Inspired By Taylor Swift Series

On The Run (Marvel)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: I Know Places, Getaway Car, and cowboy like me

"You were prettier back then," a familiar voice suddenly says from beside Bucky.

His shoulders stiffen momentarily, pulling his eyes away from his own little exhibit only to see the top of your baseball cap pulled low on your head. His jaw clenches, metal fist tightening as he remains unsure if you've come as friend or foe. Foe, he's almost entirely certain. "Who sent you?"

You playfully scoff. "I don't take orders anymore. You know that."

"What do you want?"

You wryly chuckle, your nonchalance taunting, irking, Bucky. "What makes you think I want anything?"

Now, it's his turn to scoff. Coincidences like this don't just happen. He knows this well. "You just happened to be here?"

You languidly shrug. And he's not sure if you know how bad you're pissing him off or if you're really just trying not to call attention to yourself. "You've pissed off a lot of people. We're supposed to be laying low," you cheekily remind him.

"What I do has nothing to do with you," he curtly murmurs, though he knows that's not entirely true.

He leisurely begins walking away, slow, without purpose to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Without hesitation or fear, you reach out and clutch his vibranium arm. What bothers him even more is that your hold actually roots him in place. Your hold still on his arm, you hiss under your breath, "Hey, things start going to shit for you, they start going to shit for me too."

His jaw clenches tightly. "I know."

"I know a place," you offer.

"Use it for yourself," Bucky grimaces.

"You know, I don't have to be here. I don't have to help you," you point out.

"Your point?"

"Right now, take all the friends you can get," you say, dropping your hand from his arm. "People aren't exactly lining up to help you out."

Bucky's clenched jaw loosens, he's smart enough to know when the cards are stacked against him. And right now, he had a losing hand. "Fine."

"Don't sound so excited, Soldier."

He grunts, "Lead the way."

He spares one last glance at his exhibit before following you out the side exit. A life he'd lived, but long forgotten. All culminating in a life on the run. But he is. He is on the run, and he needs to focus on that.

So he follows you. Down a restricted hallway. To an emergency exit. Then, a steel door with a large painted 'emergency exit' sign on it. Though the door warns that an alarm will sound, not a single sound is made as you freely swing the door open and step out into the disgusting alleyway.

There's a car waiting there. You've already hopped in and he pretends not to notice that the car is almost certainly stolen.

In fact, he doesn't say anything.

He offers not a single nicety, not a murmur of small talk, he remains completely silent as you drive past city limits. He keeps his eyes trained out the road in front of you, the passing terrain becoming more unfamiliar with each passing hour.

On the small plane that you somehow managed to commandeer, he keeps one eye on you piloting the otherwise empty aircraft.

And still he says nothing.