hydratrashmeme | Dumpster #4: I Don't See How That's a Party

Dumpster #4: I Don't See How That's a Party

Okay, kids, you know the drill. Don't be a jerk except to fictional characters. Warn if you want, but read at your own risk, because

hydratrashmeme is about as far from a safe space as you can get. Garbage we like: noncon, whump, aftermath, violence, mind control, inappropriate uses of Bucky Barnes' metal arm, bad guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves. Garbage you should find a different trashcan for: a/b/o, D/s-verse, soulbonds, mundane AUs, OOC evil!good guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves, rotting leftovers dressed up as a romantic gourmet meal. Nothing wrong with 'em, but this isn't the crowd you should be pitching to if you're trying to sell Brock Rumlow as anything but a human dumpster fire.

Link your fills on the fill post, post unprompted fills as replies to a header comment so the wall o' text is collapsible, and let me know if you're interested in helping out with the Pinboard archive.

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All he can hear is the drone of the planes, close overhead. Busy insects looking for their hive, buzzing over the countryside, minding their own business, except they shouldn’t, and they aren’t, and let’s do the Time Warp again….

The sound of the engines turns into the rattle of the coffee machine as he snaps back awake, elbows propped on the desk. Fluorescent glare in his eyes. His oldest, comfiest jeans and the softest shirt he could find (one of Jack’s, stolen) because his whole body still aches and he’s probably coming down with the flu, on top of everything else. Maybe he’ll take a day off, or a couple. The squad will call him a pussy - the ones that weren’t on the op this time. Those guys will keep their mouths shut. Christ, his back hurts. He stretches his arms and rolls his shoulders and taps the edge of the keyboard with his thumbs, except that hurts too. He might as well start typing again (and anyone who thinks that doesn’t hurt hasn’t been paying attention until this point).

Day 3, 1500. Probably. Here’s the thing: they spend 3 days approx. getting to the campsite, take out the target who thinks he’s Bear Grylls or some shit, then spend 3 more days hiking back to a border RV point deep in the fuck-huge woods (he’s always surprised by the size of the woods in Europe, no matter how many times he sees them). Except on day 3... he writes 'Shit Goes Down', then deletes it, no matter that it’s accurate. 'It happens'. Great tagline, not so great report material. Aircraft sighted. That’s it.

Aircraft sighted - heading… he can’t remember which way they were headed. Stinson has a better memory for that kind of thing - he might look like a sack of meat with a face, but he’s sharp on the details and a pro at aircraft ID. He was the one who looked up first (well, not first. Second) and said ‘hey, check it out’. And they did.

Identified as civilian: restorations of WW2-era fighters. There may have been a Spitfire among them, but he’s no expert; that’s really the only one he knows of. Stinson can fill that in later. All he remembers is the sound of them, bubbling through the valley, and the antique shapes overhead, for only a few seconds.

And that’s when Shit Went Down, but he deletes it once again. They didn’t realise anything had gone down, not then, until we proceed one-quarter km in an easterly direction, before we realise the stupid fucking dumbass isn’t following us. He’s just staring at the fucking sky. Like a dumbass. It’s a little unfair but it’ll have to do for now, until he thinks of a better description of the way the Asset was standing, frozen with his masked face tilted up to the direction of the retreating planes.

Verbal instruction given to re-form the group and continue en route. Essentially, he’d snapped at the Asset to move, and had been obeyed almost immediately. Almost. Delay observed in following instruction - several seconds. I didn’t think - he back-spaces, because it’s not appropriate to include I didn’t think it would be a problem. I didn’t know it would be a problem. I didn’t know.

He rubs his eyes with his hand and reaches for coffee, but at some point a gang of pixies must have come along and consumed it all. It’s a vicious cycle from now on: he doesn’t have the energy to get up and make more, because said energy would come from coffee. Which he doesn’t have. A sigh breaks from him, just as it had before, when 2000: we establish camp at co-ordinates [check the GPS log and put these in I don’t fucking know]. Signal sent to confirm target successfully eliminated, personnel uninjured. Asset responsive but slow: looking at the sky (which was dark by then, beginning to speckle with stars).

Personnel make sleeping arrangements for as much sleep as you can have with a fucking tree root in your ass and one layer of netting between you and Mother Nature’s big old cu- and he wipes the sentence and stops it at 'arrangements' instead. They were all tucked in the shadow of a fallen tree, in a covered miniature trench, in their sleeping bags. Thankfully dry. Ready for a few hours’ down time until dawn.

Approx. 0100. The Asset turns over onto my fucking arm. I was sleeping. We were all trying to fucking sleep and he looks me in the eye - I think, fuck if I know cos it’s dark - and says....

