Cap paid the bill at the counter to the middle aged waitress in her stereotypical diner pink ruffled uniform. She gave him a wink and a hint but he just smiled and tipped his head in thanks, afraid he'd say the wrong thing. Watching him walk away, she sighed dejectedly, propping her head in the heel of her hand.
Steve's other two companions joined him outside where the midday sun was high and blindingly bright. They scanned the parking lot silently behind their sunglasses. Finally, Sam broke the silence, "How now, brown cow?"
Rogers looked around and then down at the curb at a loss for words or ideas. He'd been on the run before, but it was always in his back yard of Brooklyn, not in middle-America. Suddenly, he felt Bucky tense as if about to pounce when Cap saw a young man seemingly appear next to them. Steve held out a hand towards Barnes to let him know it was ok. The young man had skinny ripped jeans and a dirt smudged t-shirt on, with Guns and Roses faded art on it. Dark glasses hid his eyes and it looked like he was trying to grow a hipster beard. Wilson couldn't decide if the kid was going for the ironic clash of decades or if he dressed from Goodwill. The man wiped his face briefly with a bright red bandana, "You fellas in a pinch?"
"Not sure what you mean, son." Cap answered evenly, but cautiously still aware of the brewing tension in Barnes.
"A lift. A ride? Unless you're got the Uber or Lyft app, I can see you're not going anywhere." The young man replied smiling affably, but also like he thought he was being cunning.
"Uber?" Steve whispered as Sam rolled his eyes. Bucky kept staring darkly.
"No. We're fine." Wilson interjected firmly wondering how much more awkward this was going to become.
"About fine as three fugitives from the law can be." the man commented with a lop sided smile and a bit of swagger.
Bucky snapped, grabbing the kid's shoulders and pinning him to the wall with a concealed metal forearm, snarling inches from his face, "Who are you?"
"Bucky!" Steve reprimanded his friend as the former assassin released the stunned looking man. The swagger evaporated immediately.
"Jeezus! I'm just trying to help!" the kid rubbed the back of his head from where it whacked the wall.
Steve shot James a look, making Bucky appear like a whipped puppy, then turned to the young man, "I'm very sorry. We're all a bit on edge here. How do you know who we are?"
"For one, you're covered in field mud so you didn't drive here." Steve suddenly noticed the muck on all their shoes and up their ankles. Tentatively the young man relaxed slightly but kept his eyes on James. "Two, who else wouldn't recognize Captain America? I mean, who uses the words 'son' when talking to a twenty something?" The man looked around widely at the busy truck stop.
"So you're a fanboy, hmm?" Sam commented dryly crossing his arms over his chest. Rogers thought quickly of a younger Coulson.
The kid straightened himself up with his skinny frame and looked Sam in the eye, "No. I'm a trucker." He pointed with a callused hand towards a second-rate rig parked behind some nicer cabs, "And that is my noble steed."
"That hunk of junk?" Sam exclaimed.
"Be careful what you call junk. The Millennium Falcon was pretty fly for a heap of scrap." The young man huffed, insulted.
"Fanboy." Wilson muttered under his breath.
"What's your name?" Steve asked.
"Terry. Terry Jacobs." He extended a hand. Steve shook it firmly.
"Well, Terry." Cap said, "I think we'd appreciate a ride."
"Anything for Captain America and friends. Tony Stark is too much of an asshole for me." Terry replied and gestured towards his truck. They all began to move together, Bucky still scanning around nervously, the tension not gone from his shoulders.
High above, barely a speck in the sky, almost like the shadow of a circling hawk or vulture, Vision located his prey. Calling Natasha, he informed her he had their target.