Chapter Text
He knew he shouldn’t have made such a hasty decision; Steve may have been a ‘Billy Big Rigger’ but even the ‘supertruckers’ had their days, and apparently, he was meeting his. The radio had warned him, hell dispatch had even called and told him of the oncoming blizzard in the surrounding areas, but he had brushed it off, “I’ll go ‘through the woods’ he called back ‘hammer down’ to retrieve the delivery, there’s no need for me to dial back and head ‘home 20’ this will be a walk in the park.”
Steve Rogers should have known better, there was a saying amongst his channel, what could go wrong, would go wrong, and always will go wrong.
As the sky outside had begun to darken, Steve had powered up his truck gradually picking up the speed of the 18-wheeler down the greasy roads. He didn’t feel there was a need to worry until he hit ‘the woods.’
There was nothing friendly about the snow falling around outside; it fell thick enough to blind any traveler by foot or vehicle. The sky above had none of the light that the evening-time should have; so thick are the black clouds that now surround him, his eyes struggling to see in the whipping lights of his trailer. And the sound, dear God, the sound, not even the quiet hum of his radio could quiet the noise. It was like one wind-chime taking the force these almost hurricane force winds brought. “Blizzard” hardly seemed an adequate enough word for what the world outside had become.
Steve knew when to not push his luck, and the second he felt his tires give in to the sleek black roads, he was all but attempting to back it down and pull over onto the sides. His truck steered itself along the ice until it was coming to a stop, he let out a sigh, his eyes struggling to see out in the white flurry in front of him. Putting the truck into park he was reaching for the dial’s, fingers switching channels, “Fury come in Fury, got your ears on,” there was a crackle before Fury’s voice was coming through.
“Come on,” he calls, “go to Harley, Rogers.”
Steve is switching the dials again, Fury’s voice crackling through immediately, “I don’t want to say I told you Rogers, but I told you,” Fury scolds.
Steve sighs, “why is it that you truckers let your successful deliveries get to your damn head, you know you lugheads aren’t immortal yet there you go attempting to drive through a damn blizzard, what was it that you said,” he questions.
He doesn’t answer, his teeth biting back the remark that sits at the ready, “oh right, that this would be a walk in the park, absolutely no need to dial back and head home 20, must feel like a damn idiot right now.”
A sigh leaves Steve’s lips, “look Fury I’ll admit I made a hasty decision,” he tries, “hasty decision my ass,” Fury calls back, “you weren’t thinking with your head at all Rogers!”
“it’s getting worse out here Fury, my tires are slipping on this ice, and I’m not sure how close the town is, I can’t see shit in front of me.”
Steve can feel Fury’s eye roll through the ‘tsk’ sounding over the radio, “give me ten, I’ll see what location your truck is at and I’ll see what’s closest to you, for your sake you better pray it’s a place to park that damn trailer for the night.”
The truck falls silent and all Steve can hear is the storm going around outside ‘c’mon fury,’ he thinks as he watches the black street slowly become white. Minutes pass before the radio crackles through, “Alright Rogers listen up your about five minutes out from a town Woodstock, Vermont, most places aren’t truck friendly but there is a quiet little inn, that’s just on the outskirts of the town that has the parking for it, get yourself over there safely and I want a report call back when you’ve made it.”
“What’s the place called,” Steve questions through the static.
“The Hart Inn, owner said you wouldn’t miss it,” Steve’s ready to give his okay but Fury’s voice is calling back, “oh and next time Rogers if I call and tell you to dial back, I expect you to listen, you might be ‘supertrucker’ but you aren’t invincible and neither is your truck especially not on greasy roads.”
“You got it Fury.”
Fury scoffs, “get yourself to that inn, and as soon as your truck is parked, I expect a check-in, I’ll give you ten minutes.”
The line crackles off as Steve changes his trucks gear, the big truck cranking as it pushes forward, Steve’s fingers are deathly white against the steering wheel of the truck as if the motion alone will have the truck stopping any quicker. As soon as he saw the sign of the quiet, snowed over town he was pulling the brakes, body stiffening against his seat as he felt the truck slide along regardless of the stiff tires. He braced himself as he saw the ‘Hart Inn’ come into view, fury had been right, there was no way anyone could miss it, and his truck was barreling right into the sign.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hissed practically pulling at the wheel, “c’mon baby, c’mon,” he murmured, “stop, stop, stop,” he groaned.
His eyes shut, as the truck continued to slow, ‘oh god, oh god’ he pinched an eye open when the truck came to a stop.
His breath nearly caught in his throat, body jumping back in his seat when he caught sight of a bundled-up girl staring back at him through the flurries of snow, brow raised. He’s reaching for the radio, his eyes locked on hers as he calls out for Fury, “just got to the inn,” he murmurs, “I’ll call you first thing come morning.”
Steve doesn’t wait for Fury to come through as he powers off the truck, lights clicking off, the barely visible girl disappearing. He’s opening the truck door, a bast of cold winter air smacking him straight in the face. Outside rages a blizzard so strong that the street has been almost erased. The flakes fall slowly and air is almost still, but it is so thick that it almost obscures the view completely.
“You know,” Steve hears watching as you round the corner of the front of the truck face bundled up against the harsh winds, “when I got the call that a trucker was driving through, I was sure the man calling was mad, you must be some hot shot if you think you can power through something like this.”
Steve tries for a smile but he’s sure it comes off as a grimace. gloved hand raised to shield his eyes as he speaks against the howling wind, “sorry about nearly taking the sign down, hope it won’t be too much trouble to the owner, I don’t think I can move my truck much without taking it down completely.”
You’re smirking through the white, “It won’t be any trouble to me at all,” you answer surprising Steve, “s’not like my inn is the first one stopped at, but hey there’s always a first, maybe you can tell your other trucker friends about it.”
Steve’s nodding through the coldness and sting of driven snow on his face, “how about you get your bags, and we can get you inside and settled into a warm room,” you add.
Steve’s offering you an agreement through chattering teeth as he moves to the door, leaning in to grab his bag that sits on his passenger seat.
You’re offering him a smile, head tilted towards the inn, “right this way.”