I know you're distant
You're hardly ever home
I feel the tension
Spiral out of control
I don't remember the last time I felt this low

...

Does that make me selfish?
For wanting you all to my, all to myself
I can't help it
No, I don't want nobody else

- "Selfish" by SVRCINA

You don't need to be looking at this. Stephanos stood at his right side, his hand reassuringly gripping Bucky's shoulder.

But you deserve it. Brad crouched at his other side, looming over him and dripping viscous shadows all over Bucky's metal arm.

This isn't helping anyone. Least of all you.

You need to know. You need to see what they were able to do because of you.

It's not your fault.

But they would never have been able to even start Project Legacy if your DNA hadn't been ripe for the picking. So does it really make a difference either way?

Bucky knew he shouldn't listen to a thing Brad said, but a morbid curiosity had him in its clutches. He'd already fallen headfirst into the rabbit hole. He had to follow it all the way down.

Natasha sat at the other end of the table, tapping away at the keys and absently chewing on the end of her braid. Clint sat across from her, yawning over his cup of coffee. None of them spoke much, except when Natasha and Clint conferred over some technical matter. Bucky hadn't said a word since yesterday. And unlike Steve, it seemed these two had no power to banish his hallucinations.

He might as well be alone. Alone except for his demons and the sordid past haunting him.

Stephanos' hand tightened on his shoulder. You need to go talk to Steve about this. Let him help. You know he'd want to.

As if he has time to spare for your stupid problems, Brad sneered. He'd only tell you to stop whining about things you can't change.

You know very well he would never say that.

But do you really want to place another burden on his shoulders right now? He's got that little brat of his to worry about. Don't distract him with something that has nothing to do with him.

He wants you to share this with him.

This is your burden.

You're not alone.

Bucky put a weary hand to his head. He would scream and pound his head against the wall if he thought it would do any good, but he already knew it wouldn't shut up the voices clamoring in his head.

They both had a point...but...in the end, he reached out and clicked on the file he'd been debating over for the past ten minutes.

He was deep in the files leaked when S.H.I.E.L.D. had fallen. Tony had summarized the pertinent information when he'd first introduced all of this to them. He'd briefly glossed over the failed attempts Hydra had made at creating supersoldiers before they'd gotten their hands on the serum. So much of the Avengers' attention had been focused on the more recent phase of Project Legacy, on the victims they still had a possibility of saving.

He'd almost forgotten about the earlier victims. The innocent, unenhanced women who had wasted away because of the unborn children they had carried.

His children.

"Okay, Jake!" Steve called, knocking on the door. "Time to get up!"

He knew Jake would already be up and dressed, probably standing at attention and waiting to shout Hail Hydra despite Steve's reminders that he shouldn't say that anymore. But it didn't hurt to keep some consistency even in the way he announced himself in the mornings. That way, Jake would be able to predict something, at least.

As soon as he opened the door, though, Steve realized that this morning was a little different than usual. For one thing, all the bedding was wadded up in a pile in the middle of the bed, rather than being neatly made already. For another, he caught a whiff of something that smelled like...yes, that was definitely urine.

It took a moment for Steve to spot Jake. Rather than standing squarely in front of the door like a miniature soldier, he stood wedged in the far corner between the wall and the bedside table. He wasn't hiding, exactly, but he looked like he was trying to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible. He was already dressed, as usual, but he was staring at his shoes.

"Jake?" Steve asked gently. "Did you have a little accident?"

Jake didn't say anything, but he looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He flinched when Steve stepped forward and reached for the bed coverings.

Sure enough, there was a yellowish stain on the mattress cover, about the spot where Jake would have been lying. He glanced over at Jake, noting the dark circles under his eyes. How long had he been standing there, waiting for Steve to come see what he'd done?

"Jake...when something like this happens, you can come get me right away, you know. We can get this cleaned up pretty quickly." He considered the stain thoughtfully. Jake was already potty-trained, but he was still so young. It was relatively common for kids that young to still have accidents, right? He probably needed to get a book on parenting or something...

Steve turned back to Jake, trying to keep his face and his voice calm and nonjudgmental. "What happened, buddy? Did you wet the bed when you were asleep?"

Jake looked up at him, his face so pale it made his eyes stand out even more than usual. He shook his head.

"Then how come you couldn't get to the bathroom in time?"

Jake's whole face twisted in a desperate expression of frustrated consternation. Combined with the fear that was making him visibly tremble, he looked like he was about to cry. But no tears came to his eyes as he said in a tiny voice, "Be...Because you...didn't...you didn't t-tell me...I could go..."

