Every fear of being loved
For who you are no matter what
When you're stumbling with each step
And you're haunted by regret
When the darkness closes in
Just listen

You're beautifully broken
And you can be whole again
Even a million scars
Doesn't change whose you are
You're worthy
Beautifully broken

- "Beautifully Broken" by Plumb

Time had become meaningless. The only way Steve knew it was passing at all was the incessant ticking of the clock on the wall. He sat in an uncomfortable chair, alone in a tiny waiting room. He wasn't sure if it was common for the parents of children in surgery to get their own waiting room, or if some special arrangements had been made to keep people from gawking at him. Either way, he was glad he didn't have to deal with anyone else right now.

Sam had called ahead before they reached New York to find out where they could take Jake to get him taken care of as soon as possible. Steve wasn't sure exactly what it had all entailed, but he thought Tony had been involved somehow. The end result was that they'd touched down on the roof of one of the finest hospitals in the city, with a team of expert doctors and nurses waiting to take charge of Jake immediately. The doctor had reassured him several times there was nothing to worry about, but Steve couldn't help it. His son had to go into surgery because his best friend had injured him while brainwashed. Of course he was going to worry.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Steve wondered how long he'd been awake. At least since he'd heard the news about Bucky, but when was that? He wasn't even sure what day it was, but however long it had been, he was exhausted down to his bones. And yet, there was no hope of getting any rest until he was sure everyone was safe.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, so he fished it out, wincing as he moved his stiff arm. Oh good, it was a message from Peter. You said to let you know when I got home. So I'm home. They'd dropped him off—literally—as they passed over Queens on their way to the hospital; he'd assured them over and over again that he could get home just fine, but Steve had been concerned about his ability to swing from his webs in his current condition.

Sorry it took me a while, Peter continued. My aunt kinda freaked out. I told her the truth.

Good for you, Steve texted back, his fingers feeling slow and sluggish. How did she take it?

Okay, I think? She cried some. I hate it when that happens.

You made the right choice. It's a bit crazy right now, but once things die down, feel free to talk to me or Sam whenever you need to.

Okay! Peter's message was followed by a long string of emojis, some of which Steve wasn't sure he understood. The boy's enthusiasm brought a fleeting smile, but it also reminded Steve just how tired he was.

Staring down at his phone, Steve found his mind wandering to how they'd come to meet Peter in the first place. If not for that tracking device Tony had made for them, they might not have been able to catch up to him in time, and then where would they all be? Not to mention everything their friends had done to support them, even when they couldn't go to Siberia.

Steve scrolled down to Tony's number. The last call he'd gotten from that number had been back in January. And the last time they'd spoken at all had been...back in May. When they'd disagreed over the Accords. The last few times they'd talked to each other, they'd been arguing. Which wasn't particularly rare, but those arguments had been especially heated and personal.

He hesitated a moment more, then tapped the number.

As the phone rang two, three, four times, Steve began to think Tony wouldn't pick up. Maybe he was looking at the name on the screen right now, trying to decide if he should ignore it...

"Cap?"

"Hi, Tony," Steve said quietly, sitting back in his chair. "Long time no see."

"Yeah."

There was an awkward pause, in which Steve tried to figure out what he was supposed to say. His brain seemed to be churning along very sluggishly.

It was Tony who finally broke the silence. "How's the kid doing?"

"He's in surgery right now," Steve said, his heart twisting again as he thought of it. "The doctor seemed pretty confident, though."

"Yeah, I made sure he's the best pediatric orthopedic surgeon in the state."

"Thank you."

"Sure."

Silence again. Part of Steve wanted to get up and start pacing, but his body refused to move.

So many unspoken words hung in the air between them. Steve wondered if Tony was as apprehensive as he was, half-afraid that as soon as he opened his mouth, they would become embroiled in yet another argument. An argument that Steve just didn't have the energy for right now.

But Tony had done a lot for him in the past few days. He owed it to him to at least try to clear the air. So Steve took the plunge.

"Tony, I know we—

"Hey, I just want to say—"

"Oh, sorry."

"No, you go first."

