It feels like they're coming at me from all sides
It feels like I've got nowhere to run, nowhere to hide
It feels like I'm never good enough
It feels like I'm always just trying
Sometimes I feel like I should give up
And sometimes I feel like I'm dying

- "Falling to Pieces" by Junior Doctor

Having Korey as a cellmate was easily the best thing that had happened to Bucky since he'd first arrived at Rikers. He could let his guard down and sleep soundly like he had in the bing, but without having to deal with the total isolation at the same time. Having that safe space to retreat to at the end of every day made it that much easier to watch his back and avoid trouble the rest of the time.

Another welcome respite was that Brad and several other members of his gang had been sent to the bing for the contraband they'd been hiding. As before, the remaining gang members continued to spread rumors and send dark looks Bucky's way, but no one dared raise a finger against him or Korey.

Spending so many more hours with Korey meant that he got to know the kid even better than before. When they were locked in their cell with the lights off, unable to sleep because of the noise or simply because their bunks were so uncomfortable, they would pass the time by talking about anything and everything. Sometimes they would sit facing each other on Korey's bunk, other times they would each lie in their own bunks, talking until one of them fell asleep.

When Korey realized how much of the world Bucky had seen, he pestered him for stories and descriptions of the places he'd visited. Most of those places didn't have the greatest associations for Bucky, but he did his best to just focus on describing the places and the customs of the people who lived there. He talked about the narrow, winding cobblestone streets and brightly-painted buildings of Florence—not mentioning the heat of the sun-warmed roof he lay on for twelve hours, lining up the perfect shot through two opened windows to lodge a bullet in the forehead of an old man coming home after visiting his grandchildren for the last time. He described the beautiful Blue Lagoon in Iceland, where there were geothermal pools of glimmering blue water like a tropical beach, surrounded by snow-covered mountains. He didn't mention what that mineral-rich water looked like when it was churned up by the desperate thrashing of a drowning man, nor the way it looked with blood swirling in it.

Korey didn't seem aware that Bucky was leaving anything out of his stories. "Man, you seen everything," Korey would sigh, when Bucky fell silent as he tried to push the memories away. "Someday, when I get outta here, I'm gonna get me a good job and save up a ton a money and go see it all. Hey, maybe you could come too, 'cause you know where all the cool stuff is! Yeah, and we'll bring Kevin. He'd like that."

Bucky never brought up the obvious flaw in Korey's plan: Bucky had no idea when, or even if, he'd be getting out of prison. But he didn't want to dash Korey's hopes the very moment they were formed, so he bit his tongue and let the kid dream while he could.

But he didn't let them remain idle pipe dreams, either. When Korey would talk about what he wanted to do once he got back home, Bucky would ask him what steps he was going to take to make it happen. At first, Korey tried to shrug these questions off, but Bucky was relentless. What kind of job was he going to get? What would he say when they asked him about his time in prison? How could he make sure he didn't just end up back here within a few months?

Though Korey wasn't too enthusiastic about it at first, Bucky eventually managed to convince him to try to get his GED. Korey had dropped out of his last year of high school, and from what he said, it didn't sound like he'd paid much attention before then either. But Bucky knew that if Korey was going to turn his life around, getting an education was an important first step.

Once Korey reluctantly agreed to give it a try, Bucky dug through the library cart until he found a few tattered old textbooks. It had been a lifetime since he'd been in school himself, but as he flipped through the books, algebra formulas and scientific facts he hadn't thought of in ages came drifting back to him. It also amazed him how easily he could remember the new material he'd never learned. He supposed his enhanced memory shouldn't surprise him after all this time, not when he struggled daily to avoid memories that refused to fade away. But he'd never been in any sort of school setting since he'd been enhanced.

Of course, Korey didn't have the benefit of near-perfect recall, so he struggled much more over the questions and practice problems in the back of the textbooks. But Bucky didn't let him give up. Instead of the endless card games they used to play, now Bucky and Korey would find a table and break open the books instead. The only teaching experience Bucky had was a handful of times he'd helped his sisters with their homework when their parents were too busy, but he did his best to help Korey figure it out.