Steve quickly sifted back through his memories, trying to think of every time he knew Jake had used the bathroom. He couldn't remember a single time that Jake had gone without Steve prompting him first in some way. It had become routine for him to ask Jake if he needed it after meals and before bed...but last night, he'd forgotten. And he couldn't recall a single time that Jake had even asked to use the bathroom.

Slowly, Steve sank to one knee so he could look his son in the eye better. "Jake, you don't need my permission to use the bathroom. If you need to go, you can just go! Whenever you want to. Just knock if the door's closed, and if someone's in there already, you just wait until they're done. You don't need to wait for me to tell you when to go. Do you understand?"

"Y-Yes, sir." Trembling like a leaf, Jake pulled off his shirt and prostrated himself on the ground.

"No...Jake..."

"Ready to receive my correction."

Steve looked in despair at Jake's thin shoulders trembling as he waited for a punishment he still didn't realize was never going to come.

He thought he was going to get a beating for wetting the bed, and all because Steve had forgotten to dictate his every move. Was this how Hydra had potty-trained him? Beating him every time his bodily functions didn't match their rigid schedule?

Jake had no concept of regulating his own needs. As he thought back over the hours they'd spent together, Steve realized that any time he'd been left to his own devices, Jake would just...sit there. Like a little robot waiting for someone to tell him what to do. And when he was presented with a task he didn't know how to perform, Steve had to explain every single step of the process—even for something as simple as getting into a tub of water to take a bath.

Steve needed to reorient his thinking. He couldn't just assume that Jake would understand how things worked unless Steve explicitly explained them to him. Even something as basic as going to the bathroom.

With a sigh, Steve settled down on his knees next to Jake. "I'm going to put my hand on your back," he said. "I'm just going to touch you, not hurt you."

When he gently pressed his palm to Jake's bare back, the boy flinched at the touch. Steve just kept his hand there, slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth along the bumps of Jake's vertebrae. He could feel Jake's whole body trembling.

"It was an accident, Jake," he said softly. "And I'm sorry if it was confusing to you when I didn't remind you to go before bed. But I mean it. If there's ever anything you need, you can ask for it. And if there's something you're not sure about...please, just ask me. I promise I will never get mad at you for asking."

Jake didn't say anything, but there were no more terrified shudders running down his spine. He just lay there and let Steve lightly stroke his back. Hopefully, he was listening and taking Steve's words to heart.

He stood in a long, narrow room lined with beds. In each of the five beds lay a woman wearing a plain white dress that bulged in the curve of advanced pregnancy. Their faces were blurred and indistinct, but he could see their long hair fanning out on the pillows. One had black hair, one blonde, one red, one brown, and one so pale it almost looked white.

The Winter Soldier loomed over the nearest bed. He raised the knife in his hand and pointed it at the black-haired woman.

Somewhere deep inside, Bucky struggled. He tried to put his hand down, drop the knife, and walk away, but the Winter Soldier was stronger. He raised the knife over his head.

Bucky and the woman on the bed screamed at the same time. The blade came down, ripping into her flesh. Blood gushed out, splashing up onto his face. He reached his hands into the bloody cavity and pulled out a small, wailing baby.

It looked like Grant. Tiny, wrinkled face. Stick-thin arms flailing around. But this one wasn't just gasping feebly, it was screaming with all its might.

"Barnes."

The metal hand closed around the baby's fragile skull, tightening until—

"Barnes, wake up!"

Bucky surged upright with a shuddering gasp, frantically trying to wipe the blood from his hands. He looked around wildly, but there were no rows of beds. No woman lying in a puddle of blood. No baby screaming in his hands. And his hands were clean.

He sat slumped over the table in front of the computer screen. Natasha stood just out of arm's reach, watching him with a concerned expression.

"You were...groaning," she said gently. "Thought I should wake you up."

"Sorry," Bucky said, running a shaking hand over his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the vivid images from his mind.

"You've hardly left this room in three days," Natasha said gently. "I think...maybe you should take a break."

Clearing his throat, Bucky straightened and tried to focus on the screen in front of him. It depicted the file on one of the nameless women who had carried his child for a few months before both had died. There was a small ultrasound picture in the file, just an indistinct blob that could be a head.

He could feel his fingers closing around that tiny skull, ready to crush it...

"Okay, that's enough." Natasha reached over and folded the computer screen down. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him, as if daring him to protest.

Bucky just sighed. He was too tired to argue. There was a crick in his neck from the way he'd been sleeping, and his head was beginning to pound.

"Go sleep in a real bed for once," Natasha said. "Talk to Steve about what you found. Or spend a day without worrying about all this. You're not gonna do anyone any good if you just keep running yourself into the ground like this."

