{ 6. Pizza Incident }

"I would die for you,

What you want to do,

Oh this life I choose"

-'I Could Die For You', Red Hot Chili Peppers

xXxXxXx

The sun's glow was peeking over the horizon and the crew found themselves in Indiana. After the third time Sam drifted onto the shoulder, he admitted he was too tired to drive and Steve took over the wheel. Bucky replaced Tony in the passenger seat and once again commandeered the radio.

"Rihanna?" Tony raised an eyebrow. "We're going from Cannibal Corpse to Rihanna?"

Steve shrugged. "He has eclectic taste," he said. Bucky leaned his head against the cool window, staring blankly at the miles of farmland outside. Silhouettes of urban sprawl littered the horizon line.

Sam, Tony, and Bucky managed a few hours of sleep while Steve navigated them to civilization. He threw paranoid glances at the cars ahead and behind, scrutinizing each driver like a potential threat. A red light on the dashboard suddenly blinked on. Steve cursed under his breath—it was the middle of broad daylight during morning rush hour. Now was not an ideal time to stop for gas, but the van was running on fumes. It guzzled fuel like a beast, they wouldn't make it another twenty minutes.

Rain was misting down from the overcast sky. Steve grabbed Tony's sunglasses from the glove box and put them on anyway. Sam and Tony were lying down in back out of sight, and no civilian these days would recognize Bucky. Not with that mop in his face.

The gas station was so packed, it was ten minutes before Steve was able to claim a pump. Each minute was paranoid agony. He snagged some cash from under the seat and softly closed the door as he left the vehicle. The sound still jolted Bucky awake, blinking the blur from his eyes as his head whipped this way and that.

Bucky found Steve several feet away, pushing a bill into a machine. It kept spitting the bill out and Steve looked irritated as he rubbed it flat against the surface and tried again. After one too many attempts, he gave up and stormed off into the little store across the lot.

Creeping out of the vehicle, Bucky forgot to—or didn't care to—close the door as he followed Steve. He was supposed to do that—follow Steve. That was the mission given to him by his new handlers, who rescued him from his previous, shittier handlers. He didn't want to fail them. He liked these guys. They put clothes on him and didn't strike him when he messed up. And he'd been messing up a lot lately.

Steve handed the cashier a hundred dollar bill for gas, added some truckers' pills and some of those horrible energy drinks to the transaction. Wouldn't do shit for him, but maybe Sam and Tony could use them.

"It's a gas-hog, should take most of it. Just keep the change," Steve told the cashier, because showing his face in here twice felt like pushing his luck. The little store was full of morning commuters getting their coffee, so crowded that Steve didn't notice Bucky until he turned around and bumped right into him.

The brunet was holding an entire bunch of bananas against his chest. Steve wasn't going to wait in that atrocious line to buy something Bucky couldn't eat anyway, so he took them from his arm and put them back on the display. "Bu—" Steve cleared his throat and corrected himself. "Uh, Nathan. Come on, back in the car." He threw an arm around his friend and led him out the door. He didn't like this. As much as he wanted Bucky to relearn autonomy...

Apparently Sam or Tony got out too. One of them was standing outside the passenger side—Steve couldn't tell which because they were leaning half their body inside the vehicle. Doing what, he didn't know, but it seemed they finally got dressed and put on real pants. "Guys," Steve sighed as he approached, "let's stay in the van, okay?"

Suddenly the figure shot up, grunting as he bumped his head on the doorframe. A tattooed face looked at Steve like a deer in the headlights, with a hooded sweatshirt pulled over his head. Patchy beard, meth-mouthed. A second later, the stranger bolted away towards the street with one of Tony's bags on his shoulder.

"Hey!" Steve barked and was hot on his heels, until the tattooed man darted between moving cars on the avenue. Traffic honked and swerved, a sedan plowing right into Steve. He rolled over the windshield and hit the street with a gasp. Dazed. Dazed, but in one piece. Someone got out of the car, was shouting something he didn't even register over the heartbeat thumping in his ears. The sunglasses were knocked off his face and he couldn't find them, but he managed to swipe the hat sitting a few feet away.

He staggered to his feet and watched the man haul ass over the median, nearly causing another accident before he reached the other side. He shoved a pedestrian out of his way and disappeared into an alley.