Approx. 0100, day 4. Without prompting, the Asset addresses me as ‘sir’ and asks where ‘they’ (referring to previously spotted aircraft) were headed. Agent Stinson responds with ‘probably some re-enactment thing, there are a few around [town or city]’. Asset appears confused - he probably had that little frown on his face, above the mask and begins to question further. I advise that he shut the fuck up. Agent Stinson shuts the fuck up. Asset does not obey instruction and asks whether ‘the business on the Eastern Front is over yet'.

What were you supposed to say to that?

Agent Stinson uses concealed light source and determines the Asset to be sleep-talking. I wake him up with application of minimal force to the ribs. Personnel are instructed to ignore further speech, and take action if necessary to eliminate noise.

0700, day 4. We set out for next waypoint. Asset responding to orders as normal and appears not to remember anything of the night. Not that we fucking asked.

Approx. 0730. Movement sighted ahead, revealed to be single wild deer. Unprompted, Asset comments that ‘the wild boar round here, they’re fuckin’ huge’. Not that we fucking asked.

Agent Kawamura raises weapon in direction of deer, I caution him not to be so fucking stupid. He stows weapon, and is advised unprompted by Asset not to ‘bring Jerry down on us’. Agent Kawamura questions the identity of ‘Jerry’. Agent Stinson suggests Agent Kawamura take a Remedial History class. Asset looks at Agent Kawamura like he’s a dumbass, which he is sometimes, but that’s not the fucking point.

Agent Rollins asks the Asset what year it is.

The crazy fucker says 1943.

Side-note: the names Stinson and Kawamura are borrowed from a great trash masterpiece, 'Id Laudabo' by MilesHibernus (on Ao3 at works/6344029).
I like to think they're the two guys behind Jack as he enters the elevator in TWS, but I may be wrong, and can change the names if anyone has an objection :)

He closes his eyes momentarily and hears the solid ‘thunk’ again, as if it’s right in front of him.

I approach him and secure him against a tree - backing up in a single quick stride, head hitting the bark with that dull sound - and ask what the fuck he just said. He stares at me like I’m the one that’s gone - that won’t do.

He makes eye contact and guesses that it may be 1944 instead, or 1942. Agent Kawamura starts to correct him. I advise both of them to shut up, and we proceed, with the Asset maintaining constant distance from me. Agent Rollins remarks confidentially to me that if it’s 1944, who the hell does he think we are?

“As I recall, you didn’t answer me.” The ‘thunk’ had been a coffee cup landing on the desk - mercifully full and steaming, replacing the sad remains of the previous one. Jack is here, reading over his shoulder.

“Fuck you. Fuck off.”

Jack does neither, and folds into a nearby chair with a mug of his own. Silent, patient. Welcome, because anything is better than the office’s light-bleached emptiness.

1200, day 4. We reach designated waypoint [more coordinates I don’t fucking know] and halt for lunch. Weather is worsening; visibility reduced in heavy drizzle. We secure position and distribute rations. The Asset stands spontaneously and breaks formation, coming directly forward with the apparent intention of securing items from Agent Kawamura. I tell him to sit back down and he responds, after a noticeable delay. I remind him that food is a privilege and not a right when he’s in the field. He replies with ‘you’re gonna keep us starving over here?’ or something similar (seriously that fucking muzzle, not gonna lie it’s fucking sweet but also you sometimes can’t fucking tell what he’s saying, and god fucking help you if he’s speaking Russian.) and -.

After a little consideration, he takes out the part in the brackets.

I ignore his comment to discourage the behaviour, as per tech team advice. He states that ‘there’s a war on, you know’. As penalty for insubordination, I withhold food. It shuts him up. We move on at 1230 on a bearing for the next waypoint.

1445, day 4. Agent Kawamura and me cover Agent Stinson while he takes a leak - which he’s putting in the report specifically because Stinson told him not to - because his bladder is fucking tiny. I observe the Asset leaning against a tree and tell him to straighten up. About a minute later he starts leaning on the tree again. I instruct him to come and stand in front of me and verbally remind him who gives the fucking orders around here. He maintains eye contact and expresses doubt that I am his CO for this mission. I apply physical correction upside the head. He raises an arm - his right - in a delayed attempt to defend himself. Agent Kawamura points his weapon at the Asset. Agent Stinson nearly pisses on his own leg trying to turn around to watch.

This is a fascinating read. I love how you've constructed it as a field report being written. It makes the sadness of the situation so detached, but it still managed to shatter my heart into tiny pieces when I realized Bucky was having flashbacks to the 1940s and the War.

Great job, excited for more!

