Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

[trashmod]

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.

Comments

Steve gets kidnapped, mindwiped, gaslit.

[(Anonymous)]

At the end of CA:TWS, instead of Steve ending up in the hospital after Bucky gets him out of the water, HYDRA gets their slimy be-tentacled hands on him. And hey, they have an opening for a brainwashed supersoldier! Natasha et al are still looking for Steve's body among the many, many bodies in the river right now. Maybe Same gets the shield and an invite to the Avengers clubhouse while they hunt down HYDRA?

Pretty much what I would like to see is: They use that chair to wipe Steve's memories, but that alone won't turn Steve Rogers into an obedient killing machine. I would like to see them try multiple methods, wiping him after each doesn't get the results they want. I'd like it if there are mixed successes, where they do get him to do awful things for them because he's confused/scared/lied to etc but they don't get as much control as they had over the Winter Soldier.

I would like for him to eventually either escape or be saved, though. After, like, a LOT of trauma.

+1 All my burned macaroni if, when reunited with Bucky, Steve goes "Who the hell are you?"

+10 if instead of "Summer Soldier" as a codename (which I just never liked) they use "Nomad" (or literally anything else) instead.

FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

Six days after the Insight Crash, Sam Wilson walked out of the bathroom to find the Winter Soldier standing in his living room.

"Holy fucking shit," he yelped, and made a break for the bedroom, wondering as he went how far he was going to make it before he got shot. Or stabbed. Or just crushed.

Except he got to the bedside table and yanked open the drawer, and there was no gun in it. He whirled and the Soldier was in the door, holding up his 1911 (Sam had a thing for the classics), and Sam swallowed and promised himself he wasn't going to die without getting in one good hit. Just one.

"I'm not here to kill you," the Winter Soldier said, in a voice rusty with disuse. The statement was bald and surprising enough to override the adrenaline that sang in Sam's veins enough for him to think.

The Soldier wasn't holding the gun in firing position, and it wasn't like him to play with his targets, either--his style was all straightforward, efficient violence. He was wearing civilian clothing and his hair was pulled back, and it didn't look like he'd shaved since Sam had seen him last.

Sam swallowed again. "OK, that's what I like to hear," he said, and paused. The Winter Soldier didn't fill the silence. Finally Sam said, "Why are you here?"

"I need to know if you know where St--Captain Rogers is," the Soldier said, and wasn't that interesting phrasing.

Sam blinked in surprise and said slowly, "You can't seriously expect me to tell you where he is."

"I don't want you to tell me," the Soldier said, with a mild irritation that wasn't matched in his blank face. "I just need to know if you know."

One of the things that made Sam good at his job was his ability to read people, and this--he would bet a year's pay that this was not the same person who had so methodically tried to kill him not a week ago. "No one knows," Sam said, fighting down his worry. "No one's heard from him since he told Hill to start the helicarrier attack. They dredged the shield out of the river, but if his body's down there they haven't found it yet."

For the first time the Winter Soldier's face showed something, and with astonishment Sam identified it as fear. "It's not. He was alive when I pulled him out." Pulled him out? Sam thought. But before he could ask the Soldier went on, "HYDRA has him."

*

Steve woke up sitting in a chair. In itself, that wasn't immediately alarming. What worried him was that he could tell his arms and legs were restrained, and there was an ache in his gut that said his memory of being shot, of Bucky shooting him, was not a dream. The voice in the back of his mind that sounded like Bucky said dryly, How the hell do you keep getting yourself into these fixes? as Steve pried his eyes open.

The room was large and windowless, the walls covered in little metal doors--the safety deposit vault of a bank, he realized. More important was the woman standing at the foot of the chair. She was no one Steve knew, but she'd clearly been waiting for him to wake up. "Good," she said. "I was beginning to think we were going to have to relocate before we could get started."

"Where am I?" Steve demanded. There were other people in the room, several with guns and a man standing in front of a computer monitor.

"Take this, you'll want it," the woman said, and held out a piece of rubber he recognized as a bite guard. He could hear her heels tapping on the floor as she advanced until the thing was within his reach. He looked at it, and then up at her.

"Go to hell," he said.

She made a disappointed face. "I suppose you'll live without it," she said. "Go."

Something above his head began to whir and a pair of semicircular metal arms rotated into Steve's field of vision. He started to struggle, but the restraints were strong enough to hold him, at least for the moment. The arms kept coming and then unfolded protrusions that settled over his face, and Steve had time to think This reminds me of Howard's chamber before the world whited out into agony.

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

yaaaaay this is so good already! I love practical spooked Sam and Bucky who's recovering but maybe not super up to speed on how not to scare the shit out of people yet.

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

OH SHIT. I can't look this is going to be so horrible. *looks through cracks in fingers*

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

It wasn't exactly déjà vu, but Sam had to admit that standing in his kitchen frying eggs and listening to Natasha talk to a super soldier was bringing up some uncomfortable points of familiarity.

The Winter Soldier had told them to call him Barnes. He had washed up while Sam waited for Natasha to arrive from wherever his terse phone call had summoned her, though from hearing the sound of the running water Sam thought there had been a bath, not a shower. Barnes' clothes were not perfectly clean, but he'd refused Sam's offer of loaners and didn't smell nearly bad enough for Sam to be interested in pushing it.

He had no illusions about how Barnes viewed him.