All in the middle of broad daylight. Either balls of steel or an addict with nothing to lose, Steve thought, and cautiously made his way across the avenue while trying not to cause any more chaos. Now everyone was looking at him. Jesus Christ.

Steve ran through the alley, jumping over crates and debris the stranger probably toppled in his wake. It opened up to the ass-end of some commercial businesses where all the dumpsters and pallets were stored. Trucks and storage containers were littered about, making too many hiding places for Steve's liking.

He heard a shuffling sound to his left, like shoes on pavement. Steve whirled around and saw…Nothing. He heard the sound again and realized it was coming from the rooftop of a small office building. His eyes widened.

How the hell?

There was Bucky. Bucky, shuffling around on the roof, peering over each edge in search of something. His eyes met Steve's for a brief moment, then looked away as he continued his search.

Steve took a deep breath. One problem at a time. He peeked behind dumpsters and in storage containers, finding nothing but plastic-wrapped product sitting on pallets. Getting that bag back was imperative. If it was anyone else's, he'd let it go. But that was Tony's stuff—his laptop, his gadgets, all with sensitive information on them.

He heard a heavy thump from somewhere, followed by a man's pained yowl. Steve rushed back into the main lot, following the sound of yelling and cursing around the side of the office building. "Ow, ow, oooww! Get off me, man! Help! Help me, I'm being robbed!" cried the voice.

By the time Steve arrived to the scene, two workers—truckers, probably—had seized Bucky and were pulling him away from the tattooed man. Bucky wriggled and snarled in their grip as the tattooed man got back to his feet. There was a cacophony of panicked voices from them all.

"Woah, woah—"

"Easy, Man!"

"What's goin' on here?"

The tattooed man backed away and pointed an accusing finger at Bucky, clutching Tony's bag to his chest. "He tried to jump me! Lock his punk-ass up!" he cried. Steve's blood boiled. He stormed towards them and the man looked his way, eyes rounding like saucers.

"You know that's not yours, Son," snapped Steve. "Give me that bag back. Now." The tattooed man froze, eyes darting between Steve, Bucky, and the confused truckers. Bucky wrenched his way out of their grip and launched forward, tackling the thief to the ground once more.

"Hey, hey!" The truckers seized him again, but Bucky had the man by the throat this time and wouldn't let go for anything. Steve drew a sharp breath.

"Bu—Nate! Stop, don't kill him!" he commanded. Only then did Bucky release his throat. Not a second later, the thief struck his face with a solid right-hook that sent him topping to the side.

The man was almost to his feet. Then Steve was on him like flies on shit, driving him to the ground with a knee to his back. The thief wailed and warbled as Steve roughly jerked the bag off his body and slung it around his own. He pulled him up, then spun him around delivered swift kick to the ass, sending him stumbling off towards the alley.

"I saw a rehab place down the block! Get some help!" Steve called after him as he frantically stumbled away. The truckers looked harried, hovering about with uncertainty.

"He, uh…He broke into our car. We didn't steal anything from him." Steve decided to clarify. He hoped they believed him. Bucky kind of looked like a low-life with his stubble, his long hair, his hoodie and pajama bottoms—but he still didn't look half as scummy as the methed-out thief.

One of the truckers fumbled his phone out of his pocket and asked, "Jesus, want me to call the cops? Dude's gettin' away!" Steve helped Bucky to his feet and shook his head.

"Don't worry about it. We just need to get back on the road. Come on, uh, Nate." He patted Bucky's shoulder and led him back down the alley, pulling his cap a little lower over his eyes.

The truckers watched them go, exchanging looks of bewilderment.

"Dude, that guy looked just like Captain America."

xXxXxXx

Steve couldn't believe his fucking eyes.

There lie Sam and Tony, still sleeping like babies in the back of the van while Steve was getting run over by traffic and tackling bad guys. He startled them awake when he wrenched the sliding door open and growled, "Are you kidding me?"

"W-what, what?" Tony snorted, just sitting up when a heavy bag was tossed into his belly. He grunted and slipped back down to his elbows.

"I just wrestled that back from a thief," Steve told him. "He was rooting around in here and you guys didn't even notice. Bucky left the vehicle-how could you not notice?"