I de-escalate the situation and Agent Kawamura stands down. When Agent Stinson finally finishes making his fucking personal lake, we move on.

1530, day 4. We pass within a hundred yards of a known campsite by a stream, at [coordinates AGAIN fuck]. Cannot confirm due to reduced visibility whether it is occupied, so we proceed as if it is because STEALTH BITCHES.

“What’s that say?” Jack asks.

“Stealth, bitches. You gotta yell it. It’s important.”

"We should get matching sweaters," Jack says. "Team name."

"Great idea. Shut up." He downs more coffee, wishing it was coffee-flavoured vodka from that place down by the subway station. He should find out if they sell it in bulk. Shots can only do so much for a man.

The Asset is out of formation. I move towards him to maintain the group, as do Agents Kawamura, Stinson and Rollins. He moves away from us. I signal him to come closer. He obeys, after a significant delay. Over the next approx. ten minutes, I have to signal four times for him to keep formation and not wander off into the fucking forest just because I smacked him around a little - what does he think this is, fucking boy-scout camp?

Once we are clear of the campsite area, we collapse formation and I ask him what he thinks this is, fucking boy-scout camp? He replies in the negative. I suggest that he keeps formation next time. He does not reply, and turns away from me. I hold onto his right shoulder and tell him that I wasn't fucking done (because the Nerd Squad say we need verbal confirmation that he understands a fucking word we're saying, right?). He pulls away and tries to put distance between us. I slap him. He says something about me having no right to do that. I slap him again, harder.

Which would be why his hand is so painful right now. One of the reasons, anyway.

He starts to get in my face and ask me what the hell I'm doing, so I order him to get on his knees and put his hands on his head, which he does. Only his right hand though. I say - and I'm quoting here, because this is fucking genius - "You do NOT get to ask me what I'm doing. You do NOT tell me what to do. I tell YOU what to do and you fucking do it right that second or so help me god I'll get Stinson to put his fucking fist up your fucking ass and wear you like a fucking hand puppet."

That keeps him quiet. Apart from his stomach growling.

This is still so deliciously painful. All the casual dehumanization and abuse, and Bucky not realizing why, mmm.

1650, day 4. We stop for water. The Asset is favouring his right side. He tries to take a canteen directly from Agent Rollins, who holds it out of his reach. The Asset gives me The Eyes, and I tell him to stop being a little bitch and wait his turn, or he won’t get anything. He says, in Russian, that he’s waited long enough and goes to snatch at the water again. Agent Rollins moves away and Agent Kawamura pushes the Asset on his left shoulder. He goes stiff as a board and makes a weird noise, and grabs at the top of his left arm as if injured. I tell him that I’m still seeing a little bitch instead of the world’s greatest assassin and that should change in the next ten seconds or he’ll get what’s coming to him. He does not respond. He doesn’t take water, either, and stares at his left hand for about the next five minutes. I shit you not - he just sits there looking at his fucking hand like it grew tentacles.

1700, day 4. I am obliged to jab the Asset in the back with my weapon to get him moving again. He is consistently out of formation, with his left arm pulled against his body. Agent Kawamura says it looks like he’s holding an invisible chihuahua.

(As a matter of record, I would like to state that I do NOT own a chihuahua - Brutus Jr III belongs to a friend, and the little guy’s a Pekingese/Boston terrier mix.)

“Stop kidding yourself,” Jack says, and leans over to press the backspace for him.

Approx. 1740, day 4. I get tired of the Asset acting up, and call him in. He does not respond to commands, so I try again in Russian. He does respond. Agent Stinson tells me my Russian accent is terrible. I tell him to shut his mouth. I order the Asset to kneel and to explain to me exactly why he feels the need to make this shit a lot more difficult than it has to be. He refuses, and tells me ‘I won’t’, in Russian, repeating it several times. I smack him. He moves backwards and assumes a defensive posture. I follow and threaten to kick the shit out of him. He raises his right arm and yells ‘I’ll NEVER’ in Russian, and ‘HYDRA sonofabitch’ in English. I authorise Agent Stinson to pull out the stun stick; the Asset crawls backwards until he meets a tree. Agent Stinson delivers two corrective shocks to the torso and neck. When ordered, the Asset stands up away from the tree and appears willing to follow us. I alter the formation going forward, so STRIKE personnel surround him at all times.

1900, day 4. Camp established at [wherever the fuck we were now]. Signal sent to confirm personnel uninjured; added that the Asset is uncooperative and seems confused. Return message received, reading PROCEED TO EXTRACT - GOOD FUCKING LUCK. I decide not to report the base station radio operator (Agent Simms) for unprofessionalism. The decision is made to further withhold food from the Asset until he complies with orders given by personnel.

