hydratrashmeme | Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Holy shitballs, look at us go. Welcome to Captain America fandom's resident wretched hive of scum and villainy: ROUND THREE. AKA Bad Guys Do Dirtybadwrong Things To Your Faves, AKA the Hydra Trash Party kinkmeme. As usual, BLANKET NON-CON AND NSFW WARNINGS apply: just assume going in that everything in this landfill is unfit for human consumption.

Rules in brief: don't be a jerk except to fictional characters, warnings for particularly fucked-up garbage are nice but not required, thou shalt not judge the trashiness of thy neighbor's kinks unless thy neighbor is trying to pass off their rotting banana peels and half-eaten pizza crusts as a healthy romantic dinner for two, off-topic comments may be chucked out of the dumpster at management's discretion, management's discretion decrees that omegaverse, soulbond AUs, D/s-verse, non-superpowered AUs, and dark!good guys AUs are off-topic.

[Round 1] [Round 2] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by

greenkirtle)] [Round 3 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

Round 3 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 4.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Trauma is different for everyone, right? How can we exploit this for trash purposes?

Steve and Bucky are both captured by Hydra, who subjects them to terrible amounts of torture, degradation, abuse, and rape. Eventually they're rescued, but not before serious horrors have been heaped upon them both.

Then, in the aftermath, one of them (no preference who) develops severe PTSD, and the other just... doesn't. Not that that person isn't hurting, but the trauma doesn't manifest in a way that fits a PTSD diagnosis, and perhaps isn't as severe as the way the PTSD-sufferer is experiencing. So imagine Steve and Bucky, one of them sleepless from nightmares, tense with hypervigilance, loaded with triggers, beset by flashbacks, in agony, feeling so so weak in comparison to the other, who is experiencing a weird survivor's guilt despite also having been victimized, and is probably ignoring and dismissing his own trauma because it's not as bad.

As the Winter Soldier, Bucky's emotions were a source of vulnerability; if his handlers knew how he felt, it was easier to hurt him. I'd like to see this translating into post-Hydra aftermath where Bucky never, ever lets on when something is bothering him. That is, until the stimulus finally overwhelms him, the easy smile drops off his face, and he bursts into tears.

I'm picturing this reaction as being completely unpredictable from the perspective of Bucky's friends. Bucky seems fine until the exact moment he doesn't; you never know what's setting him off until it's too late. So this is difficult for Bucky, who feels like a crazy person who can't reign in his stupid emotions, and for Steve, who's gradually forced to accept he has to walk on eggshells around the person he should be most at ease with.

+++ for SUPER INSECURE Bucky, whose trauma minefield includes a mess of sensitive spots and fragile feelings

+ a lot of trash gets discovered this way, when Bucky starts crying during sex or when Steve is stroking his hair or kissing him. so Steve is constantly crashing into awareness of what happened during Bucky's rapes, but only once he's already upset Bucky to the point of tears. and it's really unsafe and unhealthy that Bucky won't stop him before that point

+ Steve is the one who catches the brunt of this, and it wounds his own self-confidence too. He's gently ribbing Bucky about something that happened, and Bucky's laughing and playing along, it's all cool, until Bucky starts crying, and that's when it comes out he feels so hurt Steve is making fun of him; all sorts of things that make Steve feel like the asshole

+ Bucky is a fidgety but silent crier, because what's sadder than that image? also it leaves open the possibility of Steve fucking Bucky from behind, only to discover once he finishes that Bucky has been crying for like ten minutes and the pillowcase is soaked

This is the trash heap in which I shall dwell. Here I will plant my flag, stitched together entirely from the non-stick backing of 100 maxi pads.

God this is horrible, I love it.

unf that soaked pillowcase fucking is SO GOOD. <333

Oh, this is horribly compelling. Imagine them taking it even further and completing fucking up Bucky's entire system for understanding and expressing emotions and sensations. Like, they've removed the metal arm for repairs and are tinkering around with the raw bone stump on the end of his left shoulder:

"How does that feel, Soldier?"

"good, sir"

"Surely you can elaborate."

"It feels fantastic, sir! Please keep doing it!" while he's jerking around in the restraints from agony, tears streaming down his face.