He discovered that the hardest part was convincing Korey that he was actually smart enough to learn the material. As soon as he hit a concept that he couldn't immediately understand, he wanted to give up. Bucky had to keep reminding him of the chapters they'd successfully completed, which Korey had been convinced he would never understand. And yet, here they were, making progress.

As frustrating as it was, and even though it made them both feel like they were crushing their brains into jelly by the end of each day, Korey's studies provided both of them with an excellent distraction. With so many hours devoted to reading, explaining, and working through practice problems, there weren't many hours left in the day to worry about Brad, or struggle with old temptations, or try to avoid their own invasive thoughts.

Even at night, Korey distracted Bucky from his thoughts, rambling along at length in the hours of darkness. Bucky got the impression that this was the first time anyone had really sat down and listened to Korey in years. His father had left them shortly after Kevin was born, and his mother was too busy trying to keep them all fed and clothed. He'd spent as little time in school as he could get away with, and none of the friends he'd hung out with on the streets had really cared about his thoughts or fears. After all, most of them had the same issues at home that he did, so what was the point of talking about it when there were so many ways to distract themselves and numb the pain?

Bucky was happy to listen. Even when sometimes, late at night, he wanted to hold his head and groan, Korey, you've told me this story ten times already, so can you please shut up and go to sleep?

But that's what you did when you had a little brother. You endured the annoying quirks that drove you up the wall, because it was worth it. It was always worth it when Korey would look up with a grin when he finally got an answer right on his first try, or when he would finally talk himself out at the end of the day, and Bucky could tell from the sound of his breathing that he'd fallen into a deep, contented sleep.

There was only one thing that truly disturbed him about his newfound closeness with Korey. Even as he got to know Korey better and grew more and more comfortable with him, he felt strangely distant from Steve. He supposed it was inevitable. It had been so long since they'd really been able to experience any part of their lives together, or even been able to talk for more than an hour at a time.

The things he had to worry about and pay attention to here in jail were so much more immediate and pressing than any of the things Steve talked about. The apartment, Sam's new job, Jake's struggles, Steve's dates with Sharon...they were like stories. As intangible and unconnected to him as the stories he told Korey. And for all he knew, Steve might be leaving out certain details just like Bucky did with his stories. Even if Steve weren't doing that intentionally, it still wasn't the same as it would have been if Bucky were there to experience it all firsthand.

And then Korey's day in court finally arrived. Understandably, Korey was so nervous the day before that he couldn't focus on his studies, and Bucky had to remind him several times why it would be an extremely bad idea to trade all of his meals to get his hands on something that would 'calm him down' 24 hours before going on trial for possession of illegal substances.

The day of Korey's trial was odd for Bucky. Up till now, he'd always been the one who left to go to the courthouse or speak with his attorney, but this time he was the one left behind. He passed the time leafing through the textbooks, even though he knew they probably wouldn't get a chance to finish them together.

When Korey returned that evening, he was practically bouncing as he made a beeline for Bucky sitting at their usual table. "How'd it go?" Bucky asked as Korey plopped down across from him.

"I'm leavin' tomorrow!" Korey said in a hushed voice, grinning ear to ear.

"Wait...they're letting you go? Then why are you here?"

"Nah, they sendin' me to this place upstate somewhere. But I just gotta stay there for thirty days, and then I get to go to a halftime house."

Bucky smirked. "You mean a halfway house?"

"Yeah, whatever, man!" Korey impatiently brushed aside his slip of the tongue. "Point is, I'm outta here!"

Bucky felt his teasing smirk ease into a genuine smile. "That's great, Korey. I'm really happy for you."

Korey's face fell slightly. "I wish you could come with me, though..."