This is such an excellent use of 1POV, loving this fic.

Oh god, Bucky's confusion about the metal arm? The violence and starvation until he falls in line? Take all my trash offerings, because I love you.

(Also the aside about the Chihuahua made me laugh harder than it probably should have)

I'm really enjoying your writing. Poor Bucky!

2130, day 4. The suggestion is made, and approved, that we exclude the Asset from our watch rota. I take first watch as Agents Stinson, Rollins and Kawamura bed down, and tell the Asset, in Russian, to assume Position 3. Agent Kawamura asks if that’s something kinky. I answer that it isn’t - which is true - and tell him to go the fuck to sleep.

2300, day 4. The Asset manages about an hour and a half of maintaining position, which is about an hour twenty-five more than some of you pussy-ass bitches can manage….

He removes the comment, because this is neither the time nor the place. “It’s true, though.”

“It is,” Jack observes. “D’y’always have to move your lips when you’re typing? Or just for the big words?”

“Fuck off. I’m tired, ok?”

The Asset manages about an hour and a half of maintaining position before he starts to really shake, and make those tiny little noises you can’t quite hear that mean he’s really hurting. I let him down and he folds up near my feet. I order him to keep his distance and keep his hands on his head - including his left. He makes a sound like he’s about to say something, so I tell him to spit it the fuck out or forever hold his fucking peace.

He shrugs a little, with just the right, puts just the right hand on his head, and says ‘sorry sir’, in Russian. I take a moment to compose myself, because I can’t fucking believe it, and then ask him why the fuck he thinks he doesn’t have a left arm.

His eyes go so wide I can see the moonlight off them - it’s not as fucking poetic as it sounds, trust me. He doesn’t answer me. I tell him, real quiet but very clearly, to put his left fucking hand on his fucking head or he’ll get the fucking consequences.

He says he’s sorry again. I inform him that he will be fucking sorry if he doesn’t do it in the next ten seconds, and start counting. At each mark, he tells me he’s sorry, in various languages, appearing more and more agitated. When I reach ‘one’, he freezes and stares at me.

At this point, I move towards where he’s sitting on the ground and reach out and grasp his left wrist, intending to show him what to do because he doesn’t seem to get the fucking idea. He snarls and yanks his wrist away and grabs me by the fucking throat with the fucking metal hand. He applies enough pressure to make it difficult for me to breathe and impossible to speak. I hold onto the arm and kick him - landing it in the balls at least twice - but he doesn’t let go.

Agent Rollins is woken by the confrontation and grabs the Asset by the hair from behind, pointing a sidearm directly at his head. The Asset lets go of my neck and surrenders, holding his right arm in the air. Agent Rollins orders him to lie flat and stay there, and he obeys. When I can fucking breathe again, I suggest some form of retribution. Agent Rollins correctly identifies that I am motivated by anger and requests that I calm the fuck down and get some rest. Agents Stinson and Kawamura are still asleep. Agent Rollins and myself see out the remainder of my watch, before I hand over to him and go for attempting to sleep. He takes out his weapon and leaves it pointed towards the Asset, in the interests of safety.

“We cuddled,” Jack says. “You gonna leave that part out?”

“Yes. Get me more coffee or get your ass out of here.”

0630, day 5. I stop pretending to sleep. Agents Stinson and Kawamura report that their watches passed without trouble. The Asset retained his position (face-down on the ground) for the entire night. He gets up when ordered to. I ask him whether he’s gonna try and kill me again today - he appears not to remember the attempt of last night. He also appears to have realised that he has a left arm, and is using it normally. It is decided to confiscate his primary weapons (rifle, sidearm, additional two-shot sidearm, grenades, two combat knives), and divide the extra load among the rest of the team. We pack up and move out, myself on point.

0800, day 5. Agent Kawamura, in follow-up position, observes that the Asset is out of formation again. Upon looking around, it emerges that he is more than fifty yards behind Agent Kawamura. I ask Agent Kawamura why he, bringing up the rear, allowed the Asset to drop back. Agent Kawamura replies that ‘he gave me The Look’. Agent Stinson tells Agent Kawamura that he (the Asset) always looks like that.

After a short discussion, we are able to establish that the ‘Look’ referred to is the one where he stares at you like he’s wondering if your liver would be good with fava beans and a nice Chianti. I suggest that Agent Kawamura, a former Navy SEAL and SHIELD Strike Alpha member, should try not to be intimidated by brainwashed Communist murder Barbie. Agent Kawamura agrees, but contests that our red-menace friend also tried - and nearly succeeded - to kill former Navy SEAL and SHIELD Strike Alpha commander Agent Rumlow (me).