Steve took a deep breath, trying to clear the cobwebs out of his mind. "I know we've had our differences," he said slowly, "but you've really helped us out. You and the others. I'll admit...I wouldn't have expected you to stick your neck out this far for us, considering our...disagreements. I wish we agreed on the Accords, I really do. But I know you're doing what you believe in. That's all any of us can do. That's all any of us should." He hesitated before voicing the next thought in his head, but it needed to be said. "I was surprised you went so far to help us, because we were trying to save Bucky. But...I can see now that I didn't give you enough credit. I'm sorry, Tony. And...thank you. Without your help, I don't know if we could have made it. And then I don't know what I...I mean...he's my friend..."

He couldn't see Tony's expression, but he could hear a smile in his voice. "So am I."

Steve's rambling little speech had come to an end, and he rested his head against the wall behind him. He felt like a weight he'd been carrying around for months had finally lifted from his chest. Several other weights still tugged at him, but it was a relief to get rid of one of them, at least.

After a short silence, Tony muttered a curse and let out an annoyed sigh. "You know, sometimes you can be aggravatingly...magnanimous. I've had this whole conversation planned out for months—I was going to point out how self-righteous you always are, you were going to get offended, I had some snappy one-liners...it was a whole thing. But then you have to go and apologize and thank me, and...now I can't remember any of the stuff I was going to say. Except that I want to punch you in your perfect teeth."

Steve wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to feel about that, but he found a small smile spreading across his face. "Um...sorry?"

Tony let out another long-suffering sigh. "Okay, okay, look. Bottom line...resentment is corrosive, and I hate it."

"Me too."

"Shush! You already had your turn! This is my inspirational speech, now shut up and listen!"

Steve's smile widened. He crossed his legs and settled back in his chair. "Sorry, please continue."

"About...Barnes." An edge entered Tony's voice when he said the name, but it smoothed out as he continued. "He's never going to be my favorite person, and right now I still kind of think I'd rather not see his face ever again. But I'm tired of hating him. I get that he wasn't in his right mind when he...did those things, so hating him basically just turns me into an a-hole. And before you fall out of your chair in shock," he hastened to add, raising his voice as if for the benefit of someone else in the room, "I'm trying to keep from putting any more quarters into Pepper's swear jar. If I can prove I'm a changed man and keep it empty for a whole month, then she has to say yes when I propose to her."

Distantly, Steve could hear Pepper calling out, "I never agreed to that! And who said anything about proposing?"

"Me. I did, just now. Whaddya say, Pep?"

"I say you might want to reconsider proposing to someone while lying on the sofa in your PJs and talking to someone else on the phone."

Steve listened to their banter with a little grin on his face, though he could mostly only hear Tony's side. The last he'd heard of Pepper was when she'd stormed off after a fight shortly after Bucky had told Tony about his parents. It was heartening to hear this proof that they'd managed to patch things up.

After Pepper's voice faded away, Tony cleared his throat. "Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh...right. Pepper told me she doesn't like the person I become when I hold a grudge. And honestly, I don't either. I don't want to lose her. I have to be better than that...but I'm still figuring out how. It's not...simple. But I figured a good way to start might be giving you a hand. Besides," he added, his tone lightening, "helping you out meant I could annoy Ross, and that's always a plus."

Steve chuckled a little at that. "Well...I appreciate it, Tony. I mean it. I know this wasn't easy for you. And it's okay to deal with it how you need to. In whatever time it takes."

"Hey," Tony said seriously, "if something else comes up and you need us...if you need me...I'll be there."

It was probably just because of how exhausted and emotionally worn he was, but Steve found a lump growing in his throat at Tony's words. That was certainly a first. "I'm honored."

"Sure thing, Cap."

After the call ended, Steve just sat staring blankly at his phone. He could hardly believe that conversation had really happened. It seemed Tony had been doing a lot of thinking in the past several months since they'd spoken. Maybe it was a condescending thing to think, but...Steve was proud of him.

A rustling of plastic bags brought Steve's attention to the door of the little waiting room. Sam appeared, carrying two bulging plastic bags and a drink tray filled with cups of various sizes. "I cleaned 'em out of all the sandwiches," he announced, arranging his haul across two chairs next to Steve. "The lady at the counter gave me the stink eye, but I gave her a big tip. Oh, and I got some chicken noodle soup and some lemonade and some chamomile tea—"

"I just asked you to find some coffee," Steve interjected, staring at the feast before him. Coffee was the one thing he didn't see.