Bucky felt a stab of anxiety as he looked at his young friend. What if the prison Korey was transferring to had another Brad? What if he ended up in a horrible situation like he'd faced here, and no one was willing to stick their necks out for him like Bucky had? Even if no one tried to assault him in the showers, there would most likely be the same problem with contraband in the other prison. Without Bucky around to distract him and keep him accountable, would Korey be able to resist the temptation all around him?

But he pushed those worries aside. Right now, that wasn't what Korey needed from him. "Hey, you're going to be fine," he said, sounding more confident than he felt. "Just keep your head down, stay out of trouble, and do your time. It'll be over before you know it."

Korey nodded, picking at a loose seam in the shirt of his uniform and not looking at him. Feigning nonchalance, he said, "There was this dude on the bus today. Old-timer. He in here for some kinda drug charge too. It's his fifth time."

He fell silent, but Bucky had a feeling he knew what was on Korey's mind. "You're not coming back here, Korey. Trust me."

"Yeah?" he muttered. "How you figure that?"

If he were Steve, Bucky would probably say something earnest and slightly cheesy, like Because I believe in you. But he wasn't Steve, and he wasn't sure he could say it with a straight face. So instead, he simply said, "'Cause I'll come and knock your teeth out if you end up here again."

Korey's swift grin was the best reward he could have earned.

Bucky picked up his pad of paper and tore off a sheet he'd written on earlier in the day, while waiting for Korey to get back. "Here," he said, sliding it across the table to him. "This is Steve's address and phone number. If you ever need anything, anything at all, after you get out—or before—just mention my name, and he'll help you out. You and I won't be able to talk while we're both in jail, but we can stay in touch through him."

Korey stared down at the paper with a blank expression for so long that Bucky started to wonder if he needed to repeat himself. When he finally looked up with shining eyes, he said in a strangled whisper, "Dude! You just gave me Captain America's address! Kevin would kill to get his hands on this!"

Korey chattered on, joking about how he was going to fund his trip around the world by selling Steve Rogers autographs. Bucky just smiled and listened. Though Korey didn't say the words, Bucky could hear his thank you loud and clear.

"...James Barnes, who was named a suspect in the bombing of the U.N. on May 6th..."

Steve looked up from the shirt he was folding at the sound of Bucky's name. He'd turned on the TV to catch a bit of the news while taking care of the laundry, but he'd only been half-listening until now. Next to the news anchor was the same grainy photo that had been shown every time Bucky's name came up for the past two months. Steve was very tired of seeing it by now.

"...after the case was dismissed last week due to a lack of evidence. Among the victims of the attack was King T'Chaka of Wakanda. His son, King T'Challa, was asked to comment on these events during a press conference yesterday."

Steve recognized the man standing behind the podium as cameras flashed on all sides. "I had been reassured that the true culprit had been caught. To find out that this is not so is a renewed grievance to my people. I urge those investigating to remain vigilant, so that the one who caused such suffering is found and justice served. If the intelligence agencies of the world are unable to carry out this task, then Wakanda will step in to find the one responsible for the murder of our king."

Steve didn't have a chance to decide how he felt about what T'Challa had said, because just then, the doorbell rang. Switching off the TV, Steve crossed over to the front door. At least he was fully clothed this time...

The voice on the intercom was unfamiliar. "Is this the residence of Steven Rogers?"

Steve frowned, not wanting to say yes immediately. "Who is this?"

"David Hopkins, with Child Protective Services."

Steve's heart pounded as he buzzed the man in and waited for him to reach the top floor. He glanced over his shoulder at Jake, who was sitting at the kitchen table going through a workbook full of simple mazes, connect-the-dots, and matching puzzles. He stared at each page with a look of fierce concentration, moving quickly from one puzzle to the next and not stopping to color in the inviting pictures along the way. Soon, Steve would have to buy some more workbooks for him.