The Asset catches up during this discussion and stands there staring at us. Agent Stinson gets antsy. The Asset addresses me as ‘sir’ and asks if there’s a problem. I respond that the problem is him being out of formation, and enquire whether he’s picking fucking flowers back there, when he knows for fucking sure that Agent Kawamura is currently meant to be the ass-end of this group. He says he thought he saw something, and that you can never be too careful in enemy territory. We visually inspect the surroundings, and find nothing. We decide to move on, with Agent Kawamura instructed to administer a corrective shock to wherever he fucking likes if the Asset even considers turning around or slowing up.

0900, day 5. I lose count of how many times I hear Communist murder Barbie get zapped. Agent Rollins says it’s 14, I say it’s 15. Agent Stinson says it’s 12 and a half. Either way, nobody is out of formation, and Agent Kawamura is not dead.

Your ability to build tension is awesome, and I'm on the edge of my seat to see how fucked-up this situation will get before HYDRA resolves it...

Also, I laughed way too hard at "brainwashed Communist murder Barbie".

0945, day 5. Agent Kawamura reports that his stun stick is out of power. An inspection confirms that he has been using it on the highest setting.

1100, day 5. Agent Kawamura tells Agent Rollins to tell Agent Stinson to tell me that he doesn’t like the way the Asset is looking at him. I reply that I can hear him from the back of the group anyway and he doesn’t need to play fucking Chinese whispers. Agent Stinson suggests that the phrase is racially insensitive. Agent Kawamura informs him that a) it’s just a term for ‘language I can’t understand’, similar to ‘it’s all Greek to me’, b) he’s not Chinese.
I tell them to can it, and rotate formation so Agent Kawamura is on point and I am follow-up. The Asset appears willing to stay in front of me.

Approx. 1300, day 5. We reach designated waypoint at [co-ordinates near that thing…]

He puts his head down gently on the desk.

“What are they called? Those things? They’re made of concrete, the fuck are they called? In Europe. Those fucking things.”

Jack’s large warm hand rests on the nape of his neck. It almost makes his head stop hurting. “Pillboxes.”

“That’s it!” He jerks upright and sincerely wishes he hadn’t. Jack’s grip closes minutely, steadying him as he pinches the bridge of his nose and groans. The sound of the planes comes droning back into his skull, for a few endless-seeming moments.

“And that’s my shirt.”

“I don’t see your -” in actual fact, it does have Jack’s name on it. “I don’t see you using it.”

“I could take it off of you.”

He smirks. “Later. Actually, not later. Nobody needs to see that.”

“I saw it happen,” Jack reminds him, without sympathy. “I know what’s under there.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Rest stop at [co-ordinates] marked by disused 'pillbox' defensive structure. We set down outside the structure and distribute rations. The Asset is behaving for once, so it is decided to lift the food restriction. I remove his mask, with Agent Rollins covering in case he goes for the fucking kill again, since he could take me apart like a fucking bread roll without even trying and you bet he knows it....

...with Agent Rollins covering, in case he should pose a threat to personnel.

He thanks me, fluffs his hair with his right hand, and says it feels like 'we haven't eaten in days, right fellas?' Agents Stinson and Kawamura agree with him. He additionally comments that we shouldn't stop for long, since ‘we might have Jerry on our tail’. I say that I decide when we pack up, and that I haven't seen any signs that we're being followed. He says that that's what makes him suspicious, and 'HYDRA might be pretty fuckin' dumb, but they ain't fuckin' stupid'. Nobody has anything to say to that.

Agent Stinson checks the GPS and the Asset watches him do it with the look of a man who's already seen a ton of crazy shit, then says 'the hell you got there?' I tell, him, in Russian, to shut the fuck up. Agent Stinson looks to me for guidance and I instruct him not to say anything. The Asset looks confused. He asks me for clarification. I tell him that he knows fucking well what I'm saying, and what I'm saying is shut the fuck up, in a language I fucking well know he speaks.

He looks me right in the eye and says, in Russian, 'I don't speak Russian. You got me confused with someone else, comrade.'

Agent Stinson says 'Next you'll be telling us you don't have a left arm.' The Asset freezes up, and I remind Agent Stinson that I told him not to say anything, for this exact reason.

I address the Asset, in English - I am his commanding officer, he is on mission, he most fucking certainly has a left arm and he is to obey orders given by the squad. He says he doesn’t understand. I ask him what year it is.

He says 1944.