She looked like she was going to stand there tapping her foot and waiting for him to do what she said. So he heaved himself to his feet and shuffled out without another word.

He didn't know what time it was, but it was dark outside the windows. He didn't know what day it was, either, or when the last time was that he'd eaten or showered. He didn't feel like trying to figure it out.

Bucky dragged himself up the flight of stairs to the top floor. It must have been late, because everything was dark and quiet. The only thing he heard was Natasha following him up the stairs, and the refrigerator humming softly as it turned on.

He let himself into his darkened room, moving softly so as not to disturb Steve. He could hear Steve's deep, even breaths. The rhythm suggested he was in a deep sleep. After so many nights sitting in the darkness, just listening to his best friend breathing, he knew what every stage sounded like.

Good. Steve wouldn't wake up. The last thing Bucky wanted right now was to answer questions or have a conversation.

He didn't want to talk to Steve or anyone else. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to exist.

Bucky didn't have the energy to change his clothes, so all he did was kick off his shoes and pull off his sweatshirt. Then he eased himself into bed, hoping Steve wouldn't mind waking up next to someone reeking of several days' worth of sweat.

He curled up on his side, pulling the blankets up over his nose. He felt cold down to the bone, and for a moment, he almost rolled over to Steve's pocket of warmth.

But he didn't. And Steve was fast asleep, so he didn't reach out.

Bucky huddled under the blankets, wide awake. One thought kept running through his mind, over and over again. I have six children. And they're all dead. Five of them never drew a single breath. The other was forced into seven pregnancies. And then died right in front of me. I have six children...

In the week or so since bringing Jake home, Steve had fallen into a new routine he was slowly growing used to. He would knock on Jake's door in the morning, Jake would often catch himself halfway through saying Hail Hydra, and he would get dressed. There were meals to be eaten, in which Steve would gently encourage Jake towards better table manners. The rest of the day, Steve would try to think of things they could do together—playing games, reading books, going on walks. He would pretend they were just a normal father and son having a good time. Jake would take a nap every afternoon, during which time Steve would often go on a run or take care of business he hadn't been able to get to while Jake held all of his attention. Some evenings he would give Jake a bath, and every night he told Jake he loved him, then went to bed.

But this morning seemed like it might offer a break in the routine. For one thing, Bucky had actually come to bed at some point in the night. And he hadn't rushed off before Steve could fully wake up, either. Bucky didn't say much, and he was moving sluggishly, but it seemed he didn't intend to rush off and analyze the files as he'd been doing for the past several days.

Steve tried a couple times to strike up a conversation while he got dressed, but Bucky only made one-word responses, so he gave up. Bucky had never been a morning person; he probably just needed to wake up the rest of the way. Maybe some hot chocolate would perk him up.

Bucky seemed to be gathering up his things to take a shower. "I'm going to get Jake," Steve said. "Come on out to the kitchen when you're done; I'll make some breakfast."

Bucky didn't say anything as Steve left the room.

But Steve's phone rang as he headed for Jake's closed door. When he checked the number to see who was calling at such an early hour, his heart immediately sank. Not again, he sighed to himself, pressing the button to answer.

"Good morning, Mr. Rogers. This is Aniela Kowalski—"

"Yes, I can take the call," Steve said impatiently. Sticking his head back through the bedroom door, he spotted Bucky standing by the window. "Hey, Buck, I've got a phone call. Could you just make sure Jake is up and dressed?"

"No."

The refusal took Steve completely by surprise. "What? Why?"

Bucky shrugged. He stood with his back to Steve, staring out the window and not saying another word.

Steve clenched his teeth against an unexpected wave of irritation. "Well, if you don't have a reason," he bit out, "maybe you could stop being selfish for a second and help me out here. I'm in the middle of a call, and there's a hungry kid out there who needs breakfast."

"He's your kid," Bucky muttered. "Not mine."

"Good morning, Captain Rogers!" an unwelcome voice blared in his ear. "I hope you're doing—"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Secretary," Steve interrupted. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave a message. A small domestic issue has just come up that I need to deal with."

"No, don't—"

Too late. He'd already hung up.

Steve stared at Bucky's back. He didn't know if he'd just offended Ross, and he honestly didn't care. This was going to be a difficult conversation, and it needed to happen now.

He hadn't realized until this very moment how much Bucky's lack of engagement had been bothering him, but now it all came spilling out. "I know Jake isn't your son," Steve said, fighting to keep his voice level. "But he is your grandson. He's your responsibility too. Your family."

Bucky crossed his arms, hugging his clean clothes to his chest.

