Saving Bucky (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Chapter 66 - Hello Darlin'

"What's that darlin? How am I doin? Guess I'm doin' alright except I can't sleep. And I cry all night 'til dawn."

Staticky vocals croon an old country western through the radio. The golden Acura you took from an impound lot somewhere off of I-76 back in Pennsylvania isn't flashy, but the electronics work. Which means you have heat to fight off the late autumn chill that threatens to frost up the windows.

"What I'm trying to say is I love you and I miss you. And I'm so sorry that I did you wrong."

You drum your fingers on the steering wheel and check the speedometer. The needle hits right at 79 miles per hour. Tightening your grip, you plead with the anxiety that squeezes your lungs, begging it to surrender so you can breathe a little bit easier. You can't go faster. You're already 9 over the speed limit. And 10 is the magic number for cops. You can't afford to be pulled over by local PD in a stolen car - not just because you'd like to avoid a high speed pursuit, but because you know the Company has people in every 9-1-1 operating center across the country. Just to keep tabs on the people. The second your description gets radioed in, the Company will know it's you. So will the Spectres. So will Vex - wherever she is.

But 79 is just too slow. You need to get to Kentay. You need to get to him now.

"Gas."

You jump at the gruff voice behind you in the backseat - the first time you've heard it since the argument in the hall of the theatre almost 28 hours ago. 

Despite following you silently out of the theatre, he has stubbornly refused to speak. Even after you had driven for eight hours and clearly needed rest, James hadn't spoken. He simply held out his hand for the keys back at the gas station in Cleveland as you had fueled up. The wordless exchange had been tense. But you allowed it - you had, after all, drifted across the rumble strips twice before pulling in to refuel.

"Gas," he says again, interrupting your thoughts. With a frown, you glance at him in the rearview, finding ice-blue eyes staring back.

"How would you know? You've been sleeping for the last four hours," you grumble over the music.

James simply gives you a quiet stare through the mirror before laying back down across the seats and staring up at the roof. "I can hear it," he says.

You glance down at the gas gauge just in time to see the tiny little gas light flicker on. You let out an irritated huff and start watching the road signs. You've only got about 30 miles in the tank before you'll have to start pushing.

"Thank you darlin'. May God bless you. And may each step you take bring you closer to the things you seek to find."

The voice on the radio croons on as you spot an exit sign. Gas station to the right. Letting out a sigh of relief you push down on the pedal, the needle creeping just above 80 as you take the off ramp towards the small four-pump station immediately off the exit. You pull off the road and into the empty lot, rolling up to the first pump.

"And if you should ever find it in your heart to forgive me, come back darlin'. I'll be wait-."

The radio shuts off as you cut the engine and step out, stretching and pulling out a wad of crinkled cash from your back pocket. The last of the cash you and James have left.

"Forty-three bucks will have to do," you mumble to yourself, praying that it'll get you enough gas to make it the final three hours to that little town of Cody.

It takes a few minutes to gas up the car. As you wait for the tank to fill, you lean your back up against the door and take a few deep breaths. The early morning sun warms your cheeks as the twittering of birds hidden in nearby treetops calms your racing pulse. It's quiet here. Still chilly, but warmer than out east. A breeze sweetened by winter mint and lavender nearby slows your breathing. For the first time in over a day you feel yourself relax as you start to drift.