At this point, I lose my temper. I approach him and shove him backwards - he retreats/falls into the main opening of the abandoned defence post. I ask him again what year it is. He says 1944. I ask him again. He says 1945. I yell at him, over his answers, demanding repeatedly that he tell me what year it is. He responds with 1939, then 1963, then 1950, then 2000, then 2020, then 1991, crawling further back into the space and becoming distressed. I come closer and he appears to break down, screaming at me 'I don't know, I don't know’. I stop yelling and smack him across the face. He is visibly shaking and says ‘I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry, sir.’ I kick him in the gut and tell him that he will be sorry.

Agent Rollins enters the doorway and informs me that I’m making way too much fucking noise. I apologise for that, and for flipping out. The Asset is using his right arm to shield his body and his left to drag himself closer to the back wall. Agent Rollins offers to stand guard while I take some time outside to cool down.

Approx. 1330, day 5. I assist Agents Stinson and Kawamura as we prepare to move out. Agent Rollins, inside the structure, requests that I pass him the Asset’s mask, so he can put it back on. A few minutes later, he returns with the Asset following and compliant.

He looks over at Jack, who is busy making more coffee.

I do not ask Agent Rollins what he did to get the Asset to fall in line. I still haven’t asked. I get the feeling the answer will be ‘what was necessary’ or some bullshit like that. Let’s be real here I don’t really want to know.

This part, this whole part right here:

I approach him and shove him backwards - he retreats/falls into the main opening of the abandoned defence post. I ask him again what year it is. He says 1944. I ask him again. He says 1945. I yell at him, over his answers, demanding repeatedly that he tell me what year it is. He responds with 1939, then 1963, then 1950, then 2000, then 2020, then 1991, crawling further back into the space and becoming distressed. I come closer and he appears to break down, screaming at me 'I don't know, I don't know’. I stop yelling and smack him across the face. He is visibly shaking and says ‘I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry, sir.’ I kick him in the gut and tell him that he will be sorry.

Holy shit, I love you. This is my jam! My moldy, disgusting jam.

OP here - thank you :3 *pours jam on floor and rolls around in it*
I will admit that this was one of the bits which made me almost reconsider the whole 'field report' format, because it might not come across properly - and it was such a vivid image, Rumlow yelling "What year is it?! What year is it?!" as Bucky tries to 1) get away and 2) give the right answer....

(the comments on this give me life in general, it warms my cold dead heart to think that people like it!)

(SA) I'm glad you're enjoying the comments! I'm enjoying this story, so... :D

Seriously though, that whole paragraph gave me chills and feels out the wazoo. The part that got to me the most was when he guessed "2020". Jesus.

Oh, Bucky.

(keep up the fabulous work!)

I LOVE THIS FILL AND I LOVE THE FORMAT.

For me at least, the vivid imagery is certainly coming through.

He twitches guiltily and wipes the last as soon as Jack turns around.

“You ok?”

“Thinking.”

“Won’t disturb you, then. It might take a while.”

“Fuck you.”

1915, day 5. We are still 2.5km from the RV/extract point, having lost time with Asset shenanigans. He frowns at the phrase. ...lost time due to previous events. It is becoming dark. We tighten formation so nobody wanders off into the fucking forest again. The Asset is avoiding me and Agent Rollins, but otherwise compliant.

We increase pace. The Asset begins to drop behind again, and Agent Rollins, at the rear, warns him to keep up. Agent Stinson adds that, if he doesn’t, there’s nothing stopping any of us from ramming a stun stick so far up his ass that it’ll electrify his tonsils. He keeps up with us the rest of the way.

2030, day 5. We reach the extract point at [whatever co-ordinates I don’t give a fuck] and radio to confirm. Extract scheduled for 0600 the next day. Base station enquires whether we need backup in case Murder Barbie is acting out. We tell them to bring some big guys with big guns, or a dart gun full of horse tranqs, whatever works. Agent Simms informs us that horse tranquillisers only make him angry. I inform Agent Simms that we didn’t fucking need to know that, and ask who fucking died and made him the fucking expert. Agent Simms agrees to requisition backup.

Agent Rollins takes first watch, and the rest of us prepare to sleep. The Asset is pacing, apparently agitated. I tell him to sit the fuck down. He stares into the forest, which is completely dark. Agent Kawamura says it’s fucking creepy. Agent Stinson asks if there are wolves. Agent Rollins tells him that wolves died out in Europe a few hundred years ago, but is unable to verify the statement, so we have to believe him on that. Agent Stinson asks if there are bears. I tell him that we’d have no problem fighting a bear, as we have the ability to shoot it in the fucking face, and the Asset probably wrestled tons of bears as part of his training in Russia. Agent Stinson doubts that the Asset would defend us against a bear and predicts that he would stand back and let it eat us. He asks the Asset directly, and the response is that yes, ‘he would fight a bear on our behalf, if necessary. Agent Stinson asks whether the Asset wrestled bears in Russia. The Asset says that information is classified, which we take to mean ‘yes’.