Later, with Steve, he's not even really able to tell what feels good or not. Is that sweater soft or itchy? Does he like spicy food or is it hurting his mouth? Who knows - certainly not the Soldier! (Or, just, not to deviate too much from your wonderful prompt, Bucky just smiling continously and inappropriately through all kinds of debriefings, medical procedures, etc and Steve is simultaneously devastated and creeped out).

OMG, Steve is going to be so fucked up by this. Like, what the hell should he even do? Sometimes it seems like the only thing is to stay away from Bucky entirely, which of course Bucky will accept amiably and then calmly go exercise or watch tv or something, until he breaks down sobbing like his heart's been ripped out because Steve is finally done with him.

You have found my trashy garbage heart, anon.

I've done this once or twice, failed to notice that what I thought of as gentle teasing or lighthearted arguing was actually hitting some sore spots. And when they snap into "visibly upset" mode, it's such a shocking way to crash down to earth. It makes you feel like a bulldozer, or cruel.

In this case, there wouldn't be any social cues for Steve to pick up on, but that wouldn't spare him the pain and self-criticism; it would kill him to know that as he went jabbering on, every word was wounding Bucky further and he hadn't even noticed. Bucky's crying into his hands and Steve sits there, hating himself, looking back over the last few minutes to figure out how he injured Bucky this time.

That self-blame might make this a more difficult situation too, right? Steve won't fault Bucky for getting hurt. He places all the blame on his own clumsiness and inconsiderateness. It would take some effort to learn what hurts Bucky, and, furthermore, see past his own self-blame to the real issue: that Bucky won't stop Steve after he's fired the first shot, instead keeping his happy face on and letting Steve fire a hundred more, until Bucky can no longer take the pain.

until he breaks down sobbing like his heart's been ripped out because Steve is finally done with him.

it's raining on my face. I loooove emotional-agony!Bucky; BEST BUCKY

Ooo I really like this. What if it's Bucky who isn't all that traumatized by it? Sure, it was awful and he absolutely hated it, but he's so used to being raped by hydra that he's just learned how to push his feelings of disgust and revulsion out of the picture so that he can keep going. He's just Not Dealing With It. And maybe he will experience some PTSD later on when he actually does start to deal with it, or maybe he won't.

Meanwhile, Steve is suffering these horrible nightmares and he flinches away whenever someone touches him without warning, and he's really confused about why Bucky isn't reacting the way he is. He starts to think that maybe he's overreacting and it really wasn't as bad as he thinks it is, or that he's weak for feeling this way. And you know how stoic Steve is. That'd make him work extra hard to suppress everything and act like he's fine.

I wonder if Steve knows about Bucky's past rapes though? Maybe Bucky's hidden this from him and the other avengers so that he can keep on Not Dealing With It. Or maybe he told Steve about it all nonchalant like, in an attempt to make it seem like he isn't that fucked up by it. Or maybe Steve and everyone else found out by accident when like a video clip or something of him being raped was released on the internet. But whatever the case, Bucky's blasé attitude about it just makes him doubt himself even more and he shuts in on himself and just suffers the anxiety in silence until he bursts

I've actually written something that's RTYI re: the second option, from the last time tentacles was prompted, but I can't post it yet - i could try for the first option, though if i can get the motivation up.

Any '+' points?

Best Bucky, indeed. And desperate-to-help, horrified-at-his-perceived-incompetence Steve is a very good Steve as well. But he's got no good chance here - he'll learn very quickly not to tease Bucky, to treat him very gently but not like a little kid, not to ask questions he can't answer, all the obvious stuff. But the OP reminds us Bucky's trauma is hidden and unpredictable, because of course it is, after seven decades of globe-spanning Hydra shenanigans. Steve finds the cutest, funniest nature documentary for them to watch, and he's previewed the whole thing to ensure it's predator-free, and Bucky really seems to find it relaxing and charming until he's in a full-on panic attack because the opening narration mentioned these river otters live in Brazil and one of his most fucked-up missions/punishments was in Rio. If he could have said something, he would have just said "let's watch the snow monkeys instead" but of course he can't.

