When the night is fast asleep
But my heart is well awake
All my thoughts, they trouble me
And it's more than I can take
More than I can hold
Deep inside I know
When my strength is weak, I can feel you carry me
In the darkness left for blind, I can feel your hand in mine
And your whisper heals my soul
Don't let go
Don't let go
- "Don't Let Go" by GENTRI
"Hey there, big guy!" Vincent boomed, grinning from the top of the ladder where he was replacing a light bulb. "What'd you get at the store?"
Jake, who was carrying a bag with some of the lighter items, shrank back a little against Steve's side. Looking up into Vincent's wide grin, he said in a tiny voice, "Skabetti an' meatballs."
"Spaghetti and meatballs?" Vincent patted his stomach, as if he could already taste it. "Mmm-mmm, save me some! Oh, here, I got something for ya, big guy. You ready for it? Catch!"
Jake opened his grocery bag and caught the lollipop Vincent tossed down to him. It was becoming a ritual between them, every time they passed Vincent in the hallway. Steve chuckled. He could already tell that Vincent's little bribes were working to soften Jake up towards him. "What do you say, buddy?"
With a shy smile, Jake murmured, "Thank you, Mr. Vincent."
"You're very welcome, Jake, but you can just call me Vince, y'know."
Sam emerged from his apartment just then and gave them a wave. "Yo, need some help with those?" He gestured to the dozen shopping bags weighing Steve's arms down.
"Thanks," Steve said, handing over a few and leading the way to the elevator. "We'll send you the leftovers!" he called over his shoulder to Vincent, whose booming laughter followed them into the elevator.
"Did I hear you say you're making meatballs tonight?" Sam asked Jake.
Jake nodded eagerly. "Daddy says I get to put 'em in and stir the sauce!"
"You're welcome to join us," Steve said.
"Oh, thanks, but I've got a date tonight, actually."
Steve did a double-take as he stepped out of the elevator on the top floor. "You've got a what now?"
A smirk split Sam's face as he said in an overly patient voice, "Sorry, I forgot you didn't have them back in the Dark Ages, but a date is when two people—"
"Okay, okay." Steve jostled against Sam to shut him up as he reached to unlock the door. "Sorry, you just...I didn't realize you were seeing someone."
"I haven't been," Sam said with a shrug, carrying his bags in and setting them on the kitchen table. "All the ladies around me tend to either be taken, or they're teenagers. Or we've been in hiding," he added as an afterthought.
Steve had never really stopped to consider how he might be affecting Sam's love life, of all things. Sam had never brought it up before. "So...who is it?"
Sam gave him a self-satisfied smile. "Leyla. Her paintball team's down a player, so I'm filling in."
"Very romantic."
Sam punched him on the shoulder. "Hey, gimme some credit. We're going out for drinks after. No better way to get to know somebody."
Steve started to ask whether he was talking about intoxication or paint fumes when Jake tugged on his shirt. He looked up with wide, curious eyes and asked, "Daddy? What's 'romantic'?"
"Oh, look at the time!" Sam said, looking at his nonexistent watch. "Don't wanna keep her waiting! You got this one, Steve!" Flashing Steve a cheeky grin and a peace sign, he bailed.
Leaving Steve to try to figure out how to explain romance to a four-year-old who barely understood what love was in the first place. He looked down into Jake's expectant face and found himself saying, "I'll, um...I'll explain when you're older. Here," he said, reaching for a distraction, "why don't we get started on that spaghetti?"
As Jake agreeably started emptying the shopping bags onto the kitchen table, deciding out loud whether each item was needed for the sauce or not, Steve felt a wave of something like deja vu that he couldn't place for a moment. Then, out of nowhere, he could see his mother patting him on the head and telling him patiently that she would explain it when he was older, or he would understand it someday...
So that's what she meant, he thought with a smile. Now that he was a parent himself, he appreciated everything she'd done on a whole new level.
