another day
And put my trust in me
I put myself in a family
Things got rough, but we're living happily

Call me crazy, but the feeling's enough
From the day we hit the ground
Faced with failing, I could never give up
On the way we're making sounds

- "Making Sounds" by Monty Are I

Bucky had been keeping a tally in the corner of his legal pad, so he was ready when Officer Bailey came to take him back to his old cell. The tall man looked him over as dispassionately as ever, glanced over his bundle of belongings, then gestured for him to start walking down the hallway in front of him.

As Bucky made his way along a route that was already growing far too familiar, he wondered what he was walking into. What would Brad say the next time they came face-to-face? What would the rest of his gang do? Bucky had mopped the floor with most, if not all, of the gang. Would they leave him alone now, or was this just the beginning of a never-ending cycle of revenge?

It would probably come down to how Brad reacted to him, Bucky decided. They'd probably follow his lead. His left side twinged a little as he approached the door leading back to the cell block. He knew he could fight them off if he had to...but he didn't want to go back to the bing.

He got even more stares than he had last time as he made his way up the stairs to his old cell, but no jeers or laughter. Some of the inmates nudged each other or muttered among themselves as they watched him pass, but no one accosted him. Did they all know what had happened? Had they heard that he'd subdued Brad's entire gang literally single-handedly?

To Bucky's immense relief, the cell was empty when he reached it. Brad wasn't back yet.

Once he'd rearranged his belongings on the top bunk, Bucky ventured out into the main room again. He felt eyes on him from all sides as he made his way to the nearest phone, but he did his best to ignore them. Because there were no windows in here, Bucky hadn't realized how late it had gotten until he glanced up at the clock hung high on the wall. They'd be locked down for the night soon, but he should have time for a quick phone call.

Bucky's heart skipped a beat when he heard a click and then a familiar cry of, "Bucky!"

"Hey," was all he managed to say before he choked on all the things he'd been dying to talk about.

"Are you okay? Matt said there was some kind of makeshift weapon..."

"Yeah. Got the drop on me; I'm still not used to fighting with just one arm. But I'm fine," he hastily added. "It wasn't too deep." And I'm used to a lot worse, he thought, but he bit his tongue instead of saying it.

He could practically hear Steve's helpless concern fizzling across the line. "Are you safe? Maybe Matt could do something, get you moved or—"

"It's jail, Steve," Bucky interrupted. "Of course it's not safe. And it might be worse somewhere else. I'm fine."

"Okay." An awkward silence fell. Bucky wished he could see Steve's expression. Finally, Steve asked, "Have you...been getting my letters?"

Bucky blinked in surprise. "You've been sending me letters?"

Steve sighed, though Bucky couldn't tell if the sound was relief or frustration. "I knew something must have happened! I've been sending you a letter every day since you went into solitary. But...I guess there's more of a delay than I thought there'd be. Sorry, I was trying to give you something to read while you were in there..."

But Bucky barely heard the apology. "You did that? You...wrote to me...while I was in there?"

"Yeah, of course."

Bucky chuckled past the lump growing in his throat. What was the big deal? Of course Steve would write to him when they couldn't talk any other way. "Great minds think alike, I guess."

Before Steve could respond, they got the warning message that they only had one minute left in the call. "I'm coming to see you tomorrow," Steve said. "Hang on for me until then, okay?"

"Yeah," Bucky said, smiling despite himself at the thought of finally getting to see Steve again. "Tomorrow, then."

"Good night."

"Sleep tight," Bucky responded without thinking.

"Don't let the Brad-bugs bite."

A surprised laugh escaped him as the call ended. Bucky hung up and made his way back to his cell, heart surprisingly light. How does he do that? Bucky wondered. No matter what happens, Steve always makes everything all right in the end.

"Okay, buddy, what do you want for breakfast?" Steve pulled the cereal boxes down from the top of the refrigerator. "We've got Froot Loops, Lucky Charms, Cheerios..."

"Hot dogs."

Steve looked over the armful of brightly-colored boxes to find Jake staring up at him expectantly. Of course. He provided a wider range of cereal options than he would have found in an entire grocery store growing up, and Jake wasn't interested in any of them. Typical.