"Caffeine on an empty supersoldier stomach? No sir." Sam grabbed one of the plastic-wrapped sandwiches and a styrofoam cup and shoved them bossily at Steve. "You need protein and carbs, and lots of them, big guy."

The mingled scents of chicken broth and tuna salad with too much mayonnaise were slightly nauseating, but Steve knew Sam was right. He couldn't remember when the last time was that he'd eaten. He'd need to keep his strength up for Jake, at least.

Suppressing a sigh, Steve wearily forced himself to take a sip of the soup—and immediately discovered he was actually ravenously hungry. He did his best to ignore Sam's annoying I-told-you-so smile and just focus on devouring everything in sight.

The sun was setting by the time a nurse led Steve and Sam to Jake's room. Pink and orange light glistened off the shiny windows of the office building across the street as they walked down a hallway decorated with balloons and cheerful cartoon animals.

Steve had perked up some over the food, but even so, he'd been half-dozing by the time the doctor had finally shown up to tell them how the surgery had gone. He'd felt like a zombie all through the doctor's explanations and reassurances, and only now that he was actually on his way to see Jake at last did he start to feel like himself again.

"We've set up a cot for you in the room," the nurse said with a pleasant smile over her shoulder. "I understand they want you to spend the night, so we thought that would be best."

"Thanks."

Apparently, a heated debate was ongoing about what was to be done with them. He and Sam had technically broken the law—but then, they'd also helped capture the one who'd broken Bucky out of prison and potentially saved the world from the havoc the Winter Soldier could have wrought. Steve knew that T'Challa and Ross were involved in the discussion, and Sam had mentioned that Matt and Dave would probably have a part to play as well.

Steve was vaguely surprised to discover he wasn't worried about it. A twinge of concern broke through the haze in his mind every time he thought of Bucky, and he knew that as soon as he got some real sleep, he would probably be terrified of what might happen to them. But right now...he was too tired.

Finally, the nurse showed them into a small room with a large hospital bed and a cot off to one side, and closed the door behind them. The walls were blue, decorated with rainbows and smiling suns. The blinds were drawn, and the only light source was the soft glow coming from a lamp over the bed, shaped like a crescent moon.

Jake lay in a veritable ocean of bedsheets, his left arm lying on top of the covers, held securely in a dark blue cast. He looked so small and vulnerable, all alone in the big hospital bed. But he'd been cleaned up, and now he was wearing pajamas with teddy bears printed all over them. He looked almost as exhausted as Steve felt, but at least there was a little more color in his cheeks now.

"Hey, buddy," Steve said softly, as he and Sam sat down in chairs on either side of the bed. "How are you feeling? Does it hurt at all?"

Jake looked down at his cast and shook his head.

"You've been so brave, Ja—" He reached out to put his hand on Jake's shoulder, but froze and stopped himself from saying the name when Jake flinched away from his approaching hand. Biting his lip, Steve let his hand fall onto the covers instead and just repeated in a small whisper, "You've been so brave."

"That's a pretty cool cast, kiddo," Sam interjected before things could get too awkward. "We'll have to get a pen and sign it!"

Jake gave him a bewildered frown, glancing between Sam and his cast as if trying to figure out what that meant.

"My nephew broke his arm when he was a bit older than you," Sam continued. "It took him six weeks to heal, but I bet you'll get better a lot faster than that."

Steve nodded. That was one thing they could certainly be thankful for. Jake wouldn't have to suffer the discomfort of the cast for very long. After a moment, he noticed that Jake kept glancing between them, looking down, fidgeting a little... "Did you want to ask something, buddy?" he asked gently, easily recognizing the signs. When Jake opened his mouth a few times without saying anything, he said, "Go ahead; it's okay."

Jake glanced furtively up at him, his good hand curling into a fist around the covers. Then he let out a weary sigh, leaning back into the pillows as if resigning himself to the inevitable. "When are you gonna kill me?"

