Archive of Our Own ^beta

“It’s just two weeks, Buck. You’ll be fine.” Steve attempts to reassure his best friend, though it doesn’t seem to be working. “She’s really not as bad as you make her out to be.”

Bucky says nothing, rolling his eyes instead. "This whole idea is a waste of time. I'm not going." He grumbled. Stark had the grand idea to send the most incompatible people in the entire Avenger's Compound on a fucking road trip.

"You have to go. Tony said it's non-negotiable. I'm sure she doesn't like the idea either, but there's nothing we can do about it. Just...try and make the best of it." Steve offered, tipping his head and shrugging hesitantly.

"That's easy for you to say. You don't have to actually go." Bucky grumbled, stuffing more things into a suitcase. Steve was supposed to be helping, but he was really just there to try and convince Bucky that this was for the greater good, or whatever. Something like that.

This was going to be an insufferably long two weeks.

—————

"Two weeks and three days. Three days of actual vacation! This is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard. Nat, you gotta get me out of this." You pleaded with the Avenger.

"Already tried. Tony won't budge." She gave an apologetic shrug. "Maybe you'll find out you share a lot of common interests."

"Right, because me and the ninety-nine year-old man are basically twinsies. Thanks, Nat."

"Maybe you'll just decide to fuck halfway-through." Yelena interrupts. "Like, full-on go at each other. The tension is very strong. Very strong." Her accent is thick as she digs through your closet.

"She's right, I've read too many romance novels to know how this turns out." Kate agrees, judging your shoe collection.

"What? Ew--God, no. That's...so fucking disgusting to think about." You shudder. "He's a total asshole."

"He's not so bad." Yelena shrugged. "Helped take down the Red Room. Good enough for me."

"He can't be that bad, right? I haven't really talked with the guy, but he seems chill." Kate ponders.

"What they mean to say is that it will be fine." Nat attempts to assure you, spinning you by the shoulders to face her.

"I hate him and I hate everything about it." You rage quietly as Yelena stuffs shampoo and conditioner into your suitcase. You were packing one suitcase and one backpack. Yelena, Kate, and Natasha were supposed to be helping, but they were really just goofing off and occasionally helping you grab something.

"The trip isn't even worth it, anyway. One week of driving to get there, three days of the actual resort, and then a week back. It doesn't make any sense." You tried to reason.

"The whole point of the trip is to get you two to bond. Or at least to not bicker and argue over the comms during missions." Nat rationalized. "It'll not only be good for you two, but for the team as a whole."

You thought for a moment, considering it. You could agree that the idea made sense, but still. He was a dick to you most of the time, so what was the point?

"Fine." You said. "But if he starts shit, I'm not going to let him walk all over me."

Sighing, Natasha nodded.

"If he pisses you off, just kill him--very easy. You know how to do it." Yelena stated ever so casually.

"Yelena!" Kate and Natasha exclaimed at the same time.

—————

You scowled as you loaded your suitcase and backpack into the backseat of the truck. You even made sure all of your stuff was directly behind the driver's seat. Your seat. You were going to drive.

Bucky Barnes, seemingly getting the message, put his singular suitcase behind the passenger side.

Tony and Steve stood outside the huge garage, watching as the two of you loaded up the truck. Tony had bought the truck a while ago, but he never really ended up driving it often. He thought it would be perfect for this trip.

"Don't die, if you sleep in the car make sure to lock the doors, get a motel when you can, stay safe and have fun, blah blah blah, don't crash my truck." Tony told the two of you. Steve gave him the Eyebrows of Disappointment before turning back to you.

"Please don't kill each other. Stay in a motel or something when you can." Steve quickly hugged Bucky goodbye, stepping inside, and you turned to walk to the driver's side.

"What're you doing?" Bucky asked from behind you.

"Getting in the car?" You snarked back. The way he had asked his question annoyed you.

"I'm driving." He declared.

"No you're not. I am. You watched me put my stuff behind the seat--my seat!"

"I am driving the damn car. Move."

"No you are fucking not. Get your ancient ass to the passenger seat." You growl.

"Your driving is shit. Move out of the way before I make you." He says, sharp blue eyes glaring straight into yours.

"What're you gonna do? Throw me?"

Without saying a word, he put both of his hands on your biceps, squeezing lightly, before slightly picking you up and moving you to the side. He did it so easily, too. Most likely due to the serum, along with the vibranium arm. You felt the rage seeping into your body, and just before you could throw a punch, Tony called out from the door inside the garage. "Take turns, losers! Jesus Christ."