Arranging the boxes enticingly on the table, Steve said, "We're not having hot dogs for breakfast, but why don't you pick one of these yummy cereals instead?"

Jake glowered at the boxes surrounding him, then turned his glare up to Steve. When Steve didn't budge, Jake grudgingly pointed at the Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Suppressing a sigh of relief, Steve poured a bowl for Jake. Just as he finished pouring the milk, he heard the front door open. "Yo!" Sam called as he let himself in.

"Good morning," Steve said, leaving Jake grumpily eating his breakfast. Perching on the edge of the couch, he started pulling on his shoes. "Sorry, we're running a little late..."

"Nah, I get it," Sam said, waving cheerily in Jake's direction. "But you still got plenty of time to catch the bus." He leaned against the back of the couch. "You get a chance to talk to Bucky yesterday?"

"Yeah, in the evening." Steve's heart lifted a little, as it did every time he remembered that they would finally get to see each other again today. "Turns out, he hasn't been getting my letters. I don't know if that's because he was in solitary, or there's just a really long delay..."

"See, what'd I tell ya?" Sam said. "You were worrying for nothing."

"Guess so." Steve smiled, getting to his feet and grabbing his keys from the hook by the door. "You got everything you need for today?"

"Yep, we're all set." Sam clapped him on the shoulder. "Say hi to Bucky for me. Tell him to make sure he gets a cool prison tattoo before he gets out."

Steve snorted and opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by a thunderous crash from the kitchen. Alarmed, Steve spun around and saw Jake's chair lying on the floor. For a moment, he thought Jake had fallen out of it and knocked it over.

Before Steve could make a move, Jake came into view, kicking the chair hard enough that it skidded across the floor. Jake grabbed another chair at the table, lifted it effortlessly over his head, and brought it crashing down onto the floor. One of the chair legs broke in half, and Jake grasped the half still attached to the chair, yanking viciously at it till he ripped it off in a splintery mess.

"Whoa there, stop! Jake, stop it right now." Steve hurried forward, grabbing the broken chair as Jake began to lift it over his head again.

Breathing hard, Jake tugged on the chair, but Steve easily yanked it out of his grip. Jake paused for a moment, panting with his fists clenched at his sides, then took a step towards a third chair at the table.

"Jake," Steve said in a warning tone. "Take one more step, and you'll have to sit in your room for a time out."

Jake froze, his little shoulders heaving. He was visibly trembling, though Steve couldn't tell if it was from anger or fear.

Taking care to keep his voice calm and measured, Steve said, "Now, what was all that about? Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Jake stood, scowling down at the floor. He shot a glare up at Steve, jaw clenching and unclenching like he wanted to yell. What struck Steve the most was the confused jumble of emotions flitting across his face, like Jake wasn't quite sure what to feel. It reminded him of the half-obscured, swiftly shifting emotions he used to see on Winter's face. Bucky had once tried to explain what it had felt like, back in the early days when he was still getting used to his freedom from Hydra's utter control of him. He'd said that every time he reacted to something, he'd find himself reacting to his reaction, then reacting to that reaction, on and on in an endless, confusing spiral.

Without saying a word, Jake turned on his heel and raced out of the room.

"Jake!" Steve called, holding out a hand pointlessly. All he got in response was the sound of Jake's door slamming shut.

With a frustrated sigh, Steve looked helplessly at Sam. "What just happened?"

Sam shrugged, not looking terribly perturbed by what he'd witnessed. "Kids are weird, man. Even the normal ones. They're still learning how to process their emotions, so when they feel something strongly...tantrums happen." He gestured at the mess on the kitchen floor.

Steve surveyed the wreckage of the chair, not sure he would classify this with a term as innocuous as a 'tantrum.' Though he supposed it made sense that an enhanced boy's tantrums would be more destructive than average.

"Here, I got this." Sam took the broken chair from Steve's hand. "You go ahead and visit Bucky."

"You sure? I feel bad, leaving you to handle all this..."

"Trust me, dude," Sam said, gathering up the splintered bits of wood, "I have definitely cleaned up worse before." He shot a grin over his shoulder. "Just be glad you got Jake after his 'terrible twos', right?"