Steve stared at Jake, sure he'd heard wrong. But when he glanced over at Sam, he saw the other man looked just as taken aback as he did. "What? What are you talking about? Why do you think I'm going to kill you?"

"'Cause Zemo said," Jake mumbled, opening his eyes to stare bleakly at the ceiling. "He said when you saw that video, you'd wanna kill me."

Sheer, blinding rage broke through the fog in his brain. It wasn't enough for Zemo to kidnap his child. It wasn't enough for Zemo to force Bucky to hurt his own grandson. It wasn't enough that Zemo had dug up the worst thing Hydra had done through Jake. No, that hadn't been enough to satisfy Zemo's thirst for revenge. He'd gone one step further and convinced Jake that Hydra was right. That his own father wanted him dead.

With an explosive curse, Steve shot to his feet and began pacing back and forth. He found himself wishing that Zemo would break free of his captors, just so he'd have an excuse to chase him down and punch him until—

"Steve."

He turned to see Sam watching Jake with concern. Steve glanced over at him, and a rush of guilt instantly defused the rage. Even across the room, he could see Jake trembling, his right hand clutching the covers in a death grip. He just stared up at the ceiling, huge tears rolling down his cheeks, not making a sound.

Steve took a deep, calming breath. He'd forgotten himself for a moment, his exhaustion eating away at his self-control. But of course...if Jake believed that Steve wanted to kill him, he probably thought the end was here. Steve was angry, and the only possible outcome of that was pain.

Slowly, Steve walked back to his chair and sank into it. His heart broke into a million pieces as he heard Jake's teeth chattering, his breath coming in tight little gasps...

"I'm sorry," he murmured. Even as quietly as he spoke, Jake flinched violently, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm so sorry I scared you. I got angry...but I wasn't angry at you. I was angry at Zemo, because he...he lied to you." He clasped his shaking hands together, swallowing down another wave of anger. "I don't want to kill you, son. I've never wanted to kill you. And I never will. No matter what. Please...Please believe me."

Jake's eyes cracked open, and he slowly turned his head to look at Steve. His eyes were so wide...so confused...so vulnerable...

"You're my son," Steve whispered past the huge lump in his throat. "I love you, no matter what. No matter what you do...no matter what you've done...I will never, ever hurt you. I promise."

Jake's eyes never left his face. His nose was running, his eyes bloodshot and puffy with huge bags under them. His voice was a tiny, trembling whisper as he asked, "Zemo...lied?"

"Yes."

Steve slowly reached out a hand to Jake's little fist clutching the blanket, and gently enveloped it in his own. This time, Jake twitched slightly, but didn't pull away. He just stared and stared at Steve, as if trying to figure out if he could trust him or not.

"You're not gonna kill me?"

"No."

Jake drew a deep, shuddering breath and let it out again. He sank back into his pillow, all the tension leaving him. His eyes slid wearily closed, and his fist relaxed beneath Steve's fingers. "'Kay," he whispered. He didn't look as though he believed what Steve had said. It was more like he was simply too exhausted to resist anymore.

Sam silently handed over a box of tissues, which Steve used to gently clean up Jake's face. Jake started a little at the first touch, but he didn't move or even open his eyes as Steve wiped the tears and snot away.

When he was finished, Steve couldn't resist bending over and pressing his lips to Jake's forehead. "Try to get some sleep, buddy."

"You should too," Sam said, pointing to the cot in the corner.

"What about you?" Steve asked. They'd only been given the one bed, but Sam didn't look any less exhausted than he was.

Sam waved away his concern, settling back in his chair. "Go ahead, Cap. I'll take first watch."

The full weight of Steve's exhaustion crashed over his shoulders, and he couldn't find it in him to protest or hesitate any further. So he just nodded and mumbled, "Wake me in a couple hours."

Just as he pulled back the sheet and was about to collapse onto the cot, a tiny whisper pulled him up short. "Steve?"

He turned to find Jake peeking at him through the bars on the side of the hospital bed. Almost the only part of him visible under the blankets were his big, blue eyes. "What is it, buddy?"

He glanced away, pulling the covers up even higher as if to hide. "Do I still gotta be J01?"

