These waterfalls I've seen a million times
They wash away the world that I've seen and cover up my mind
And I can push the walls away until they're out of sight and mind
But I'm not strong enough to stand alone here in this tide

I don't want to, I'm not trying
I wish it would just go away
And then I see red...

- "I See Red" by Thousand Foot Krutch

Steve was a mess. He hadn't shaved or showered in two days. He knew he didn't look presentable or put-together, but hardly found the energy to care. He needed to talk to Bucky like he needed air to breathe, so off he went to Rikers.

It should have been much faster and simpler to get out the door on time, now that he didn't have to make sure Jake was dressed and fed first, and he didn't have to wait for Sam to show up. Instead, Steve couldn't seem to keep track of time, kept getting distracted, and was almost late for his bus as a result.

But in the end, he made it. The usual security procedures seemed to take twice as long as usual, but finally, finally it was his turn to enter the visitation room and sit down across from Bucky.

As soon as Bucky caught sight of him, his eyes widened, latching onto Steve's right arm. The second Steve picked up his receiver, Bucky demanded, "What did you do?"

"What?" Steve looked down at the bandage wrapped around his forearm, though it was mostly healed by now. The mark would probably linger for a while, but he doubted it would scar...

Oh. Scars.

"It's not what it looks like," Steve hastily reassured him, unable to keep from glancing down at Bucky's arm. "This isn't...I didn't do this. It was Jake."

Bucky's eyes widened even further, his brows drawing together in concern. "What?"

Taking a deep breath, Steve started over again, explaining what had happened the day before. It was eerily bizarre to realize how drastically things had changed in just 24 hours. As he spoke, the headache that had been waiting in the wings for the past day began pulsing away in his temples.

After seeing the stunned expression on Bucky's face as he described what Jake had done, Steve found he had to look away. It was too close to the horror steadily eating through the numbness that had protected him the day before. And not all of that horror was directed at Jake, either.

Resting his forehead against his free hand, Steve sighed with a weariness he felt down to his bones. "It was a mistake. I knew it was a mistake, but I did it anyway..."

"What was a mistake?"

"Sending Jake away!" Steve snapped, the words coming out harsher than he'd intended. But it was impossible to speak calmly when his whole being was filled with such agony. "How could I do that? How could I just...just let him go?"

"You didn't really have much of a choice," Bucky muttered.

"Of course I had a choice," Steve groaned, running a hand through his hair. "There's always another option. If I'd just...I'm sure I could have thought of something better...better than this."

"If that were true, then a lot of things would be different right now." Bucky shifted, shrugging his one shoulder and glancing away. "And I know you don't want to hear it, but...maybe this is the best thing you could've done."

"Not you too." Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, though it did nothing to stave off the pain pounding hard and insistent against the inside of his skull. "I don't need you to try to make me feel better, I just need to figure out how to get him back."

Slowly, Bucky shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

A shard of ice entered Steve's heart. Slowly, he let his hand fall and stared through the glass at the man sitting across from him. Bucky sat gazing into space with a frown, as if deep in thought. Maybe...it hadn't come out right. Surely, Steve had misunderstood... "What do you mean?"

But Bucky raised his head and looked him straight in the eyes as he grimly answered, "He attacked you, Steve. He tried to kill you. Have you even thought through what you'd do differently if you got him back today? It's not safe for either of you if he's there—"

"So what am I supposed to do?" Steve interrupted, his voice beginning to rise. He noticed the guard looking sternly in their direction, and hastily tried to wrestle his tone back to something that wouldn't get him thrown out. "What do you want me to do? Kick him to the curb as soon as things get tough? He's my son, Bucky!"

"Not to him." The words that fizzled across the line into Steve's ears sounded like a stranger speaking with his voice. "In his eyes, he's a soldier. And you're his target. You're not going to be able to convince him otherwise on your own."

It was like listening to the Winter Soldier echoing down through the years. The connection, the easy understanding, the warm affection between them...where had it gone? It was like Bucky had forgotten everything they'd been through in the past two years.