Steve smiled weakly. Considering Jake had been held tightly in Hydra's grip when he was two, maybe they could chalk this up to delayed development. But that didn't exactly make him feel better about anything.

Steve smiled as soon as Bucky sat down on the other side of the glass, nearly dropping the receiver in his haste to bring it up to his ear. Steve watched Bucky's movements closely, as if he'd be able to tell where the injury was even though it must have healed long ago. Thankfully, Bucky looked the same as he had the last time they'd seen each other. A little stiff, a little tired, but otherwise...he looked okay.

"Hey," Steve said, drinking in the sight of his best friend. It felt like it had been two years, not two weeks, since he'd seen him last. "You doing all right?"

Bucky nodded with a weary little smile. "Never thought I'd say this...but I'm glad to be back in my cell."

Steve couldn't even imagine how horrible solitary confinement must be, that it was worse than going back to brushing shoulders with dozens of inmates. "Are you in danger? Has Brad...threatened you or anything?"

"He's not back yet, actually." Bucky shifted awkwardly in his seat. "I mean...I did break his arm. The rest of his gang is keeping their distance too. My guess is they'll wait till he gets back and follow his example."

"Well...at least you get a bit of a break, then," Steve said with relief.

For a moment, Bucky fell silent, his gaze drifting to the side. Then, shaking his head slightly, he abruptly changed the subject. "How are things at home? How's Jake doing?"

Steve could easily understand why Bucky wouldn't want to dwell on Brad any more than he had to. Jake had been on his mind all morning anyway, so he didn't mind taking the conversation in that direction. He told Bucky about Jake's strange outburst that morning, hoping in vain that Bucky might have some new insight.

But Bucky looked as puzzled as Steve was once he'd heard the whole story. "So...he was upset about not getting hot dogs for breakfast?"

Steve shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea. He was already eating the cereal I gave him, so I thought it was fine...but then he just started throwing chairs around." With a heavy sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Clearly, I don't have the slightest clue what I'm doing."

"He probably doesn't either," Bucky said thoughtfully. "If he pulled a stunt like that with Hydra...it would never have gotten that far. But maybe he's figured out now that you're not going to beat him or scream at him. And...he doesn't know how to act in a world that works like that. So maybe he's trying to figure that out."

"Was it like that for you?"

Bucky gave him a mirthless smile. "Why do you think I started cutting myself? It was so strange that you weren't hurting me...that I had to do it instead."

In that moment, Steve longed more than ever to hold Bucky's hand, to run his fingers along the many scars lining his arm. He longed for that reminder that such darkness was in the past.

A thought occurred to him that turned his blood to ice. "You don't think...there's any danger of Jake...?"

Bucky shook his head immediately. "He's hurting chairs, not himself. Besides...you know what to look for. You'll never let it get that far."

Steve wished he was as confident of that as Bucky was.

"What about Sam?" Bucky asked. "He still as annoying as ever?"

With a chuckle, Steve said, "He's good. He says hi. And he said to tell you to get a prison tattoo before you leave."

Bucky snorted and called Sam a few choice names, but Steve grinned. He could see the twinkle in Bucky's eye.

"Did I tell you he's looking for a job?" Steve continued. "He went in for an interview at the VA yesterday. Some kind of group therapy thing."

"That's what he used to do, right?" Bucky said. "Before I crashed the party?"

Steve nodded with a grin. "Maybe when you get out, we'll have to show up one night and embarrass him by telling everyone how awesome he is."

Bucky's smile widened, then turned a little wistful. "It's...not long now. Is it?"

Steve's heart skipped a beat. "No," he said softly. "The court date's coming up. You'll be home soon. Very soon."

For a long minute, they just looked at each other. Steve's chest ached with all the things he wanted to say. Like how much he missed Bucky. Like how slowly the time seemed to pass when they were apart. Like how he would sometimes catch himself daydreaming about something small and silly—holding Bucky's hand in his, or hearing his deep breathing as he slept.

But he didn't say any of those things. He found himself suddenly aware of the quiet conversations to either side of them, the guard standing at the door. There was no privacy here, and somehow that made it almost impossible to open his heart. Not when he couldn't even touch Bucky.