"I didn't know why I had to save him," Barnes was saying, staring at the cup of coffee Sam had made him. He'd even drunk some. Sam intended to insist that he ate, if he was too screwed up to understand on his own why he needed to. "I pulled him onto the shore, made sure he was breathing, and walked away." Natasha nodded. "The next day I...I saw his face on the side of a bus." Sam glanced at him and saw one of those faint expressions: remorse. "I went to the museum. I saw." He stopped. The hiss-crackle of the frying eggs was the loudest sound in the room. "I saw who I used to be. I sat in the projection room for almost three hours, remembering."

From the look on Natasha's face, that wasn't as simple as it sounded. Sam grimaced and flipped the eggs, one-two-three-four. "I still don't have everything. I'm not sure everything I remember is true. But I remember Steve."

"How do you know Hydra has him?" Sam asked, flicking the burner off.

Barnes looked up and this expression was clearer; he might as well have been rolling his eyes at Sam's stupidity. "Because you don't," he said.

"We need to get some backup on this," Natasha said. "Clint's plane will be landing soon. And I think we should call Stark."

*

It took him a while to wake up, and he couldn't quite remember why that was unusual. He was lying on a thin mattress, not nearly comfortable but not a bare surface either, and his hands were tied together. So were his feet. It occurred to him as he came fully awake that he didn't have any idea where he was or where he was going--from the sound and feel he was in a vehicle.

He opened his eyes and discovered he was in a cage, a near-cube of bars that filled one end of a boxy room that was probably the back of a truck. It was just large enough for him to lie full-length. This can't be good, he thought, but it felt reflexive, more something he ought to think than a really urgent concern. There were guards with guns on benches along the side walls; when he started trying to sit up they all turned to look at him. From the far end a woman stood, and he frowned. He remembered looking up at her from a chair that reclined like a dentist's, for a few seconds before...his mind winced away from the memory.

"I'm glad to see you're awake," the woman said, crouching to make their eyes nearly level. "Can you tell me your name?"

He frowned in thought. Names flitted through his mind, NatashaSamBuckyRumlowFurySteveMariaPierce, and he picked the one that seemed the most important. "Bucky," he said, trying not to let his voice rise in inquiry. It occurred to him that he should be worried that he wasn't sure. "Bucky Barnes."

The woman's eyebrows flicked up. "Is that so?" she said. "Interesting. Well, Mr. Barnes, you should get a little more rest. We have a long way to go and when we get there, you're going to be busy."

"Why am I handcuffed?" he asked.

She smiled. "You're a very strong man," she said. "We weren't sure how you'd act when you woke up. It was safer, for you and for us."

That seemed...reasonable? "What happened to me?"

Her smile broadened. "That's not important anymore," she said. "All that's important now is your future."

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

oh god my heart is broken STEVE BABY

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

I'm really liking this.

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

OH gosh loving the structure of these updates with the Sam side and the Steve side. (And poor confused Steve picking Bucky's name fffffff you are amazing author!anon!)

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

I'm so hyped about where this is headed!

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

The first thing Sam heard Tony Stark say in real life was, "It's fine, Romanoff, I don't even have to check with Pepper unless there are at least six zeros." And then Iron Man was in his damn kitchen, and Sam just...didn't have anything left to boggle about that with. His ability to freak out had gotten kinda dented by randomly meeting Captain America jogging and took a serious hole in the fuselage when two Avengers showed up asking for his help, and the arrival of the Winter--of Barnes basically shot it out of the sky entirely. So: Iron Man, in his kitchen. Moving on.

"Speaking of it's fine," Stark continued, "why the hell didn't you morons call me?" He completely ignored Barnes, who stood against the wall with his arms crossed, looking exactly like the most dangerous person Sam had ever even thought about meeting. Even in skinny jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, both of them (naturally) black. The metal hand looked like a weird glove.

"Two reasons," Natasha replied. "One, SHIELD-slash-Hydra was watching you like a satellite-assisted hawk in one of the most surveilled cities in the world." Stark opened his mouth to object but Natasha overrode him. "And yes, you're good, but you wouldn't've know we were coming and they might have been able to get onto us before you could lock down. Two," she smiled grimly, "you helped with the Insight design, Tony."

Stark looked taken aback, which was something Sam suspected didn't happen very often, and seemed to actually think about it--likely even rarer. Sam knew the type, so smart that it never occurred to them that they even could be wrong unless it was rubbed in their faces. In Stark's case, rich-kid syndrome certainly didn't help. "OK, that's--actually fair," Stark said. "In my defense, the design of those engines was, like, migraine-inducingly bad. I couldn't let them exist in the world, it was an offense against nature. And engineering. Tony Stark," he said, turning to Sam and sticking his hand out with no warning at all. Sam, who worked with people for whom mood whiplash was par for the course, took it.

"Sam Wilson, nice to meet you."

"When we have two minutes, you and I need to talk about your awesome jetpack," Stark said.

"My awesome jetpack is at the bottom of the Potomac," Sam said. The wings were, at least. He thought the backpack part was probably buried in the ruins of the Triskelion.

Stark rolled his eyes. "No, that was your regular jetpack, I'm talking about the awesome one I'm gonna make you."

"Um. Great?" Sam said. Maybe his ability to boggle wasn't completely used up after all.

"It will be," Stark said, with breathtaking, totally unconscious arrogance. "Who's gonna introduce me to our friend here?" His hand went into his pocket--of a suit that looked like it cost more than Sam made in a year--and Sam wondered if he even noticed the way Barnes tensed until it came back out holding a foil package. Of dried blueberries.

