Dumpster #2: ...'Cause a Hydra Trash Party don't stop

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Unholy hell-miracle achieved! Welcome to Bad Guys Do Bad Things To Your Faves 2: Electric Boogaloo. AKA the seamy sexual-violence-and-violent-sex underbelly of Captain America fandom, 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] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by greenkirtle)] [Round 2 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

Round 2 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 3.

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FILL: With These Things There's No Telling, 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

Steve took his hand from Bucky's forehead. Bucky kept looking at him for a couple of seconds before his gaze swung to Sam. Steve set the water bottle down and folded his left hand around Bucky's right before he pulled out his phone. Bucky's fingers didn't move under his, but Bucky looked at their hands until his gaze jumped up in response to the beeping noise Steve's phone made when he hit the button for a direct call to HQ.

"Captain Rogers," a voice said. It took Steve a second to place him--Klein. Steve could never remember his first name. "What can we do for you?"

"Medical team to my current location," Steve said. "Victim is in..."

"Serious but stable condition," Sam said, raising his voice as Steve tilted the phone toward him. Bucky was looking back and forth between them. His hand still rested motionless in Steve's grip.

"Basic medical support and major security required for the evac," Sam went on. "Imaging, surgical, neuro, maybe psych when we get him back to base."

"Scarlet Witch and Black Widow are available for security," Klein reported.

"Good," Steve said. "Them and a combat medical team, discretion but not stealth, ASAP."

Steve glanced around and then added, "And a cleanup team--we've got bodies, and we need to pull whatever tech or surveillance was in place here."

"Scrambling them now, ETA... forty-eight minutes to your location, Cap."

"Rogers out."

Steve put his phone away and turned his thoughts to the next forty-eight minutes. The team would help Bucky when they got here; they would salvage whatever could be saved from this room to tell them what had happened to him. Help was on the way.

But for the next forty-eight minutes it was him and Sam and Bucky. Sam was running strips of tape over the gauze he'd laid down, sticking the edges to whole skin where he could find it.

Steve closed both hands around Bucky's hand. It still felt chilly against his skin; he chafed it gently between his palms. Bucky had done that for him sometimes. It was a safe way to sneak in a touch, excusable in places when holding hands wasn't. Steve had made a point sometimes of forgetting his gloves.

He looked up to Bucky's eyes again; they were focused in the direction of Steve's hands, but there was still no expression there, no recognition. He had no idea what Steve was doing, or why. He didn't need his hand held.

He needed a lot more than that; Steve looked down at him and chose a place to start.

"Can we move him?"

Sam looked up and glanced reflexively toward the door. "Evac's on the way, they'll--"

"I'm not going to stand here and twiddle my thumbs for the next forty-eight minutes while Bucky's covered in his own blood and shit," Steve said, letting his need to do something spill into his voice. "Can we get him out of this room, or should I figure out how to clean him up without moving him?"

Sam looked down at Bucky again. "Yeah, okay. There's a plastic sheet in my pack, we can get him on that, carry him down the hall. Next lab had an emergency shower and sinks, we can clean him off there."

Steve felt such a burst of eagerness that he made himself hesitate. "That's safe? It's safe to move him?"

Sam's lips compressed. "Safer not to, but everything's a tradeoff. Just a matter of knowing how big the risk is. Let me check--"

Sam finished with the tape and went around to the front of the chair, crouching at Bucky's feet. Bucky's gaze followed him down.

"Hold your hands still on his and let me know if his fingers move," Sam directed, picking up Bucky's left foot.

"Watch out," Steve said without thinking, "he's--"

Sam had barely touched the sole of Bucky's foot before it jerked back, his whole leg flexing. His fingers spasmed in Steve's grip, and his eyes darted to the sharp motion of his own leg. He'd only actually moved his foot an inch or two, and his leg went limp again immediately, but he'd moved.

"Ticklish," Steve finished, smiling helplessly.

When he looked at Bucky his face was still blank, his gaze already wandering away.

"Okay," Sam said when Steve looked back at him. "So he's got movement and sensation."

Sam reached for his other foot, and Steve looked back to Bucky's face. He looked down at Sam when Sam's hands closed on his foot, but there was no anticipation at all, no awareness of what was about to happen. When Sam tickled him, Bucky's gaze was only drawn to the sudden motion of his own leg, and the leg went limp again as soon as the annoying sensation was gone.

"All right," Sam said. "Legs are working, and we've got no reason to suspect spinal injury. I want to see if we can get him to sit up--maybe stand, maybe walk. He'll bleed through that gauze fast if something shifts in his gut, we're not going to miss it. If he can move, it's better to get him moving after that long holding still."