He supposed that didn't make a lot of sense, but...it didn't matter. It was just a matter of weeks. Days. Then Bucky would be back home, and he could say everything then.

"So," Bucky said, breaking into Steve's thoughts, "you heard about this Brexit thing?"

"Yeah, a little bit," Steve said, relaxing a little as their conversation turned to more casual topics. "I don't often get time to do more than just skim the headlines these days, though."

"I have nothing but time to watch the news," Bucky grumbled, rolling his eyes. "It's either that or General Hospital."

"What's General Hospital?"

Bucky gave a long-suffering sigh. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

He almost seemed cheerful now. Maybe they were just dancing around the heavier topics, but Steve wanted to keep the conversation light and carefree. "So, you've been keeping up on current events. Anything I should know?"

"Uh...well, what do you want me to tell you about? The president visiting Hiroshima, the wall-climbing vigilante, or the lady who tried to carry a pound of meth through customs disguised as burritos?"

Steve laughed aloud at that. "Wait, what's this about a vigilante...?"

"Oh, you haven't heard? He's here in New York City. Nobody knows who he is, but they're calling him 'Spider-Man,' I guess 'cause he crawls up and down walls like a spider, and he has these web things he shoots out of his hands. They were showing some footage of him this morning. There was a truck driver who had a heart attack while driving and almost ran over these kids on a field trip to the Empire State Building. This Spider-Man guy jumped in front of the truck and just...grabbed it. Lifted it right over his head and stopped it before anyone could get hurt."

Steve gave a low whistle. "If I was still in charge of the Avengers, I'd want to talk to this guy."

"It's...a bit strange," Bucky said thoughtfully, "watching someone else do that kind of thing."

"Yeah...still, I'm glad someone's doing it. Even if it's just here in New York, at least we know there are some who aren't letting the Accords stop them."

Bucky gave him a fondly exasperated smile. "Why do I get the feeling you're going to start putting on a ski mask and run around playing the hero again?"

"Don't worry, I'll wait till you get home," Steve said with a grin. "Then you can join me."

"But who's going to watch Jake? Sam won't want to sit out on this."

"Hmm...maybe we'll make him a little vigilante suit and he can come along, like an apprentice..."

They spent the rest of their visit joking about their plans to go rogue and join Spider-Man with secret identities. It didn't matter that they knew it was never going to happen. They could laugh about it together, and that was what mattered.

Maybe it was just his relief to be out of the bing again. Maybe it was Brad's absence. Maybe it was the knowledge that with every day that passed, he was one day closer to getting out. Whatever the case, Bucky found prison life ever so slightly easier to bear as the days dragged on.

No one replaced Brad, so Bucky had the cell to himself. It was nowhere near as isolated as the bing had been, but Bucky felt infinitely safer when they were all locked in their cells for the night. He slept much better without the constant worry of what Brad might try to do to him while his back was turned. When it was too noisy or he couldn't sleep, Bucky felt at liberty to continue the exercises he'd gotten into the habit of doing while in solitary. That helped him feel more alert and ready for whatever the day might entail.

With Brad and several other high-ranking gang members not around to call the shots, the rest of the Brotherhood gave Bucky a wide berth. Many of the other inmates steered clear of him as well, probably seeing him as a troublemaker. That irritated Bucky a little—this time, he hadn't even been the one to start the fight. It wasn't like he was going to go around bashing people's faces in and breaking their arms for no reason. But then, it didn't really matter what anyone thought of him in here. As long as they were avoiding him, they wouldn't pick another fight with him and get him into trouble again.

One of the very few people who didn't immediately back away or give him the cold shoulder when they saw him was Korey. Perhaps because Brad wasn't around, perhaps because he'd clearly sided with Bucky during the last fight, Korey started hanging around Bucky more openly. During the first meal after he got back, Bucky was sitting at an empty table when Korey plopped down across from him. Korey met his eyes with a nervous little grin, tense as if waiting for Bucky to tell him to get lost. But Bucky just nodded a greeting, and they proceeded to eat in silence.