"Barnes," the man said.

Stark paused in the act of ripping the top off his package and looked up, his brown eyes sharp and intent. "You know, that's really interesting, because wasn't Capsicle's best buddy named Barnes? Back in the war I mean."

"James Buchanan," Barnes said expressionlessly. "Don't call me Bucky."

"Huh," Stark said. "And you're the last person to see him, right?"

"Yes."

"Great." He put his briefcase down on Sam's kitchen table and snapped it open. "Let's start with that."

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 9/?

[(Anonymous)]

Stark flew them to South Dakota. The plane had tiny private cabins; Sam retreated to one before they even took off. Truth be told, he hated flying in a plane, and he needed some time alone.

That plan went pretty well for about fifteen minutes before someone tapped on the door. He yanked it open hard enough to almost override the friction stops to find Natasha standing outside. "Can I come in?"

"Can I stop you?"

"Yes," she said with a shrug.

Sam sighed. "Then yeah, you can come in." The cabin was just big enough for a bed and a chair; he turned and sat back down on the former. Natasha shut the door behind her and sat in the chair, her legs curled neatly under her like a cat. She looked like a graduate student in her jeans and short jacket. The arrow necklace glinted at her throat.

"So?" he asked.

"I thought you might appreciate it if someone else was camp counselor for a little while," she said. "This is the best chance we're likely to get."

"Camp counselor?"

"You spend a lot of time keeping people on task, managing them," she said. "That's not a bad thing--in fact it's very useful, especially on an op like this, where we're personally involved. If we let our emotions take over, someone's going to screw something up, and it'll probably be fatal." She tilted her head and made an airy gesture. "But it's not easy to maintain without a break."

"So you thought you'd offer to let me cry on your shoulder."

She smiled. "I thought you might try to punch me, actually."

Sam huffed and said, "Woman, do I look stupid to you?" The smile twisted into a smirk.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, listening to the hum of the engines.

"It makes me sick," Sam said finally. "And not just...I mean, I like Steve. I followed him into a damn crazy scheme because it needed to be done, because he said it was the right thing to do, but it's not just that he's Captain America, you know? It's not just that he's a good guy. The thought of Hydra turning that snarky bastard into something like Barnes, it makes me sick."

"But that's not all, is it?"

"I'm supposed to say Gabe Jones was my favorite Howling Commando," Sam said, letting the words fall into the quiet. "And don't get me wrong, brother was awesome. And everyone respected the Captain. But Bucky Barnes was the one I wanted to be. He was the one who always had Cap's back." Natasha nodded. "Even if he comes out of this alive, I don't see how he'll ever be okay again. And I am saying this in my professional capacity, Natasha: I don't even know where to start. He told me he'll kill Steve to keep him from ending up like him. What do I do with that? Seventy years. Seventy years. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? I'm just a guy who jumps out of perfectly good airplanes." He knuckled his eyes, but he knew she'd seen the tears. "I don't think there's any way to come back from that, and if he can't..."

"Before I went to work for SHIELD I did a lot of things that can't be forgiven," Natasha said. "I came back from that, because someone made me want to. Barnes wants to."

"I don't know if wanting to's enough," Sam said, hearing despair in his own voice.

"His chances are better with you than without you," said Natasha.

*

They suited up well out of range of the place, an industrial park that had seen better days in the suburbs outside of Sioux Falls. Stark presented Sam with a backpack, with the admonition that it wasn't "the awesome one", just a replica of the old one "so don't get used to it." The Iron Man suit was even cooler in real life than on TV, which Sam wouldn't have believed possible.

Half a mile out, Stark's voice came over the coms. "So I don't want to alarm you guys," he said, in an offhand way that didn't hide concern, "but either someone in there has jamming good enough to jam me without me being able to tell." He took a deep breath. "Or there's no one there."

*

Barnes stood next to the computer on the rolling table with an expression on his face that Sam would call 'glaring' if he didn't know that was what the guy looked like pretty much all the time. "The chair was there," he said, with a flick of a gesture at the bolt-holes in the floor. "Steve was here." Without warning he hauled back his metal fist and punched it through the monitor.

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 9/?

[(Anonymous)]

Shit, they're not gonna find Steve for a while, are they? :(

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 9/?

[(Anonymous)]

OH MY GOD OW

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 9/?

[(Anonymous)]

No no no no no

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 10/?

[(Anonymous)]

"Her second-in-command found out she was selling weapons. She killed him to keep him quiet."

Nomad thumbed back the hammer.

*

He didn't have to sleep as much as he knew most people did, and it was boring in his quarters, which was how he slipped into the habit. He developed it into a ritual, almost a game. He'd think of something, the smell of his dinner or the color of Doctor Risman's blouse or an overheard name, and feel around for an impression in his memory that was related to it, another color or a melody, even a texture. If he found one he'd use it as the next basis. His longest chain was 47 associations by the morning that Doctor Risman came to his quarters with the folder.

Nomad felt his heart sink. The doctor handed him the folder through the bars and he flipped it open to find a black-and-white picture of a man.

"Describe him," Doctor Risman said briskly. He tried not to let it show that he found the lack of social graces annoying and focused on the picture.

"Caucasian male, mid-twenties, dark hair, eyes probably blue," Nomad said, ignoring his rising unease. "No scale to indicate height but proportion suggests above average." He drew another breath and stopped.

"Yes?" Doctor Risman said.