You both look at him as he says this, before looking back at each other. Shoving him out of the way, you open the truck door. He sticks up both of his middle fingers as he walks around the back of the truck. As you buckle your seatbelt, you consider just backing up the truck as he walked behind it. He wouldn't die. He probably wouldn't even fall over. It could be a total accident. A little oopsie, if you will.

Just before you could ponder the potential attempted murder, Bucky opened the passenger door, hopping into the truck. You plug your phone into the truck, putting on your favorite playlist. The one Bucky hated. It was a very personal 'fuck you' to the Super Soldier sitting next to you. He looked like he wanted to make some kind of comment, but he didn't.

Pulling out of the huge driveway, you knew one thing for sure.

This was going to be a long two weeks. 

Day One

Day One

The drive was a tense silence. You had the route Tony sent you on your phone, and you had your phone plugged into the car, the GPS displayed on the screen.

It had been two hours. Two hours of your playlist playing through the speakers. Bucky said nothing, watching through the windshield.

The truck Tony had loaned you was a fossil of a vehicle, and for a man who could buy the solar system, you were a little confused about his choice of automobiles.

Nevertheless, the silence was suffocating.

And then Bucky spoke up.

“Where are we going?” His voice was rough, demanding. Bitch.

“Looks like we’re heading to West Virginia.” You said, glancing at the map. “Probably have to stop at the little town up here.” Looking away from the road, you used two fingers to scroll up on the map.

Brandon Briar, it read in a fuchsia font. It had to be some tiny town nobody’s ever heard of.

You were sure that there would be a motel or something, considering it wasn’t anywhere special but on the road to everywhere special.

Britney Spears blasted through the speakers as you turned it up. You were so happy you brought an aux cord.

You could physically feel Bucky’s annoyance sizzling beside you.

“What, you don’t like Britney?” You snorted.

“I prefer ‘40s music, so.” He grunted gruffly.

“Bro.” You scoffed, shaking your head. You turned it up, singing along to it.

He grumbled, shutting his eyes tight as if he was going to manifest the speakers catching fire.

Soon, you feel the telltale signs of hunger as your stomach begins to turn into an angry deity. You look at the signs posted on the sides of the road—there were the simple options of fast food restaurants.

“Do you wanna stop for food?” You turned the music down just enough so that you could ask.

He nodded slowly.

“Cool.” You said, ready to decide on a place.

—————

Thanking the lady at the window, you took the bag from her hands and passed it to Bucky. He pulled out the food, setting your stuff in the center console. You ate as you drove, following the directions from the GPS.

Tony hadn’t given you any planned stops—but there was a marked route on the GPS.

You were getting tired now, and it was getting a bit late. You were about eight hours before you’d reach that town, and you could tell that Bucky was tired too.

You powered through another hour, and by then it was dark and the only way to illuminate the roads was through your headlights.

“Fuck it, I can’t do this anymore.” You groaned, finding a small trail off the side of the road to pull into.

“What are you doing?” Bucky grumbled.

“Parking us. Relax, nobody’s gonna find us. You can get in the backseat if you want, but I’m going to bed.” You huffed, unbuckling your seatbelt.

You snuggled yourself up comfortably, grabbing your blanket from the backseat.

Bucky grabbed his own, and you fell asleep, making sure to lock the doors of the truck.

The next morning, you’re back on the road once again. You’re in the passenger seat now, letting Bucky drive. 

You snack on some granola bars that you’d packed, offering one to Bucky. He takes one, offering up a small ‘thanks’ in return.

Several hours later, you notice the small town slowly circling around the truck.

“Bucky. Can we stop?” You asked.

“We can make at least five more hours today.” His brows furrow.

“I haven’t pissed since yesterday. I’m gonna die.” You complained.

“There’s a gas station..30 minutes away. Can’t you wait?” He argues.

“No. Pull over.” You huffed. “Look! That diner right there. Debbie’s.* We can get lunch.” 

“That’s gonna waste at least an hour. We don’t have time.” His grip tightens on the wheel.

“We’ve got like an extra two days! The drive isn’t that fucking far! Pull over before I piss my fucking pants, asshole!” You blow up at him. Tony intentionally planned it so that there was time for a little bit of dilly-dallying. 

Begrudgingly, he turned into the diner parking lot. You zoomed out of the car and straight to the bathroom inside of the diner. 

