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.

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FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (8/?)

[(Anonymous)]

“So let’s say it was rape.”

This is how Steve wakes up: at three in the morning, cut loose from a nightmare about starring in a reality show, dry-throated, and looking at Bucky, who’s crouched on the floor by his head in pajama pants and no shirt. His first thought is that it’s been so long since he really looked at Bucky’s bare chest. Its strange smoothness, except around the edges of his arm, thick with scar tissue that Steve swears changes sometimes, like a river dammed up, freed, and then dammed again. His muscle mass, lessened since he became a civilian, but still present. Unavoidable, with how they are.

His second thought is that something must be wrong. Bucky’s eyes are wild and tired at the same time.

Finally, he processes what Bucky said, and all he feels is relief. Something hard and cold flowing out of him.

“Okay,” he says, not sure how delayed his response is and hoping it doesn’t matter. He wipes crust from the corners of his eyes. Bucky’s perfectly still. “Let’s say it was. I—What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m not really saying it was. I just have a question.”

“Oh.” The hard and the cold begin seeping back in. “Okay.”

At that, Bucky’s eyes lose their wildness, and his mouth twitches. He moves out of his crouch to sit on the floor with his arms behind him. “What does it matter?”

“What does it matter?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean because they’re dead. Like you said before.”

“No. Not that. You didn’t say you couldn’t fuck me. Yet. When I said that. I didn’t know that was on the table.”

“Okay. So say what you mean.”

Bucky bites his lip and shuffles backward. “For the purposes of this conversation, we say it was rape. Okay? But what the fuck does that have to do with anything? Why does that mean you can’t fuck me anymore?”

“What?”

“Why does it mean that? You haven’t said why it means that. You just think it’s obvious.” He should be yelling. Instead he sounds drugged, unsteady, empty.

“Isn’t it?”

“That’s not an answer. I want an answer.”

And Steve wants to give him an answer, except it feels so obvious that he doesn’t know how. This whole time, he assumed that Bucky knew the answer, that the problem was only that he didn’t agree. And now Steve is half-asleep and heavy-tongued and Bucky is sitting in front of him looking like he’s anywhere but here and Steve doesn’t know. The scar tissue keeps changing.

“I don’t. It’s too early, Buck. It’s too early for me to be able to do this.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s hard. It’s hard to talk about. Why did you wake me up in the middle of the night to do this?” He becomes aware that now he’s yelling, or close to it. Closer than he’d like to be in this situation. But he does feel angry, sort of. Ambushed. Like Bucky wanted him vulnerable and stupid for this so that he could prove a point.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know when else to.”

“Any other time.”

“No. I don’t think I would have any other time.” He toys with the hem of a pajama leg. “I woke up and I wanted to ask. I thought if I wanted to ask, I should.”

“That’s not.” Steve sighs. “That’s not unreasonable. I’m sorry for snapping.”

“I know.”

“But I’m too tired, Bucky, okay? My thoughts just. Aren’t in the right order. Is it urgent?”

“No. Let’s talk tomorrow. Please. Please just. Tell me tomorrow.”

“I will.” Bucky’s still sitting there, fidgeting with his pajamas, looking lost. “Can I hold your hand?”

Bucky shrugs. “Which one?”

“Any. Either hand. I don’t care.”

“Yeah.” He holds out his left hand. He shuffles closer. “Can you fall asleep like this?”

“I think so.” If he can fall asleep at all. He closes his eyes. Bucky’s hand is warm. He’s afraid of returning to nightmares. He can hear Bucky breathing, even though Bucky is better at breathing silently than anyone else in the world.


Of course, the next time he wakes up, it’s after noon, and Bucky isn’t home. He can’t remember if he has class right now or not. Maybe he’s meeting friends. Maybe he’s having a coffee date or maybe he’s drinking. Maybe he’s just hiding, horrified at himself for what he did in the middle of the night. Cracking, a thin sliver like an egg that’s been barely tapped against the counter, but enough. Enough that another tap will do him in.

Steve thinks about what to text him while he robotically makes himself coffee. As he cracks eggs to poach. Makes some toast. Puts on pants.

In the end, as he stares at his eggs, all he texts is, Home any time soon? He waits a couple minutes to follow up with, I love you.

When he’s washing the dishes, he gets back, yeah later don’t worry.

So not in class, at least not anymore. Bucky would never text him from class.


It’s hours later when Bucky comes in, making a lot of noise in a particularly intentional way. Scraping the key against the lock and grunting as he removes his shoes and throwing his backpack onto the floor. Perhaps in case Steve is asleep again, to give him time to rouse himself before they jump back into it.

But Steve is awake, curled up on the couch and watching infomercials. Infomercials make him nauseous. Out of self-preservation, he’s forced to tune them out and prepare for talking to Bucky. Prepare for whichever Bucky came through that door.

“Hey, there,” he says, turning the TV off, and Bucky says, “Yeah, hey, there,” and walks into the living room, quieter now.

He doesn’t sit down. He stands with his elbows on the back of the couch. Keeping it between them. “You still want to talk?”

Steve tries to sound light when he says, “That was my line.”