"Daddy?" Jake asked, frowning at a little jar of spice. "Do we need ore-gain-o?"
Steve chuckled. "That's oregano, buddy. And yes, we're going to need a lot of it for the sauce."
As he put away groceries and helped Jake start pouring the right ingredients into their biggest pot, Steve found himself imagining his mother standing in the kitchen, helping them cook. How she would have loved to meet her grandson. How she would have doted on him.
You have your father's eyes, she used to say sometimes. She would brush his hair back off his forehead, gaze deep into his eyes, and beam down at him with a look of such pride, such affection... He could easily imagine her doing the same with Jake.
Because his mother had died so long ago—well before the serum, let alone going into the ice—Steve didn't tend to think about what it would have been like if she were still here. But in moments like these, he realized the full extent of what he'd lost. He'd never get to see her laughing with Sam, or chatting with Darlene Wilson about their boys. He would never know what she would have thought of the changes time had wrought in Bucky. He would never be able to ask if she approved of Sharon. And what sort of advice might she have given him about Jake? Would her wisdom and experience have helped them avoid some of the pitfalls they'd run into?
Such thoughts swirled around Steve's mind for the next several days, especially since his conversations with Casey had been revolving around the things he had lost after seventy years in the ice. After the incident with Zemo, they'd been talking through the many conflicting emotions Steve felt about everything that had happened and what he'd learned. Talking about the children he'd lost led to reflecting on all the other people that time and circumstance had stolen from him.
"It's like I lost an entire world," Steve said, staring into the cold dregs at the bottom of his coffee cup. "All my friends, all the places I used to know...they're all gone, or they're different, and I can't get them back. I don't even know how to comprehend it, so I mostly just...try not to think about it. I try to focus on the here and now. God knows that gives me enough to think about," he muttered.
"Does that work?" Casey asked—not as though he knew the answer already, but as if he were genuinely curious. He sat in his usual chair, legs crossed and sipping his coffee, meeting Steve's gaze with warm sympathy. "Putting it out of your mind and not thinking about it—how successful have you been at that?"
Steve smiled mirthlessly, setting his coffee cup down on the table at his side. "It works...until it doesn't. Something reminds me...and then everything kind of explodes, and that's all I can think about."
"And so you try to avoid thinking about what you've lost for as long as you can?"
Steve nodded. That had been the cycle of his daily life, more or less from the moment he'd woken up in a different century. He would throw himself into the responsibilities in front of him, until the job was done or he had a little room to breathe...and then all the things he had to grieve would ambush him once again.
"Does that make it hurt less?" Casey asked.
Steve had never really thought about it before, but the answer came to his lips almost immediately. "No. I think it hurts more." He sighed; he could see where Casey was going with this. "You're going to tell me to stop putting off thinking about this sort of thing, aren't you?"
Casey smiled. "Very perceptive. How would you feel about giving that a try? The next time something reminds you of something you've lost, don't push the grief away. Let yourself feel the pain in the moment."
Steve sank back into the couch, feeling exhausted. "I guess it's worth a shot." Maybe if he took the pain in small doses, it wouldn't knock him flat when it finally hit him.
"There's something I've noticed as we've been talking about this," Casey said, setting his mug down on the coffee table and resting his elbows on his knees. "We've talked about some of the people you've lost—Peggy Carter, the Howling Commandos, your children—but you haven't mentioned Bucky once."
Even though there was nothing accusatory in Casey's voice, Steve felt cornered. "He's still alive," he said, unable to look Casey in the eye. "He might not be with me right now, but...it's not like he's dead."
"No," Casey quietly agreed, "but you've still suffered a loss. For now, he's out of your reach. Grief isn't just for the dead."
Steve knew that as well as anyone. Every time he'd spoken to Peggy since finding her again, he'd felt the pang of a lifetime they'd never been able to share. He could also vividly remember that strange period of time when he'd been grieving Winter, even with Bucky right there every day.