After taking care of your business, you met back up with Bucky in the line to the counter.

When it was your turn, you waited as Bucky ordered some burger before you ordered your own food.

Bucky reached for his wallet at the same time you reached for yours. 

“I’ll get it,” you said.

“It’s fine. I’ve got it.” Bucky brushed you off. It made you..mad? He said it almost smugly, as if he was doing you such a favor.

“No, I’ll pay. I’ll do it.”

“I’m already doing it.” He snarked back. 

You quickly tried to shove your card against the tappy-machine as  Bucky scrambled to do the same. You engaged in a debit-card-sword-fight for several seconds before the lady behind the counter—an older woman, with short and thin gray hair and bright blue eyes, chuckled.

“You two make a mighty fine couple, I can tell.” Janet H. said, a fond smile on her face.

“We’re not together.” Bucky and you said sharply at the same time. 

Distracted by this, you fumbled and Bucky won the war.

You walked towards a booth in the 50s-style diner, sliding into it and looking at the receipt. Order #157. 

When the number was called by a slightly younger elderly woman, you took the initiative to walk back up to the counter.

“Thank you,” you said, taking the white bag. 

“No problem. You here for the festival?” She asked, making small talk. Sharon C. 

“Festival?” You echoed, curious. 

“Yeah. The town’s got an annual Blast-from-the-Past festival thing. Always draws in plenty of tourists.” She slid a white half-sheet of paper with a little infographic on it.

“Thanks,” you murmured, looking down at it as you walked back to the booth.

 If Bucky was curious about what the paper was, he didn’t voice it. You assumed that the Serum had probably boosted up his hearing, so maybe he already knew.

As Bucky unpacked the white, grease-stained paper bag of food, you scanned over the paper.

“Bucky. We should stay for this. This is pretty cool. It's like a 'this-town-through-the-decades' kind of thing. There's a 40's style dance thing tonight." You state, reading the first event listed. The festival is a week long, starting tonight, Monday, and ending on Sunday. “Look! Tomorrow is ‘30s-‘40s night. There’s a dance, and food, and all kinds of cool shit.” You grinned.

He stared at you like you had three—no, twelve—heads. 

“We definitely don’t have time for that.” He grumbled as he munched on his burger. 

“Bucky, we still have like, 5 or 6 days before we can even check into the resort thing. To get there is a 3-4 day drive. We’ve got plenty of time.” 

As he shuffled awkwardly at the presentation of the facts, you could tell that time wasn’t the main reason he wanted to skip it.

“C’mon. Please.” You begged.

He stared at you, unsure. 

You remained resilient.

“Fuck. Fine.” He broke, clearly unhappy about it. 

“Yes!” You cheered. “I think we passed a store that was selling stuff for the festival. I’m sure they’ve got some themed outfits.” You raved.

“Okay. There’s the motel down the street, right? We could just get a room there.” He murmured. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“Why not? It’s just a little dance.” You huffed.

"We're both Avengers. We could be recognized."

"So? Either way, we're in a tiny ass town in the middle of nowhere. If we were recognized, it wouldn't even matter."

He looked down at his gloved left hand. He always wore thick jackets or long-sleeved shirts, paired with gloves.

"Nobody's gonna care." You reassured quietly. It was true that the two of you didn't get along very well, but you didn't think it was fair to make personal attacks. You knew his arm, and basically his entire past, really, were sensitive topics.

“Okay.” He conceded. “C’mon. Let’s go get hotel rooms.”

—————

You lift your suitcase and backpack out of the backseat, before heading into the lobby. Bucky follows as you approach the receptionist.

She's an older lady, some sections of her hair gray, other sections a warm brown. Her eyes match the brown, and she smiles when she sees the two of you walk in.

"Hello. Welcome to the Brandon Briar Hotel. How may I help you two today?" She asked, looking up at the two of you. She has wrinkles by the corners of her eyes, and smile lines around her mouth. Her voice is warm, as is everything about her. A quick glance to her nametag revealed that her name is Barbara C.

"We'd like two rooms, please." You smiled politely.

"Alright, and how long will the two of you be staying, dear?"

"Just for tonight, if that's okay."

"Wonderful. Is it okay if it's a connecting room? The festival always brings in a lot of tourists." She smiled proudly.

"Really?” You ask, making small talk. You feel a pang of joyful spite as you see Bucky shift awkwardly next to you. Socializing is not something he’s known for.