"Then what about you?" Steve demanded, heart pounding as he struggled to keep any silent accusations from bleeding through. "You've tried to kill me before. Should I have abandoned you too? Just sent you packing to some institution the second you raised your hand against me?"

Bucky's knuckles whitened around his receiver, and he spoke through clenched teeth. "That's not what I'm saying."

"Then what are you saying?"

Bucky looked like he was also struggling to keep his voice down, but a hundred emotions bubbled just under the surface. "It's not enough to just bring someone home like a lost puppy and hope that if you love them enough, it'll fix all their problems. You're not a therapist or an expert on any of this; you don't know how to handle him, and neither does Sam. Jake needs professional help; why can't you see that? He probably should have had it from the beginning. But no, you just had to get your pride tangled up in this and prove to everyone that you could do it all on your own..."

Those words stung, like a slap in the face. "Excuse me?"

A passing guard cleared his throat and gave them a sharp glance, as if to say, Watch it, you're on thin ice.

Steve struggled to control his tone, the anger throbbing just under the surface of every word he carefully bit off. "I didn't hear you complaining about my pride when it was you I was helping. We didn't have anyone to help us besides Sam, and everything still turned out all right. Why should it be any different with Jake?"

"What about this is all right?" Bucky slumped back in his chair, closing eyes shadowed with weariness. "This is what I mean about pride. You find out you have a kid and instantly think you can shoot from the hip when it comes to even the barebones of parenting. It didn't turn out all right, Steve. And maybe, just maybe if I'd gotten professional help in the beginning...I wouldn't be like this now."

Steve stiffened, his heart thudding against his rib cage. "Are you saying...I didn't do enough?"

Bucky's sigh was long and full of defeat. "If you found a way to leave me here, then you can leave him there."

Those words were bullets ripping through his battered wings, sending him into a slow but dangerous tailspin. His world, already tipping wildly out of control, evidently still had some distance left to fall. "That isn't fair."

Bucky seemed unmoved. "It's just honest."

"Then tell me the truth," Steve muttered. No matter how desperately he tried to pull the shattered remains of his heart out of this fatal nosedive, it still plummeted to the ice far below. "I didn't do enough for you?"

Bucky's gaze bored straight through the glass between them, embedding the final bullet in his chest. "No."

Steve slammed the receiver down and stomped out of the room.

Officer Petty kept a firm grip on Bucky's arm as he marched him back to the cell block, but Bucky barely noticed. He was too focused on the conversation he'd just left.

Conversation? No. That was an argument.

Bucky could count on his one hand the number of times he and Steve had argued. Not just disagreeing or getting on each other's nerves, but really arguing. Fighting with words that hurt worse than fists. Most of the time, they were on the same page about things—and even when they weren't, they cared about each other too much to let it go so far that they actually hurt each other. That was why they were best friends, wasn't it?

Some of the things Steve had said kept echoing through Bucky's head. You've tried to kill me before. I didn't hear you complaining about my pride when it was you I was helping. Everything turned out all right.

He thought things were going fine with Bucky. The last two times he'd visited, he hadn't even bothered to ask if all was quiet on the Western front, and he dared to think Bucky was okay. It was like he was looking right at Bucky, and he couldn't even see him.

Well, naturally, hissed a voice in his ear. He has far too much on his plate right now to bother about you. That's why he left the way he did. You're too much for him to handle. Just like Jake. Both of you are a threat to him. You will only bring him pain.

He was worried about Jake, Stephanos piped up from the other side, and he was blaming himself, like he always does. That doesn't mean he doesn't care about you. He was dealing with a lot of stress. You know he didn't mean to hurt you. Just as you've never really wanted to hurt him.

But you did hurt him, the monster said with a sinister chuckle. Couldn't you see the pain in his eyes? He left feeling worse than he did when he arrived—and it's all your fault.

Then you should call him tonight, Stephanos said patiently. Apologize to him, and work this out. You know he'll give you a second chance.

Bucky was more than a little preoccupied as he entered the cell block and made his way up to the top level. What with the voices giving him conflicting predictions about whether Steve would want to talk to him or not, Bucky had almost reached his cell by the time he realized that it was crowded with people. Inmates filled the tiny room, and more hung around the open door, looking in with gleeful grins. Some of them were laughing boisterously.

