Here, as you restore my soul
Piece by piece, you patiently make me whole
And you pick me up again, remind me to whom I belong
I have never been more than a child in your arms
When you are holding me, I don't have to be strong
'Cause I know
I am loved, dearly loved
By a father who won't leave me
...
When I couldn't reach you, you pulled me in
When I had given up, you never quit
When I couldn't trust you, you proved me wrong
When I was a stranger, you brought me home
- "Dearly Loved" by Shaylee Simeone
Jake was very quiet as they pulled into the parking lot of A New Hope, two days after they'd last been there. He'd been so open and relaxed recently, full of smiles, like a completely different person. But it seemed that now they were returning to a place full of unpleasant, frightening memories, he was sinking back into the shell of who he used to be. It wasn't that easy to turn a corner and leave the old life behind.
When Steve opened the car door and reached to help Jake out of his booster seat, he felt the deja vu himself. This was exactly where he'd been standing the first time he'd heard Jake laugh—that happy little giggle he'd now heard several times, like a dream come true... But looking at Jake now, nervously eyeing the brick building over Steve's shoulder, it was hard to believe he'd ever laughed at all.
Though he'd explained what they were doing several times already, Steve did so once again. "You're not going to stay here, buddy," he said softly, holding his gaze firmly. "We're going to go and talk to Dr. Singh for a bit, and then we're going back home. Okay? I am not going to leave you behind. I promise."
Jake swallowed hard and said in a tiny voice, "Do I hafta talk to Zemo?"
"No way." Steve took Jake's little hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly. "Zemo is far away, locked up in jail. You never have to talk to him again. And you remember Dr. Singh, don't you? She's very nice. I think you'll like her."
Reluctantly, Jake allowed Steve to lift him out of the car, but he clung to him and wouldn't let Steve put him on the ground. So Steve carried him into the building, just like when they'd left. After signing in and getting directions to Dr. Singh's office, he patted Jake on the back as he walked, hoping to ease some of his anxiety.
When Steve reached the right door and knocked on it, Jake's fingers suddenly clenched around his shirt. "Stay," he gasped. "Stay with me?"
Steve paused with his hand on the doorknob and whispered, "I promise."
Dr. Singh called out a cheery greeting from where she was watering some plants by the window. Steve realized he'd been unconsciously expecting to walk into an office like Casey's, but this one couldn't be more different. Yes, Dr. Singh had a small desk with a computer set up in one corner, and there were a couple bookshelves with thick textbooks and binders on the higher shelves—but the lower shelves were filled with colorful picture books. Her framed diploma hung on the wall—but so did dozens upon dozens of drawings and paintings that had clearly been made by children. There was a sitting area with a couch and a couple comfortable chairs—but there was also a low table ringed by large cushions and covered with all manner of art supplies. It almost looked more like a kindergarten classroom than a therapist's office.
"I'm so glad you're here, Jake!" Dr. Singh said, beaming at both of them and directing them to the art table. "I'm looking forward to getting to know both of you."
Steve tried to get Jake to sit on his own cushion, but Jake still clung tightly to him, though all of his attention was directed at Dr. Singh. So Steve let him sit in his lap instead.
Dr. Singh began by bringing out a stack of charts on colored paper, as well as a sheet of stickers with cartoony faces depicting a wide range of emotions. She also handed one to Steve and took one of her own for good measure. They were to pick out a sticker that represented how they were feeling today, and put it in the little box with today's date. "Like this," she said, putting her sticker in place and holding the chart up to show them the open-mouthed smile she'd chosen. "I picked this one because I'm really happy today. It's bright and sunny, and I get to make new friends! That always makes me happy."
Jake looked at the stickers in front of him with a dazed expression, clearly overwhelmed by the sheer number of possibilities. He craned his neck around to look uncertainly up at Steve. Hoping to put him at his ease, Steve picked out a smiley face that he thought looked optimistic. As he put it on his chart, he said, "I'm picking this one because I'm looking forward to talking with Dr. Singh. I hope we're going to have fun today."
"What about you, Jake?" Dr. Singh asked gently. "Which one do you feel like?"
Jake shrank back against Steve's chest, as if the page of stickers were a snarling bear about to attack him. He stared at the page, glanced up at Dr. Singh, then back down at the expressions in front of him. He seemed frozen, desperately trying to figure out what the right answer was. Maybe he didn't know what the right answer was. Did he even know how to tell what emotion he was feeling?
