Captain America and Bucky Barnes Imagines

33. BUCKY: Camping Trip

Words: 5.6K

Warnings: Language

A/N: This one is about a month in the making. I don't know why it took me so long, but I think it's one of my favorites now. Hope everyone likes it!

           

"What the fuck is this."

It's not so much of a question but a sassily spoken statement that I hear ricocheting out of Tony's mouth and into the wooded wilderness. We're standing at the edge of our campsite with bags on our backs and a whole troupe of us outside of the van.

"It appears to be about an eighth of an acre of land just thirty seven yards aside from a lake. The lake itself is rather beautiful, if I do say so. And the foliage is quite captivating..." Vision quickly stops talking as everyone turns to stare at him.

The only person who doesn't look utterly peeved to be in this situation is good ole Steve Rogers. Captain Loser is wearing a stupid Yankees baseball cap and some seriously ugly dad-style Keen shoes. "Well, kids, we should set up camp before it starts getting dark."

"Dark?" I repeat. "It's only noon."

Steve carefully sets down his pack at the center of the dusty campsite. Everyone else is still rooted next to where the van is parked. "Yes, Y/N, but I have a feeling that our little ragtag group here is going to take a long time to get all our ducks in a row. So it'd be best to start now," he says, "Unless you want to be sleeping out in the open tonight." He raises an eyebrow at me with a small smile.

Tony's face visibly pales. "You mean there's not a cabin?"

Nat whirls around on a Nike shoe heel. "Do you see a cabin out here, Stark?"

Tony shakes his head. "That's it." He holds his hands into the air. "I'm leaving." He goes to head for the car.

Steve doesn't make to stop him, but his voice is loud. "None of us are going anywhere. Fury told us we had to do this. We need the bonding."

"Listen here, Boy Scout," I grunt. From behind me I hear Bucky snort. "I spend enough time with you losers at the compound. I don't need to roast marshmallows and sing 'kumbaya' in order to do my job any better."

Steve walks up to me. He rests a hand on my shoulder, saying, "No, Y/N, but it may help you learn how to relax." His smile is soft and almost fatherly. "And maybe learn to trust some of us a little bit more."

It's no secret that I've got some trust issues. I'm the newest member of the team, but they don't seem to have any problems with me. It's my own damn fault that I'm not exactly fitting in. It's just that in my line of work, having to kill people I mean, it's been difficult to form real connections. I have a hard time believing that all of these people here actually care enough about the rest of us to make the sacrifices we're sworn to make. I don't know—maybe I'm just a pessimist, or maybe I'm the only one being real here when I say there's no way the Avengers could all really be such good friends.

"Let's get this shit show over with," Sam grunts and tugs a box of tent parts out of the back of the van. It makes a loud noise when it hits the rocky ground, and I realize that I'm getting the first of many headaches that'll last this whole week.

Yes: I said week. This trip is going to be the longest, most painful experience of my life (and I was once water-boarded and had my fingernails ripped out by the Egyptian government).

We take the rest of the afternoon to unpack and settle into our campsite. We've brought along four tents: which doesn't seem like nearly enough. Bruce, Peter, and Tony are going to share the one in the corner. Apparently Vision, Nat, Clint, and Wanda are going to have the one beside theirs. Then the third tent is going to go to Sam, Bucky, and Steve. Thor gets his own because he's an entitled douchebag. He's a prince, so apparently that makes him special.