Bucky felt a stab of concern as he recognized the men standing in the hallway. They were all from Brad's gang.

Someone spotted him, nudged the man next to him, and hastily backed away from the door, all levity disappearing from his face. One by one, the men at the edge of the crowd backed away, sending out a ripple of silence as they cleared a path for Bucky's approach. A couple men quickly ducked out of the room and made themselves scarce, as if to avoid the fallout of whatever was going on.

By the time Bucky reached the door of his cell, there were only a few high-ranking gang members left in the room. Brad himself sat on the bottom bunk. He held a notepad in his hand, from which he'd apparently been reading aloud to the other men in the room.

Brad's eyes flicked up to see Bucky standing frozen in the doorway, and a small smirk lifted a corner of his mouth. Licking his thumb, he turned a page in the notepad and started reading in a mocking voice.

"'Dear Mabel, I miss you so much. I never even knew you, but there's still a hole in my heart that only you can fill. Every night when I'm falling asleep, I wish that I could hold you in my arms and kiss you goodnight, and rock you back and forth until the nightmares leave you alone.'"

Bucky saw red. He'd always thought that was just an expression, but for a moment, it was as if all he could see was his blood thundering through his veins, screaming for vengeance.

His jaw clenched. His hand curled into a fist. Brad opened his mouth, poisoning the air with his mocking voice sneering, "'Love, Papa...'"

Bucky took a step forward. Before anyone could do more than blink, he was right in front of Brad. He raised his fist and punched Brad on the jaw as hard as he could.

Brad was out cold before he even slumped to the side on the bunk. Bucky hit him again, sending him sprawling on his face on the floor. The few men still in the room scurried out as fast as they could, but Bucky paid them no mind.

He landed blow after blow on the motionless body at his feet. He didn't care that Brad couldn't fight back. He just wanted to hurt him as much as possible.

How dare he? How dare he so much as mention Mabel's name?

Brad was the problem. He was the root of every problem Bucky faced. The cancer eating away at him from the inside. The shackles around his ankles, holding him back from everything he wanted to be, like the tentacles of some monster pulling him down to the depths of the ocean...

Something cracked beneath Bucky's knuckles. A rib, maybe. He raised his fist, ready to break all the others. Ready to break every bone in his body. Break every link in the chains holding him. End it all now...

Don't. A hand closed around his wrist, inexorable as granite. He knew that hand. Stephanos didn't have to say another word to halt him in his tracks. A wave of shame seemed to rush down his arm, straight to his heart.

What was he doing?

He barely even noticed when the guards came rushing in, throwing him to the ground and pinning his arm behind his back. All he could see was Brad, lying still on the floor. Bucky couldn't be sure just from a glance, but he thought maybe Brad's bulk had protected him somewhat from Bucky's attack. At the very least, he would have looked a lot worse if Bucky had been hitting his face.

As he was hauled to his feet and marched out of his cell, Bucky's stomach churned with a nauseating mix of adrenaline, shame, and anger that still hadn't abated. This time, he couldn't blame Brad for everything. He was provoked, but he was still the one who'd started it.

So much for all those high-and-mighty claims he'd made to Korey about Brad's words not being able to hurt him. He was no different from anyone else in this prison.

What he'd said to Steve about Jake applied to him as well. He was dangerous. Broken. Maybe he deserved to be here after all.

It seemed to take forever before Steve got back to his car. One downside of storming out of his visit early was that he had to wait an especially long time for the bus that would take them back to the city. During that whole time, Steve had nothing to do but stew in his own angry thoughts.

I don't think that's a good idea. It's not enough to just bring someone home like a lost puppy and hope that if you love them enough, it'll fix all their problems. You just had to get your pride tangled up in this and prove to everyone that you could do it all on your own.

He still couldn't fathom that Bucky had said all those things to him. How long had he been secretly harboring these thoughts, hiding them from Steve until finally it all boiled over? Had he been silently judging him even back when they were on the run together?

