like we never could before
Dorian was currently sat in the passenger seat of a black car that bucky had managed to hot wire. Barnes had one hand on the wheel and the other strongly holding on to dorian’s seatbelt that he had refused to secure.
“i can’t keep holding this while driving dorian. Just push in the seat belt already.” barnes huffed out as he made a swift turn on the road.
“road safety is total bull! even if we crash i won’t get hurt, im a super soldier!” dorian yelled out crossing his arms.
Barnes froze mid-motion, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the right words.
“Just because you think you can’t get hurt doesn’t mean you should be doing reckless shit,” he snapped, yanking the seatbelt across and clicking it into place with more force than necessary. His eyes flicked to Dorian, sharp and unyielding. “Yeah, you’ve got the serum, but that doesn’t make you indestructible.”
Dorian leaned back, smirking like the words had rolled right off him. “I wouldn’t say indestructible. Invincible, though? That’s got a better ring to it, don’t you think?”
Barnes scoffed, the sound low and dismissive, but the way his lips twitched gave him away. He turned his head, hoping the grin wouldn’t show, though Dorian caught it anyway.
“You think everything’s a joke, don’t you?” Barnes muttered, but the edge in his voice softened.
“Not everything,” Dorian said, crossing his arms. “Just most things.”
Barnes didn’t reply, and the hum of the engine filled the silence between them. Dorian leaned back in his seat, staring out the window, one foot tapping against the dashboard rhythmically.
“Stop that,” Barnes said without looking at him, his tone gruff but not sharp.
“What, this?” Dorian asked, tapping his foot louder just to be annoying.
Barnes sighed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet here I am, your favorite travel buddy,” Dorian replied, grinning. “Admit it, Buck. You’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”
“Miss the constant noise? The attitude? Yeah, sure,” Barnes deadpanned, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.
Dorian rolled his eyes, smirking. “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy my company. Who else would keep you on your toes?”
Barnes didn’t answer, but Dorian caught the way his jaw tightened like he was trying not to smile.
They drove in silence for a bit longer, the woods outside the car growing thicker as they headed further off the beaten path. Dorian finally broke the quiet.
“You know,” he said casually, “you’re not as scary as you think you are.”
Barnes raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. “Oh, yeah? And what makes you say that?”
“Because you do this thing,” Dorian said, gesturing vaguely in his direction. “Like, you try to look all grumpy and intimidating, but I’ve seen you smirk at least twice today. You’re soft, Barnes. Face it.”
Barnes scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re imagining things.”
“Nope,” Dorian shot back confidently. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Great. Now shut up,” Barnes muttered, but there was no real bite to his words.
Dorian leaned back, smug as ever. “See? Told you I’m your favorite.”
Barnes didn’t respond, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he parked the car near a diner.
“Get out. We need food,” Barnes said, already unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out of the car.
Dorian fumbled with his seatbelt, muttering a curse under his breath when it snagged, before finally freeing himself and stumbling out of the car. He jogged to catch up, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets as the cool evening air nipped at his skin.
The neon sign buzzed faintly, casting the chipped parking lot in a flickering pink glow. The place looked like it hadn’t changed since the fifties, and stepping inside didn’t feel much different. Checkerboard tiles, red vinyl booths, and a jukebox tucked into the corner—it was frozen in time.
Dorian paused just inside the door, his eyes darting around, taking it all in. It wasn’t trying to be retro; it just was. And maybe that’s why it felt… safe.
“Kid, keep moving,” Barnes muttered, glancing back.
Snapping out of it, Dorian followed him to a booth tucked into the back corner. Barnes slid into the seat with his back to the wall, his eyes already scanning the room like he was planning an escape route.
Dorian sat across from him, picking up the sticky, faded menu and holding it like a shield. The options were simple, but he wasn’t reading them. Instead, he let his gaze wander again until a shadow fell over the table.
“Evening, folks,” the waitress greeted, her voice light but tired, like she’d been doing this all day.
Dorian glanced up out of habit, and his breath caught. She barely looked like her—brown hair pinned back, soft eyes, a polite smile—but that was all it took. His mom’s face flashed in his mind, vivid and impossible to ignore.
The memory hit like a punch to the chest. He looked down quickly, his grip on the menu tightening.
“one coffee, black. And a hot chocolate.” Barnes ordered without missing a beat, filling the silence.
“Sure thing,” the waitress replied, her pen scratching against the notepad. She hesitated for a second, her eyes flicking to Dorian. “You good, sweetheart?”
Dorian nodded without looking up, mumbling something that might’ve been “fine.”
She lingered for a moment longer, then walked away, her shoes clicking softly against the tiles.
Barnes raised an eyebrow. “What was that about?”
“Nothing,” Dorian muttered, keeping his eyes locked on the menu. His stomach twisted. It didn’t matter if the resemblance was barely there. It was always enough. Every woman he looked at—it didn’t matter who—always brought her back. Her voice, her laugh, the memories Hydra had tried to erase but couldn’t.
Barnes leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “You avoiding her for a reason, or are you just being weird?”
Dorian shrugged, trying to play it off. “Just not big on small talk.”
Barnes stared at him for a moment like he was about to push further but decided against it. “Right. Sure.”
The waitress returned a minute later, placing two chipped mugs on the table. Dorian didn’t look at her, muttering a quiet “thanks” as she set the cup down in front of him. She didn’t say anything, just gave him a quick smile and moved on to the next table.
Barnes picked up his mug, taking a slow sip as he studied Dorian. “You’re not fine,” he said bluntly.
“I’m fine,” Dorian snapped, a little too quickly.
“You’re not,” Barnes repeated, setting his mug down. “But you’ll let it eat you alive before you admit it, so what do I know?”
Dorian’s jaw tightened, and he stared into his coffee like it held answers. “I’m fine,” he said again, quieter this time.
Barnes didn’t push, just leaned back and shook his head. “Whatever you say, kid.”
The hum of the diner filled the silence between them, and Dorian wrapped his hands around the warm mug. He told himself to let it go, to push it down, to move on. That’s what he always did. Because if he ignored it, maybe it would stop following him. Maybe it would finally go away.