"Yes, Brandon Briar has it every year. Here's a flyer, if you're thinking about attending." She slipped a brightly colored flyer over the counter, sliding it in front of you. The main colors, yellow, blue, and white, were eye-catching and pretty. This one was much more in-depth than the flyer the girl at the diner had given you.

"Now, is the connecting room okay, sweetheart?" She asked again, though there was not a single note of annoyance in her voice.

"Oh--yes. That will be perfect." You glanced back up at her, eyebrows raised subconsciously.

You pay quickly for both of the rooms before Bucky--who had been standing behind you silently--could fight you on it. Barbara hands you the two key cards, and you hand Bucky one. Taking the flyer with you, you give Barbara one final 'thank you' and a smile, before heading to the elevator.

Bucky presses the button for the 2nd floor, where your rooms are. You study the flyer.

"Neither of us have anything to wear to it." He tries to reason as the elevator door opens.

Walking down the hallway, you continue to argue with him. "I'm sure there's at least one store that sells stuff specifically for the festival. Barbara--the receptionist--said that the festival brings in a bunch of tourists, so they have to have something around here." You said optimistically as you both opened the doors to your hotel rooms.

—————

It had been easy to find a store selling dresses made to look like they were from the 1940's. The Brandon Center, the little store that could only be found in Brandon Briar, had an overwhelming amount of them. You'd left Bucky to find whatever he needed, you instead opting to browse through all the pretty dresses. There was a large selection, filled with pretty prints and colors.

Bucky, perhaps ten minutes ago, had interrupted your browsing to tell you that he was going to wait in the car. You had simply nodded, quickly glancing at the bag he carried.

A stunning red dress caught your eye. It had a little belt to go around your waist, with 3/4 satin-cuffed sleeves and a matching satin heart-shaped collar.

Sure, there were other dresses in a similar color, but once you saw this one, there was no going back. You checked the tag, making sure that it would fit.

Grinning once you saw that it did, you took the hanger off the rack before looking through the jewelry stand. When you found nothing that fit your style, you sighed.

Walking to the register, and you were greeted by a woman, probably in her sixties. Her hair was dyed blonde, which looked good with her blue eyes. She wore black eyeliner all the way around her eye, with thick mascara to match. She grinned, a heavy country accent coming in thick when she spoke. Though you'd only spoken to a few locals, they all seemed to have the same accent.

"Hiya! Will this be all for you today?" She had a nametag on her floral blouse. Brenda.

Nodding, you reply. "Yes."

"Okay. Oh..this is a pretty thing. You plannin' on comin' out by the old diner for the dance tonight?" She laid the dress out on the counter, examining it.

"Yeah. It's..it's in that little square, right? I saw the string lights this morning when I was driving by, but I didn't really have time to look."

"Yes, yes. The decorations are always gorgeous. Wait a minute..oh, this is from Mr. Lee." She said, beginning to fold the dress. When she noticed your confused expression, she grinned.

"A while back, we had a guy donate a bunch of old dresses like this after his wife passed. His wife was friends with that lady Peggy Carter, funnily enough. Anyway, we kept a bunch of those dresses in the back for a few years. Some were altered, made bigger or smaller or even just turned into somethin’ brand new. Forgot all about them. Until now, that is."

You nodded, though the mention of Steve's almost-kind-of-basically girlfriend startled you. A younger girl, maybe a college student, stepped out from the door next to the register. The creaky wooden floor announced the presence of another customer, as did the bell on the door.

"Aunt Brenda, can you help Ms. Owens? She wanted to look at that green dress I told you about." The girl said. Her hair was brown and straight, going down to her waist.

"Oh, yes." Brenda turned back to you. "Stacy will ring you up." She explained, placing the folded dress into a white paper shopping bag.

She walked out from behind the counter, Stacy taking her place.

"Sorry about that." The girl—Stacy—apologized. "That'll be $23.99. Hero's discount."

When she glanced up to you, she smiled a little. "Don't worry. You blend in a lot. Most of the people here are older, and anyone who isn't is just a young couple coming here for the festival. My great aunt and my grandma live up here, so I stay here every summer to help with the store." She assured.

Once you paid, she waved you goodbye as you walked out of the shop. Bucky was waiting in the driver's seat of the truck, scrolling on his phone.

"Y'know it starts at 6:00, right?" He asked when he heard the truck door open.

"It's 3:15, we'll be fine." You rolled your eyes, buckling your seatbelt. You didn't say much on the drive to the hotel, instead thinking about what else you were going to wear.