Everyone was united in the belief that he wasn't cut out to be Jake's father. Everyone, from Jake himself to Secretary Ross to Bucky. He'd come here, hoping, knowing that even if the whole world was against him, Bucky would back him up. Even if there wasn't anything he could do from inside the prison, he would at least agree with Steve and support him.

But Bucky thought he wasn't worthy of raising his own son. Bucky thought Jake was better off where he was now.

Bucky.

When he finally got off the bus, Steve trudged miserably back into the parking garage and made his way to his car. The more distance he put between himself and Bucky, the more he regretted the way he'd spoken. He'd let his frustration and fear control him, and he'd taken it out on Bucky. And Bucky had so much to deal with these days, he wasn't at his best either. Even if Bucky honestly believed all those things he'd said, he probably wouldn't have said them in such a hurtful way, if he weren't under so much stress. He wasn't a spiteful person.

And he didn't deserve the way Steve had treated him, either. Steve's chest ached as he unlocked the car and got behind the wheel. I need to apologize to him. No matter who's right or who's wrong, I need to apologize. Because without me...what does he have?

He checked the time, making sure he'd be able to get to New Hope before visiting hours were over. And without Bucky...what do I have?

Steve felt at his neck, searching for the comforting touch of Bucky's ring, but it wasn't there. His heart lurched in alarm, but then he remembered that he'd just been to Rikers. He always took off his ring and the chain around his neck before he even got on the bus, since visitors weren't allowed to wear jewelry inside. So he always took them off in the car and dropped them into a cup holder for safekeeping...

The cup holder was empty.

Steve checked the other cup holder as well, fingers scrabbling around frantically as if there were any nooks and crannies in such a small space. Heart leaping into his throat, Steve wedged his arm down between the seats, groping around for the tiniest brush of metal against his fingertips.

"No, no, no, no," Steve muttered, throwing the door open and bending down to search every inch of the floor. He ducked down to check underneath the car, searched the ground in a wide circle around it, then threw open all the doors and crawled around on the floor, peering underneath the seats. He found the sunglasses Sam had lost months ago, and even a couple French fries growing mold in the darkness, but no dog tags. No rings.

"No," Steve gasped, crawling around the large trunk area even though he knew there was no chance he would find anything there. It was only when he noticed several wet spots appearing on the carpet between his hands that he realized he was crying. And his chest was tight. And his throat was closing, like an invisible hand was squeezing it tighter and tighter, and every wheezing breath hurt...

Hands trembling so hard he dropped his phone twice, Steve somehow managed to find Sam's number. He collapsed onto his side as the phone rang. As soon as he heard Sam's voice, Steve choked out, "Sam, I...I'm having an...a-asthma attack somehow and I-I-I-I thought the serum...but I...I can't breathe, Sam, I can't breathe, I can't..."

"Easy, Steve," Sam's calm, steady voice said into his ear. "The serum gave you healthy lungs, right? You're probably panicking. You're going to be just fine; you just need to wait it out."

"Panic..." Steve gasped, his heart galloping away as he struggled to take a deep enough breath to form words. "Me?"

"Happens to the best of us," Sam said, his voice like the gentle flame of a candle at the other end of the dark tunnel Steve found himself in.

But...no. Steve wasn't supposed to get panic attacks; it was Bucky who...

Bucky.

The tears came faster than ever, gushing out of him like an open wound. All he could think about was the look on Bucky's face, the twist of anger in his gut that made him sick, because it was Bucky and it was wrong and he wasn't supposed to be angry at Bucky, but Bucky wasn't supposed to...how could he have...

"Steve? Talk to me. Where are you right now?"

"Car," Steve said in a gasp that was more of a sob.

"Are you on the road?" Sam's voice was steady and calm, but Steve thought he could detect a hint of worry behind that.

"No. Parking garage."

"Okay, good. Now, I need you to do something. I need you to count backwards from 100, in threes. Can you do that for me?"

Steve, who had been expecting Sam to start talking about deep breaths (which was the last thing he felt capable of doing), found his train of thought had been completely derailed. "But...100's...not divisible by 3..."