He swallowed and said reluctantly, "I know him. At least, I've seen him." He knew instantly that it was the wrong answer, though Doctor Risman's face did not do anything as obvious as frown.

"I see," she said. "Come with me."

One of her guards unlocked his door and he trailed her, half a step back from her right shoulder, through the central room (only his quarters were occupied) and down the hall. He knew where they were going, without any clear idea of how he knew, and found himself grateful for her relatively slow pace.

When they came into the room that held the chair, Nomad checked for a moment. He couldn't help it. The artifact itself was innocuous, a reclining leather-covered chair that might have belonged to a dentist if not for the sturdy restraints built into the arms and the array of electronics mounted behind the head. But it frightened him.

"Sit," Doctor Risman said. It took him long enough to make his feet obey that she had to repeat the command. Every step felt like forcing himself through mud and he shuddered at the touch of the leather. He placed his arms in the restraints and a technician snapped them closed.

"I want you to think about the man in the picture," Doctor Risman said, as the chair began to whir. Nomad drew a too-fast breath, and another, as he tried to control his mind enough to obey. The eyes were blue, he was sure of it, and as the contacts came down towards his face he thought It'll be OK, just breathe, you'll be OK, and then the lightning arced through him and there was nothing but pain.

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 10/?

[(Anonymous)]

The fact that they're targeting his Bucky memories just fucking slays me, oh my god.

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 10/?

[(Anonymous)]

Oh man, this is what Bucky meant by making himself forget things so that they won't be corrupted/taken away... :(((((

(this is so brilliant <333)

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 11/?

[(Anonymous)]

Barnes let Tony take the computer, but it was clear he wasn't happy about it--not that he was ever happy, as far as Sam could tell, and who could blame him? But Sam had the feeling that the existence of the computer scared him, a feeling that mostly came from watching how Natasha shifted when Barnes snarled, "I don't care what you think you can get out of it, Stark, you're not messing with Steve's head."

"I'm planning to fix Steve's head, if it's all the same to you," Tony replied. "For that matter, we might be able to fix yours."

"I'll slit my own throat first," Barnes said flatly. Beside Sam, Natasha let out a tiny breath.

"Let him waste his time," she said, in an offhand tone that made Barnes and Tony break out of their staring match in surprise. "Techs don't believe anything until they beat their heads against the wall for a while. He'll figure it out eventually."

And OK, Sam wouldn't have taken that tack--it wouldn't have occurred to him, honestly--but it seemed to work. He figured assigning Tony to a category that didn't make big decisions was probably better for everyone's continued use of all their limbs, too. Still, there was a long pause before Barnes said, "Fine."

He stalked out of the room. Sam didn't realize he was considering following until Natasha murmured, "Clint will make sure he doesn't get too far."

"Isn't flouncing a little adolescent for a ninety-year-old?" Tony said, turning to the rolling table that the computer and ruined monitor sat on.

"Tony, you're a moron," Natasha said. "Be glad he still thinks you're useful enough to not kill for threatening Steve like that."

Tony threw her a sideways, startled look and then horror flashed across his face, so fast Sam almost wasn't sure he'd seen it, but Tony wasn't actually a completely self-centered asshole, he just pretended to be because it was easier. "We need to go back to New York, I have better stuff there," he said, in a jovial tone that was really cold rage. "These people are just smart enough to be worth killing."

Sam blinked and revised his opinion of Tony Stark from willing to kill if attacked to actually dangerous.

*

The bed in the guest suite of the Avengers Tower--Sam wanted to laugh his ass off about that but didn't have the energy--was too soft and Sam didn't give a damn; he fell into it fully dressed, barely coherent enough to get his shoes off first.

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 11/?

[(Anonymous)]

Aw yess, your characterizations are pure gold.

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 12/?

[(Anonymous)]

He didn't remember much explicitly, but some things had a resonance that told him he'd done them before, possibly many times. Standing alone in a room with a bound man was one of them.

Though the fact that the man's head was bare seemed unusual. Nomad didn't let his hands falter as he loaded the pistol with the one round he'd been provided, but he couldn't stop examining the prisoner with the edges of his vision. The man was Caucasian, in his mid twenties, blue-eyed and dark-haired with features that made the phrase "black Irish" float into Nomad's mind. He grimaced. Such thoughts with no context were useless at best, distractions.

Nomad thumbed back the hammer. The prisoner's eyes were huge with fear and he mumbled through the gag. Nomad swallowed, unsure why he hesitated. The moment drew out until Doctor Risman's voice came over the speakers. "Nomad, you have your orders."

He raised the weapon.

Lowered it again.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't think I can," he said.

"You understand that there will be consequences," Doctor Risman said. She didn't sound angry, only disappointed, but it made Nomad's chest clench.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Secure the weapon," she said, and Nomad ejected the round and caught it in the air. The prisoner slumped, probably relief, as Nomad set the empty gun and its ammo on the floor. Then he went to the door.

It wasn't a long wait. When the door opened Doctor Risman stood on the other side of it with a cardstock folder in her hand. She offered it, and Nomad took it, flipping it open to reveal a black-and-white photo of another man.

"Describe him," she said briskly.

"Caucasian male, mid-twenties, dark hair, eyes probably blue," Nomad said, feeling that resonance again. "No scale to indicate height but proportion suggests above average. He resembles the prisoner." He frowned in thought.

"Anything else?" Doctor Risman asked.

Nomad considered it. "Is he one of the guards?"