After a few tense moments, Dr. Singh said, "It's okay if you're not sure how you're feeling. Sometimes I'm not sure what I feel either. Is it all right if I make a guess? When I look at your face, I think it looks a little like this." She pointed at a sticker with an expression that looked nervous. "I think maybe you're feeling a little scared or anxious today. Does that sound right to you?"
Jake gazed up at her in astonishment, then nodded cautiously.
Dr. Singh gave him an encouraging smile. "Thank you for telling me how you feel, Jake. Now, why don't you put the sticker on your chart?"
While Jake painstakingly placed the sticker in the right box, Dr. Singh instructed them to take their charts home and check in with each other once a day to talk about what emotions they were feeling. Steve wondered if the stickers with their somewhat exaggerated expressions would help Jake interpret the subtle expressions of the people around him, instead of immediately jumping to the conclusion that everyone was a threat.
Next, Dr. Singh pulled out paper and coloring supplies and said, "Why don't we draw for a bit? You can draw whatever you like."
Jake slid off Steve's lap, though he pulled his cushion right next to Steve's, sitting so close that their legs were touching. But then he just stared at the blank page, as if he couldn't think of a single thing to draw.
Pulling the basket of colored pencils closer, Steve glanced between the two of them and said apologetically, "At home, we mostly color in coloring books, so I guess he's not used to drawing his own pictures."
"Well, why don't you draw something you like to do for fun? Maybe something you like to do with your family?"
Jake sat there for several minutes, still staring uncertainly at his blank page, but Dr. Singh didn't seem worried. She just calmly went about drawing her own picture. Steve decided to follow her example, sharpening a colored pencil and getting to work. He'd done a few brief sketches of Jake, but he'd never had time to really focus on a detailed drawing, let alone one with color. Because it was fresh in his mind, he quickly settled on drawing Jake's laughing face as Steve tickled him.
He was absorbed in getting the shape of the mouth right when he saw out of the corner of his eye Jake finally reaching for a crayon. Steve smiled to himself.
No one said anything as the minutes slowly ticked past. After a while, Steve wondered if this was how the first session with a patient normally went. Weren't they supposed to be talking about something? But Dr. Singh didn't seem at all impatient or worried about the silence. Maybe she was waiting for Jake to break it. Did she realize just how long she'd end up waiting?
But after fifteen minutes or so, such thoughts faded away, and Steve settled into the simple pleasure of drawing. It had been far too long since he'd allowed himself the time and space to really sink into an art project like this. There was always so much to do, so much to worry about...but right now, he couldn't do anything but draw. So he let himself simply enjoy it.
Who would have thought a therapy session with Jake would be this relaxing?
Steve wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he was putting the finishing touches on his drawing when Dr. Singh asked how their pictures were coming along. She held up hers, a simple drawing of two women with long, dark hair walking along what seemed to be a mountain path, wearing backpacks and wide-brimmed hats. "I drew a picture of myself with my sister Sakari. We like to go hiking in the mountains, where we can see lots of pretty birds and flowers we can't see at home. She lives in California, so I don't see her very often, but when I visit her, we always go hiking together."
She smiled invitingly at the others, so Steve held up his drawing for them to see. He smiled at Jake, who stared wide-eyed at the picture of himself. "I like to spend time with Jake," Steve said. "It doesn't really matter what we do, as long as we're together. When he's happy, I'm happy."
Slowly, Jake's eyes slid up from the picture to meet Steve's gaze. A tiny smile, and then he quickly dipped his head back down, as if embarrassed.
"What about you, Jake?" Dr. Singh prompted. "Would you like to tell us about your picture?"
Jake's shoulders tensed a little, and he hesitantly raised his paper for them to see. Most of the page was blank, but crowded into one corner was a small drawing, all done in black crayon. There were two stick figures—the smaller one was probably supposed to be Jake, though it didn't have any hair and the only facial features were two faint dots for eyes; and the taller one with a scribble for a beard seemed to be Steve. Next to the stick figures, almost the same size, was a rectangle with a squiggle on it.
