I Drive Your Truck
I Drive Your Truck
Steve’s POV:
Dear Bucky,
A few months after I came out of the ice I had finally went to that storage locker. The old truck sat there unmoving for so long that it took me awhile to get it running again. There is exactly 89 cents left in the ashtray, and an empty cola bottle rattles across the floor board. Your favorite t-shirt collects dust on the small back seat, along with the dodgers cap on the dash. Your dogtags now join the stuff since I hung them from the rear view mirror.
Natasha always shakes her head when I grab these old keys and head for the door. She never says anything though, since she knows this is my way of coping. I burn at least one tank of gas every time I come out. I take all the old roads in Brooklyn before heading out of town to tear up some empty lot of ground. Sometimes I just sit and listen to the old tape that you left in the player. I play it rather loud, kinda like Tony’s music at home. Man I know you would laugh and mess up my hair if you ever caught me crying in this old thing. I am trying to be strong but it’s hard to face the 21st century alone. Coulson keeps offering to show me your memorial… but that flag and monument isn’t where I feel you…
Sincerly Steve
Dear Bucky,
Today I took the truck out for the first time in a few months. I guess I finally started coping after a few special trips to church. Now I have so many missions, and an actual social life, so I don’t get the chance to pull the old truck out as often. I only found time today because I am getting married tomorrow. Man I wish you could be by my side tomorrow.
I am sitting parked outside our old neighborhood. Thinking about how you used to joke that I would never settle down, but the girl I got is better than any of the ones you ever brought home. She can shoot a gun and kick serious ass, but also pull off the perfect woman routine. She does ballet and speaks several languages, and her hair is the best shade of red I have ever seen. Now I have to wrap this up and get home before Natasha starts to worry that I am getting cold feet.
Sincerely Steve.
Dear Buck,
It has been about two years since the last time I was in this truck. This time I have a passenger, his name is James. He is a beautiful boy with my eyes, and his mother’s hair. He fell asleep after the first few minutes in this old truck, a lot faster than in any of our other vehicles. I guess I just wanted to write you and let you know that life is becoming easier. I miss you like crazy, and sometimes I drive your truck.
Love, Steve & James
Dear James Barnes,
I came face to face with you today, well not really you. It was a brainwashed version of you, that goes by the name Winter Soldier. You attacked my wife and I, you even managed to shoot her. You nearly left my son motherless. I don’t know what to do, or even who to trust. Because it turned out that you knew my wife from her days at the KGB. Hell, you had to help train her, she knew your identity but kept it from me. I am feeling the same way that I did when I first woke up from the ice. I know I need to go home and tuck James into bed but I had to do this one last time. To drive through Brooklyn and find that field one last time before I put the truck away for good. I just had to drive your truck.
Steve Rogers.