Casey kept pressing, and even though his voice was gentle and understanding, every word felt like a needle piercing Steve's skin. "Are you doing the same thing with Bucky? Doing your best to not think about him for as long as you can, because you're afraid of how much it will hurt?"
Bucky, trapped within the prison of his own body, forced to break Jake's arm.
Bucky, face turning purple and eyes sliding closed as Steve choked him into unconsciousness.
Bucky, shivering in the snow as he clung to Steve, desperately hanging onto him as the few precious minutes they had together slipped through their fingers.
Bucky, in shackles, led away at gunpoint.
Bucky, sitting in a small cell in solitary confinement—disheveled, weeping, alone.
Bucky. Bucky. Bucky!
Steve's head was in his hands, dizzy from the sudden onslaught of emotions and memories. His heart was in his throat, making it hard to breathe. This was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. And just as Casey had pointed out, avoiding it had only made the pain more overwhelming.
"He's my best friend," he whispered. His eyes burned and his throat ached with the truth of those words. "And I don't even think about him."
The couch sank down as Casey sat beside him. "Because of how painful it is?"
He tried to speak, but could only manage a nod as the tears came thick and fast. Casey's hand was warm and strong on his shoulder, gripping him tightly as if to tether him to the safety of this room. For several long minutes, they sat in silence as Steve cried. He hadn't let himself feel the full force of his worry for Bucky, nor the grief of having to let him go, since Zemo had kidnapped him—maybe not even since he'd first been arrested.
"Bucky," he finally managed to choke out, "he's...he has to face...so much...every day. He's in solitary confinement. For...who knows how long. He's all alone...no one to talk to, nothing to do, nothing to...distract him. And if...if I know him at all...after everything that happened..." He shook his head, unable to even find the words to convey the darkness Bucky must be facing at that very moment. "But me? I get to go home...enjoy life with my son...talk to my girlfriend...and if it's too hard to think about what Bucky's going through, I can just...not. But he doesn't have that luxury." He scrubbed his hands over his face and sat back, sniffing miserably. "I'm so...selfish."
"What makes you say that?"
It seemed obvious to Steve, but he tried to put it into words for Casey. "Because...I'm acting like...like my pain is worse than his. He has it a thousand times worse, but I can't even stand to let him inconvenience me for five minutes."
"I wouldn't call that being selfish," Casey said. When Steve shot him an incredulous look, he smiled sadly. "Wanting to avoid pain isn't selfish. Would you accuse Bucky of being selfish if he found something he could do to avoid thinking about what happened?"
Steve shook his head.
"Then isn't it the same for you?"
Steve couldn't think of an argument against that. "But I don't think it's right to just not think about him," he finally said, brushing a few more tears away. "Out of sight, out of mind...that can't be right. I...I want him to be a part of my life, it's just...he's gone, and...and I don't know..." He voice died in his throat.
"Let's talk about that," Casey said. "What are some ways you can keep him close in your daily life, even though you can't see him right now?"
That was what they discussed the rest of that session. They talked about the things Steve had done when he thought Bucky was dead—the letters he'd write and then burn, the pictures he'd draw, the occasional conversations he'd have with the empty room. The thought of doing those same things when Bucky was alive and even living in the same city was a little odd at first, but Steve could see that what had helped for one kind of grief might work for another.
They discussed the importance of just talking about Bucky with the other people who knew him. Steve hadn't really noticed it, but he and Sam hadn't talked about Bucky at all since the last update from Matt confirming that he wasn't allowed any contact whatsoever. But Bucky was so close to both of them. They needed to talk about him.
And then what about Jake? Steve refused to believe Bucky would never be able to see Jake again, and it wouldn't be fair to either of them if Jake wasn't prepared for that. Other than one or two conversations where Steve had tried to explain that it hadn't really been Bucky who'd broken his arm, they hadn't talked about him at all. Jake needed to know his grandfather.