Steve realized he'd been expecting a tall, imposing man with a suit and tie, carrying a briefcase and maybe even wearing sunglasses. But the man who stepped off the elevator and strode down the hall wore khaki pants and a navy blue polo shirt, and all he carried was a thick folder under one arm. When he reached the front door, it also became clear that he only came up to Steve's shoulder. Pushing his squarish glasses up his nose, he smiled as he held out a business card. "Dave Hopkins. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rogers."

"Steve." He shook Dave's hand, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat. "Can I ask what this is about?"

"We received reports from several hospitals and emergency rooms in the area, that a Mr. Steve Rogers was asking if they had admitted any patients named Michael with a broken nose. I understand your son was involved in some way?"

Steve's hand tightened around the doorknob. He'd made those calls hoping that he could track Michael down and find some way to help pay for his medical expenses, but none of the people he'd talked to had been able to tell him anything. He'd known it was a long shot, but it was all he could think to do. So he'd left his contact information—which was clearly how Dave had known where to look for him.

Looking into Dave's calm, expectant face, Steve realized there was no point in lying about what had happened. Child Protective Services had probably spoken with Michael's mother, so they would know the full story already. The best thing he could do was tell the truth and make sure Dave heard his side as well. "Michael tried to push my son down the slide. Jake got scared, and...things got out of hand. I hope Michael's all right?"

Dave smiled reassuringly. "He'll make a full recovery. But I wonder if I could come in and talk with you briefly about Jake's situation?"

Steve wished he could say no and slam the door, but instead he stepped aside and let Dave walk in. He saw Dave glance around at his surroundings—no doubt taking in the pile of unfolded laundry on the couch and the dishes from breakfast and the night before that were still piled up in the sink.

"Hi there! Are you Jake? My name's Dave."

Jake sat rigidly at the kitchen table, clutching a crayon in one hand and watching Dave's approach warily. He didn't say anything.

"Sorry, he's a bit shy," Steve hastened to say. He cringed inwardly, sure that Dave was already coming to his own conclusions about Jake's behavior.

Not even glancing at Steve, Dave smiled warmly down at Jake. "That's all right. I'm a bit shy too. But I'd like to be friends, if that's okay with you. How old are you, Jake?"

Jake glanced over Dave's shoulder at Steve, who nodded encouragingly. Slowly, Jake raised four fingers of his free hand.

"You're four? Well, I'm forty-four. That's two fours right next to each other." He held up four fingers on each hand to demonstrate.

Jake just blinked.

"You have a really nice apartment." Dave turned to include Steve in his question, asking, "I wonder, could you give me a little tour? I'd like to see the whole place."

Steve could do nothing but comply, awkwardly showing him around while Jake trailed uncertainly behind them. Dave asked a few questions along the way about what he saw, but Steve couldn't tell what he thought of any of the answers. He began to feel a bit paranoid as he watched Dave's placid face for any sort of reaction. Did they have too many sugary cereals? Did Dave realize that the locked cabinet in Bucky's room was a gun safe? Had he replaced enough of the toys that Jake had destroyed, or did Jake's room look too sparse, like no one ever played in it?

Dave stood in the middle of Jake's pristine room and said, "I'd like to chat with Jake alone for a minute, if that's all right."

"Of course," Steve said, his stomach squirming. When he saw Jake's nervous expression, he tried to give him a reassuring smile. "It's okay, buddy. Just answer Mr. Dave's questions, and I'll be right outside. Okay?"

"Okay," Jake said in a tiny voice, staring up at Dave with huge eyes. Who knew what he thought of this unexpected change to the routine.

As he closed the door and headed back to the living room, Steve could hear Dave cheerfully asking Jake what his favorite toy was. Probably, if he concentrated hard, he'd be able to eavesdrop on the whole conversation, but Steve forced himself not to. Just to give himself something to focus on instead, he went back to the pile of laundry on the couch. When he reached for a couple of Jake's socks, he discovered that his hands were shaking.