"No," she replied, but there was a slight smile on her face. "All right, come with me." He trailed her, half a step back from her right shoulder, grateful for her relatively slow pace. Nomad checked for a moment when they entered the room that held the chair; he couldn't help it. This had resonance too, the gut-deep terror that the innocuous artifact engendered.

"Sit," Doctor Risman ordered him.

"Ma'am," he said, trying not to let his voice crack.

The look she turned on him was calm, but his heart sank. "I'm sorry, Nomad, but you were warned."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and forced himself to cross the few feet to the chair. He flinched at the feel of the leather, placed his arms in the restraints. He started to hyperventilate as the whir began behind his head. Just breathe, buddy, he thought, and then the thought and the resonance that accompanied it were ripped away.

*

The prisoner was a man in his forties, with dark hair and brown eyes and an absurd goatee. "You have thirty seconds to make your peace with God," Nomad said.

*

The prisoner was young and red-headed, probably attractive when she wasn't weeping in fear. "You have thirty seconds to make your peace with God," Nomad said.

*

The prisoner was staring at him, his blue eyes wide with fear. Nomad thumbed back the hammer. "Remove his gag," Doctor Risman's voice came over the speakers.

Nomad frowned. That order did not have resonance. But he did as he was told, and the prisoner spat the wadding out and drew a shaky breath. "Steve," he said. "Steve, please."

He raised the weapon.

Lowered it again.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't think I can," he said.

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 12/?

[(Anonymous)]

oh gosh I love the nuances of Steve's docility vs. resistance here. <333

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 13/?

[(Anonymous)]

Sam felt more than a little guilty about having shoved off his cases on his co-workers, but he was well aware that he wasn't going to do anyone any good by trying to go into work like this; he just wasn't capable of compartmentalizing something so huge. Fortunately his boss was very clear on what happened when someone called and said "I can't handle it right now" and was forced to come in and try anyway.

There was also the fact that he had the biggest veteran-trauma case of his life right there in the Tower with him--though Barnes flatly ignored any conversational gambit that wasn't directly relevant to his self-imposed mission of finding Steve, and Sam still had not the faintest fucking clue where to start. He settled for insisting that Barnes eat and sleep on something resembling a normal schedule, with the distinct feeling that he got away with it because Barnes was capable of recognizing biological necessity.

Which was, to be fair, better than some people Sam had worked with, but also probably had something to do with the Winter Soldier being required to maintain combat effectiveness and that just wasn't a train of thought Sam wanted to ride on because it led to a deep desire to break things.

There followed about a week much like the first, though Sam and Clint didn't have to do food runs any longer; Tony Stark had people for that. It wasn't as much of a bonus as it at first appeared, because it meant there was nothing to do but think. Sam spent a lot of time with Clint and a mild, perpetually rumpled man named Bruce who, Sam gradually realized, was actually the Hulk.

He assumed that at some point his life was going to have to hit maximum weirdness and stop getting crazier.

*

"OK, here's what we've got," Tony said. He gestured and a rotating globe sprang into being in the middle of the lab. Four glowing spots pulsed red on it, widely scattered. "The truck that pretty much had to be carrying Steve went to Dryden Regional Airport in Ontario. From there the trail gets muddier, because Dryden's not big but the plane headed for Vancouver and wouldn't you know there was a weird computer glitch not long after it got into YVR's air traffic control pattern. We had to go by arrival times and type of aircraft." He waved at the globe. "Those four places are our possibles. They all have suitably shady ownership histories and ongoing activity. I have 'em ranked in order of probability, but there's not honestly much to pick between, difference of less than ten percent top to bottom."

"That's not how probabilities work, Tony," said Bruce, in his usual diffident way.

Tony rolled his eyes. "I'm simplifying, OK?" Bruce looked amused but shrugged agreement. "So the problem here is, while we are totally capable of reducing any one of these bases to rubble, if we pick the wrong one the right one's bound to hear about it and maybe move him again."

"Unacceptable," Barnes said. He looked even more tightly wound than usual, as was normal when he had to enter Tony's lab. "They've had him more than three weeks already, Stark. We need to get him out."

"I'm not arguing with you, Robocop, I'm telling you I don't know how to pick," Tony said. "You, on the other hand, worked for these people." Sam winced. Barnes didn't visibly react. "So tell me: where's Hydra keeping Captain America?"

"Give me a flat map," Barnes said. Tony didn't bother gesturing, but the globe unwrapped into a plane that hung in the air. Barnes stared at it. Let him not be wrong, Sam thought. If he's wrong it'll kill him. Finally Barnes walked to the map and tapped the air. That spot continued to pulse while the rest faded, and the map zoomed in. "Here," he said.

"That's actually in Bogotá," Bruce said. "I think I better sit this one out."

"You did fine in a big city before," Tony said, wheedling.

"When it was under attack by aliens already," Bruce replied dryly.

"Come on, Big Green, it'll be great!"

"Do you really want me smashing things on a hostage rescue?"

"Argue later," Barnes said, in a tone that brooked no argument at all. "Start prep now."

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 14/?

[(Anonymous)]

The prisoner spat out the wadding. "Steve," he said. The name made a resonance in Nomad's mind. The man swallowed. "Steve, please don't do this." He sounded afraid, though not as afraid as Nomad might have expected.

"You have thirty seconds to make your peace with God," Nomad said.