By the time Steve shook Casey's hand and walked out of the office, the tears were gone and he felt much calmer than before. He still felt the sting of guilt that he'd even been tempted to act like Bucky wasn't a part of his life anymore, but at least he had some ideas for how to change that.
"Sorry, Buck," he whispered as he walked to his car. "I won't let it happen again."
For about five seconds upon waking, Sam was content. He'd had a random but kind of cool dream where he was swimming through a tropical wonderland, and he could breathe underwater, and there were these arches of water that rose from the ocean's surface, and you could ride them like a water slide that went up instead of down, and oh yeah, it was his birthday today—
Then he noticed the pattering of rain against the window.
Prying his eyes open, Sam groped around for his phone. He pulled up the weather forecast, and his heart sank. It was supposed to rain all day, and here and there on the timeline was a thunderbolt.
Great. Just great. Not that he'd want a thunderstorm any day, but on his birthday? Really?
Muttering a curse, Sam dropped his phone on his chest and stared glumly at the window. It wasn't like he had any major plans for the day that the rain would ruin. He was just going to hang out with Steve and Jake like any other day, except that Steve had promised to cook for him, and then they'd have cake and ice cream in the evening. Since Jake had so little experience with birthday parties, Steve had insisted that they go all out—party hats, noisemakers, streamers, balloons...
He wasn't sure he could make himself do it.
Sam's phone vibrated, making him jump a little. It was a text from Steve: Happy Birthday, Sam :) What can I do to help today?
His heart lifted a little, and he couldn't help smiling. He should have known that Steve would have his back. He knew all too well how much Sam struggled on days like this.
After a little thought, Sam texted back, My demands:
1. At least ten (10) hugs throughout the day from you or Jake
2. Pancakes for breakfast
3. In the name of all that's holy, no more canned beets
4. Give me some kind of distraction?
Somehow, that gave Sam the motivation to actually get out of bed. He'd just finished washing his face when he got a text back.
Pancakes on the way. You want chocolate chips or blueberries?
Sam smiled. Surprise me.
In half an hour, he was upstairs, greeted by Jake hopping down from a chair pulled up in front of the stove, and racing over to throw his arms around Sam's waist. "What do you say, Jake?" Steve called.
"Happy...um...Happy...Birthday!" Jake quickly looked over at Steve for approval; Steve gave him a thumbs-up.
"Thanks, kiddo," Sam chuckled, tousling Jake's hair. He felt a burst of affection for both of them. There was no one he'd rather have by his side on a day like this. Well...except for Bucky. Bucky should have been there too.
"You ready for the first batch?" Steve said, carrying a plate with two large pancakes over to the table. "Jake, put the syrup on the table, please."
While Jake carefully carried over a creamer of warm syrup, Sam sat at his usual place and eyed the pancakes on his plate. Instead of chocolate chips or blueberries, these pancakes were studded with white blobs. "Are these...marshmallows?"
"You said to surprise you," Steve said cheerfully, pouring more batter into the pan. "The marshmallows were Jake's idea."
"Which just goes to show that he already has more culinary imagination than you do," Sam said smugly, drizzling syrup over his pancakes. "This time, the apple falls very far from the tree."
"We got apples at the store," Jake piped up, clambering back onto the chair in front of the stove. "They're red."
"The best kind," Sam said, digging into his pancakes. They were so sweet each bite felt like a punch to the taste buds, but they actually weren't that bad. For once, Sam drank his coffee black, just to offset the intense sweetness.
When Steve finally finished the batter and brought over a large stack of pancakes, they ate in silence for a while. "Bucky would like these," Steve said quietly.
Thinking back to the insane amounts of sugar Bucky used to put in his coffee, Sam had to agree. He gazed across the table at an empty seat, trying to imagine what this day would be like if he were there. Then he glanced over at Steve's expression, which had fallen a little as he mopped up the last dribbles of syrup with his last bit of pancake. "We'll have to make them again when he gets home."