So I was rewatching Agents of Shield (don't need to have seen it to get this prompt, assuming I explain it well enough) and there's an early episode where they encounter this woman who has a camera embedded in her eye. Someone is controlling her by watching her through it so they see everything she sees and can send her messages by having text appear at the bottom of her vision (also there's a kill-switch in it and she can see through walls and stuff when she closes her eyes for some reason I don't remember). I immediately thought about HYDRA using a similar device to keep track of the Winter Soldier. It would be a convenient way to give him commands while he's in the field and keep an eye on him to the extant that he has absolutely zero privacy and autonomy.

The trash: I have two scenarios in mind. I am open to others, really the creep factor of watching his every move and being able to give him commands wherever he is is what's most appealing about this to me (in the episode, the team finds out what is going on with the camera after they've hacked into her video feed and watch her write the phrase "can I sleep?" on a piece of paper and I was immediately like "that is some depressing shit right there. Now make it into porn!"). One is pre-TWS, he is assigned on a honeypot mission for whatever reason and someone has to use it to actually coach him through not just interacting with people, but seducing someone and having sex with them. Like, some agent is literally instructing him on the mechanics of sex (and also probably jacking off at the same time and saving these videos for later).

Second scenario is post-TWS somebody *cough*Rumlow*cough* is still using this device to control Winter/Bucky (mentally he's still the obedient Soldier but Rumlow is coaching him to act more like human-like). Rumlow gets him to go back to Steve, ostensibly to get info but really so that Rumlow can force Bucky to initiate sex with Steve and watch while telling Bucky what to do to him (and also save those videos for later. Maybe someday share them with Steve).

(OP) oh my god I'm so happy right now. Either option is absolutely perfect, so whichever strikes your fancy more! (This greedy trash hoarder wouldn't mind reading one as a fill to the other prompt and another here, but I will keep to my pile of rotting seafood)

As for bonuses, with tentacles especially, I'd kind of like Bucky being filled well beyond what any human should be. Multiple tentacles in each end going much farther than they should. I would also not be opposed to some sounding just to make sure we've got our holes covered. Being stuffed full of cum or slime also does wonders for my libido.

Ten days earlier, Bucky sat awkwardly on the edge of his bed. Beds were new. He'd been at home for a week now, and he still found beds strange, but he was expected to use them. His hands were clenched in the quilt. He looked at the floor, trying to find the words to argue. The problem was that Steve always sounded so reasonable when he wanted something, even when it was something entirely unfair.

"It won't be for long." Steve wheedled at him. "Just a brief little check up, to see what can be done about your arm."
Bucky didn't answer. He might not want to say anything that counteracted Steve's wishes, but he could express his own disdain. Steve sighed.

"Look, Bucky. I can tell it's causing you pain. If you really don't want to go, I won't force you, but I think you should go there. I'll be there the whole time, if that would help."
Bucky knew when he had lost an argument. If he said no, the pressure would keep on coming, and anyway he wasn't meant to say no. Saying no was bad. Saying no led to more punishment.

Feeling sick, he nodded.

Walking down to the lab felt familiar. He had walked down to many different labs, but they always caused the same cold feeling in his chest. He was going to be examined next. Steve's footsteps echoed on the floor beside him, and he fought the urge to gag. Steve was walking with him. That was a positive.

The door to the lab opened, revealing Tony. Tony didn't dress like a lab technician or a doctor. Tony was the loudest man he had met in the building. He talked a lot, and didn't seem to say much. He was smiling. That wasn't often a good sign.

"How are you feeling today Robocop?" Tony asked. Bucky said nothing, letting his disdain show through. Tony laughed, and Bucky's insides twisted.

Steve sat beside him at a workbench, littered with screws and screwdrivers. Tony had a machine run some scans, and feed back the information. Discussion carried on, going over Bucky's head a little until Tony started work on the arm.

He fought to hold the plates still as they were carefully lifted, Tony muttering about the condition of the wires and the weight of the metal. Tony sounded annoyed, and he couldn't concentrate on that. Instead, he looked at what was on the table.