"Oh fuck," the prisoner spat. "Steve, come on. You know you're not gonna do this. You know it's me, right? You know I'm your friend. We were friends when we were kids, remember? It's me, Steve, it's Bucky."

Nomad frowned; that didn't seem right. The prisoner's eyes widened a bit, with fear or desperation, and he talked faster, the words spilling over each other. "Shit, please, I swear it's me. Please, please Steve, you don't want to do this. I'm your friend, it's me, I swear it's me, it's--"

Nomad pulled the trigger.

In the aftermath of the shot, Doctor Risman's voice seemed quiet. "Well done."

Nomad looked down at the body. With the face hidden, it wasn't disturbing, the details of its build producing no resonance. It wasn't a back he recognized, insofar as he recognized anything much. He wondered idly what had happened to him, to erase the life he must have lived before. There had to have been a before; men didn't just suddenly discover themselves full-grown. His hands and body knew how to do things. The gun had felt familiar.

The door slid open to reveal Doctor Risman, smiling. Nomad smiled back in relief. "Well done," the doctor repeated.

"Ma'am, if I may ask: who's Steve?" Nomad asked.

"That used to be your body's name," she said. "And to answer your next question, 'Bucky' was a friend of Steve's. The prisoner resembled him, and was trying to use that resemblance to stop you. He knew you don't remember, thought he might be able to fool you." She looked disapproving, though Nomad thought she was also satisfied with how well he'd performed.

Nomad thought it over. "What happened to me? To...Bucky."

"You were both in a very bad aircraft crash," Doctor Risman said. "You survived, but you've had extensive head trauma."

"And Bucky didn't make it," Nomad said. Head trauma might explain the resonance; messing with the brain could do all sorts of funny things. It was too bad his companion hadn't survived. It might be nice to have someone to pass the time with.

"I'm afraid we lost him," Doctor Risman agreed. "Now come with me."

Nomad trailed her, half a step back from her right shoulder. At the junction, they turned left, which led away from his quarters, and he fought down unease. "Bucky's an odd name," he said, to cover it. "Sounds like the kind of thing you pick because there are six other Jims on the block."

The steady tap of Doctor Risman's heels faltered for a moment. "Some people have odd nicknames," she said neutrally.

They were still down the hall from the room that held the chair when Doctor Risman stopped short and put her hand to her ear. All the guards were suddenly much tenser than they'd been instants before, and Nomad had a second of worry that he'd done something inappropriate. "How?" the doctor demanded, and then spoke over any reply, "Never mind, it's not important. Keep them out of the center block for as long as possible." She started walking again, faster, and Nomad lengthened his stride to keep up, considering what he'd heard. There was only one explanation that fit the facts.

He checked for a moment when they entered the chair room; he couldn't help it. "Ma'am," he said, and fought not to let his voice crack. "If we're under attack, let me help."

She turned to face him. "You'll help better if you do this," she said. "Sit."

It took him a long second to force himself to cross to the chair and he shuddered at the touch of the leather seat. A technician closed the restraints over his arms and offered him the bite guard. "I need him a blank slate," Doctor Risman said. "Up to full."

Nomad started to hyperventilate as the whir began behind his head. The arms lifted into his field of vision and as the contacts came down to cover his face he thought Just breathe, Steve, in a voice that wasn't his own.

*

When he struggled awake the room was empty except for two guards who looked spooked. His limbs were heavy with the peculiar lassitude the chair left behind, but it was irrelevant because he was still restrained. He spat out the bite guard. "What's going on?" he asked. He heard a crash, muffled by distance or walls or both, and started yanking at the arm restraints.

"The Avengers," one of the guards said, sounding panicky. The other guard gave him a venomous glance.

"Don't talk to the asset, dumbsh--"

The wall exploded.

In the gap were three points of blue-white light that made a resonance in his mind. The guards shouted and fired into the dust, and with a rising whine one of the points emitted a bright blast that bowled them both over. They landed hard and didn't twitch. Nomad struggled harder.

A red-and-gold robot stepped through the wall. The points of light were its palms and the center of its chest. It scanned around the room. "Guys, I found him," it said, its voice a little tinny but very naturalistic, and far more pleasant than the forbidding mask of its face suggested. "Cap, it is damn good to see you." Suddenly the front of its head...retracted somehow, to reveal a man's face. He had dark hair and brown eyes and an absurd goatee, and he made resonance too.

"Who are you?" Nomad demanded, yanking at the restraints. They creaked, but he wasn't getting out of them before the armored suit could fire, that was for sure.

"Ooooh, that's not good," the guy said. "And also I'm a little insulted you could forget me. Barnes, center block, hurry it up." He gave Nomad a slightly twisted smile. "We're on your side, I promise, hold on for just a minute and all will be revealed."

"It had damn well better be," Nomad growled.

Less than a minute later Nomad heard running feet in the hall. A man and a woman appeared through the hole, both of them in black combat gear. The woman was young and redheaded and attractive enough that it should have been distracting, but Nomad found his attention fixed on the man: Caucasian, mid-twenties, above-average height, dark hair and blue eyes and features that made the phrase "black Irish" float up. He wore a metal sheath of some sort on his left arm and his expression was trying to be blank as he crossed the room. Nomad thought that he should flinch as the metal-covered arm reached for his head, but he didn't, and there was a wrenching squeal as the man pulled one of the chair's arms loose. Then he met Nomad's eyes, searching for something. The resonance shrieked, stronger than it had ever been

"Steve," he said. "It's me. It's Bucky."