In a tiny voice, Jake spoke for the first time since they'd set foot inside the office. "I...I like...books?" He glanced up at Dr. Singh, as if checking to make sure he was doing it right. "And Daddy...Daddy reads 'em...sometimes..."
Dr. Singh smiled. "And do you like it when your daddy reads books to you?"
Jake nodded, holding up his paper so he was almost hiding behind it.
After that, Dr. Singh let Jake pick out what color he wanted for a folder they could use to keep any papers they used in their sessions together. It took almost five minutes for Jake to choose, but eventually he decided on a bright green one. They tucked their drawings and sticker charts into the folder, Jake carefully wrote his name on the front...and that was it. The appointment was over.
Steve wondered, as he shook Dr. Singh's hand and carried Jake back out to the car, whether they'd actually accomplished anything. It had been a nice, relaxing way to spend an hour, but they hadn't really discussed anything. Every time he went to have therapy with Casey, they would have long conversations about what Steve was going through, how his experiences in the past were still affecting him today, how his fears and predictions of the future influenced his thoughts and actions...
But then, Jake was so young. There was still so much he didn't even say to Steve, let alone a complete stranger. And Dr. Singh didn't seem to mind that they hadn't really done very much talking. He would just have to trust that she knew what she was doing.
On the long drive home, Jake sat with his new folder lying open in his lap, looking at it intently like it was an engrossing novel. Occasionally, Steve glanced in the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of Jake making strange expressions. Usually, it seemed to involve squeezing his eyes shut and opening his mouth. After watching this a few times, Steve realized what Jake was doing: He was trying to imitate his expression in Steve's picture. Steve bit his lip and tried not to laugh.
When they reached home at last, Jake held up the sheet of stickers as soon as Steve opened the door. "Daddy, I found which one's me in the picture!"
Steve looked at the sticker he was pointing to. It was a laughing face with little teardrops at the corners of its closed eyes. Jake's eyes sparkled with triumph, as though he'd finally figured out the solution to a tricky brain teaser.
"I think you're right, buddy!" Steve grinned. "How do you think you feel when you look like that?"
Jake thought for a moment, then guessed, "Wiggly?"
Steve chuckled. "Wiggly sounds about right."
Steve started awake, as suddenly as if someone had fired a gun right next to him. Before his mind had even fully come around, he was struggling out of his sheets, rolling out of bed, heart pounding—
Then, the same sound that had woken him: a scream.
Practically ripping the door off its hinges, Steve barreled into the hallway and burst into Jake's room next door. He flipped the light on, ready to pound whatever intruder had dared to—
There was no one there. No one but Jake, who'd thrown his arms up to shield his face against the sudden glare. He was whimpering, trembling underneath the blankets...
"Jake...it's-it's okay. It's me." Heart still pounding like it was trying to escape his chest, Steve switched off the overhead light and turned on the lamp on the bedside table, which provided a much warmer, dimmer illumination. "I'm here, Jake. Daddy's here."
Jake peeked out between his fingers, still trembling so hard the bed was squeaking a little bit. "I don'...I d-don' wanna die..."
"You're not going to die," Steve said soothingly, sinking to his knees by the bed. "I won't let you die—not until you're an old, old man."
He reached out, but Jake jerked back from his approaching hand with a gasp. Steve froze immediately, heart breaking as he saw the sheer terror in those blue eyes. Letting his hand rest on the blanket instead, he said softly, "Did you have a bad dream, buddy?"
Jake blinked, once, then twice. "A bad...dream?" Something seemed to click, and tears spilled out of his eyes in a sudden rush. "Daddy!" he gasped, practically throwing himself out of bed and into Steve's arms.
"Shh...it's okay, I've got you..." He carried Jake over to the rocking chair, holding him close and murmuring soothing phrases into his ear. Knowing how vivid his own dreams were, fueled by his sharp memory, he wasn't surprised at all that Jake had been disoriented at first.
Jake's hair was plastered to his forehead and the back of his neck was damp with sweat, but he clung tightly to Steve, with apparently no intention of letting go. His sobs tumbled out of him, one after another, barely giving him time to gulp down a breath in between. Steve rubbed his back, whispering that he was safe, he was loved, everything was okay...
The adrenaline had seeped back out of Steve's system, leaving him feeling more drained and exhausted than he'd been when he first went to bed. He peered over Jake's head at the clock on the bedside table. The glowing red letters declared that it was 3:26 a.m.