Beside his little finger, there was a small screwdriver, tiny enough to fit into the palm of his hand. It was the kind of thing used for the tiniest levels of maintenance, undoing the smallest of screws. It had a red handle, with a metal body. He flexed his finger, knocking into it, and it rolled over. He poked it harder, and it rolled down towards the edge of the table.

It teetered on the edge for a moment before it fell down, landing on his leg and slipping to the side, pinned between his leg and the wall. He glanced up at Tony and Steve.

They hadn't noticed.

The examination took over an hour. Through it all, he had his leg pressed against the wall, pinning the screwdriver in place. He was asked questions, and said what he had to in response, but otherwise he disengaged as best as he could. He wasn’t needed during maintenance. Finally it was over and he was released.

As he stood, his hand slipped down and grabbed the screwdriver, and he walked out of the room with it tucked against his palm and held in place with his thumb. His heart was racing.
"So what did you think of it?" Steve asked.
"I think he seems confident." Bucky answered, not entirely sure what had been decided upon. But his answer made Steve laugh.

"He has good reason to be confident, don't worry. We'll get that arm sorted, he's going to have a fibreglass prototype by the end of the week."
Bucky hoped he didn't need that screwdriver.

All the way to his room, he expected his deception to be discovered, but it was not. When left alone, he lay down in his bed, and carefully dug the screwdriver into the frame. It would be easier to sleep here now that he knew it was a symbol to his own little act of rebellion.

haha xD I'm not at a stage where I'm able to post the other one but I'm pretty sure you'll like it when I do.

For this one, I can certainly give it a go - I work in*credibly* slowly though - I'll do my best to come back if it ends up being something i can't finish.

I'd like to see a fully recovered, happy Bucky recaptured by Hydra and punished or beginning to be re-broken. Hydra gets the Asset back and treat him with as much dehumanization as they did before, except that this time it's both surreal for Bucky because he's solid in his understanding of himself as a person and how they broke him the first time around, and horrifying because he knows exactly how and why they're doing what they're doing but there's no getting out of it. Bucky knows he's a person, he's been treated as a person by everyone else for months or years, and yet here he is again with no control over his body, his food, anything, being talked about like an object (not even talked TO) and beaten, drugged and raped into compliance while slowly going crazy wondering if he ever got away at all.

+Rumlow and Rollins talking about Bucky like he isn't even there, about how funny it was that Steve or the avengers had the Asset pretending to be a person
++ Bucky slipping back into his old compliance when they order him around or rape him even though he's still very much still his recovered self, because it's less bad than if they have to beat him into compliance but he hates himself for it
+++ Bucky being painfully aware of how humiliating things like being hosed down or given an enema before cryo are, even though he remembers going through those things, he didn't experience any emotion about them the first time around and so didn't have to deal with the first hand emotional experience of it when he started recovering
++++ Bucky gets rescued, but Steve/Sam/Nat interpret everything he does as him being re-broken or reprogrammed even though he wasn't, and Bucky starts to doubt whether Hydra really broke him or not

(and yes, I've read Reunion Tour and the other one whose name I'm forgetting where Bucky gets blackmailed into going along with a Hydra gangbang, but if there are other fics in a similar vein I'd love links)

I WILL GIVE WHOEVER FILLS THIS MY FIRSTBORN.

OP here, I found the blackmail fill:http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/587.html?thread=133707#cmt133707

Sort of inspired by the Howlies find out about the trash prompt a few pages ago, what if Peggy was the only one who knows about Bucky's abuse during his first captivity. Everyone knows he was tortured, sure, but maybe Peggy translates/decodes some files that detail brutal rapes, etc. Does she destroy them? Does she believe them? Maybe Bucky somehow knows she knows and begs her on his knees to not tell Steve or Phillips or have him sent home because he'll do anything, Agent Carter, anything to not be separated from Steve

:) :) :)

The building that the asset was being taken to loomed up in front of him, leaving him feeling ill. His heart raced and sickness swirled through him. This wasn't right. This wasn't right at all. The street layout reminded him of those missions a lifetime ago, which had been with Steve, who was here now as well. But it was different. That tower had never been there, and nor had any of the other buildings.