After that, Korey hung around Bucky every time they were let out of their cells. Bucky's sharp ears caught a few snide comments about the two of them, even a couple lewd suggestions of what happened when the two of them trooped off to the showers together. But no one said anything to his face, nor did anyone threaten either of them. Bucky quickly learned that all he had to do to silence these whispers was stare for a while in the general direction the whispers came from. Apparently, that was intimidating enough to shut them up.

For the first day, Korey seemed content to just sit quietly next to Bucky, watching TV or just staring into space. But on the second day, as they sat watching the morning news from their usual table, Bucky noticed that Korey kept fidgeting, glancing at him when he thought Bucky wasn't looking. His hands were trembling too, and he kept wiping sweat off his forehead. Finally, Korey blurted out in a half-whisper, "Hey...Barnes? You...You got Brad's stash now...right?"

Bucky took in his appearance at a glance. Shaking hands, profuse sweating, feverish eyes, nervous twitching... It didn't take a genius to figure out what Korey was really asking for. "No," he said.

"Oh." Korey licked his lips nervously. "S-Sorry, I'll go ask..."

He made to get up, but Bucky grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him back down. "Hey, kid. Whatever you're going to ask for, you don't need it."

"Hey, man, y-you don't know—"

Bucky gave him a flat look. "What don't I know?"

Korey gulped and looked down. Bucky wasn't sure if he was looking at the grip he had on Korey's arm, or the myriad of scars marring the skin of his forearm. Korey glanced over at the door, where Officer Bailey stood boredly surveying the room. Then Korey looked pleadingly back at Bucky. "It's been...three days, man," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I'm dyin' here!"

Once he was sure Korey wasn't going to get up again, Bucky released him. He glanced over at Officer Bailey as well, but if he'd noticed anything, he obviously didn't care. "You're not dying," Bucky said patiently. "It's just withdrawal."

"Just nothin'!" Korey dropped his head into his hands, a muffled string of curses filtering through as he ground the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Korey, look at me. Look at me."

Slowly, Korey lifted his head enough to peer miserably over his trembling fingers.

Bucky looked intently into those weary, bloodshot eyes and saw himself looking back out of them. So he spoke the words he wished he could say to the man he used to be. "This is why you need to stop. The first time felt great, didn't it? It felt like...relief. Like you could take a deep breath and really live for the first time, right?"

Slowly, Korey nodded, his eyes widening.

"But then it was over, and you felt even worse than you did in the first place. And you tried to get back to that wonderful feeling of...vitality, or whatever you want to call it. But it wasn't enough, so you kept going for more and more, chasing that first high, but never quite reaching it. You haven't felt alive for a long time, have you? You've just been trying to keep from feeling dead."

Korey sat up straight with a sharp intake of breath. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from Bucky's.

"Korey," Bucky said, keeping his voice gentle but firm, "whatever you're taking, it's not going to be enough. No matter how much you take, it's never going to be enough. There's nothing at the end of that road but death, so don't take another step. If you really want to live, you have to turn around. It's going to be hard—it's going to be really hard. But it's worth it."

Hugging himself, Korey hung his head. "I don't know, man..."

"Even if you don't think it's worth it for you, isn't it worth trying to keep your mother from crying?"

Korey's head jerked up again. "H-How'd you know about my mom?"

Bucky smiled sadly. "You strike me as the kind of kid any parent would be sorry to lose."

The way Korey looked at him then, his eyes round and vulnerable, made him look younger than ever. He was just a child, stuck in a cruel world forcing him to grow up far too fast.

Just like Jake. Just like Mabel.

Korey hunched his shoulders, biting his lip and looking at the floor. "Mom couldn't make bail," he mumbled. "She gotta work two jobs just to pay the bills...and we're behind on rent. She...She was cryin'. When they told her how much it was. She can't even take time off to come see me. I don't got no money for phone calls either."

"See?" Bucky said as gently as he could. "That's why you've got to clean up your act. You don't want to make any more trouble for her, do you?"

Korey shook his head miserably. "I got a kid brother," he said to the floor, his voice so quiet that Bucky had to focus to hear it underneath the din all around them. "I...I don't want him to end up here too."

"How old is he?"

"Twelve." Korey ran a hand under his nose, still staring bleakly at the floor.