A huge, shuddering breath and a big sniffle indicated that Jake was calming down a bit. "He was...gonna kill me," he mumbled, resting his cheek against Steve's chest.
"Who was?" As terrifying of a dream as it would be, Steve hoped it had been Zemo, rather than Bucky.
Jake let out a little whimper, digging his fist into his eye again and hiccuping, "Vi-ino."
That wasn't a name Steve had expected to hear, though he supposed he shouldn't be too surprised. Vino had been the one filming that awful video they'd all seen not so long ago, which must have dredged up some memories for Jake. "You dreamed that Vino was going to kill you?" he asked softly, rubbing his hand back and forth across Jake's back, hoping it would ground him in reality.
Jake nodded. "He...He said I had to...finish my mission...but...b-but I didn't wanna...and...and I said n-no, and then..." He clutched at Steve more desperately than ever, dissolving into sobs again.
"Shhh..." Steve patted him on the back, rocking slowly and steadily. "You're safe with me. Vino's gone. He can't hurt you anymore."
He wondered what exactly Jake had dreamed Vino was about to do, but he didn't push it any further. No wonder Jake had woken up screaming.
Many long minutes passed in silence this time, except for the sound of Jake's tears and the words Steve whispered over and over again. Finally, Jake seemed to cry himself out, winding down to just an occasional sniffle.
Steve's eyelids were beginning to feel heavy when Jake spoke again. "Daddy...you're not like Vino."
I certainly hope not, Steve thought vehemently. Out loud, he just said, "Oh? What's different?"
"You ask me stuff."
"Vino didn't ask you questions?"
Jake shook his head, frowning thoughtfully. "He just told me...and then I did it. But you...ask me what I wanna do...and then I hafta think about it."
Steve rocked gently, watching the gears turning behind those big blue eyes. "Because you have a choice. You get to decide what you want to do."
"Like the dream..." Jake shuddered and curled up tighter against Steve's chest. He lay there sniffling for a while, then finally spoke up in a small voice again. "Did Vino have a choice?"
"Everyone has a choice," Steve murmured, rubbing Jake's back.
"'Cept for Bucky?" Jake craned his neck around to look up at Steve. "'Cause Zemo was tellin' him what to do?"
"Right," Steve said slowly, "if someone uses the Words, they can control what he does. But...even he has a choice. Two years ago, I said I could help him if he left Hydra, and you know what he chose the second he could control his body again?"
"He said yes?"
Steve nodded. His heart ached as he thought of that day, in so many ways the beginning of everything. Ever since the last time he'd seen Bucky, Steve had found his mind shying away from even the most fleeting thoughts of him. It was too painful. But then...even that was a choice. A choice he had the luxury to make, with so many distractions available to him.
"Daddy?" Jake's voice broke into his thoughts. "Did you have a choice? About..."
Jake looked away, as if embarrassed.
"A choice about what?" Steve asked gently.
Still not looking at him, Jake mumbled, "'Bout me."
"You mean...when I found you? Did I have a choice about bringing you home?"
Burying his face in Steve's shirt, Jake nodded.
Steve kissed the top of Jake's head, then rested his cheek against it. "Yes, Jake," he whispered. "When I found out about you, there were a lot of things I could have chosen to do. But, you know...the first time I saw a picture of you, I made a choice right then and there. I chose to love you with all my heart, and do everything I could to help you."
They sat, rocking back and forth, for a few more minutes before Jake spoke up again. "Did Vino love me?"
Steve chose his words with care. As cruel and twisted as Vino had been, as much as he'd needed to be stopped, Vino had been the closest thing Jake had ever known to a parental figure before Steve had come into the picture. Vino had been the leader, the instructor, the one who'd taught Jake everything he knew about how the world worked and what was most important.
He looked down at Jake and asked gently, "What do you think, Jake?"
Jake frowned intently into space, thinking hard. What a heavy subject for such a young mind to grapple with. But eventually, he shook his head. "Uh-uh. 'Cause...he's not like you. But...he coulda chose to love me." Wide, questioning eyes turned up to his, still red-rimmed and bloodshot from crying. "How come he didn't?"