This was his punishment for his largest act of rebellion. He had chosen to escape from Hydra, to dive into that cold water and pull Steve out. To watch Steve's back like he had on his other missions. This wasn't like hiding food or deliberately getting someone injured. This was a bad thing. There was no way that they could miss that particular act of disobedience.

He wanted to stumble, to walk slower, but the consequences awaiting him were already so large he couldn't make them any worse. So he walked with Steve. Steve's arm was around his shoulder, resting on his arm which was rusting to the point where it no longer had its full range of movement. He carried on walking.

The doors swung open without assistance, and Steve smiled at him, squeezed his shoulder.
"We can't really go back to mine. It's not safe, and anyway someone shot holes in the wall." Steve smiled as he said that. The asset didn't think he would be punished for whatever made Steve smile.

They went towards a lift. The asset did not like lifts, and was confused when the lift started to go up rather than down. He was used to being brought into vaults and labs which were further down, rather than rising up into the air. Rising up was frightening in a way, but enjoyable in another, and he wondered how high they would go.

"You feeling alright Bucky?" Steve asked, and the asset realigned his manner of thinking of himself. He was Bucky. He was with Steve in this tower.
"Just a little..." He shrugged, falling silent, and Steve nodded slowly.
"Must be quite scary... it's okay, you can eat soon, look..." The door opened and they stepped out into a living area, a small kitchen to the side.
"This is the kitchen, anything you need, you can get it from here. My room's through this door, there's the bathroom. This room can be yours."

The door was opened and revealed a large double bed. There were bookshelves full of interesting looking stories, and a desk, and some photographs on the wall. One of the photographs was of him and Steve in an old mission, and there were other old photographs as well but Bucky kept looking at the bed. He didn't like beds.
"You need anything at all Bucky, you just call me. Jarvis will be monitoring you if you aren't able to call."

"Jarvis?"
"Jarvis is the AI...artificial intelligence in charge of the tower. He makes sure everyone is safe. If you have any problems, you can talk to him."
Bucky nodded. He would be being watched. That was alright, he could handle that as long as he was careful not to do anything against the rules. He knew he shouldn't break the rules, but sometimes disobeying felt good, and he couldn't not do it.
"Thank you."

"Let's get some food. You must be hungry. How does chicken soup sound?"
The answer came to Bucky from nowhere, a bit of left over programming from an old mission.
"Well, it kind of sploshes around a bit."
Steve laughed and got Bucky to help make the soup. Bucky thought of stealing a slice of bread, but knew Jarvis was watching, so he just left it. The soup was warm and tasted good, but the price hadn't been mentioned. For a while they sat together, Steve explaining the protocols of the mission - where he could and couldn't go, what he could do, what he couldn't do. Then he taught Bucky all about the people who lived in the tower, making sure he could repeat the answers. Only then did Steve say goodnight, and Bucky head to his room.

He searched his room. There was a camera above the door, and another pointing in it, and a number of speakers. He tried to search in silence.
"Are you in need of assistance Sergeant Barnes?" The question came from the ceiling in clipped British tones, and Bucky tried not to jump. This must be Jarvis.
"Are you watching me?"
"I am observing through three cameras and a number of speakers. However, if you would rather I am able to turn off the majority of the monitoring equipment."
"Thanks." Bucky said softly, and the red lights over the cameras flickered out.

Bucky didn't trust that he wasn't being watched, but it still helped a little to not be gazed at quite so obviously. He looked at the large bed, threatening from the centre of the room, and decided he wouldn't get in there.

He considered hiding beneath, before he noticed the wardrobe. He could tuck up inside of it, presuming that there were no shelves in the way. Opening it revealed that there was space inside of it, and he climbed in, careful not to make too much noise.

He wrapped his arms around his knees and carefully pulled the door closed, knowing that here he was safe. Jarvis was unable to monitor him now, and even in this building, with punishment overhanging him, he had temporarily escaped.

"Don't be stupid," said Brett, "they're obviously fake. A month before the election? Some weenie out on Daily Kos is creaming himself over his Photoshop job because he thinks he just stuck it to the man. Here we are putting our asses on the line to protect these fucktards, and how do they thank us? By milking the Hydra bullshit for all it's worth. Like that was us. They just want to keep whining and yell 'Nazis' so they don't have to listen to the people who've got solutions."