"I've got a little brother too," Bucky said. "Well, not so little anymore. I can't tell you how much sleep I've lost, trying to keep him out of trouble."

"You still worry about him?" Korey was looking at him again, almost hungrily, as if begging Bucky to tell him he wasn't alone.

Bucky smiled sadly. "Every day. I shouldn't. He's a much better person than I am, and he can take care of himself. But...I still worry. Guess that's what brothers are for." He met Korey's eyes, making sure he wouldn't mistake his meaning. "And I know he worries about me every day too. That's why I have to take care of myself, so I can get back to him as soon as possible."

"I...I wanna do better," Korey mumbled, chewing on his thumbnail. "But I don't know if I can."

"You can." Something burned hot and bright in Bucky's chest, something he hadn't felt quite so strongly since...since Crossbones. He wished Korey's worst enemy was as easy to deal with as a Hydra agent. "I believe you can do it. So if you don't trust yourself, just trust me."

Korey stared at him for a moment or two, then ran a hand over his short hair with a furtive smile. "Why you always so nice to me, Barnes?"

"Bucky," he corrected him. "And I'm just doing what any decent person would."

"Dude, ain't nobody talked to me like that before."

"Then I guess it's high time someone did."

One morning, Steve woke to an influx of texts wishing him a happy Father's Day. Not just Sam, but also Sharon, Clint, Wanda...practically everyone he knew. Oh...right, he thought, his brain feeling sluggish and groggy. That's today.

He'd known he was a father for something like six months now, and ever since they'd rescued Jake, he'd had daily reminders right in front of him. Yet somehow, the words still came as a surprise. He scrolled through all the cheerful messages his friends had sent him, and the photo Clint had sent of him sitting in a chair with all three of his kids piled onto his lap.

That was him now. A father. It still didn't feel real.

Steve had never known his own father. The most he'd ever been able to do to honor Joseph Rogers was to put flowers on his grave, and listen to his mother's stories about him. Of course the Barneses had always welcomed him like a member of the family, and Bucky's father was the closest thing he'd known to having one of his own...but it wasn't the same.

And now Steve was a father himself. When he focused on the daily routines, he thought he was used to the idea. But when he took a step back and really thought about being a father, he realized he had no idea what he was doing. He wondered if he would feel more confident if Jake were a perfectly normal kid without all the baggage Hydra had left him, or if every father secretly felt out of his depth every day.

He stared at Clint's photo, at the smiling faces caught mid-laugh...

The screen went dark, and Steve shook himself from his reverie. He put his phone back down and deliberately turned away, focusing instead on the morning routine.

Sam dropped by while Steve was getting the coffee started. "I thought you were spending the day with your family," Steve said, bringing an extra mug over to him in the living room.

"Yeah, I'll head out in a bit," Sam said, taking an appreciative sip of his coffee. "But I wanted to say hi first. Oh, by the way—I heard back about that VA job. I can start tomorrow."

Steve blinked in surprise. "That was fast."

Sam shrugged. "Sounds like they're pretty understaffed right now. It'll just be evenings, Monday-Wednesday-Friday. So I'll still be around for Jake. And there he is!" he added, waving cheerfully at Jake, who had just stepped out of the hallway to the bedrooms. He was already dressed, though his dark hair was tousled and his eyelids still drooped sleepily. "Hey, kiddo, go get the thing." Sam gave Jake a huge wink.

Jake stared at him for a moment, then turned around and headed back into his room. In a moment, he was back, carrying a small, shiny object. A mirror?

As he got closer, Steve saw that it was a rectangular mirror with a red plastic frame, which had been decorated with brightly-colored stickers of various simple shapes. Across the top of the mirror, in big letters that Steve could easily read upside-down, it said World's #1 Dad.

"Wow, thank you, buddy! This is..."

Jake dropped the mirror carelessly onto the couch cushion next to Steve, then turned and walked into the kitchen, clambering up into his usual chair and staring expectantly at the table as if waiting for his breakfast to appear.

For a moment, Steve was overwhelmed by a rush of deja vu. At first, he wasn't sure where it came from, since this was obviously his first Father's Day. But when he picked up the mirror and gazed down into his own reflection, he realized what this reminded him of.