What kind of questions would Dave ask? Even worse, how would Jake respond? Steve had grown used to the restrained, almost numb way Jake reacted most of the time—the way he never smiled, never chattered away when he had someone's attention, never even seemed to relax—but what would that mean to someone like Dave? He didn't know anything about where Jake had come from, so he would probably assume that Jake's strange behavior was a result of how Steve treated him.

And what then? Steve suddenly found himself recalling some of the things Secretary Ross had said to him, months ago. Subtle insinuations that he wasn't capable of raising Jake himself, or that he would be too much of a handful because of the unique challenges his background presented. That Jake needed to be watched carefully, like he was a danger to the people around him...

If Ross had caught wind of what had happened in the park, he was probably feeling pretty smug right about now.

Before Steve's thoughts could spiral any further into the pit of dread opening in his stomach, Jake's door opened and Dave emerged once more. Steve ushered him to the kitchen table, hastily clearing away Jake's crayons and workbook. "Here, buddy," he said softly to Jake, handing them over. "Why don't you put these away and go play in your room for a bit while I talk to Mr. Dave?"

Jake silently did as he was told, his face inscrutable as usual. Steve wondered if he would actually touch any of his toys, or if he was just going to sit stiffly on his bed like it was a time-out.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Steve asked, following Dave back to the kitchen.

"No, thank you," Dave said, already sitting down and opening his folder to shuffle through the papers there. "I won't take up too much more of your time."

Steve sat down across from him, trying not to look too nervous.

Apparently, he wasn't too successful, because Dave smiled and said soothingly, "Now, please don't be too alarmed, Steve. I know it can be unsettling for someone like me to show up on your doorstep, but I promise, I'm just here to make sure your son is doing okay. Whenever there's an incident like the one last Saturday, we just want to check in on all the parties involved and make sure we're getting the full story. Now, I wonder if you could answer some questions, help me get a better picture of your family's situation..."

As they began to talk, Steve knew right away that he wasn't going to be able to just brush off Dave's questions. He had to tell him everything. Jake's background was nowhere close to ordinary, so the full truth was the only way he'd ever be able to convince anyone that yes, Jake had been abused, but not by Steve.

To his credit, Dave didn't seem disturbed by any of the details of the story. He didn't look skeptical, either, but just sat calmly taking notes and occasionally asking a question to clarify something. He barely even seemed to acknowledge that he was speaking to Captain America himself, hearing the inside story of the infiltration of a Hydra base. He just sat there unflappably, as if he saw cases like this every day, asking things like, "So Jake's enhanced strength is a factor in that, would you say?"

He also asked about Steve's disciplinary methods. Steve's pulse skyrocketed, but he tried to remain calm as he talked about Jake's recent trouble with temper tantrums. He wanted to sink beneath the floor as he described the ways he'd been trying to teach Jake to respond in more positive ways. That was the part of parenting he felt the most insecure about—and clearly, he wasn't doing a good enough job, or Dave wouldn't be here right now.

Finally, they reached the end of Dave's questions. "Thank you for your time, Steve," he said, slipping his notes back into his folder. "I'll be in touch."

"Did we...pass the test?" Steve tried to smile.

"I saw nothing to concern me about your home," Dave said with a pleasant smile. "And I can tell that you love your son very much."

"More than anything," Steve murmured.

"However, I'm sure I don't need to tell you that there are some concerning aspects about Jake's behavior and social skills." Dave pulled a few brochures out of his folder and handed them to Steve. "I would recommend seeing about getting some professional help for him."

Steve's jaw clenched as he glanced over the brochures, advertising various psychiatric clinics that specialized in children's behavioral issues. One phrase jumped out at him that turned his insides to ice: Residential treatment center. Sending Jake away to some mental hospital, where he would be surrounded by doctors and psychologists? Strangers who knew nothing about how Hydra had treated him, thinking they knew how to raise Jake better than his own father did? People who didn't love him for the amazing little kid he was, but just looked at him as a patient, a problem to be solved...