Tony set the bag aside and rolled his eyes. "Well, excuse us for being human, Captain Asshole! I'm only a billionaire playboy genius, I don't have government super-juice in my veins!" Steve opened his mouth to retort, then closed it and shook his head, slamming the door shut. He gave Bucky a push towards the passenger side and the brunet quickly climbed in.

Steve picked up the gas nozzle and shoved it in the tank, but the lever clicked uselessly. The little screen read "transaction timed out – payment cancelled". He looked at the little store across the lot. All that, and he had to go in and show his face again anyway.

Keep the change.

Shit.

xXxXxXx

Steve had a little tantrum in the parking lot and said some things he probably shouldn't have. He was officially too angry to drive, so Tony slammed a couple energy drinks and offered to take over until Illinois. Steve sat in the back with Sam, who guided him through some breathing exercises. Once they put enough miles between them and the station—and the incident—Steve offered an apology.

His tone was sheepish and ashamed when he said, "I'm, uh…I'm sorry, guys. For blowing up at you like that. I was out of line."

"What was it you called me?" Tony raised his eyebrows, looking back at him through the rear-view mirror. "A 'sauced-up, fat-headed, jackass? Sassy, sassy, Rogers." A red tint flushed Steve's face as he fixed his gaze to the floor.

"It slipped out," he explained. "I didn't mean it. I just…I was scared. Bucky could've gotten hurt or—or worse. And if we lost all your gadgets…"

"I agree, let's not lose my babies again," said Tony. Steve turned to the passenger seat, where Bucky sat with a paper towel pressed to his nose. The thief gave him a good sock, but despite all the blood it didn't seem broken.

"You feeling okay? I mean, after getting run over and all…" queried Sam. Steve nodded.

"A little sore, but I'm fine. I'm more worried about Bucky."

"I think he's a little tougher than you give him credit for." Sam smiled. "You guys are made of the same stuff. Well, almost. You know what I mean."

They all needed rest, but after the scare at the bed and breakfast, Tony didn't want to stop until he absolutely had to. They only paused to grab food and ate it on the road, four greasy boxes of pizza with different toppings. Sam was tasked with rolling Tony's up like a tube and feeding it to him from the passenger seat because Tony refused to touch his precious wheel with greasy fingers.

"Not like it matters. This van's already a hunk of garbage," Sam told him, and Tony retorted,

"It's my hunk of garbage, okay? I rescued it. Brought it back to life with my own two hands, and that makes it great." Sam chuckled through his nose, shaking his head towards the window.

Steve was finishing his fifth slice behind them. Bucky already went through a protein drink, casually barfed it up in one of the plastic bags they saved for just the occasion, and then decided he wanted pizza just a few minutes later. Steve watched him as he plucked a pepperoni off the top. He probably should have stopped him, yet he found himself silently observing as Bucky swallowed it and reached for another.

Six slices of pepperoni went down, then came back up ten minutes later. Bucky was getting pretty swift about making it into the bag, at least. Steve winced, losing his appetite as his friend coughed up the last of it, then immediately reached for more pizza. This time, Steve's hand shot out and seized his wrist like he should have done in the first place.

"Buck," he frowned, "don't. Don't do that to yourself." A scowl crossed Bucky's face and he wriggled his arm out of Steve's grip, swiping a slice of pizza and cramming it in his mouth. Steve damn near tackled him, wrenching the brunet's arm back with one hand and ripping the food out of his mouth with the other.

"Spit it out!" demanded Steve, but Bucky defiantly swallowed the mouthful. The blond man sighed and let him go. Too late now. Sam twisted around in his seat, Tony peering in the rear-view mirror. "The hell are you two doing back there?" asked Tony. Steve hesitated, then sighed,

"Bucky's eating pizza."

"Pizza? Pizza's not allowed. What did I tell you about puking in my van, Barnes?" Tony furrowed his brow. Bucky ignored him and licked the grease from his fingers. Seconds later, he lurched and the pizza spilled onto the rug.

xXxXxXx

Thanks to Bucky, Tony was forced to pull over at a department store. The old rug was rolled up and thrown in the dumpster around the back of the building, then Sam came out of the store with a new one. Bucky was sentenced to the passenger seat, where there was less trouble to be found.