Kelly wadded up her empty bag of Fritos and tossed it at his head. "Thanks for your opinion." The bag fluttered pathetically to the ground three feet from the trash can, and Kelly left it there and gave her phone an impatient shake. Loading. Loading. Fuck the breakroom and its one bar of shitty 3G. She only had a couple minutes left, and it had been an entire half hour since the last time she'd refreshed usajobs.gov. Maybe while she'd been shoveling gross cafeteria food into her mouth and regretting her life choices, someone had posted the magic listing that would land her a respectable career. The FBI, maybe, or the DEA. Clerical work in some sub-basement of the Pentagon. Scrubbing toilets at the US embassy in Islamabad. Something.

In the meantime, she tabbed back to her news feed. "Hack or Hoax?" blared the Fox headline. "Dubious authenticity of SHIELD abuse pics fails to defuse anti-American riots in Middle East." Two articles down, MSNBC proclaimed, "'Capgate' now a rallying point for outcry over SHIELDRA human-rights violations." Ugh. Either way, ugh. Not news Kelly needed to hear right after lunch, not with Dylan two weeks into his third tour and another baby on the way. Didn't matter what spin you put on it. People were going to die, and the world was going to be an even more dangerous place. No wonder all the jobs were in security these days. Slate could churn out all the fluff they wanted about Avenger complexes and everybody wanting to be a superhero—people needed protection, now more than ever, and they'd need it whether or not the superhero job was looking a lot less glamorous this week.

So it would be really nice if USAJobs would load and hand her a chance to protect people, not just put on a show of it like a good little dancing monkey.

Avengers still refuse to confirm or deny photo leak, claim Cap can't be reached

Stark Industries seeks injunction against Nazisploitation porn film based off alleged Steve Rogers rape tape

Off the grid? 5 tracking technologies that debunk Avengers' "wilderness vacation" Cap cover story

Lawrence of America: The hidden history of wartime male sexual assault, and what the photo leak could mean for Captain Rogers and the world

Hoax Target, or Disgrace to the Flag?

The End of the War on Terror? Captain America was raped by the American security state. When will enough be enough?

Brett plopped down next to her. Two dozen empty chairs in the breakroom, and he had to pick the one that would let him breathe down her neck. "Hoax," he said, ignoring her attempts to tilt her phone screen away from him, "definitely a hoax. Only the Dems are pussy enough to believe Captain America would lie down and take it from a bunch of fascist wannabes."

"Yeah?" said Sheryl from over by the microwave, because not even the stench of her reheated Brussels sprouts could keep her from smelling a chance to get prissy with Brett. "So why haven't we heard any denials? It's been an official national-security issue ever since the riots started. Four days is more than enough time to turn all of Rogers' bank and medical records inside out. If they could debunk it, it would've leaked. I bet an hour after it got handed off to counterterrorism, the NSA turned up a call to a rape hotline in the guy's phone metadata and everyone shut their mouths."

"Cap? A rape hotline? Come on." Brett turned to Kelly for reinforcements. "You're too smart to believe this bullshit, right?"

Kelly gave up on loading the job board. There was only so long she could delay the inevitable. She pocketed her phone and got up to retrieve her uniform jacket from the coathook. "I'm back on the clock," she said as she donned her mantle of shame. "Can't you two get I/O room duty together and just fuck already?"

"That reminds me," said Sheryl. "I found the unblurred versions on Reddit the other night. I'm telling you, they're real."

"Ten bucks says they're shopped."

"You're on. Sucker's bet."

Murdering her co-workers out of sheer irritation would probably tank her chances of finding a nice, respectable job, wouldn't it? One that paid enough for her and Dylan to raise the kids and put her through community college; one that didn't make her want to commit murder-suicide twenty times a day. One that she could own up to in polite company instead of muttering vague evasions about working for DHS.

Kelly snapped her blue gloves back on, with a leaden knot in her stomach that had nothing to do with the three positive pregnancy tests sitting in the bathroom trash. Time for a thrilling afternoon on baggage-scanner duty, measuring the lengths of scissor blades and confiscating 5oz jars of homemade jam from little old ladies. A day in the life of America's tireless sentinels of liberty.