Steve looked up with a sad little smile and nodded.
Once they'd all eaten their fill and got started on the dishes, they began to talk about what they were going to do with the rest of the day. Sam tried to stay upbeat and focused on the conversation, but he couldn't quite ignore the rumbling of thunder growing louder and louder outside the windows. He could feel his heart rate picking up, partly because of all the sugar, but mostly because of the occasional flashes he caught in the corners of his eyes.
As he was drying a mug, a thunderous boom ripped through the air, making him start violently. The mug slipped from his fingers, landing on a floor with a crash, followed by another clap of thunder. The storm must be directly overhead.
"Sorry," he muttered, bending down to pick up the pieces of the mug. His hands were shaking, his heart pounding. He could practically hear the gunshots, the screams, the wind whistling in his ears...
"Don't worry about it," Steve said. He reached out as if to put his hand on Sam's shoulder, then seemed to remember that his hands were dripping wet.
Sam dumped the broken mug into the trash, trying to take deep breaths and settle his heart rate back down. When he felt something tugging on his leg, he started to jerk away...but it was only Jake, looking up at him with big, solemn eyes. "Uncle Sam? Do you need another hug?"
Sam had to swallow hard past the lump growing in his throat. "Yeah," he said, managing a painful smile as he sank to his knees and pulled Jake into a tight embrace. "Yeah, kiddo, I think I do."
"Daddy said you need lotsa hugs today," Jake mumbled into Sam's shoulder.
After a moment or two, Sam managed to find his voice again. "He's absolutely right." He looked over at Steve, who was finishing up the last few dishes. They shared a commiserating smile.
Once all the dishes were done, Steve came over to give Sam a hug of his own. In the warm circle of his embrace, the constant rumble of thunder seemed far away, but Sam still felt too jumpy for comfort. "Hey," he mumbled, "can we...go somewhere? Just get out of here?"
"Sure. You have anything in mind?"
After some more discussion and a few searches on their phones, they ended up going to a bowling alley not too far away. The music, the sound of pins being knocked over, and the boisterous noises from the arcade in the next room all served to drown out the thunder pretty well.
It had been years, if not an entire decade, since Sam had gone bowling. Steve had at least been bowling before, but not since the serum, so he had to be extra careful not to throw the ball too hard. Jake, of course, had no idea what was going on, and stared wide-eyed around at their strange surroundings. He seemed utterly perplexed that they had to put on different shoes to walk on the shiny, polished floor, and his eyes were almost as big as the bowling balls themselves the first time he saw one pop up in the ball rack after it had disappeared at the end of the lane.
But once they'd shown Jake where to put his fingers and what the goal was, he took to it like a duck to water. Most four-year-olds would struggle to carry such a heavy ball, let alone roll it smoothly towards the pins with one hand, but of course that was no problem for him. He was even pretty good at keeping the ball out of the gutter after his first couple of tries, so they didn't need to play with a gutter guard.
What with cheering Jake on and probably getting a little too competitive with Steve, the time passed swiftly. The game ended in a tie between Steve and Sam, and since they were all having a good time, they just went ahead and played a second game. Sam won that one, though he had a sneaking suspicion that Steve had let him win. That was fine, because he got to tease Steve for finishing up with a worse throw than Jake.
Lunch was pizza and milkshakes at the front of the bowling alley. After taking the first sip of his chocolate-banana shake, Jake smacked his lips and declared, "Uncle Sam makes 'em better."
If Sam hadn't been wearing a T-shirt, he was pretty sure he would have burst a few buttons.
As they finished up the last few slices of pizza, Sam's attention was drawn more and more to the flashing lights and bursts of music and laughter from the arcade. He eyed Steve, who was helping Jake wipe off his greasy fingers. "Hey, Cap, anyone ever tell you to put Pac-Man on your list?"
Steve raised an eyebrow. "Who-Man?"