“I still want to.” Now Bucky does sit, but leaves a wide space between their bodies. His hair is pulled back in a neat French braid, but his slacks are a drab olive, and he swims in his t-shirt. His facial expression is drab too.

Steve forces himself to put his feet on the floor. Mirroring Bucky’s uneasy position.

He says, “Can you ask me again?” Bucky’s eyes go wide. “No, you don’t have to. I know you said that, well. It would be hard. I’m just afraid that I dreamed it. Or got parts wrong. I’ll say what I think you asked. And you correct me. If I get anything wrong.”

“Sounds good enough.”

“You asked why it matters.”

“Yeah.”

“What does it being rape have to do with not having sex?”

“Bingo. No dreaming. A+ at being awake.” He smiles, and it looks genuine. Warm and liquid.

“And I thought that it was obvious, but you didn’t.”

“Well, I didn’t know that part for sure, but sure. Are you actually planning to answer, or draw this bit out forever?”

“I’m just checking.”

“Fine, sorry. Check to your heart’s content. How much check could a Steve check check?”

“A lot. He could check check a lot.” That makes Bucky smile again. “Because I think wires are still crossed here.”

“I mean. That’s obvious enough, right?”

“Maybe. But it isn’t because you were raped. That isn’t why we can’t fuck.”

“Uh, sorry, but that’s sorta what you’ve been saying. This entire time, you’ve been saying that. Don’t fucking act like you haven’t.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Steve.” He grips the arm of the couch, hard. With his right hand, or they might need to go to Ikea instead of talking more. “I just said not to act like that. I’m not stupid.”

“Okay. Maybe I’ve been saying that. But it wasn’t what I meant to say. It’s not that you were raped. It’s that you think you weren’t.”

“So?”

“What’s the ‘so?’ Buck, I don’t get why this is unclear.”

Bucky grunts and starts to get up. His teeth are clenched and bared, and he’s already pulling his hair tie out. Finally—and he didn’t know that he’d been waiting for this—Steve feels like his heart is breaking.

“Jesus, Bucky. Can you sit down and I’ll say it?”

Bucky drops back down. He’s still doing that thing with his teeth, and Steve starts to hear himself whirling apart.

“The problem is that you don’t realize that what they did was wrong. It was evil. So what if I do something wrong. What if I hurt you, and you don’t realize. And I keep doing it. And you’re trapped with me, not having any idea that there’s any reason to get away. I won’t let that happen to you again. I can’t let that happen to you again. I’d be a monster. All right?”

“What the fuck evil thing are you going to do? Hit me in the face because it makes us both happy? Oooh, you’re gonna choke me and I don’t even pass out?” He makes Nosferatu hands and says, “Oooh,” again.

“I don’t know, Bucky! And I don’t want to speculate. I don’t want to imagine that I might do any of it, but I’ve done a lot of things at this point that I’ve never imagined.”

“I know I never imagined you in pants that tight.”

“It isn’t funny. My being scared isn’t funny, okay?”

Bucky’s face goes slack. “I don’t think you being scared is funny,” he mumbles. His voice has a high, hoarse quality like he’s just finished a crying jag, but of course he hasn’t. Steve’s been looking at him a long time.

“Then what is so funny. Obviously something here is all a big joke to you.”

“It’s not a—Steve, come on.” He goes for a smile, but his mouth is too rectangular. He looks like a drunken mugshot of himself.

“Buck. I don’t get it.”

Bucky turns his head to the side. He’s sucking his cheeks in. He shrugs. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

“I hope not. But I don’t—I still get to be scared. I need you to talk to me if you want me to not be scared.”

“I don’t know what there is to talk about.”

It’s like they’re back at the beginning. Steve feels like he’s going crazy; he feels like he’s a child and Bucky’s abusers are an imaginary friend that his mother keeps forgetting to say goodnight to. He takes in a deep breath through his nose. Shuts his eyes.

When he opens them again, Bucky is standing, both arms limp by his sides. The only sign of life is in his eyes, which blink slightly faster than usual, look slightly squintier and redder than they should.

Steve tilts his head to the side. He says, “Can I,” and Bucky’s shoulders tense. “Can I hug you?”

“I don’t know, can you? Or are you scared of that too?”

Instead of answering, Steve stands and steps forward and puts his arms around him. For a moment, it’s like hugging a Stop sign. Then Bucky makes a small, weak noise in his throat and slips one arm under Steve’s armpit, the other over his shoulder, snaking around his neck. The metal one, sturdy and sure.

Still hugging him, Steve says, “Unless you need me here, I’m staying with Sam tonight.” He wasn’t sure if he would be or not; he texted Sam earlier to make a flexible plan. That text had started, Unless you need to be alone. He’d forgotten what it was like to live so conditionally.

“Oh, that’s what’s happening? You get Sam in the divorce?” Bucky snuffles and pulls back, putting his hands on Steve’s biceps. “That’s what modern people do, right, they split their friends up?”

“We aren’t getting a divorce.”

“I’m not stupid, Steve. I don’t mean literally. I know there’s nothing legal about us.”

“Not figuratively either. We’re not getting a divorce. You think we’re getting a divorce?”