Agent Kawamura snores like a fucking freight train, for the record.

I have to tell the Asset three times in as many minutes to stop fucking pacing. He sits down, then stands up again a few seconds later. I order him to sit by me, remove an adjustable strap from a kit bag, and loop it around his neck, keeping my foot on the other end. Every time he tries to get up, he chokes himself like a dumb fucking dog. I hand the makeshift leash over to Agent Rollins so I can get some fucking sleep for once.

Approx. 2330, still day fucking 5. I get woken up by a noise that sounds like a man being strangled with the strap from a kit bag.

A fucking choke chain! Implied past bear wrestling!

I love it.

Agents Stinson and Kawamura are still asleep, because not even Agent Kawamura sounding like an active fucking volcano can wake them up. I ask Agent Rollins why he's doing what he’s doing. He doesn't answer straight away, and holds the strap with one hand while fending off the Asset's arm with the other. The Asset is using only his right arm to either try and tap out or get free, it's not immediately clear. Agent Rollins releases pressure on the strap and asks the Asset whether he's gonna keep asking stupid fucking questions or whether he's done fucking around and ready to fucking behave (I'm paraphrasing). He addresses Agent Rollins as 'sir' and says he's ready to behave. Agent Rollins asks how long he choked the stupid idiot for. The Asset replies one minute, seventeen seconds. Agent Rollins looks at me and I get that shiver down my spine when he's being fucking scary but also so fucking badass I get a semi just from looking at him, even worse when he's in tac gear....

He pauses and edits the paragraph a little, by removing the last sentence entirely.

I ask Agent Rollins what the Asset did to deserve the punishment given. He informs me that the crazy fucker was quiet for a bit, not even trying to stand up, before he looked out into the forest and said 'Where's Steve?' Agent Rollins enquired what the fuck he was talking about. The Asset responded 'So is he catching us up, or what?' That was when Agent Rollins opted to administer the belt-to-the-neck treatment, rather than risk any more questions.

I take out my stun stick for the first fucking time this mission (a personal record) and tell the Asset to come sit at my feet. He does. I ask him who the fuck he thinks Steve is. He says he doesn't know. I tell him he's lying and zap him on the metal arm. He promises that he's not lying - he doesn't know Steve. But he knows Steve will catch up with us eventually. I assure him that his imaginary friend Steve is not fucking here and never fucking will be and zap him again. I ask him what year it is. He shrinks away from me and says he doesn't know, which is the right answer, so I don't zap him for that. Without prompting, he says that Steve might - something, because I don't let him finish the fucking sentence. He yelps out loud and it wakes Agent Stinson, who has the good fucking sense not to interfere. I tell the Asset to shut the fuck up. He tells me he's sorry, and tries to crawl backwards. I grab the kit bag strap and haul him in. He lashes out at my legs with his right arm, then his left, and catches me on the ankle. It fucking hurts and I find it difficult to stay standing. He almost crushes my fucking bones and then pulls me off my feet. Agent Rollins aims his weapon at the Asset, but warns me that he cannot fire without hitting me. Agent Stinson goes for his kit. The Asset goes for my throat.

Agent Stinson takes a silenced pistol and fires a single shot at the Asset. The shot hits the fucking metal arm and ricochets into the Asset's right thigh - don't ask me how because I was at that present moment being used as a fucking twister mat by the world's fucking deadliest assassin. Agent Rollins tells Agent Stinson to stand down, and pulls the Asset off of me. The Asset folds up, clutching his leg.

Agent Rollins attends to me and confirms that I am not badly injured, although these fucking bruises will stay for weeks. Agent Stinson loses his temper and lays into the Asset with the butt of his pistol, striking him on the face and head. The Asset attempts to avoid him but does not escape or attack. Agent Rollins orders Agent Stinson again to stand down, and this time he listens. Agent Kawamura wakes up and asks what the fuck is going on.

He promises that he's not lying - he doesn't know Steve. But he knows Steve will catch up with us eventually.

My heart. Shattered.

(I love this story so much)

As the appointed medic, Agent Kawamura gives me a once-over and agrees that I’m not about to drop dead anytime soon. He approaches the Asset, while Agent Rollins covers with weapon pointed at the Asset’s head. Agent Kawamura confirms a gunshot wound to the lower right thigh, passing all the way through without hitting anything vital. The Asset allows him to apply pressure and field-dress the wound, then tries to get away. Agent Rollins makes sure that he doesn’t.