On another holiday, a year and a half ago, he'd given Winter a present, only to have Winter throw it at his feet. A silent rejection.

Steve wrestled with his own disappointment as he looked at his gift. He'd known immediately that Sam was ultimately responsible for its creation; Jake couldn't be expected to know what Father's Day was or what he was supposed to do about it. And he couldn't blame Jake for not wanting to deviate too far from their usual routine, either. That's why he hadn't stuck around to give Steve his gift or see his reaction to it.

Steve's heart sank to his toes. World's #1 Dad. What a joke. Jake didn't mean it, and it wasn't true.

They were just going through the motions. They were talking at each other, but so little of the meaning came across. Steve had been trying for so long to tell Jake, in every word and every action, that he loved him. That they belonged together.

Jake still didn't get the picture, but that didn't mean Steve was going to stop trying. He just needed to think outside the box and keep trying new things until finally he found something that would click. But...it was taking so long. It hadn't taken this long for Winter to start responding, had it? If only...

"You good?"

Steve looked up to find Sam watching him with concern. He realized he'd been staring at the mirror a little too long, and forced out a reassuring smile. "Yeah, fine. Thanks for this."

"Hey, Jake did all the hard work." Sam pushed himself to his feet, draining the last of his coffee. "Okay, I'm headed out. See ya tomorrow, kiddo!"

Jake just watched him go without saying anything.

There were two magnets on the back of the mirror, so Steve stuck it to the front of the fridge. Jake might not mean the sentiment behind it right now, but that didn't mean he never would. They could keep it there until then.

"Okay, buddy," Steve said, shoving such morose thoughts aside, "how about some breakfast?"

Dear Mabel,

What was your life like? I read some of your files, some of your records. I know a little of what they did to you. But there's a lot more that I didn't get to read. There was so much more focus on Jake, since he was right there with us, and then we lost the files.

They were training you, weren't they? Like they were with Jake. Were they teaching you to kill? Or were they just trying to keep you healthy and in shape so you could give them more test subjects?

Did they tell you that you were going to help Hydra shape the world? Did they say that you were going to free mankind from their shackles? Did they say you were their knife that they would use to cut out the festering tumor poisoning all of humanity?

Yeah, they told me that too. Sometimes I wonder why they even bothered to keep drilling that into me. They already had the Words to control me. But I guess they wanted to cover all their bases.

Here's the thing, Mabel: They lied. They lied through their teeth. Hydra's idea of freedom and protection is nothing but enslavement. It's like what they did to you. They didn't teach you how to go out into the world and make your own choices to the best of your ability. They just dictated what they wanted you to think and believe.

Another thing they taught me, and I bet they taught you too, was that I was only valuable as long as I was useful to them. If I did what they wanted me to, I was their Asset. I was their precious tool that they would hone and maintain until the next time they needed me. But any time I tried to disobey, or any time I happened to fail, they would treat me like trash. And over time, I came to believe they were right. If I wasn't strong enough, if there was something I couldn't do, or if I wasn't effective enough, I was worthless.

But guess what? After I escaped Hydra, I met Steve. He taught me many things too. Well...reminded me, I guess. I've failed him over and over, but every time I fall down, he just picks me up again. He shows me every single day that I'm worth something. That I'm worth...a lot. Doesn't matter what I do or how I fail. I'm still valuable to him.

I want you to know that too, Mabel. I don't care if you were up to their standards or not. I don't care if you were a natural at what they taught you, or if you believed their lies and saw the world through their twisted lenses. I don't care if you failed every task they set before you, or if they called you worthless. I don't care if the only thing they really wanted from you was your children.

You're my daughter. As your father, it's my responsibility to tell you the truth about the world. So listen to me now, because I have more authority to say this than anyone else:

You are precious. You are my treasure. No matter what you've done or what you thought of yourself or what anyone thought of you, you are valuable. Because I value you.

I miss you. I want to believe that one day we'll be together again, so I can tell you all of this in person. Until then.

Love,

Papa

Train up a child in the way he should go;
even when he is old he will not depart from it.

- Proverbs 22:6

Author's Note: In case you were wondering, every piece of news mentioned in this chapter (other than Spider-Man, obviously) is real :P