Steve nodded, looking Bucky over, trying to guess the other drawbacks of this move. His gaze caught on the wreckage of Bucky's left arm, the twisted plates with their wicked edges. He let go of Bucky's hand and walked around to that side of the chair, stepping delicately around the corpses to get close. Bucky's gaze followed him, and when Steve closed his hands around what was left of the upper arm, the glinting of light off the wrecked plates drew Bucky's attention.

Sam went around to Bucky's other side and picked up the water bottle, settling his hand on Bucky's forehead to draw his gaze before he started tipping water into his mouth. Steve held still for a moment, watching Bucky look up at Sam with the same steady focus that his own touch had drawn. Bucky didn't seem to notice any difference between Steve and Sam.

Steve shook off that thought and focused on the problem of Bucky's arm. It moved freely when he turned it, but the machinery under his hands was inert. Bucky wouldn't be able to control it even as well as he could control the rest of his body. It would swing freely if he moved. It would cut up the already burned and mangled flesh of Bucky's side, not to mention anyone trying to help prop him up.

They couldn't pad it with anything that the adamantium plates wouldn't cut through; Steve didn't know what could possibly stop it, except...

He unslung his shield, and Bucky's eyes went to it instantly. Sam was in the middle of pouring water into his mouth at that second, and Bucky choked, coughed, and then gagged water over Sam's hand as Sam tilted his head to the side to help him get his mouth clear. Bucky's whole body twisted with the force of his retching, dragging his left arm off the armrest, and Steve shoved the shield down, just barely getting the edge between Bucky's arm and his body.

Bucky coughed one more time and then turned his head under his own power to look at the shield where it rested against his bandaged side.

"Good work," Sam said dryly.

"Bad timing," Steve admitted. He rotated the shield so he could get his hand on a strap, tucking the edge of the shield into Bucky's armpit. One of the twisted plates of Bucky's arm screeched softly against the inner face, leaving a thin, bright scratch in the silvery surface.

"I think I can hold it in place for him if I stay on this side." It wouldn't make moving easy, but they could make it work.

Sam shook his head. "This is why God gave us duct tape, Cap."

Steve was dubious about how much tape could do against Bucky's arm and his shield, but Sam came around and fished in his pack until he came up with a roll of thick, slightly shiny gray tape. He peeled off a long strip and lay it across the intact section of Bucky's arm, sticking the ends to the inside of the shield.

"Will that hold?"

"For a while," Sam said, layering on another strip and then another. The tape separated from the role with a long screech that caught Bucky's attention each time. Once Sam had a couple of strips in place, Steve took the roll and tore one off himself, wrapping tape gingerly around the sharp edges and sticking down the ends to help support the shield.

Within a few minutes, the inside of Steve's shield was a mess of gray tape, the shiny metal of Bucky's upper arm was nearly invisible, and the tape was half gone. Bucky had lost interest and was lying still with his eyes closed gain.

"All right," Sam went back around to Bucky's right side. "Get your hand behind his shoulder."

Steve slipped his right behind Bucky's shoulder, left hand hovering at one edge of the shield. Sam crouched down, getting his shoulder under Bucky's and worming his left hand behind Bucky's back.

Bucky opened his eyes and looked back and forth between them, fastening on Sam when he said, "Okay, here we go. One, two--three."

It wasn't physically hard to push Bucky upright; he wasn't that heavy, and he wasn't entirely limp. His head fell back as they pushed him up, but he picked it up on his own by the time they had him sitting up.

"Fuck," Steve muttered. There were red blistered marks on Bucky's shoulder blades, and shit smeared halfway up his back.

"Pressure sores," Sam said. "The ones on his ass are gonna be worse. Infected, maybe, if the skin's broken."

"We're hard to infect," Steve said grimly.

Of course he'd never had an open wound covered in shit for three days, so what did he know?

"He's not running a fever," Sam said. "He'll be okay, but fair warning. Even compared to this, it's gonna look bad."

Steve shifted his gaze to Bucky's face. Bucky was looking around the room from his new vantage point, turning his head to take everything in. None of it changed his blank expression, but he looked.

"Up the rest of the way?" Steve asked.

Sam nodded and curled his arm all the way around Bucky's back. Steve saw the muscles of Bucky's shoulders tense as Sam's arm pressed on the sores, but Bucky's face stayed blank. It was going to hurt, but they had to get him up.

"One, two--" Sam straightened up, hauling Bucky up with him while Steve pulled him up with a hand tucked under his arm, behind the shield. Steve was close enough to hear Bucky's breath catch as he was lifted away from the chair. Steve's shield hung limp against his side, like a broken metal wing, but the tape held.