—————

Bucky stood inside of his hotel room, not sure what to do. You had decided to close your door to his room, and he decided to do the same. Just because your rooms were connected didn’t mean you would go into each other’s rooms. That was weird, right?

He showered quickly, before getting dressed. He felt stupid as he glanced at himself in the mirror. He knew how he was supposed to look, but none of this felt...right. He tied his hair into a low ponytail, just to keep it out of his face.

He opened his door to your room, just to be met with your door closed. He knew it was going to be closed. Of course it would be closed. There was no reason he should feel so...disappointed.

Disappointed? No. No. Bucky was sure of it. He barely tolerated you. You were annoying, and you liked starting fights for no reason. Ever since he’d arrived at the Avenger’s Compound, you were nothing but cold and nasty towards him. The first time he’d met you, you’d made an angry face at him before ignoring his existence.

But he couldn't deny the feeling of excitement he got when he saw your name light up on his phone.

Ready.

That was the entire text message. And somehow, a single word made his stomach feel light. Without typing a reply, he stepped into the hallway of the hotel, before he saw you.

Day Two

"You look..fine." You mumble, refusing to say what you really meant: hot.

He nods awkwardly, before tilting his head towards the elevator. You walk with him to the elevator, and you try and study his expressions as you wait to get to the first floor.

He looked lost in thought. Shit. That was never good. If he wasn't talking, whether that meant exchanging insults with you and Sam or marveling at modern technology with Steve, he was lost in his head.

You’d noticed that since he’d moved to the Compound was that he was getting better. Better, in the sense that he wasn't staying holed up in his assigned bedroom pretending that the world didn't exist. Better in the sense that he was talking to people now. Better in the sense that he wasn't waking up violent or screaming in the middle of the night.

Yeah, sure, he's a petty asshole who's extremely good at pissing you off, but even semi-joking insults are better than eerie silence and pure fear of the outside world.

When he'd arrived at the Compound, he'd avoided everyone, even Steve. He didn't speak, barely acknowledged people unless he had to. He didn't eat. He could barely sleep. It was like he was a ghost. The first time Peter came over while Bucky was around, Bucky seemed to have shut down a little.

Peter was a good kid. He stayed over in his room during weekends, or even occasionally during weekdays in the summer. He didn't ask intrusive questions, and he really did try his best to make Bucky feel welcome. But it really just terrified Bucky.

After a few months of court-mandated therapy, which slowly evolved from twice a week to once every two months throughout the span of a year, he seemed to recover. He slowly learned to get out of those post-HYDRA habits he'd picked up. He'd eat with the rest of the team. He'd join in on weekly movie nights. He'd even help Wanda when she cooked for the monthly 'nice-family-dinner' days. She always loved making the food for those.

He started watching baking shows with Vision. He'd hang out with Natasha. He pestered Steve in a way only a best friend ever could. He made jokes. The first time you ever heard the former brainwashed assassin make a joke will be forever ingrained into your mind. It had been some stupid joke about Steve's old costume, and it had shocked everyone in the room. Except for Steve.

He only went silent like this on particularly bad days. Nobody ever said anything, because they knew that would only make it worse, but it was obvious whenever something rough went down. 'Bad days' meant days that followed nightmare-filled nights, or days that involved flashbacks or recovering from flashbacks, or days that were ruined by something triggering him.

"You good, there?" You decide to speak up, just as the elevator door opens.

He nodded quickly, beginning to walk to the truck. He hops into the driver's seat, and you don't fight him on it.

"We're a bit late." You note, glancing at the time. 6:13pm. Technically, it started at 6:00pm and ended at 10:45pm.

"Holy shit." You say aloud, looking through Bucky's window at the beautiful decorations. There were string lights strung from light posts, and hay bales for some reason, and other cute things. There was a little stage set up, with a small band playing vintage songs. There were little stands set up where you could buy food or random 1940's themed shit.

"You ready?" You looked to Bucky, before checking in the mirror to make sure the red lipstick you'd applied hadn't smudged.

He nodded, parking the truck against the sidewalk. He waited for you to walk around the front of the vehicle to join him.

"I'll grab us some dinner. You up for this? We can always go back--"

"I'm fine." He said, and at first you thought that he was getting annoyed at you, before a quick glance to his face assured you that he was just trying to convince himself of this. "I'm fine." He repeated.

The air was warm, and the yellow light of the string lights combined with the street lights made Bucky look..really nice.