Steve felt as though his heart was being pulled in several directions at once, the seams tearing apart. "I don't know, buddy," he whispered. "I don't know. There are a lot of times someone makes a choice that we don't understand. It probably made sense to him. He was probably trying to do what he thought was best."
"But it wasn't the best?"
Steve smiled sadly. "If you ask me, loving you is always the best choice. Unfortunately, one thing you're going to have to learn about the world is that not everybody agrees on what's best."
"They should," Jake said through an enormous yawn.
Steve smiled, unable to suppress a yawn of his own. "That would certainly make things easier, wouldn't it? But I think it's time for both of us to get back to bed."
"'Kay," Jake said, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
He carried Jake over to his bed and tucked him in, but just as he reached to switch off the lamp, Jake grabbed a handful of his pant leg. When Steve looked down in surprise, Jake retreated under the covers, pulling them all the way up to his eyes. Big, blue eyes that were silently pleading...
"Do you want me to stay?" Steve asked, thinking longingly of his bed in the next room.
A tiny nod was all it took for any feeble resistance to crumble to pieces. "Okay," he said, reaching under the covers to shift Jake closer to the wall, "but you're going to have to make room for Daddy."
Jake's bed was designed for a child, so Steve's feet hung off the end if he stretched out all the way, but he didn't mind. Switching off the light and settling down under the covers, Steve rolled onto his side and wrapped his arm around his son, pulling him close.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Steve saw that Jake was looking up at him, though he couldn't read his expression. "You gonna stay with me till I fall asleep?" he whispered.
Steve smiled and kissed him. He couldn't aim very well in the darkness, so the kiss landed on the tip of Jake's nose. "I'll stay with you till you wake up."
Steve felt as though he'd been struggling uphill for so long, but finally the road had leveled out beneath his feet. Instead of clawing his way through each day, barely managing to raise his head and keep going, now he could actually look around and enjoy what he had.
Jake was home. He was safe. He would look at Steve, smile, call him 'Daddy'...and all was right with the world. They went to therapy with Dr. Singh three times a week, where Jake slowly seemed to be warming up to her cheerful smiles and gentle questions—at least, after a few sessions, he seemed comfortable sitting on his own cushion and made one-word responses in a tiny voice. And at home, Jake talked so much more than he ever had before, asking questions or commenting on what they were doing. Their daily conversations about what emotions they were feeling seemed to send Jake's mind into overdrive. When they would read a picture book or watch a movie, Jake would point at the characters' expressions and ask things like, "Is he happy? Is she doing that 'cause she's scared? What's that mean, Daddy?"
It was like Jake had hit a growth spurt with his mind and his heart. Every day, there were so many moments where Steve could practically see the connections firing in his little brain like a sky full of fireworks. At last, he was really beginning to make sense of the world outside the restrictive box that Hydra had placed around him.
A month or two ago, if someone had asked Steve if parenting was fun, he would have responded with a hollow laugh. It was fulfilling in some respects, and an obligation he was willing and eager to do...but fun? Fun, with the constant worry that Jake would lash out at another person or destroy something that couldn't be replaced? When he started every day with a pit of dread in his stomach as he wondered if he was doing anything right?
But now, each morning he woke eager to see what he and Jake would discover about the world together. He could stop worrying about all the ways he'd failed as a father, and just enjoy who Jake was. Especially now that Jake's personality was really starting to peek out of his shell.
Steve was reminded of the early days with Winter, when the first hints of Bucky began to show themselves, though of course Steve hadn't realized that at the time. A flash of humor, a trace of Bucky's earnest dedication, would shine through the fear and awkwardness that kept Winter trapped. For so long, Winter had barely seemed to have much of a personality at all, but after he'd finally begun to feel comfortable around them, they'd seen who he really was. In a similar way, the boy Steve had only caught brief glimpses of before was finally beginning to show himself.
But even though there were times Jake seemed like a completely different person than the boy Steve had rescued all those months ago, there were also plenty of reminders of the long, hard road they'd taken to reach this point. One such reminder came one morning when Jake emerged from his room a bit later than usual, dressed but looking a little groggy still.
"Good morning, Jake," Steve said, getting the toast started. "What would you like for breakfast? We've got Cheerios, or you could have eggs and toast, or there's—"
"Lucky Charms."