-

By 4:30pm, her brain was about ready to leak out her ears. That was her excuse for why she didn't catch the commotion earlier, anyway. She snapped herself out of a zoned-out trance at the sound of someone saying, "You can't just take it. It's a WWII heirloom." Fuck, another grandpa's-Swiss-army-knife drama.

And it was Sheryl on bin-loading duty, which meant the guy protesting still had his hoodie and lace-up hiking boots on and probably half a cash register's worth of change in his pockets. None of which was Kelly's problem, but she always felt bad about the heirloom Swiss army knives. "There's a post office out to the left of the Delta ticketing desk if you want to mail it to yourself," she said, "or you can check a bag and pack it in there."

The guy—who was actually kind of cute, if scruffy lumberjack was your type—looked back at the 40-minute line snaking out towards the airport entrance. "My flight leaves in fifteen minutes."

"Well then," said Sheryl, looking as smug as ever at the chance to ding someone on prohibited items. "If you want to fly, you'll have to hand it over."

Scruffy's shoulders tensed up. "Yeah? That's a nice racket you've got going there. Bet you guys give great Christmas gifts." He sounded pretty calm, but Kelly knew ex-military from the posture, and two years at this shit job had given her a fine-tuned sense of when someone was spoiling for a fight. Great.

"We don't touch any of it, sir," she said as placatingly as she could. "The policies on voluntarily surrendered property are strict—"

"Voluntarily—"

"Sir, if you could step into the scanner," said Brett, appearing as though summoned, and Kelly breathed a sigh of relief. Brett might be a sleazebag, but he had a handle on problem passengers. Sometimes literally, if they talked back to him too much. Again: not Kelly's problem. She was free to concentrate on the absolute shitshow that had just come up on the X-ray screen of the baggage scan.

The backpack turned out to contain another, larger utility knife, four very pointy steel tent pegs, a torch lighter, a camp stove still reeking of fuel residue, three old-fashioned safety razors with removable blades, and a Nalgene full of water. Jesus Christ, where had some people been for the past fifteen years? And the bag behind it—well, it had looked like a cymbal case on the conveyor belt, but whatever was inside it was just a solid block of black on the X-ray screen. She'd never seen anything like it. She'd seen a lot of weird shit, but she'd never—

Fuck. If it was a bomb—if this guy was an actual, honest-to-god terrorist—

She caught Brett's eye over where he was just getting to the retaliatory part of the enhanced pat-down. "Sir," she said to their problem passenger, who had murder written in every tensed-up line of his body, "what's in this bag?"

Scruffy McLumberjack the Potential Bomb Maniac sighed, gritted his teeth, and braced himself. "A shield," he said warily. His eyes shifted around instead of meeting hers. Scoping out the exits.

"Can I open the bag and have a look?" Kelly asked, with perfect, frozen calm.

Unexpectedly, he laughed, a single humorless expulsion of breath. "Do I have a choice?"

It knocked her off balance just enough to make her look—actually look at him, past the three days' beard and the hooded sweatshirt. It didn't click right away. But then Sheryl, the absolute dumbass, went to unzip the bag, and all it took was the first flash of red and silver to make Kelly suddenly, desperately wish it had been a terrorist bomb plot after all. She'd take a heroic death over this any day. Because this was Steve Rogers, standing on the grope-search mat, with his legs apart and Brett's hands shoved between his thighs.

Sheryl dropped the shield in shock and it hit the tile with a ringing clang. The entire security line looked up. Brett recoiled so fast he knocked over one of the folding tables, sending half a dozen passengers' keys and loose change crashing to the floor.

Cap—Steve Rogers—Captain America glanced around with genuine bafflement, taking in the wide-eyed stares, the hushed whispers, and the mortified TSA officer who'd been unapologetically manhandling him ten seconds ago. Brett looked like his mother had just died—and like a 40-minute queue of frustrated travelers had just whipped out their phones to take pictures of him with the blood-stained murder weapon in his hand.

Jesus Christ, had Cap actually been out on a two-week camping trip the whole time?