Sam's grin widened.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, the three of them stepped into the dimly-lit arcade, which was well-stocked with all the staples. Jake stayed close by their side, wide eyes reflecting the bright colors and flashing lights in every direction. He'd probably never seen anything like this before.
Sam proudly took on the role of tour guide, showing them the ropes on Pac-Man, Galaga, and Street Fighter. Jake got the hang of the games faster than Steve, even though one of them had to hold him up so he could reach the buttons and see the screen. Steve wasn't too shabby in the racing car game, and he surprised Sam when he looked over at one of the shooter games and said casually, "Oh, Extreme Gunslinger! That's a good one." At first, Sam thought he was joking, but it turned out that Sharon had introduced him to it at some point. In the end, they didn't get to try it out, because the slavering, moaning zombies scared Jake too much.
The crowning glory of the day was when Sam dragged them over to the Dance Dance Revolution game and got Steve to play with him. His supersoldier reflexes were good and all, but Sam still mopped the dance floor with him.
"I just can't keep up with the music these days," Steve complained. "It's too overwhelming to dance to."
"Well, when they come out with a Frank Sinatra version of DDR, I'll let you know, Grandpa," Sam laughed.
Both of them were out of breath from the dancing, so they finished up their time in the arcade by helping Jake try out a couple of the crane games. They blew quite a few of Steve's dollars trying to snag one Avengers plushie or another, but in the end they had to settle for a squishy ball that looked like an egg. According to the packaging, if you threw it against the wall or the floor, it would splatter against the hard surface like a real egg, then slowly return to its original form. Who knew? Maybe it would help Jake avoid tantrums.
By the time they trooped outside to the car, Sam had actually managed to forget about the storm. He didn't see any lightning on the way home, and even the rain had tapered off to just a light drizzle. Much easier to deal with.
When they got back to Steve's apartment, Jake scowled at the suggestion that maybe it was naptime, even though he'd nodded off in the car and had been yawning a minute before. Sam quickly suggested the compromise that they all sit in the living room and read for a while. Jake brightened up a little at that, and immediately went rushing off to his room. He returned momentarily, sitting in between Steve and Sam on the couch and plonking a stack of books next to Sam.
They were halfway through Green Eggs and Ham ("Would you, could you, in the rain?") when Sam looked down and found Jake slumped against his side, fast asleep. Sam gently shifted him to a more comfortable position, then put up his feet and closed his eyes for a nap of his own, lulled to sleep by the quiet scratching of Steve's pencil against paper.
He woke to Steve quietly clattering around in the kitchen, and a sketch lying on the end table next to his elbow where he couldn't miss it. Sam picked it up and smiled. It was a drawing of him and Jake asleep on the couch, snuggled up cozily together.
Thankfully, Steve honored Sam's request and kept beets off the menu for supper. Once Jake woke up, Sam blew up several balloons and tossed them around with Jake while Steve cooked up a hearty meal of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Despite how much Sam loved to tease his culinary skills, Steve really wasn't that bad of a cook. He just stuck to the same recipes all the time. But if it ain't broke, don't fix it, Sam thought happily as he savored his first piping-hot bite of meatloaf.
True to the original plan, they all wore paper hats and blew noisemakers to get Jake giggling. Then Steve produced a cake he'd baked using his mother's recipe, decorated with Jake's help (as the copious amounts of sprinkles and a sloppy bit of icing that was apparently supposed to be his name attested). Sam tried to use his noisemaker to put out the candles, until it caught fire and had to be doused in Steve's glass of water.
The only thing missing was that Bucky wasn't there to dryly complain that Sam was setting Jake a bad example.
After the cake and ice cream, Steve disappeared into another room to retrieve the presents. Sam hadn't really asked for anything other than to spend the day together, so he was surprised when Steve carried out a modest stack of presents...and then disappeared again and returned with two enormous boxes that Sam was pretty sure he could have fit into himself. Even though Steve carried them easily, when he set them down, Sam could feel the floor shake a little with the weight.