No. He wasn't going to let that happen.

"Steve." Dave got to his feet, tucking his folder under his arm again. "I want to assure you that I am 100% on Jake's side. All I'm trying to do is make sure that he has everything he needs to grow up healthy and happy. I'm sure you can agree with me on that."

"Yeah." Dropping the brochures on the table, Steve pushed himself to his feet as well, struggling to keep his thoughts from showing on his face. "Thank you for checking in on us."

"You have my number," Dave said, heading for the front door. "Please don't hesitate to call if you have any questions or concerns."

"Right." Steve watched Dave walk down the hall and step into the elevator. He had to consciously remind himself not to slam the front door.

Steve went back to the brochures on the table. His chest felt strangely tight as he picked them up and looked again at the pictures of cheerful children playing in clean, brightly-colored rooms. He moved to rip the brochures in half, but stopped himself.

Even though he wasn't going to entertain for a second the thought of sending Jake away somewhere, Dave had a point that he needed help. He had no idea what he was doing, and muddling through as he had been was clearly not working. He needed some advice—from someone who wouldn't tell him to shuffle his responsibilities off to someone else, like his son was just an inconvenience.

Mulling over all this, Steve tucked the brochures behind a book on the bookcase and returned to folding the laundry.

"So he gave me some brochures, and then he left."

Bucky listened to Steve's story in silence, taking in the many emotions flitting across Steve's face as he talked about what Dave Hopkins had said during his visit. When Steve fell silent, Bucky realized he was probably supposed to say something. But he didn't really know how to respond, so he just asked the first thing that came to mind. "What are you going to do?"

"Well, not send Jake away, obviously," Steve grumbled, leaning back in his chair with a weary sigh. "As if that would help anything."

"I think he had a point, though," Bucky said softly. "About Jake's social skills. He doesn't exactly know how to play with others."

"He doesn't know how to play, period." Steve squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked like he hadn't slept at all last night.

Just like him. Funny, how hard it had been to fall asleep last night without Korey yakking away.

Say something. You're supposed to say something. This is the part where you say something. Bucky couldn't figure out which voice was talking to him, but he knew it was right. Steve had told him what was going on and how he felt about it, because he was looking for advice. Or at least comfort.

But Bucky's mind was completely blank. He was the last person who should advise anyone on how to be a father. But if he said that...he would be telling Steve that he was alone, and that wasn't what Steve needed to hear right now. Even though there wasn't a single thing Bucky could do to help.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I don't know what to do either."

"Don't worry about it," Steve said, smiling bravely though Bucky could see the uncertainty swimming in his eyes. "I'm sure I'll figure it out eventually."

Bucky smiled faintly. "All you have to do is try?"

Steve's smile became more genuine. "Exactly. Maybe if I just keep on loving him and taking care of him...one day he'll understand. It worked with you, right?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Bucky averted his eyes. Steve was trying to be optimistic, so he probably shouldn't bring up all the ways Jake's situation was so different from his own. Like how he'd been able to remember being Bucky, so even though he had to relearn how to be happy and more or less stable, he'd at least had an example of what that had looked like. But Jake had no frame of reference to work from.

Bucky suddenly realized Steve's hopeful expression was beginning to fall, so he quickly said, "Yeah." But he was just saying it because he knew that was what Steve expected him to say, and he could tell that Steve knew that.

It would be so much easier to talk about this if they were both at home, with Jake in the next room. Then they could talk about whether they needed to do something different, and it wouldn't sound like Bucky was accusing Steve of not doing enough. Bucky would actually be able to see what was happening every day, and maybe that would give him some insight, some idea of what Steve was missing.

Instead, he was just sitting here in prison. Completely useless.

Oh, please, the voice whispered in his ear. You've failed all your own children. What makes you think you'd do any better with someone else's?

Bucky's stomach lurched sickeningly, but just then Officer Guerra came over and said, "Time's up, Barnes."

