The tiny car smelled like old leather, fast food, and frustration.

You were crammed in the back seat, squished between Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson, and honestly questioning every life choice that had led you here.

"Move your seat up," you grumbled, knee awkwardly jammed into the back of Sam’s.

Sam glanced at you in the rearview mirror, his sunglasses sliding down his nose just enough to make his unimpressed stare hit full force.

"No," he said flatly.

You huffed dramatically and shifted, elbowing Bucky accidentally in the side. "Sorry," you muttered.

Bucky, expression unreadable as always, just shrugged like being squashed in the back of a clown car was somehow preferable to literally anything else he'd ever endured.

Outside, Steve was busy dealing with Sharon Carter — or, more specifically, kissing Sharon Carter — which you were trying very hard not to watch over Sam’s shoulder through the windshield.

Sam made a choked sound of horror and dropped his head back against the seat.

"You seeing this?" he muttered.

Bucky shifted slightly to peek around Sam's headrest. His mouth pressed into a grim line.

You leaned forward between them with a wicked grin, whispering loudly, "Our little Steve's all grown up."

Both Sam and Bucky groaned audibly.

The car fell into a tense, awkward silence.

Finally, Bucky turned to you, his voice low and deadpan:

"Push his seat forward."

You perked up instantly, grinning at Bucky like he’d just handed you a Christmas present.

Without hesitation, you reached down, grabbed the lever under Sam's seat, and yanked it.

With a loud CLANK, the seat jerked forward, smashing Sam into the steering wheel.

"HEY!" Sam yelped, flailing as he tried to push himself back.

You and Bucky both bit back matching evil snickers.

"You said you weren’t moving it," you pointed out innocently.

"I didn't say you could ambush me!" Sam barked, twisting around to glare at you.

"You needed encouragement," Bucky said dryly.