"Ooh! That place looks good. C'mon!" You grabbed his hand, pulling him forward.

You pulled him to the food stand, excitedly looking around the little square. People from well into their nineties to kids who couldn't be older than five were all dressed up. You and Bucky blended in incredibly well.

"What do you think you're gonna get?" You asked Bucky, intending to pay.

"Not sure. Might just get a burger and fries."

"That sounds good. I'm not sure what I want yet. Everything looks amazing."

When the family in front of you got their food and left, you quickly made your decision, and Bucky made his. Just as you were about to put your card into the card swipe machine, Bucky beat you to it. When you opened your mouth to argue, Bucky gave you a sharp glare, silently telling you to shut it.

“I was going to—“ You begin, but he cuts you off quickly. “I got it.” He paid quickly for the meal, before leading you off to a table. There were a bunch of circle tables set up in a large rectangle. In the center, people danced in small circles or in sets of twos.

Setting the plastic baskets on the table, Bucky pulled out a chair for you. “What a gentleman.” You tease, and he just rolls his eyes.

The band played covers of old songs, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Bucky recognizes any of them.

Once the both of you wolfed down the delicious food, you looked around. The band was loud, so you had to talk at a slightly louder volume than normal.

There were lots of couples, ranging from elderly couples slowly swaying together, to newlyweds quickly moving and bouncing to the upbeat music.

You noticed Stacy, the long-haired brunette who worked at the Brandon Center. She was in her own baby blue 40’s dress, which paired well with her hair and bright green eyes.

She was standing at a table in front of her Aunt Brenda, and Barbara from the hotel.

Her grandma and her great aunt live up here, you remember. She’d said so at the store.

Barbara and Brenda were also dressed up, smiling and laughing at something Stacy said. Stacy was standing, but Barbara and Brenda were sitting together.

You looked to Bucky who was zoning out. “You okay?” You asked, and he snapped his gaze up to meet yours.

“Fine.” He assured. "Dance with me."

"What?" You look at him, bewildered.

"Dance with me." He repeats, standing up before pulling you out of your chair by your hands.

"Why are you--" You don’t get to finish as he pulls you to the makeshift dance floor, before pulling you close to him.

"Shut up and dance with me."

"Y'know, that's a song." You felt it was important to note this.

"Weird." He states, before he glances past you, his eyes narrowing.

"If looks could kill." You commented, and he focused back on you. "Who're you looking at?"

"The douchebag who's been staring at you for the past eight minutes." When you turned your head to look back, Bucky stepped to the side, forcing you to swing your body to avoid being crashed into.

"You've been watching him?" You thought it was weird that the guy who hated your guts seemingly wanted to keep you safe.

"Shut up." He glared at you, before he continued to sway with you to the rhythm of the song.

"I thought you said you couldn't dance."

"I said that I didn't. Not that I couldn't." He muttered, before spinning you.

You instantly recognized the opening notes of 'It's Been a Long, Long Time', and you look to Bucky, who also seemed to recognize it.

You laugh as the two of you continue to sway to the music together, before the song ends. Bucky keeps his hands on your hips, your hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. You’re not that bad.” You grin goofily.

“You’re not so bad either.” Bucky looked at you, a small grin on his face.

“Friends?”

“Something like that. You’re a punk.”

“And you’re a dick.” You shot back.

It was impossible to miss how all of the couples close to you glance at Bucky's hand, clearly metal against your red dress.

"They're all staring at me like I'm some kind of monster." He mutters darkly, beginning to pull away.

You pull him closer. "Who gives a shit.”

“I do. Tony does. The Avenger’s PR team does.” He retorted.

“Okay, smart ass.” You rolled your eyes, before glancing around. One old guy was staring at Bucky, as were the surrounding groups of people. “We can go, if you want. My feet kinda hurt.” You lied, hoping that if you gave a reason to go, he’d feel better about agreeing. When he gave you a simple nod, you smiled. You lead him to the truck, taking him by the hand. Once you reached it, you stepped down off the curb, opening the passenger door.

“That was..fun. For you, right? Like, you’re doing okay?” You asked after a few minutes. Everybody in the tower knew about Bucky’s nightmares and night terrors. Whether it was from hearing him scream late in the night or in the earliest hours of the morning, or if it was from being the one to wake him up from them a few times. It was just something that nobody talked about.

“It was alright.” He murmured. This was a win.

As he drove the two of you back to the hotel, you smiled to yourself.