The Volkswagen Beetle was tiny, and the tension inside it made it feel even smaller. You sat stiffly in the front seat, arms crossed, watching through the windshield as Grant spoke with Sharon a few yards away. Elijah and Griffin were crammed into the backseat, a ridiculous sight considering their size, and their combined brooding was practically suffocating.

Griffin shifted behind you, letting out an irritated sigh. Then, in a tone that was already grating on your nerves, he said, "Can you move your seat up?"

You didn’t even look back. "No."

A huff. A muttered curse. The seat squeaked as he tried to adjust himself, but there was nowhere for him to go.

Elijah snorted. "Man, I am loving this."

"Shut up, Wilson," Bucky grumbled.

Your lips twitched, but you refused to let him see you smirk. He was already insufferable enough.

Griffin shifted again, his knee bumping into the back of your seat harder this time, and you turned just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. "You do that again, Cross, and I swear—"

"You swear what?" he shot back, eyebrows raised in mock innocence. "Gonna tell Grant on me?"

You narrowed your eyes. "No. I’ll just recline my seat all the way back."

Sam burst out laughing. Griffin scowled.

"Unbelievable," Griffin muttered under his breath. "Grant's got terrible taste."

"You wanna repeat that?" you challenged, twisting around fully now.

Sam held up a hand between you two. "Whoa, whoa. Grant's coming back, and I don’t feel like watching my life flash before my eyes when he finds out you two killed each other over legroom."

Sure enough, Grant was heading toward the car, shield in hand.

"Great," you muttered, facing forward again. "Now shut up, Cross, and suffer in silence like a grown-up."

Griffin grumbled something in Russian.

You rolled your eyes. This was gonna be a long drive.