All I wanted to do was go home. Is that really too much to ask?
I sneak a peek at the man in the passenger seat, his knife still pressed against my leg. Human anatomy isn't my forte, but I know what happens if he decides to press down any further.
Christ, I knew I shouldn't have transferred! I knew I shouldn't have gone on that stupid trip! Never ever go outside of the routine. It doesn't end well.
If I weren't trying to be as still as possible, I would groan in annoyance at myself. As it is, I'd rather not do anything to cause my leg to move, or to cause the man holding the blade to move with it.
How did I get myself into such a sticky situation?
Well, let me tell you, imaginary-person-I'm-talking-to-to-keep-myself-from-having-a-mental-breakdown.
As I said, all I wanted to do was go home. To visit my parents for the weekend. I started off at a college in Atlanta, Georgia, but then decided to continue pursuing my major (history) in Virginia. I'm a junior now, and my American history class decided to take a trip to DC since we were so close. I was already on my way out when the fiasco with Captain America and his ex-best-friend happened.
I was actually stopped at a light, listening to what was happening in the city behind me on the news, when my passenger door was flung open. Then, a soaking wet Winter Soldier sat down, put a knife to my neck, and said one word.
Just one word.
"Drive."
Did I run the red light faster than you can say "Oh my god I'm being carjacked?"
Yes.
And now you're all caught up. His knife is now in a very dangerous position on my leg, and he is watching every single move I make.
I stare straight ahead, trying to breathe normally, when I realize that I'm going to have to talk to my kidnapper.
"Um, where to?" I squeak.
Nothing about his demeanor changes except for a short glance at the road, "Freeway."
I merely nod in response as I put on my signal.
"You always signal when you're being held hostage?" He asks monotonously.
Despite myself, I let out a very breathy laugh, "Yeah, I guess. I figured you wouldn't want me to draw anyone's attention."
He says nothing, only continues to watch me like a hawk.
I risk another glance.
He looks awful. Like he's been through hell and back. Who knows? Maybe he has.
After all, he's supposed to be dead.
I recognize him of course, but I don't think I'll tell him that just yet. We read about how close he and Steve Rogers were, both before and during the war.
What part of James Buchanan Barnes was left in the Winter Soldier, I didn't know.
I notice something red on his seat.
"You're hurt..." I state.
"Irrelevant."
"I could stop for a first aid kit or something... bandages... something to clean up-"
"No."
I feel myself slowly losing my composure so I say nothing else.
Eyes on the road, V. Just keep your eyes on the road.
Maybe, if you're lucky, this will all be over soon.
I take a slow, deep breath, and push the panic away.
And I drive.
Hey! Welcome to chapter 1! First off, thanks for giving this a shot, and I hope you enjoy it. I'll try to keep these A/N's to a minimum, so till next time,
Kate
YOU ARE READING
Drive. ~James Buchanan Barnes
Fanfiction{DISCONTINUED} The Winter Soldier has just escaped Hydra's custody, and fully intends to keep it that way. Shield is just as bad. Shield may even be the same. So he runs. He isn't sure why. He isn't even sure who he is, but he knows he can't go...
