"Sure." Bucky clambered into the car, dragging the door shut behind him. This was his car - not really flashy enough for him, but someday he would have a better, nicer car. Something fast and sleek. He reached forward, poking the address to the shelter into the GPS.

Truthfully, he wasn't going to the shelter to just look at dogs. He'd been wanting one for a long time, and had done a lot of reading up on the effects of pets on trauma survivors.

But he never would have been allowed. But if he got a dog and was seen in public with it, his mother would never be able to tell him he couldn't keep it.