Soul Stealer ~ (A Bucky Barnes Love Story)

Time Is Running Out

We moved from Germany to Graz, Austria, but only stayed a few days before heading to Budapest, Hungary.  According to the resident assassin staying in one place for too long was dangerous.  "Too long" was a loosely defined term.  Sometimes it meant a couple of weeks and sometimes it meant a couple of days.  The one rule we both swore to uphold was if either of us felt spooked, for whatever reason, we left, immediately.

"What are you British, they drive on the right side of the road, right!" he screamed, bracing a hand on the roof as I cut the wheel hard.

"Oops, my bad."

He closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten.  Right about now he was regretting his decision to teach me to drive. 

"You're the worst driver in the entire world," he grumbled.

"That's just ridiculous," I countered, "Have you met everyone in the world?"

"Slow down, there's a curve up ahead," he warned.

"Relax Grandpa, we're good." 

As it turned out we were, in fact, not good.  The curve was slightly more aggressive than I anticipated.  That combined with what I later learned was, black ice, and well, we ended up in a ditch with a flat tire and a grumpy 100-year-old super soldier.

"Look at it this way, it could have been a lot worse," I said, jumping up and down in an effort to keep warm while Bucky pulled, yes pulled, the car out of the ditch. 

"How exactly could it be worse?"

The car was now back on the side of the road.  He popped the trunk pulling out tools and a spare tire. 

"Once you change the tire..."  He froze, turning and pinning me with a threatening glare that made me take a tiny step backwards.  "Everything will be fine."

He mumbled something under his breath, kneeling and unscrewing the lug nuts.  Sitting down beside him I tried to ignore the cold ice melting on my ass and the cold glares from my only friend. 

He worked diligently, pumping a jack that raised the car, giving him the leverage he needed to change out the busted tire.  I tipped my head back, shielding my eyes from the sun so I could watch a commercial jet soar overhead.  It was so high the only thing really visible was a thin strip of white clouds trailing behind the plane. 

"Have you ever been on a plane?"

"Yes," he replied gruffly.  I was pretty sure I had too but being frozen during transport didn't officially count.

"Can you fly a plane?"

He stopped working, his head turning slowly.  "No."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

I waved my hand in air dismissively.  "The fact you're saying no means you can fly a plane."

"No, it doesn't."

"Sure it does."

He pulled the old tire off with a grunt, tossing it behind him like it weighted nothing at all.  "Even if I can, which I'm neither confirming nor denying, I refuse to teach you."

"Why?"  That was rude.

"You've been driving for less than 10-minutes and you almost killed us six times."

I scoffed, "Sounds like my teacher cut a few corners."

The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly which was the Winter Soldier's version of a full-belly laugh.  He finished changing the tire so I climbed to my feet, fully intending to get back behind the wheel, but before I could metal fingers closed around my jacket, hauling me back.  He said nothing, simply opened the passenger door and deposited me in the seat with a stern look.  He was even nice enough to fasten the seatbelt for me.