The scrub pants Bucky was wearing sagged as he was raised off the chair, then slithered, wet and heavy, down to his thighs as they got him upright. Steve caught a clean bit of the waistband and shoved them down the rest of the way, until they were a foul puddle around Bucky's ankles.

Steve could see two sores on a relatively clean stretch of skin on Bucky's left ass cheek, and he didn't doubt there were more. He didn't let himself look for more, focusing on holding Bucky up and steady. He felt the change when Bucky's legs remembered how to stand, and he took his own weight. He swayed gently between Steve and Sam--he had to be dizzy as hell, even if his balance hadn't been directly affected by what they did to him. After another minute he steadied.

"Put your arm all the way around him," Sam directed. "Hand under his armpit."

Steve obeyed, running his arm along Bucky's shoulders, above Sam's where it still supported him. He had to position himself carefully to keep from leaning into the sharp edges of Bucky's arm protruding from the cradle of the shield.

"I'm gonna let go," Sam said. "Get his feet clear before we try to get him to walk. You're holding him up, okay?"

Steve nodded. "Got it. We can keep you on your feet a minute, right, Buck?"

Bucky's attention shifted toward him as he spoke. He had to look over his shoulder to see Steve, but he held the awkward position.

"You're doing fine," Steve went on, trying to hold Bucky's focus. He could hear himself taking the tone he'd use on a little kid or an exceptionally terrified private, but Bucky kept looking at him.

"You can do this," Steve went on, as Sam slipped away from Bucky's side and knelt. Bucky wobbled as Sam moved his feet, but Steve kept talking reassuringly to him without saying much of anything, and kept holding on. Bucky looked away every few seconds to investigate his feet or the rest of the room, but if Steve stopped talking for half a second and then started again, Bucky's gaze came back to him.

"Okay," Sam said, standing back up and tucking himself under Bucky's good arm. Bucky looked over at him and Sam looked back, face to face.

Close enough to kiss, Steve thought, irrelevant and obscene.

"All right, Bucky," Sam said. "Now we're gonna go for a walk. Longest walk of your life, but you can do this. One step at a time, and we're with you the whole way. Piece of cake."

Bucky's attention wandered away from Sam halfway through that pep talk, but Sam just looked over to Steve, nodding before they both took a slow, small step forward, propelling Bucky with them.

Bucky immediately stumbled. The shield flailed out, clipping Steve in the side before it knocked into Bucky's ribs, tipping him onto Sam.

Sam steadied him until Steve could adjust his grip, but Bucky's legs didn't take his weight again. He wasn't even holding his head up, resting it against Sam's shoulder.

"Okay, pal, change of plans," Steve said. "Gonna carry you, so if you want to argue with that, now's the time."

Sam gave him a very composed look, like he was trying not to let Steve see his reaction. Steve didn't let himself think about it. Not now. Right now he was getting Bucky out of this room so he could get cleaned up somewhere that didn't reek of death.

"We'll change places," Steve said, pulling at Bucky so his weight tilted toward Steve. He moved one of his feet slightly, but he still didn't straighten his legs. "I'll come around to his right side, then I can pick him up."

"You're gonna get dirty," Sam informed him, in a tone that said he already knew Steve didn't give a damn. He eased out from under Bucky's arm, moving to stand directly in front of him. Steve leaned Bucky into him, trying not to think too hard about the wounds on Bucky's abdomen being pressed against Sam's body. He darted around to Bucky's right side, getting one arm around his back and stooping to get the other behind his knees.

Sam stepped smoothly away, steadying the shield as Steve straightened up, tipping Bucky against his chest.

He should have been heavier. Steve should hardly have been able to lift him at all.

"Okay, Buck," Steve said softly, tilting Bucky in his arms and working his shoulder until Bucky rested his cheek there. "All right. Now we're gonna take you out of here, and you're never coming back. We'll get you cleaned up, and we'll get you home."

Re: FILL: With These Things There's No Telling, 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

This is such a great second chapter. There's almost enough to hope, with the way Bucky is aware of people talking to him and reacts to physical sensations, but it's clearly a fool's hope. I love how Steve is dealing with his emotions by trying to do something like getting Bucky clean.

I'll just wait here under this pile of old coffee grounds and used kleenex for more then.

Re: FILL: With These Things There's No Telling, 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

OP.

Aw, jeez. This is so ridiculously great. I wish I could offer you more specifics but it's so hard to be specific when your work is perfect!

Re: FILL: With These Things There's No Telling, 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

I love how detailed and realistic this fic is. You spare no disgusting detail, which just highlights the love and care Steve (and Sam) are showing.