"I need your help, Bucky!" Steve said, taking a step into the room. He could hear his voice rising despite his best efforts. "I can't do this on my own. You think I have the first idea how to be a father? I never even knew my father! I have no idea what I'm doing, so I need you to be involved... Are you even listening to me?" He demanded, stepping closer.

Bucky stood stock still, not saying a word or even looking at him. His hair hid his face from view.

In the silence that fell after Steve stopped talking, he heard a tiny, trembling breath—almost a sniffle.

"Buck?"

The clothes tumbled to the floor as Bucky's hands flew to his face. He let out a choked, muffled sob.

Just like that, every ounce of anger and frustration evaporated like a fog disappearing in the sunlight. Steve could see clearly now what he should have seen all along. "Buck..."

He reached out tentatively, half-expecting Bucky to pull away from him. Instead, as soon as Steve's hand touched his shoulder, Bucky turned in to the embrace and clutched desperately at the back of Steve's shirt. His whole body shuddered with the force of his sobs, each one following so closely on the heels of the last that he could hardly draw breath.

Steve shot Sam a hasty text before sliding his phone into his pocket and wrapping both arms around Bucky. "It's okay," he whispered, rubbing his hand up and down Bucky's back. "It's okay..."

"I'm-I'm s...I'm sor—"

"No, no..." He pressed a gentle, firm kiss to Bucky's cheek. "I'm sorry too."

"I'm s-sorry...sorry..."

He ran his fingers through Bucky's hair, gently combing out the tangles. "You're forgiven. Will you forgive me too?"

Bucky nodded against his neck, though the only sound he made was another choked sob.

At that moment, Steve saw movement out of the corner of his eye and looked over at the door. Jake stood just outside the doorway, watching them with wide, round eyes. He wondered what Jake thought of this spectacle.

As Steve watched, Sam opened the door to the hallway, looking in their direction and seeming to take in the situation at a glance. He crossed the room and softly closed the door to the bedroom. Steve could hear him quietly talking to Jake, leading him off to the kitchen to get his breakfast.

Returning his attention to Bucky, Steve tightened his grip around his best friend. As painful as it was to see how much Bucky was hurting, Steve couldn't deny that it came with a certain measure of relief too. This was how it was supposed to be. This was what he'd been missing every time Bucky turned away from him, or simply hadn't been available when Steve wanted to reach out. All he wanted was to be there for Bucky, and for Bucky to be with him.

As Steve rubbed Bucky's back in soothing circles, Bucky's sobs gradually calmed down, the shuddering gasps in between growing less desperate. For several minutes, he just stood there, sniffling and resting his forehead on Steve's shoulder.

When he finally spoke, Bucky's voice was a mere whisper. "I saw her."

"Saw who?"

"Her. Mabel. I saw her before she died."

"Before..." Steve's heart skipped a beat, thinking back to the young woman he'd seen lying in a pool of her own blood in a Hydra operating room. At the time, most of his attention had been focused on Bucky, sitting on the floor and singing to Grant's corpse. "She was...alive? When you found her?"

"Yeah," Bucky whispered hoarsely. "For a few seconds."

Steve let out a shaky breath, trying to imagine it. Bucky, coming face-to-face with his daughter, only to watch the life leave her eyes... He gripped Bucky tighter, as if somehow he could save him from the pain that had already been inflicted on him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Bucky's chest lurched with a silent sob. "It...It wasn't...so heavy then."

"What's so heavy?"

"That...That I had no idea...no idea...who I was looking at. Not...Not really. She was bleeding out...pale as death...crying... She looked at me...with these w-wide eyes...and all I could think to say was...It's okay, you can rest now...and...and sh-she stopped breathing."

As Bucky's voice broke, Steve's eyes began filling with tears. He could practically see it happening right in front of him.

"Tell me how I'm supposed to deal with that, Steve," Bucky mumbled, his voice so small Steve could barely hear it. "Tell me h-how I'm s'posed to handle...w-watching you with Jake. I don't even know how to come close. You knew from the start, like a bolt of lightning: He was yours. But...I looked at Mabel and...I felt no connection. I felt nothing."

His fingers tightened their grip around Steve's shirt. "I didn't know her. I d-didn't ask for her. I wasn't ready for her, and-and I prob'ly couldn't even have helped her...but...but I want her, Steve. I w-want her!"

As Bucky broke down again, Steve squeezed his eyes shut against the tears. "I know," he whispered, holding Bucky close. "You love her."

Bucky nodded, letting out a sound as if someone had punched him in the stomach. His knees buckled, and Steve hastily guided him over to the bed. They sat on the edge, Bucky not letting Steve go for an instant.