Steve glanced up at him, then gave Bucky a warm smile. "We'll talk more later. Love you, Buck."

Bucky wanted to say something that would somehow reassure Steve that he was a good father, much better than he even realized, but he couldn't find the words fast enough. So instead, he just murmured, "You too," and hung up the phone.

As Officer Guerra walked him back to his cell block, Bucky concentrated on ignoring the whispers telling him He came to you for comfort and you didn't help him at all, and listen instead to the murmurs of He didn't tell you those things for you to solve all his problems; he just wants you to listen.

One thing that neither voice could deny was how distant he felt from Steve right now. He didn't want to dwell on that depressing thought, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. The problems Steve was facing were so far removed from his own, and he was at a complete loss as to how to help from such a distance.

He wondered if they would ever be able to reach across this gap.

It had been a lousy day. The visit with Bucky hadn't exactly been cheerful or encouraging. And then Jake had thrown not one but two temper tantrums, one of which had ended with him throwing everything on the kitchen counter—including the knife block—onto the floor. There was no permanent damage done except for a mug that no longer had a handle, but Steve's nerves were frazzled to the breaking point. And today was one of the days Sam led a group at the VA, so he didn't even have anyone to talk to that evening.

He was unspeakably grateful when he got a distraction in the form of a phone call from Clint. Dave Hopkins' visit had made Steve desperate for parenting advice—from someone who knew what they were talking about and knew him. It had taken Steve an embarrassingly long time to remember that he knew someone who fit the bill perfectly.

They had begun with a few texts back and forth, but then Clint had suggested that they call each other that evening after putting their kids to bed. So after the usual bedtime ritual of tucking Jake in, turning on his language recordings, and saying "I love you" without any kind of response, Steve settled onto the couch in the living room with his phone.

Since Clint's older children went to bed later than Jake, Steve had to wait a while before he was free. When Clint finally called, Steve could hear the grating of cicadas in the background. He must be outside—maybe sitting on his porch. "Hey, Cap. Sorry for the delay, but the kiddos are in bed reading now. Even Wanda."

"Thanks for making the time," Steve said. "How's Wanda doing, by the way?"

"We'll make a farm girl out of her yet," Clint chuckled. "Vision...not so much. Still, you gotta admire a guy who'll go this far out of his comfort zone for his girl. And he never complains."

"So...are they...?"

"Official? Nah, they're still in what Laura calls the 'clueless stage.' It's just a matter of time before I have to lay some ground rules, though... Oh, crap. Am I gonna have to give the Talk to an android...?"

Steve chuckled. He'd noticed a number of lingering looks between Wanda and Vision while they'd all been living at the Avengers compound, not to mention how much time they'd been spending together. It was a bit odd to contemplate Wanda falling in love with an android who was technically only a little more than a year old. But then, their situation wasn't much stranger than his, and the same could probably be said of a lot of enhanced individuals.

"But you didn't get in touch just to talk about our friends' love lives," Clint said. "You wanted some parenting advice or something?"

"Yeah," Steve said, sitting straighter as he pulled his mind back to the matter at hand. "I just...I'm at the end of my rope here, and I figured you have three times as much experience as me, so maybe you could help."

"Hey, I've got it pretty easy," Clint said, a fond smile audible in his voice. "I've got an amazing wife to pick up the slack when I let something slip. You're kind of on your own out there. I mean, you've got Sam to help out, but still...not the same."

"Yeah," Steve said with a heavy sigh. His thoughts flitted away to Sharon for a moment. What kind of mother would she make?

"So what's going on?" Clint asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Steve briefly explained what had happened at the park, and Dave's visit afterwards. Somehow, it sounded worse every time he repeated the story to someone new. "I don't know what to do," he said, wearily closing his eyes. "Have any of your kids had any trouble with getting into fights?"

