Saving Bucky (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Chapter 33 - Schematics and Associates

"Steve let's go," you groan from the entrance to the tunnel, waiting anxiously as you cast a glance back at the super soldier, lumbering about as he gathers his things painfully slow.

"I'm coming," he chuckles.

"No, you're not," you complain. "You're going slow on purpose to antagonize me. I know this to be true because you've already checked those traps twice. Now move it, Captain!"

Steve laughs and casts you a playful smirk as he straightens up and heads towards you, keys in hand.

Thrilled to be getting far, far away from the tunnels for the first time in nearly three months you can barely stand another second in the damp, dark, smelly place. You've been so excited for the ride out to mile marker 168 that you barely slept last night. And when Steve came back with a set of keys to an actual car this morning you had been pacing all day.

Falling into step, you tag along at Steve's side as you both navigate the tunnels, heading towards the grimy ladder that leads to the surface.

"Hey, uh...can I drive?" you ask.

"Do you have a license?" Steve asks.

"Yes!" you say defiantly.

"That was legally issued to you by the United States Government?" Steve asks, arching a brow.

Your draw drops in indignation. "Steve, you stole the car we're using," you argue. "You can't possibly say I can't use my fake ID to drive it."

"The answer is no, Y/n," Steve says pulling out the keys and spinning them around his finger.

"Unbelievable," you grumble under your breath as the two of you reach the ladder.

He gestures for you to go first, so you start the climb. Two weeks ago you had needed his help to lift your left leg. But you'd been doing your exercises and today you find you have no problem climbing each rung without assistance.

"Here, let me," he says, reaching around you to lift the manhole cover.

You let him toss it aside and you pull yourself out, relishing the late afternoon sun as it hits your face.

"Thank God," you sigh, rolling on your back.

"Can't stop here," Steve says. "Up you go."

He extends his hand and you take it, allowing him to pull you to your feet as the two of you begin your short walk down the side of the road. About a mile away is a small, four-pump gas station. Steve had parked the car around back, paying the owner to let it sit there for a night. As you get closer, you pray it's still there. But it appears your concerns are unwarranted as the car is exactly where Steve had left it, parked next to the air pump.

"Ready?" he says, tossing you a grin.

"Let's get the hell out of here," you say as Steve unlocks the car, opening your door.

You slide in, admiring the fabric interior. The car isn't new by any means. A late model hatchback of some sort. Plain grey. But clean. And comfortable. And it smells like starched vinyl.

Steve hops in the driver's seat and takes off. The two of you ride in silence for at least two hours, windows down as you enjoy the feeling of the wind in your hair. You let your hand hang out the side until your fingers go numb, enjoying the painful tingling in the tips when they start to get too cold. It reminds you that there's room to hurt even more than you do now, so you must be okay. Despite the constant buzzing in your head that's grown even sharper with each passing day.

Every once in a while you feel Steve glance over. But you don't look back. Instead you keep your eyes to the right, glued to the horizon. The hills here aren't quite as flat as they had been back near the ranch house, but every once in a while you get a peek of a plain covered in amber-colored wild grasses. Those little glimpses cause your heart to flutter, and a smile tugs at your lips. They remind you of being on the back of the bike, your cheek on James' shoulder. Your arms around his waist. How he would use his mirrors to look back and check on you every time he felt you drifting off to sleep.