Steve let Bucky sob on his shoulder, rubbing his back rhythmically. Tears rolled down Steve's cheeks as he thought of Mabel. Bucky might think he wasn't ready to be a father, but Steve knew that if he'd had a chance, he could have been the best father in the world for Mabel. He would have loved her...taken care of her...sat with her patiently through every fearful night, helped her through every one of her many setbacks...

Would it have been hard? Of course. But Bucky was the strongest, bravest person Steve had ever known. And when he loved...he loved with all his heart. He had been robbed of the chance to prove that to a girl who needed it more than anyone.

Bucky drew a massive, shuddering breath. "I m-miss her, Stevie. I never even knew her, and I miss her. How...How does that make any sense at all?"

Steve nodded. He knew exactly what Bucky was talking about, because he felt the same about Eve and Grant. He carried the weight of their lost lives in his heart, even though he'd never seen either of them alive. He couldn't imagine how much more painful it must be for a parent to lose children they'd known for their entire lives.

"Sh-She was right there," Bucky whispered, "and she needed someone to help her...a long time ago. Long before we ever got there. I had no idea who she was. I still don't know. I never will. All I know is she was there...and I let her down."

"That's not fair, Buck." Steve shook his head against Bucky's. "You didn't know about any of this."

Bucky sniffled miserably. "But I know Hydra. We could have started deciphering those records years ago...finding more sleeper cells, destroying more projects, undercutting all their—"

"Stop." Steve pressed his cheek to Bucky's to emphasize the word. "We had to make a choice. And when we found out about them, we dropped everything to go uncover the truth. We didn't know what we would find, but that didn't matter. We did everything we could." He turned his head to kiss Bucky's cheek. "You saved her, Buck. The last person she saw was someone who loved her. God knows no one in Hydra did."

Bucky gripped him so tightly it hurt, dragging in a shuddering breath. "She didn't...d-deserve any of it."

"No," Steve sighed, stroking his fingers soothingly through Bucky's hair. "No, she didn't."

They sat like that for a long time, quietly mourning the lives that had slipped away too soon. Gradually, Bucky's breaths evened out as he settled in Steve's embrace. Steve could feel his weariness like it was his own. Bucky had been carrying this weight alone for too long.

When Bucky finally broke the silence, it was with a whisper that seemed dredged from the deepest, darkest corner of his heart. "I'm jealous of you."

"Jealous?"

Bucky turned his head as if to hide his face in the curve of Steve's neck. "Because you get a second chance." A shudder ran through him. "How horrible is that? How can I resent that your kid is still alive when mine isn't?" Tears welled up in his voice again. "'M sorry, Stevie. Sorry I'm...s-such a terrible person..."

"I don't think that at all," Steve murmured. "I wish you could have a second chance too. I would give just about anything to make that possible."

Bucky pulled back from Steve's embrace, hugging his arms close to his chest and refusing to meet his gaze. "You're such a good person, Steve. A lot better than me." He sighed heavily, scrubbing his sleeve across his tear-streaked face. "I'm sorry about Jake. But...I guess you probably don't want me anywhere near him anymore."

Steve couldn't really see Bucky's face, but he carefully took in the rest of his body language. "And why wouldn't I?"

There was a pause, then Bucky swiped his hand over his eyes again. "'Cause I...I r-ruin everything I touch..."

Steve gently tilted Bucky's head back to look into his eyes, then gave him a gentle but deliberate kiss. He pressed his palm to Bucky's cheek, holding him in place and brushing the tears away with his thumb. "Did you ruin me too? Because the best parts of me are you."

Bucky's lip trembled, and he shook his head.

Taking Bucky's hands in his, Steve watched his broken expression with an ache in his chest. "Look," he said quietly, "if you still need more time, I understand. But please...talk to me about it? Let me help. And when you're ready...I hope you'll get to know Jake a little. I think he needs you as much as he needs me."

Bucky drew a deep breath, then nodded. In his eyes, courage shimmered somewhere behind the uncertainty and pain. "I'll try. I...I don't know what I can do to help, but...I promise I'll try."

Steve pulled him in for another long hug. "That's all I want. Thank you."

Again I saw all the oppressions that are done under the sun. And behold, the tears of the oppressed, and they had no one to comfort them! On the side of their oppressors there was power, and there was no one to comfort them.

- Ecclesiastes 4:1

Author's Note: The last scene of this chapter is one I started calling "the Not-Argument" XD It was originally going to be an actual argument, where Steve and Bucky would actually get to the point of a serious disagreement, and they would raise their voices and everything. But once I started writing it...it just didn't fit. They know each other too well to devolve into petty, hurtful misunderstandings that easily.