"Well, well, look who's still showing off even at a time like this." Sam's words were mocking, but his tone was warm. "Okay, then. Count down by threes from 99."

Steve proceeded to do so, a little embarrassed at how much he had to concentrate in order to do something so simple. But counting backward by threes wasn't something he was used to doing, so it wasn't as automatic as counting by ones or fives.

By the time he'd made it all the way to zero, Steve could tell it was working. His chest still felt tight, and he couldn't seem to stop crying, but his breathing was much closer to normal.

"You feel up to talking about it now?" Sam asked.

So Steve started to tell Sam what had happened. His voice was choked with tears, but Sam just listened with the occasional sympathetic murmur, and the more he talked, the easier it was to breathe. "And...And I can't find my ring," Steve finished, sniffling miserably and swiping his hand over his eyes again. "And I know...it's just a ring, but...he's not here. And I can't just go up to him and apologize or work this out..."

"I know, man," Sam said gently. "But hey—I bet you anything, Bucky will call tonight. He'll want to make things right. And you can work it out together."

Steve asked the question that had been plaguing him ever since he'd left the jail. "What if...What if he...never wants to see me again?"

"Who, Bucky? Not a chance. I think you've both proven plenty of times that not even death can keep you apart. This isn't going to be the end, Steve."

Steve gave a great sniff and dried his eyes one more time. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because neither of you is going to let it." He let those words sink in for a few minutes.

As Steve drew deep, cleansing breaths and closed his aching eyes, he realized that this was the way Bucky felt every time he had a panic attack. This was what Bucky had to deal with, over and over again... Now Steve knew what it felt like.

Sam's voice broke into his thoughts. "You want me to come get you or anything?"

"No, I need to—" Steve checked the time, then shot upright with a curse. "I'm running behind; I need to hurry if I'm going to see Jake today."

"Okay. Well, come find me once you get back home. You need a hug, stat. And maybe if you're good, I'll even cook for you."

A burst of affection filled Steve's heart, where before had only been anxiety and pain. "Thank you, Sam. I don't know what I'd do..." He couldn't find his voice to finish the sentence.

But of course, Sam didn't need to hear it to know what he was trying to say. "Anytime, brother. I'm glad you called."

"And...Sam?"

"Yeah?"

Steve took a deep breath. "Maybe...Maybe I do need therapy."

Sam chuckled, but it was so warm that any embarrassment immediately evaporated. "Yeah, I'll make some calls. I know a guy or two I think could help you, but you'll have to take the initiative, okay? I ain't arm-wrestling you into this."

"You'd lose anyway," Steve said with a half-hearted smile as he clambered out of the trunk and made his way to the front seat again.

"Yeah, yeah..." Sam grumbled. "Hey, take care of yourself, okay? Call me if you need anything."

"Yeah, thanks. See you later."

Steve hung up, closed the doors that still stood open, got back into the driver's seat...and finally saw it. Right there, sitting on the dashboard in plain sight. The rings and dog tags.

He wasn't sure if he was laughing or crying as he picked them up. He slid his ring onto his forefinger, a comforting pressure. Then he held Bucky's ring in his other hand, reading the familiar inscription inside the heavy band: Brother, I am eternally yours.

He clung to that promise as tightly as his fist closed around the ring. "It's not the end of the line," he whispered to it, in lieu of Bucky himself. "The line has no end, because it's a circle."

For it is not an enemy who taunts me—
then I could bear it;
it is not an adversary who deals insolently with me—
then I could hide from him.
But it is you, a man, my equal,
my companion, my familiar friend.
We used to take sweet counsel together;
within God's house we walked in the throng.

- Psalm 55:12-14

Author's Note: This chapter includes something I've always wanted to write but have always had trouble getting the characters to cooperate with: Steve and Bucky having a real argument, where they actually hurt each other and storm off angrily. Others may have no problems putting these characters in such a position, but my characterization of them makes it kind of hard, it seems ^^' I don't know why I've always wanted to write this scenario—maybe I just want to explore what it would take to get two people who are so close into that kind of situation. But I finally achieved my goal, and...can I go back now? :c