Something in Steve's heart fluttered feebly, like a bird with a broken wing. "Do you want that?"

The moment of complete silence stretched into infinity. Huge tears welled up in those blue eyes, until he blinked and they rolled down his chubby cheeks. He shook his head once, just a tiny motion like he was sure he would be yelled at as soon as he dared to let them know what he wanted.

"Then how about Jake? Would you like to be Jake again?"

Those big blue eyes turned towards him again with an unreadable expression. Then, the tiniest of nods.

Steve smiled and crossed over to the bed, reaching out to gently brush the tears away again. "Okay, then. Good night, Jake. I love you."

He leaned down and kissed Jake on the forehead again, then on the cheek, then on the other cheek. He had to stop himself before he completely overwhelmed Jake with affection, but his heart was full of it in that moment. Giving Jake another smile, he went back to the cot, kicked off his shoes, and finally lay down.

He was out before his head hit the pillow.

Once again, Bucky was trapped between four cold walls. Sometimes it seemed like that was all his life had ever consisted of. The prison just changed its appearance from time to time.

They'd put him back in the bing. Maybe he was just imagining things, but Bucky felt like they'd intentionally picked the most remote, dingy cell possible this time. The guards who had escorted him to his cell (there had been four this time, rather than the usual one) had given him looks of cold fury, as if it was a personal affront that he'd broken out right under their noses.

Bucky didn't care. What could they do to him?

Nothing more than you deserve, Brad hissed. Not even that. You deserve so much worse than a prison cell. You know why they sent you to isolation, don't you? It's because you're too dangerous for anyone to be around. Not even Steve could argue with that, could he? After all, you brutally injured your own—

Matt said this was for your protection, Stephanos murmured as Bucky's head pounded mercilessly. Remember? That's what he said when he met with you before they brought you back here. You've been all over the news for the past couple days. Everyone knows what happened, and you're in no state to deal with that right now anyway. So really, this is best for everyone.

The same comments revolved around and around in his head as Bucky paced back and forth across his tiny living space. Hour after hour, all he had to occupy himself with were the voices in his head and the invasive memories of everything that had happened over the past few days.

Not for the first time, he wished he didn't remember what happened when he became the Winter Soldier. He didn't want to spend the rest of his days remembering how Jake's arm felt when he grabbed it and twisted—

Think about something else, Stephanos gently suggested. Remember Steve. Remember what he said, remember his smell, remember how warm his embrace was...

But that was somehow even worse. It was just a reminder of everything he didn't have. And might never have again...

Steve probably just didn't have time to process what happened, Brad whispered snidely in his ear. Once he really gets a chance to think about it, he'll hate you. That's the only proper response to all the things you've done. Every one of your victims hates you. Tony hates you. Jake probably hates you. And Steve became your victim too, so...

Bucky turned away from Brad's leering face, instinctively looking to Stephanos for help. The tall, strong man standing in the corner said nothing, but out of nowhere, Bucky remembered one of the things T'Challa had said on their long flight back to the U.S.

"You were a victim, Sergeant Barnes. As much as my father was. Even if this—" He glanced back at Zemo, calling him something in Wakandan that didn't sound particularly flattering. "Even if he had not disguised himself as you, even if he had captured you and controlled you as he did today, and used you to kill my father...you would still be a victim. I can see that clearly now. And I do not hate you."

Bucky couldn't remember what he'd said in response, if anything. That whole trip was mostly just a blur of misery. All he really remembered was that, even though T'Challa had delivered him over to the authorities to take him back to Rikers, he hadn't gone in shackles like Zemo.

You were a victim.

It's not your fault.

You're innocent.

Brother, I am eternally yours. I am still yours.

Bucky tried to cling onto those words echoing around his head. They were like gossamer threads of hope snapping and dissolving in his hands, but he didn't stop trying to grasp them. He clung to them, even though he didn't know when they would fade away, because there was nothing else preventing him from falling into the abyss.

I am poured out like water,
and all my bones are out of joint;
my heart is like wax;
it is melted within my breast;
my strength is dried up like a potsherd,
and my tongue sticks to my jaws;
you lay me in the dust of death.

- Psalm 22:14-15