“Oh, that isn’t what this feels like to you? Or, oh, are we getting a vow renewal and you want me to be a virgin again?” He lets go, but stays at arm’s length.

“What?”

“I can’t. It doesn’t work like that. Those are all bullshit, Steve. You can’t get the dent out of this tin can. That’s why I’m in the clearance section.”

“Christ. Don’t be so melodramatic.”

“'Don’t be melodramatic.’” He laughs. “What’s it like to be such a hypocrite?”

“You know, that’s funny unless you mean just right now. I’m not being melodramatic right now.”

“No, I mean in general. I mean your whole life, melodrama queen.”

Steve buries his hands in his pockets to stop from pulling Bucky into another hug. Because he wants nothing more, except maybe to kiss Bucky’s slowly unraveling hair. Or, of course, even more, to get through to him. To uncross their wires.

All he can say is, “I would have kept working for SHIELD.”

“What? What does that have to do with anything?”

“I would have kept working for SHIELD.” He takes his hands out of his pockets and holds them a little ways in front of his thighs, wrists turned out. “If they’d never tried to kill us all. I could have worked for them for decades, not knowing they were HYDRA. Not knowing I was doing HYDRA’s dirty work. That I was being used. And manipulated. I never would have stopped. Do you see what I’m saying?”

“No.”

“Well I don’t know how to say it differently.”

“Steve, I mean—No, I know what you mean, but no. You’re a person, stupid.”

“Okay. I’m a person.”

“You’re not an organization with another shady organization hiding inside of you. You’re not even a person who’s good at keeping secrets! And you’re not my whole life.”

A childish part of Steve is taken aback. When they were little, it was important to him that he was Bucky’s whole life, that Bucky was his whole life. That they were one tiny world together and nothing else was getting in or out. But when they got older, he was terrified of the idea that Bucky was his whole life, that he had nothing else going for him.

Ever since Bucky came back, he’s been terrified both ways. That Bucky’s his whole life. That he’s Bucky’s. It stings to hear, but it’s a good thing. A weight lifts from the pit of him.

But also—“What does that have to do with anything? I mean, it’s good that I’m not. Congratulations.” He sounds like an asshole. “Sorry. But.” He tips his head to the side.

“It has everything to do with everything. SHIELD was your whole life.” Steve hasn’t even started saying anything when Bucky cuts him off with a sharp noise and hand gesture. “Don’t fucking argue with me. It was your whole life. I’ve talked to the people who knew you then. I’ve talked to you. It was everything you had. Like HYDRA was for me.”

“Buck! That’s idiotic.”

“Oh, thanks. I feel real respected right now, y'know?”

“I mean it’s awful to compare the two. You couldn’t have gotten away from HYDRA. I could have left SHIELD. It was my choice to have nothing else.”

“Jesus Christ. If I don’t get to minimize my shitty life, you don’t either. Okay? Those are the terms. Our lives were shitty or they weren’t but you don’t get it both ways.”

“I don’t understand what we’re fighting about anymore.”

“We’re fighting about you not fucking me because you hate me!”

“We’re past that point in the fight!”

“Oh.” Bucky rubs his metal arm. “I don’t know. It’s just. We were both stuck with no other options. I’m not stuck with no other options with you. So it would be stupid for anyone to be afraid.”

“Why does it matter if it’s stupid? Why can’t my feelings be stupid?” All feelings are stupid, he doesn’t say.

“I guess they can be. But you think I just have to listen to your feelings in this and you don’t have to listen to mine. You have to listen to mine, Steve. This isn’t fair.”

Steve grips his hair at the roots and twists. Enough to keep himself real and awake. “Okay. I’ll listen to your feelings. We can talk more about your feelings. And I’ll listen to them. I promise.” Bucky looks dubious. “I do. Hold me to it. Right now?”

“No. I’m tired. Are you still staying at Sam’s?”

“He’s expecting me. He rented some movies On Demand and says he has a lot of his own feelings to complain about.”

“That sounds nice.” Bucky loves listening to Sam complain. Steve feels bad about keeping him from that, but the fact is, he does need out of here. Alone. He needs to breathe. But—

“Seriously, if you need me here—”

“No. I, um. I think we both need you not here, actually.”

“Okay.”

“Is it okay if I have someone over?”

“I’m not your ma.”

“I know that, dumbass. I mean, do we have anything incriminating that I’m forgetting about?”

“Just look around for anything with our names. And any photos that aren’t recent.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

“You’re thinking of Sam. Sam Wilson.”

“We’re all always who we’ve been, Steve.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Even though it obviously does. Bucky rolls his eyes.

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (8/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Oh yay! They're talking it through! I really like that it's in increments -- that feels really true-to-life, in the "it's 3am and I'm not ready for this conversation" sort of way. And the whole "stupid irrational feelings are still valid" sort of way.

And poor Bucky, thinking that Steve hates him and is irrationally punishing him for being broken in a way that Bucky can't fix. It must have been so hard for him to even confront Steve about it, but I guess they're long past the point of pretending that nothing's wrong.

"We're always who we've been" jeez, slay me.