"Oh, no...what on earth did you get me?"
Steve just grinned. "Here, open Jake's presents first." He shoved the smaller stack into Sam's lap.
It was pretty obvious that Steve had overseen Jake's selection of gifts. At least, Sam doubted that Jake on his own would have been quite so...imaginative. There was a bright red T-shirt that said FUNCLE. There were several pairs of the most hideous socks he'd ever seen—zigzags, polka dots, and stripes in colors that clashed so much they almost made Sam's eyes water just to look at them. There was an inflatable hot dog swimming pool float, like he was ever going to find a use for that.
Finally, Steve let him open his huge presents. With Jake's help to rip all the paper off, Sam soon discovered that one box held an elliptical machine, and the other a treadmill. Standing in the drifts of wrapping paper with hands on his hips, Sam demanded, "Are you tryin' to tell me something here, Cap? Are you calling me fat?"
Steve laughed heartily. "Hey, you said it, not me!" As Sam waded across the room towards him to give him a noogie, he hastily added, "And I thought maybe you could start an exercise room, in the basement or something."
Sam still gave him the noogie, which Steve had to put up with since it was his birthday. But he had to admit it was a good idea.
The best gift of all was one that Steve had apparently forgotten, and Jake had to run and grab it from the other room. He came back, cheeks flushed with excitement, clutching a single piece of paper rolled up like a scroll and tied off with a bit of string. Sam unrolled it to find a scribbly little picture of two stick figures with huge toothy smiles and lopsided arms stretching out longer than their entire bodies. Underneath it was written in a childish hand, Jake and Unkl Sam are hapee together.
"Thank you, Jake!" Sam said, grinning almost as wide as he was in the picture.
Jake leaned in eagerly, pointing at the picture. "That one's you, an' that one's me. They're holding out their arms 'cause they're gonna hug." He stretched his arms out to either side to demonstrate.
"Of course we're gonna hug!" Sam laughed, holding his arms out too. "Come on, Steve, you too!"
Steve obligingly walked over to them, his arms held straight out like a scarecrow, and they all met in the middle in a big bear hug. Sam was already laughing, Steve started chuckling, and soon Jake started giggling as well.
In that moment, Sam felt as though he wouldn't have minded if an apocalyptic storm had been raging outside. What he had right here was enough to combat any amount of rain and thunder.
Steve woke with a start, staring into the darkness of his room. What? Had he been...dreaming? No, he couldn't remember. Maybe he'd woken because of a sudden sound...
A tiny sniffle and a heavy, wet breath drew his attention. Steve propped himself up onto one elbow and stared blindly in the direction it had come from. "Jake? Is that you?"
A tiny, muffled whimper, and Steve's brain finally woke up. He reached over and clicked on the lamp on his bedside table, dazzling him with a sudden burst of light. Squinting as his eyes adjusted, Steve saw that, sure enough, Jake stood next to his bed.
For a disorienting moment of deja vu, Steve was back in that horrible moment not too long ago, when he'd woken to his own son attacking him with a kitchen knife. But tonight, instead of a knife, he clutched his stuffed lion with both hands, hiding from the glare of the lamp and sniffling miserably. Tears rolled down his cheeks, pink and rubbed raw.
Steve sat up fully. "Jake, what's the matter?"
"Can't sleep." Jake peeked over the top of his lion, lower lip trembling. "Daddy...do you still love me?"
"Oh, Jake...come here, baby..." Steve reached out and gathered him into his arms, pulling Jake up to sit in his lap. He leaned back against the headboard, settling the blankets over his lap as he murmured, "Yes, Jake. I do love you. I love you very, very much. You don't ever have to worry about that. It's never going to change."
Jake rested his forehead on Steve's chest, squishing the lion between them and grabbing fistfuls of Steve's shirt. He drew a huge, shuddering breath and choked out, "I...I couldn't sleep...an' it was all dark...an'-an' you were asleep..."
