Captain America and Bucky Barnes Imagines

50. STEVE: Don't Be Afraid

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"There's nothing wrong with being afraid of something, Y/N," Clint advises you one eve over a pint of ale. You sit across from him at the brew-house and roll your eyes.

"It's silly though," you admit. You take a swig of your drink and cringe at the taste. It's light beer—not nearly as good as the real stuff. Not strong enough, either: not after the type of mission you just had with lots of death and despair.

Still dressed in spandex and dirt, Steve takes his turn speaking. "Everyone's got silly fears. It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Oh yeah?" you challenge. You cross your arms and cock an eyebrow. "And what's yours, Cap?"

Steve grabs a soggy fry from your plate. Looking as if he's thinking very hard, he finally admits, "Probably being frozen again."

"That's not what we're talking about here," you sigh. "That's a totally reasonable fear."

"Yeah—we're talking about phobias. Fears of stupid shit that not everyone else has." Sam burps without excusing himself, making you laugh. "Mine is elevators."

"Elevators? Seriously?" Nat questions. She's seated next to you with her head resting on her hand and her green eyes looking drained.

"Oh yeah." Sam nods. "What about you, Widow? Scared of anything? Spiders, maybe?"

"Nah." Nat shrugs before going on, "The dark's not my favorite place to be though."

"So it's a fear," Clint supposes.

Nat glares. "I'm not afraid of anything, remember?"

"Ah yes—we have to keep up the illusion that you're a badass." You chuckle and finish eating your fries before the rest of your team can steal the rest. They've already eaten their dinner but seem to want more.

"I have a stupid fear," Steve projects into the conversation to keep himself involved.

"And what is it? Shirts that fit?" you mercilessly tease. Bucky chokes on his beer—foam coming out of his nostrils.

Steve, ignoring Bucky's reaction, smirks at your joke. He says, "I'm afraid of dogs."

"Dogs? Really?" Nat muses.

"Big ones, specifically. I guess I was never around them much as a kid to be comfortable, and now they just make me nervous."

"Valid." You nod. "Bucky?"

Bucky stares at the table in thought for a moment before replying, "Clowns."

"Good answer. But mine would have to be zombies."

You cackle out loud at Clint's lame answer. "Zombies aren't real, Clint."

"Bullshit they aren't! You're telling me with all the shit we've seen that there's not the slightest possibility that they're real?!"

You ponder this for a moment before deciding he could be right. "Alright. You win."

Clint, who has stood to make his point, sits back down at his seat.

"You never told us yours," Steve says and gently prods you with his elbow.

You take another drink of beer. "I don't wanna say."

"Loser," Sam coughs into his arm. "Everyone else said theirs."

The table sounds off with everyone else taking Sam's side—pestering you to share. The only one who speaks up for you is Steve, who sternly interjects, "If Y/N doesn't wanna say it, she doesn't have to. No one's going to force her." He narrows his eyes at Sam, causing the latter to huff and shrug away.