Kelly didn't consciously decide to do it. She was barely even aware of the realization that he didn't know. All she knew was that somehow, she had just become the least bad option to drop the bombshell, because nobody else at ground zero of this clusterfuck was even situationally capable of not being an asshole.

"Captain Rogers," she stammered, feeling her face heat up and keeping her voice as low as she could, "there's been... a media scandal. Pictures. Leaked to the internet. There's still debate over whether they're real or faked, but they show—it looks like they show—a Hydra cell in SHIELD commando uniforms. And you. Being, uh. Being..."

Steve Rogers stared down at her in blank expectation, his eyebrows creeping fractionally upwards, and let the pause hang in the air long enough to make her squirm. Funny how the news reports never mentioned that he was about twelve feet tall and could make you feel like a bug pinned to an index card just by looking at you. He seemed morbidly curious whether she could spit out the word. When she couldn't, he took pity on her and jerked his head towards the crowd and towards Brett cowering on the floor. "I think I can put it together," he said grimly.

"Are they?" Kelly blurted out before she could stop herself. "Real, I mean."

"Did you look at them?"

She ducked her head, unable to meet his eyes. "Everyone who's walked past a newsstand in the past week has looked at them."

"Then you know better than I do." He paused, just long enough for her to put it together—if he didn't know, that meant they could be real, which meant he really had been— "Excuse me," he added right as Kelly's brain came screeching to a halt. "I could use a moment."

"Cap," Brett cut in, scrambling to his feet, "Cap, I just want to say, you're one of my heroes and I'd like to apologize. Sir."

Captain Rogers, whose shoulders were already slumping like a ten-ton weight had just settled on them, obviously didn't appreciate the interruption. "What for?" he said in a dangerously neutral voice. "You were just following procedure." He stepped forward, back onto the mat, making Brett trip over himself to retreat out of touching distance. "Go ahead and finish up. I've got a flight to catch."

Brett stammered a few unintelligible words and stayed frozen in place. To drive the point home, or maybe as though Brett were too stupid to understand what he was being challenged to do, Cap spread his feet back apart and stretched his arms out to the side, assuming the position. Brett gulped. "You can go, sir. You should've said something. We'd've let you right through."

The commotion had died down by now as people started trying to listen to what was going on, so at least a hundred travelers heard Steve Rogers say quietly, "What makes you think I want to be treated differently from anyone else in this line?"

"Sir. You can go," Brett insisted, an edge of panic in his voice as he eyed the crowd. "I'm not going to keep searching you."

"Why?" Cap's voice was utterly flat. "Is this making you uncomfortable?"

Kelly's phone buzzed in her pocket. She fled to her post behind the baggage scanner to check it with shaking hands. A reply to one of her job applications had just landed in her inbox: the IRS needed an auditor at their Kansas City office.

Well, hallelujah. A job she wouldn't have to be ashamed of.

This is so painful and so hilarious. Perfect. ♥

author!anon

Thanks! ♥

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 14 of 215

Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

not every survivor develops PTSD

weepiness, hurt feelings, inability to express emotion

Re: weepiness, hurt feelings, inability to express emotion

Re: Keep smiling

Re: weepiness, hurt feelings, inability to express emotion

Re: Keep smiling

Re: weepiness, hurt feelings, inability to express emotion

Re: weepiness, hurt feelings, inability to express emotion

Re: weepiness, hurt feelings, inability to express emotion

Re: not every survivor develops PTSD

Re: Things that go bump in the dumpster (aka we need more tentacles)

Re: weepiness, hurt feelings, inability to express emotion

HYDRA puts a camera in Bucky's eye

Re: Things that go bump in the dumpster (aka we need more tentacles)

FILL: Cheaters Never Prosper (2/5+1)

Re: Things that go bump in the dumpster (aka we need more tentacles)

revictimization trash

Re: revictimization trash

Re: revictimization trash

Peggy knew

Re: Peggy knew

FILL: Cheaters Never Prosper (3/5+1)

Mini-fill: The Interests of National Security [1/1]

Re: Mini-fill: The Interests of National Security [1/1]

Re: Mini-fill: The Interests of National Security [1/1]