I ask Agent Stinson why the fuck he took the shot. He says his intention was to hit the ground next to us, to scare the Asset. I ask him why the fuck he thinks that would scare the Asset and exactly what the fuck that would achieve. He says he doesn’t know - all he could think was that the Asset would kill me if he didn’t act. I commend him for his loyalty and then chew him out for fucking shooting our fucking assassin when there are other fucking ways to get the Asset to stand down.

(I’m glad he did it, though.)

“What would you do if he’d killed me back there?”

Jack looks up from examining an errant thread on his sweater. “You already asked me that.”

“I’m asking you again. Now that we’re - now that it’s over. What would you have done?”

“I would’ve shot the bastard in the head,” Jack says, without hesitation. “Like I said before. And I stand by that.”

“They’d have you in front of the firing squad for that.”

“I know.”

We’re all too fucking keyed up to sleep and it’s about 0100, so I authorise staying awake until dawn. The world’s worst fucking slumber party is made of the four of us, sitting in sleeping bags in a rough circle around the Asset with our weapons directed at him. I order him to lie on the ground and not even fucking think about moving. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t.

Approx. 0245, day 6. Agent Kawamura is intermittently falling asleep. He decides to make safe his weapon and rest against his kit, and Agent Stinson shifts round to cover his position.

0300, day 6. Agent Stinson asks whether lighting the portable stove will attract bears. I tell him that I don’t fucking know. The consensus is that a bear attack would be welcome at this point: it is predicted by Agent Stinson that we’d all fucking die, the Asset would kill the fucking bear, and then it’d be his ass on the fucking line when the extract team came and found what happened. Agent Stinson lights the portable stove and boils some water, and steals the cranberry and rooibos antioxidant detox tea bags we know Agent Kawamura keeps in his kit bag. To be fair, it’s not bad stuff. Agent Kawamura does not wake up.

0330, day 6. The Asset moves and I ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. He says he’s stretching out a cramp. I figure it’s fucking cold as hell out here and the ground is damp, so he’s probably telling the truth. I authorise him to stretch, as long as he’s careful with his leg. He does, and then sits there inspecting his wound for a long-ass time.

0340, day 6. Agent Stinson says sorry for shooting him. The Asset asks what happened to warrant it. Agent Stinson looks to me for approval - given - and tells him that he tried to murder the squad commander. The Asset says ‘oh’ like he fucking forgot, and apologises to me for trying to tear my fucking face off. I am too fucking tired at this point to be mad at him for doing it in the first place, so I say it’s ok. He stares at his left hand.

0350, day 6. The Asset asks where we are. I tell him to shut the fuck up.

0355, day 6. The Asset asks where we are, in Russian this time. I tell him, in English, that our location is classified, we are on mission, and I am his CO, and that thing he’s staring at is his left arm. He wiggles his fingers and does that freaky thing with the outer plates and says he can’t remember losing his arm in the first place. I say it’s fine, he doesn’t need to remember.

He asks me what year it is.

I’m still too fucking tired to get mad at him, so I tell him that that’s need-to-know information and guess what, he doesn’t need to fucking know. He shrugs and says ‘can’t a fella ask a fuckin’ question’, quietly but sure as fuck loud enough for me to hear. I bounce a tea bag off his head.

0420, day 6. Agent Kawamura wakes up, looks around, says ‘damn’ and goes back to sleep again.

0430, day 6. Some kind of bird hoots very loudly in the forest. Agent Stinson asks whether bears can imitate bird noises when they stalk their prey. Agent Rollins tells him that they cannot.

0435, day 6. The bird hoots again, much closer. Agent Stinson asks whether bears are capable of climbing trees and leaping down onto people, as an alternative to charging them on the ground. Agent Rollins asks Agent Stinson whether he’s ever seen a fucking bear outside of Grindr. Agent Stinson replies that he has never seen a bear in the wild and claims not to have Grindr. I tell him he’s a fucking liar because he was on there last Tuesday, half a mile away across DC and describing himself as ‘chubby and fun’. He says that was for research purposes and questions how I knew that anyway. I realise I fucked up. Agent Stinson assures us he will delete the ‘research purposes’ app when he gets back, but not before finding my twink ass.

The Asset asks what Grindr is. I tell him to shut the fuck up, and additionally inform Agent Stinson that I am not a fucking twink. Check my fucking description - I work hard, play hard and I like it rough, and I am most fucking certainly pitching and not catching.

“Ten bucks says you forget to take that out before you send it to the man upstairs.”

“Fuck you, I won’t.” He takes it out immediately, just in case.

Dumpster #4: I Don't See How That's a Party

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