"Sorry, buddy, you finished them yesterday, remember?" Steve glanced over his shoulder and saw Jake sitting in his chair, glaring at the box of Cheerios like it had personally offended him. "We'll have to go to the store today and get some more. Could you bring the jam over here? I'll make you some toast."
"Don't want toast," Jake mumbled, his chin resting on his fists.
"Bring it over here anyway, please." He started cracking eggs into a bowl. "We'll go to the store this morning after breakfast, and you can pick out some more cereal. Then after lunch we're going to go see Dr. Singh."
"No."
Steve looked over as he beat the eggs with a fork. Jake stood by the table, scowling down at the jam jar he held in both hands. "It's Wednesday, so we're going to New Hope today. That'll be fun, won't it?"
"I don't wanna go," Jake said, more loudly this time.
The butter was sizzling insistently in the frying pan, so Steve turned to pour the eggs in. "Sorry, buddy, but we have to go today. We can show our charts to Dr. Singh, and maybe—"
"No!" Jake yelled. "I don't wanna go!"
Steve turned just in time to see Jake raise the jar of jam over his head and hurl it at the nearest cupboard. "Jacob Rogers!"
Too late. The nearly-full jar crashed against the edge of the counter, sending shards of glass spinning in all directions, strawberry jam splattering on the floor and the cupboard door. Some of it splashed onto Jake's bare feet. Jake took a step backwards, now looking more startled than angry.
"Stop!" Steve cried. "Don't move!" He hurried around the table, avoiding most of the mess, though he heard glass crunching under his shoes. Grabbing Jake under the arms, he hoisted him up and plonked him down on the edge of the sink. After giving him a brief inspection to make sure it was all jam and not blood, he left Jake sitting with his feet in the sink while he cleaned up. "Just...stay there for a minute, okay?"
Steve's heart rate gradually slowed down as he carefully picked up the bits of glass and wiped jam off every surface. He realized that he should have noticed the warning signs, as Jake got more and more agitated. How many times had he seen that scowl right before another destructive tantrum? With such a dramatic change in Jake's behavior lately, Steve realized he'd been lulled into a false sense of security. Just because Jake had started smiling didn't mean he magically knew how to control his temper now.
Only when he'd finally finished cleaning the floor and wiped down the soles of his shoes to make sure he'd gotten all of the glass out of the way did Steve remember the eggs. With a sigh of impatience, Steve turned off the heat under a rather sad omelet—brown and crispy on one side, soggy on the other—that he'd originally intended to be scrambled eggs. And of course the toast was cold, and now they were out of jam...
A tiny sniffle from the sink drew Steve's attention away from the shambles of breakfast. Jake sat where Steve had deposited him out of harm's way, hunched down over his knees and clutching the front of his shirt with both hands. "Hey, buddy," he said, hurrying over with the wet rag he'd been using to wipe down the counter. "Sorry, let me clean you up..."
As he rinsed the jam off Jake's feet and double-checked to make sure he hadn't been hurt, Steve saw that Jake had pulled the collar of his shirt up over his eyes, muffling his tears in fistfuls of fabric. His shoulders shook in barely-stifled sobs.
"Jake?" he murmured, setting aside the rag and resting a hand on Jake's back. "Did I scare you?"
Jake hunched into a tighter ball, even his toes curling as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible. He gasped a shuddering breath and nodded once.
"I'm sorry, buddy," Steve said, rubbing his hand back and forth over Jake's back. "You scared me too. I was worried you were going to hurt yourself. But I'm sorry for raising my voice."
Jake's face emerged from his shirt, tear-streaked and blotchy. "Daddy? Do-Do you still...l-love me?"
Steve's heart broke as he looked into those bloodshot eyes, looking timidly up at him as if hardly daring to hope. Steve didn't want Jake to just hope anymore; he wanted him to know. "Yes, Jake," he whispered, pulling him into his arms and kissing him on the cheek, on the forehead, on the nose... "I still love you. I love you right now. I love you always, no matter what."
Jake threw his arms around Steve's neck and clung to him with all his might, sobbing his heart out. Steve held him close, rocking back and forth slightly almost on instinct. How different this was from every other temper tantrum from the past few months.
If they all ended like this...maybe they weren't really so bad.
I rise before dawn and cry for help;
I hope in your words.
- Psalm 119:147