Nomad frowned. "Who the hell is Bucky?"

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

From down the hall, Sam heard Barnes' voice rising in a shout. "Get him out of there!"

Tony's reply was softer, in a questioning tone.

Then he was close enough to catch Natasha, saying, "Of course not, they were made to hold him."

"Inside's different from outside," Tony said, but by the time Sam stepped over the crumbling lip of the (honestly impressive) hole in the wall, Tony was bending over Steve.

Steve sat in a chair that looked like nothing so much as the kind of thing you'd find in a dentist's office, at least if your dentist was old-school enough to prefer leather over vinyl. It was only the details that were disturbing, like the complicated electronic rig mounted on the headrest and the fact that the arms had restraints built into them. The man looked pissed as hell.

Barnes was standing next to the chair, holding what appeared to be a piece of the rig from the headset in his left hand and, if the crackling sounds were to be believed, slowly crushing it. Natasha was still near the wall, watching with her arms crossed.

The expression on Steve's face made Sam say, "Hold on just a sec." Everyone stopped and looked his way, even Tony. He addressed Steve directly. "Are we gonna have an issue once you're out?"

Steve's frown got fiercer. "I'm Nomad," he said. "I have no rank or serial number."

Natasha said something sharp in Russian; Sam doubted it was a comment on the weather. Tony recovered from the moment of shock and said, "OK! We're not capturing you, we're rescuing you. Sorry for the confusion." But he took his hands away from the arm restraints.

"You are not," Barnes said, quietly but with feeling. "Your name is Steven Grant Rogers. Captain. I don't remember your goddamn serial number. You are Captain America." The piece of electronics gave up the ghost and the two halves of it fell to the floor as Barnes made a sound that had probably started as a laugh. His voice rose with every word. "I can't--this is--Jesus Christ, Steve, you can't make me be the one who remembers! Your mother's name was Sarah. You wore newspapers in your shoes. You let them make you like this the second my goddamn back was turned and I--" He cut himself off, turned, and strode out, his boots crunching on the rubble. Sam glanced after him but there were bigger fish to fry.

"Look, man--Nomad. I get that you don't know us. But we know you." Steve just stared at him. "Give us a week to prove it."

Steve's brows drew down as he visibly considered it. Sam held his breath.

"I'll give you three days. After that, no promises."

"Fair enough," Sam said. Beside him Natasha's shoulders unclenched the slightest bit.

*

They talked Tony out of rigging the place to, as he put it, 'implode' by pointing out that it was actually on the fringe where the city of Bogotá became its suburbs. He refused to get out of his suit before they were back on the plane and in the air, and Sam had gotten pretty good at noticing when the man winced and rubbed at his still-healing chest. Steve settled down with a tablet Tony gave him and the instruction to google the Battle of New York. The shirt Tony'd tossed him was too tight, but as far as Sam had been able to tell that was Steve's natural state.

Sam went and sat across from Barnes, and dealt with the dead-eyed stare for about thirty seconds before saying, "He'll be all right. He'll remember."

"You don't know that," Barnes said expressionlessly.

"I do, actually," Sam replied. "Because you did." Barnes' eyes widened and he looked at Sam instead of through him. Sam shrugged. "They had you way longer than they had him. They did their freaky evil Nazi science crap to you how many times? And you remembered. So he will too."

Barnes clamped down on the desperate hope that crossed his face so fast Sam wasn't actually sure he'd seen it, and he cursed, once again, at the evil sacks of shit who'd made it so Barnes was petrified to ever be seen to have a thought of his own.

"You should talk to Natasha," Sam said, after a long pause. "I get the feeling she has some experience with this stuff."

Barnes didn't react, or reply. But just as Sam began to think of getting up and going to faceplant in one of the cabin beds, Barnes said, "We have Steve back. You don't have to--" He cut himself off and turned his head.

"Don't have to what?"

"Don't have to pretend," Barnes said, his voice perfectly controlled. "You don't have to pretend to care what happens to me anymore."

Sam smiled. "Are you kidding? Man, you were my favorite Howling Commando."

Re: FILL: Lie Down on the Wire 16/16

[(Anonymous)]

Nomad had to admit that there was essentially no way his new acquaintances could be running a put-up job.

There were thousands of television clips from the Battle of New York, from different angles and in qualities ranging from too shaky to make anything out to shots that looked like they'd been deliberately framed for a movie, in both color and black and white, and including Stark, Romanoff and Barton though not Wilson or Barnes. Commentaries on the Battle numbered in the millions, in both video and text. And plenty of it showed the face he knew was his, even under the cowl.

In the two years since, there were more videos and any number of still pictures. In most of them he was wearing combat gear--though thankfully, it lost the red and white stripes pretty quickly and turned into something that might actually be practical to fight in.

Not all of it made resonance, but enough did. Nor was it remotely practical for anyone to have faked it, not in the sheer quantities he found.

So: these people had been his comrades, and were almost certainly telling the truth about having rescued him. He was really Steve Rogers...for all that Rogers' story was unbelievable on its face.

That did not mean he necessarily wanted to stay with them.

For one thing, it looked like they and he had been working for some supremely bad people--unknowingly, but still. Romanoff filled him in a little, though he could tell the whole topic pained her. He found her a little disconcerting, because she treated him like a beloved, exasperating brother and though the teasing made resonance, the fact that it came from a woman did not.