Steve rubbed his back in soothing motions. "You needed me...but you didn't want to wake me up?"
Jake's grip tightened as he nodded, letting out an enormous sob.
"Shhh..." Steve kept rubbing Jake's back, kissing his forehead from time to time, until the intensity of Jake's cries had died down a little bit. "I love you, buddy," he whispered into Jake's hair. "I'll always love you, so that means I'll always want to help you. It doesn't matter if I'm busy or asleep...if you need something, all you have to do is ask."
Holding Jake in his arms as he cried, Steve wondered how many nights in the past Jake had woken up and just lain awake, fearful and unable to sleep. How many nights had he shivered in the cold darkness of his cell in the Hydra base, knowing that there was no one who would help him? How many sleepless hours had he suffered through, in his new home with Steve, not even realizing that he could ask for comfort? But now...here he was, lying in Steve's arms, clinging to him like his life depended on it. His tears were dying down, replaced with hiccups as his eyelids dragged downwards.
He'd come to Steve for help. For comfort. Once, he'd looked at Steve as his enemy. 'Love' had been nothing but a word to him. But now he was here, relaxing in Steve's embrace. How far they'd come.
"Here," Steve murmured, gently turning Jake's head so his ear was pressed to Steve's chest. "Can you hear my heart beating?"
Jake nodded, blinking sleepily.
"Every time my heart beats, it's saying, I love you, I love you, I love you..."
Jake's eyes slid closed. He drew a deep, hiccuping breath, and let it out in a long sigh. After groping around blindly for a bit, he found Steve's hand and tucked it between their chests, his fingers curling tightly around Steve's thumb.
Was he trying to get Steve to feel his heartbeat? He wasn't sure, but Steve smiled fondly all the same. After a few minutes, when he was sure Jake had fallen asleep, Steve reached over to switch off the lamp, then eased himself down onto his back. Jake was a welcome weight on his chest, their hearts keeping time and lulling them both into a deep sleep.
Dear Jake,
I'm so sorry I hurt you. I want you to know, I would never choose to do anything to harm you. If there was anything I could do to take it all back, I would in a heartbeat.
Dear Jake,
It's okay if you're scared of me. What happened was really scary for all of us, and I'm sure that if you saw me again right now, I'd only remind you of what happened.
I wish I could fight back against every scary memory you have, just erase the past and get rid of it forever. I wish I could go back in time and save you before Hydra ever got their hands on you.
You didn't deserve any of this. You should have gotten to live with your daddy all this time. You should have had the chance to be happy, with your mother and
Dear Jake,
I want to ask for forgiveness, but I'm not sure if I should.
No. I'm not going to ask for your forgiveness. I don't deserve it. If you hate me forever, if you're never able to look at me without getting scared, and you never want to see me again, I understand. It's no more than what I deserve.
I hope you're safe with your daddy and Uncle Sam right now. I hope you're getting the help you need. I hope you can even be happy now. At least a little bit.
Maybe it's a good thing you're not going to see me for a long, long time, if ever. Maybe you'll forget all about me. I guess there's not much chance of that, if you have as good a memory as me and your daddy. But maybe the memories will eventually fade a bit. Maybe I won't keep haunting you forever, if you're surrounded by all that love.
Steve is so much better for you anyway. So just forget about me as much as you can. Don't talk about me, don't remember me. I'm far away now. I can't hurt you anymore.
Dear Jake,
I wish I could see you again. Or even just know that you're doing all right. I wish I could just know that I haven't ruined your whole life.
I know I don't have the right to know any of that. But even if I never find out, I'd still want you to know how sorry I am.
I don't know if that would even bring you any comfort, but I'd still want you to know.
Dear Jake,
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm
In distress you called, and I delivered you;
I answered you in the secret place of thunder.
- Psalm 81:7