He was like this in the past too, Steve recalled. Did whatever the hell he wanted just to prove a point, consequences be damned. Bucky was trying to express something again. Maybe frustration with his body. Maybe some anger towards Steve. Maybe it was a form of self-harm. Steve couldn't allow that.

Even in the passenger seat, Bucky was finding ways to be obnoxious. He fussed with the radio, cranking it up extra loud until Tony punched the eject button and popped the whole mechanism out. Now there was no radio at all. Bucky leaned back and began kicking the bottom of the dashboard, wearing a sour look on his face. Tony turned to him and snapped,

"Would you cut that shit out? 'Cause I'll toss your ass out of this van if you're gonna be like this the whole—"

"Tony…" Steve spoke up from the back. There was a certain weariness to his voice.

"I mean it!" Tony went on. "I'll leave you on the side of the road and you can hitchhike your way around, I don't give a shit." Bucky stopped kicking the dash, glaring at Tony for a long moment. Several minutes of uncomfortable silence passed between them all, Sam struggling to focus on his book while Steve solved a crossword in a newspaper.

Thump!

Bucky kicked the dashboard again, hard, staring at Tony as he did. The van suddenly jerked to the right, sending Steve crashing into the wall and Sam crashing into Steve. They all lurched forward as the vehicle came to an immediate stop. Bucky's chest slammed into the dashboard because he kept removing his seatbelt until Steve finally gave up on the idea.

Steve pushed himself to his knees, looking at the driver like he'd gone insane. "What the hell, Man!" Sam exclaimed. Tony said nothing, sitting there with his arms crossed as he stared angrily at the road. They were parked on the gravelly shoulder, cars whizzing by to the left.

"You can't let him get under your skin like this, Tony," said Steve, struggling to keep his tone calm. "He's only acting out because he's frustrated."

"He's frustrated?" Tony whipped around in his seat, hissing through his teeth. "We have at least three sinister organizations hunting us like animals! The woman I love is busting her ass night and day, getting death threats all on his behalf," he nodded towards Bucky, "and you're telling me he's frustrated?"

"Tony, calm—" Sam began, but Steve steamrolled over his voice.

"He spent seventy years as a prisoner of war! They fucked his brain so hard, he forgot how to function like a human being, and they fucked his body up so bad that he can't even keep food down! He's missing a damn arm! So yeah, he's a little frustrated, Tony!" The blond man's voice escalated into a shout.

Sam pressed his lips together. He knew it was serious when Steve Watch-Your-Language Rogers was dropping F-bombs.

Tony raised his volume to match. "Fuck you, Rogers! I put everything on the line for him and he doesn't appreciate any of it! He's a snot-nosed little punk—just like you!" Steve's face flushed red. Storm clouds brewed in his sky-blue eyes and he sucked in a breath to spit poison, but Sam wasn't willing to let this escalate. He moved between Steve and Tony, planting a hand on Steve's chest and the other on Tony's shoulder.

"Guys, guys," he began calmly, "we're all tired and run-down. I know, I feel it. But you know this ain't worth it. Tony's right, we got some sinister people after us, but we won't stand a chance against them if we don't keep our shit together." He turned to Steve. "And Steve, we know you care about Bucky and we do too. We do. We just…Well, nobody's as stubborn as you. We're only human, you know? We get worn out."

Steve and Tony glared at one another over Sam's shoulder. Bucky was sunk into the passenger seat, looking somewhere between sullen and anxious. Sam turned to him next and said, "I'm sorry you're feeling so miserable. I know we've kinda been acting like the Three Stooges, but we're all doing our best to help you, I promise." He tipped his head towards Tony. "Take it easy on Stark, okay? We all have to work together or this van's gonna be a crime scene before we even see Illinois. Can you be a team-player, Barnes?"

Bucky's eyes flashed towards him, contemplating for a moment. Then his gaze fell and he nodded against the back of the seat. Sam grinned and patted his shoulder. "Good," he said. "Thank you. You want me to take over the wheel, Tony?" Tony faced forward in his seat and let out a long sigh.

Then, he threw the van into drive and replied, "Not with your greasy pizza-fingers."

xXxXxXx