Barton and Wilson were both pretty restful and willing to talk about baseball. Bruce Banner, who had a suite in Stark's extravagantly ugly tower, was smart as a whip and perpetually mild-mannered, though Nomad thought he was hiding one hell of a temper not very far beneath the surface. Stark himself was annoying and far too convinced of his own genius, but generous with his apparently-unlimited wealth and not actually a bad person. Nomad wondered if the man had any idea how lucky he was that Miss Potts had agreed to get anywhere near him.

Barnes was...a little more problematic.

Speaking of unbelievable stories, there was Barnes'. Childhood friend of Steve Rogers, lost in action (in World War Two), captured and brainwashed by Hydra (who Rogers, let's not forget, had been unwittingly working for), conditioning broken by a chance encounter with Rogers while trying to kill him. It was like something out of a comic book, and Nomad only believed it because the evidence was right in front of him. There were pictures of James Barnes from the War, and the modern Barnes was either the same person or someone surgically modified to look just like him, as long as you accounted for the fact that he was much too thin.

Metaphorically in front of him, because Barnes had a catlike ability to take up a position where he could see Nomad but Nomad couldn't see him. (It meant Nomad had to be very circumspect about his pilferings of table knives and plastic pens, and wasn't at all sure Barnes didn't see them anyway.) Nor did Barnes willingly talk to him, just hovering in the same room whenever possible.

Nomad's plans to leave the Tower were complicated by the computer that ran it on Stark's behalf, a computer that was disconcertingly alive. But if they insisted on treating him like a friend, they'd have to let him go outside sometime. So he spent most of three days in the Tower, discussing batting statistics and rolling his eyes at Stark, planning.

The third morning he woke up with a headache, annoying because his parole was up and he wanted to be on the ball for making his break for it. But he knew someone would get prematurely twitchy if he didn't come out for breakfast, so he put on enough clothing to be decent and rode the elevator to the common area. Romanoff was there already, with Barton staring sulkily into the depths of a huge mug of coffee beside her--the man didn't seem to be an early riser by inclination.

Nomad had enough time to acquire a cup of coffee of his own before Barnes entered the room, ignoring everyone's greetings. Nomad's eyes seemed to gravitate to Barnes' face. He couldn't look away, even though Romanoff was talking to him. He couldn't have told you what she was saying if you paid him. Barnes stopped walking and stared.

Pain spiked through the base of his skull like he'd been stabbed with an icepick. His coffee cup fell from nerveless fingers.

"Bucky," he gasped, and the last thing he heard was all three of them shouting his name.

*

Steve swam towards consciousness like he was fighting a riptide. He could hear voices. Slowly they began to make sense.

"...from the ears, Bruce, that is not in any way a good sign," Tony was saying.

Bruce, much closer, said, "I get that, but I keep telling you I'm not actually a medical doctor. Steve, are you awake?"

Steve pried his eyes open to find Bruce hovering, well within his personal space but carefully, blatantly not in the way of Steve standing up. From...one of the sofas. In the common space of Stark, no Avengers Tower. "'M wake," he muttered, unable to form better words. "Did anyone get the number of that truck?"

There followed several minutes of ensuring that he really was awake, culminating in Tony asking him who was president. "Roosevelt," Steve said. Everyone stopped dead and he widened his eyes innocently. "Theodore."

"He's back!" Tony exclaimed.

"I think I am," Steve said, and sat forward to rub his hands over his face. "I feel like I was run over by a tank, though." He looked around the circle of his friends until he found Bucky, standing well back from everyone else. "From what they've been telling me, they wouldn't have known to look for me without you. Thanks." He smiled. "You always did get me out of trouble, Buck."

Bucky nodded. "You remember," he said.

"I do. Even what happened while I was...with them. You all assaulted the base."

"We totally did," Tony said enthusiastically. "It was pretty awesome, if I do say so myself."

"Do any of you know what happened to Doctor Risman? She was about Natasha's height, brown curly hair, she looked a little like Peggy?" And he was nauseatingly certain she'd been playing up that resemblance--the better to control you with, my dear.

Everyone traded glances and shook their heads.

Steve clenched his teeth. "Guess I know what I'm doing with the next few months."

*

It was past sunset when JARVIS said, "Captain Rogers, I have a message for you."

Steve, who had spent the day being poked by people with ever-more-esoteric medical degrees, sighed and slouched in his chair. "I'll deal with it tomorrow, JARVIS." He was looking forward to taking a very long shower and then sleeping in the absurdly opulent bed Tony had furnished the absurdly opulent suite with.

There was a polite pause. "If I may, sir, the message is from Sergeant Barnes."

"Oh," Steve said, puzzled. If Bucky wanted to talk to him, why didn't he just knock? "All right, let me hear it."

"Yes, sir." After a moment of dead air, Bucky's voice said, "Steve, don't look for me."

Steve sat bolt upright. "JARVIS, when was that recorded?"

"Eleven hundred seventeen, Captain." JARVIS paused. "I apologize, but my protocols did not allow me to transmit the message before the time the Sergeant specified. He was listed as a guest."

"He was."

"Sergeant Barnes left the premises immediately after recording the message and has not returned."

Steve felt his hand clench. "Damnit, Buck," he muttered, because it was that or punch something.

"I have taken the liberty of informing Sir," JARVIS said. "He wishes to know if you would like me to alert the rest of the Avengers currently in residence."

"Yes," Steve said. "And tell them to bring their A-game."

*

"I don't care. I'm going to find him."

After a long second, Sam said, "When do we start?"