salvation ; 𝐛. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 , 𝟐

013. soon enough

STEVE SPENT THE next hour or so staring down at his hands despite the landscape passing by him outside the window. His normally striking blue eyes were downcast, the sparkle in their charismatic depths gone from sight. "How did you find me?" He asked softly, keeping his voice down so as to keep Wretton from hearing.

"Believe it or not," Sam cleared his throat, "it happened on accident." When he received the expected look of confusion, he added, "Elda struck a deal with Everett Ross."

He jerked his head to look at me, where I was hiding my blush. "But...you can't make deals with the CIA."

I shrugged. "I wouldn't call it a deal," I explained, "and it wasn't even my doing. Ross came up with it. He said that since we both want to bring Bucky back to the US, he'd offer his services to help it happen." I gestured to Wretton, who lifted a hand to wave.

He shrunk in his seat, and I could only guess that he looked exactly like he did before he received the super soldier serum all those years ago. He was curling back into himself, returning to the person he used to be before all this shit happened to him.

It reminded me of Bucky, and I had to look away before I felt the tears roll to the surface.

Steve shrugged, accepting it. But then he nudged Sam and whispered, "The CIA wants to take Bucky in and lock him away for good. You guys are idiots if you think this is gonna work."

Thankfully, Cara stepped in and decided to answer, despite whatever feud, or weird friendship thing they had going on. "Hey, Captain Crunch," she said in a dry tone, "don't worry about it. We know what we're doing. And if that means tying up Agent Red somewhere on a deserted island and leaving him for dead, then we'll just have to make that sacrifice." She glanced at Wretton with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Red."

I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the fact that we had a CIA agent, directly connected to Ross, that was driving us to our desired location, wherever that was. According to him, we still had to meet up with one other agent.

As the hours went on with no rest, I became more and more afraid that all he was doing was driving us to a federal prison on a long lost island somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle, leaving us where we would never be able to find Bucky.

Wretton waved a dismissive hand, slowing for a red light. "No offense taken, Cara," he sighed, making me raise an eyebrow at his relaxed tone and the use of Cara's first name. "I knew you guys would never trust me."

"You want to lock Bucky in a cage," Sam argued, and Steve grunted in agreement.

"He's not an animal," I voiced my opinion. "He's a human being, and a tired one at that. If you think he likes doing this, that he likes being used by other people for mass destruction, you're a complete asshole. It's not his fault that Hydra but his brain in a blender." My voice had begun to get progressively louder and I was leaning forward, but I only noticed it when Sam pressed a hand on my shoulder, gently pushing me back into my seat.

Our driver nodded. "I know. But you have to understand, not everyone at the CIA is a robotic, emotionless prick."

"You are," Cara interrupted pointedly.

But the look Wretton gave me in the rear view mirror made me think otherwise, even if it did strike me as odd for him to look directly at me. "I'm hoping with the next few weeks, or however long this takes, that you will begin to understand that I'm not. I've been in the Agency for years, and after awhile, you begin to pick up on some things. Like regaining the humanity I lost for longer than I care to remember."

Sam adjusted in his seat. "Don't play the pity card, man, it's not gonna change anything. We want Bucky free, you don't."

"You over-generalize everything," he insisted. "You never look at the little details."