"I mean, Nate's a feisty little slugger, but he doesn't quite have full motor control yet," Clint quipped. "We haven't had too much trouble with Cooper and Lila in that area—but then, we've been raising them to not hit people. Jake's upbringing was kinda the opposite, right? Let's see... When the kids are getting too antsy, I usually send them out to chop firewood or clean out the stalls or take a walk, at least. I tell them not to come back inside until they're calm enough to talk about it. That way, they can get some of that energy out on something they can't hurt."

"That's a good idea." Steve had been trying to do something like that with their trips to the park, but he supposed he should have known it wouldn't be enough exertion for an enhanced kid like Jake. "But it's a bit harder to do that here in the city..."

"Maybe find a gym or something?" Clint suggested. "They've got kids' programs for all kinds of stuff. Or, y'know, you could train him too. You're not too shabby at that kind of thing yourself."

Steve quirked an eyebrow. "Gee, thanks."

"So what kind of games and stuff do you play with Jake now?"

"Yeah, about that..." Steve shifted to a more comfortable position, grimacing to himself as he pictured Jake standing with perfect posture in the middle of his room, as if awaiting orders. "I don't think he really understands how to play. That wasn't exactly a priority for Hydra."

"Well, then you gotta play with him," Clint said, as if that should be obvious. "Show him how it's done. Play pretend. Talk to him in funny voices, make weird faces. Kids learn through observation—especially abused kids like Jake. He's always watching you, right? He looks to you to figure out how to act. So don't be afraid to get silly. Show him how to just be carefree and have fun. If there's one thing my kids have taught me, it's how to laugh at myself. Life is pretty ridiculous, when you really think about it. Kids are the ones smart enough to just enjoy it."

Steve couldn't help smiling at that. "Very wise. I'll keep that in mind."

"So what kind of stuff do the two of you do, if Jake doesn't know how to play?"

As Steve described the kinds of activities they usually filled their days with, he realized how limited his activities had become. He'd been trying to use Hydra's training as a kind of baseline, a jumping-off point that would give Jake something familiar to ease him into a more normal life. That meant a lot of books and puzzles, or simple games to engage Jake's memory and reflexes. Handling weapons had been Bucky's area, and that had stopped once he was arrested. Steve hadn't wanted to reinforce Hydra's emphasis on testing the very limits of Jake's physical abilities, so he also hadn't been making Jake do much exercise.

"I'm no pediatrician or child psychologist or whatever," Clint said when he was finished, "but I have had experience with two four-year-olds so far. Cooper especially had tons of energy at that age. He was constantly on the move. So maybe you just need to wear Jake out a bit more, so he uses some of that up instead of throwing tantrums."

"That makes a lot of sense," Steve said with a nod. "His enhanced strength probably gives him even more energy than normal. He just doesn't show it because of his training...until it all boils over."

"Exactly. And you know, you don't have to put him on a treadmill or something if you don't want. There's all sorts of games you can play to engage his mind too—like Simon Says or Red Light, Green Light. You wouldn't believe how many games of Hide and Seek I've played in my time."

"I feel like I should be taking notes," Steve said. To his own surprise, he found his heart lifting slightly at the end of this disheartening day. Maybe he hadn't exhausted all of his options yet.

"Hey," Clint said, as if he'd suddenly gotten an idea. "Why don't you and Jake come for a weekend or something? Sam's welcome too, of course. I mean, I totally get it if you can't because of Bucky..."

Steve imagined the look on Jake's face when he saw a real, live farm for the first time after reading about them in picture books. The air would be so much cleaner and fresher than it was here in the city, and there would be so much open space for him to run around in. And he would be able to see a normal, fully-functional family for the first time. He would see what it was all supposed to look like.

"That sounds amazing," he said, his smile widening the more he thought about it. "I'm sure we can work something out."

"Cool. Guess I'd better make sure Laura's okay with it too," Clint added with a laugh. "If I invite over some more superhero friends without telling her, I'll never hear the end of it."

I will not leave you or forsake you.

- Joshua 1:5