*right, well I was going through old prompts and this one caught my eye (http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/1634.html?thread=2934114#cmt2934114), where Bucky is raped while watching learning that Steve has died. I meant for it to just be a short thing I could use to procrastinate my thesis on, but now it's over 2k words of garbage, so I just want to make sure yall could see the rotten fruits of my labor ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
It'd been two weeks. And yeah, it’s bad. It's real bad. But he’d spent longer stashed away in the Hydra factory, so it's not unbearable. Even if Steve thinks he's dead, which he probably does at this point, the war is going to over soon. All the advanced intelligence said so. POWs get released when wars end. He'll be set free or get exchanged for some other prisoner soon enough. It's bad, but he can wait. Bucky's always been good at that.
Bucky was huddled in the corner, trying as best he could to stay warm. It wasn't cold enough to freeze to death, but it was just enough to keep him uncomfortable every goddamn waking moment. He wrapped himself tighter with the single threadbare blanket he'd been given.
Not even a blanket. It was a length of left-over cloth used to make the uniforms his captors wore. But it was something.
If there was one thing he had plenty of, at least, it was free time. The Russians didn't seem to quite know what to do with him until the war ended. They must have known he was American, and that made him valuable. Didn't matter that they were supposed to be part of the Allies. Stalin wasn't exactly known for his humanitarianism.
Sometimes they came in and prodded him with instruments, taking blood and hair samples. Sometimes they gave him drugs and recorded the results, or lack thereof. Sometimes they just came in and beat the shit out of him. Bucky could never predict what kind of day it was going to be. He just ate whatever weird slop they gave him to eat (it was nasty greenish-brown bar that looked like it was made from gum and sawdust, but at least it was filling), and hoped that today wasn't the day they decided he wasn't worth the trouble. But mostly, he just had plenty of time to rest and think.
Today was different. The guards shifts changed. There were a lot more people moving around outside the cell, and the sounds of equipment setting things up. It was unexpected, but not a huge surprise, when he was dragged out of the cell, and brought to a new part of the compound he hadn't seen before. They wrapped a weird sort of mitt around his right hand, forcing him to make a fist. It made a weird sort of sense. They couldn't exactly handcuff him with one arm gone. They ripped off his worn out boots, the only clothes he was allowed to keep after they found him, and shackled his ankles together. He wished he had his blanket. Or at least some socks. His bare toes were numb against the cold concrete floor.
There was table in the middle, a big heavy metal one with rings fused into it for restraints. Above it, bolted to the ceiling was a shiny new movie projector. The table was pointed towards the screen, and comfy chairs were placed all around like a miniature cinema. One of the guards hit him in the small of his back with the butt of a rifle, sending him crashing to his knees. Bucky felt a knot twisting in the pit of his stomach. This wasn't right.
A balding, pasty skinned man came striding in a few minutes later, gleaming at the sight of Bucky on his knees.
"Hello, Sergeant Barnes. It's nice to finally meet. I'm a big fan of your comic books." His English was rough, but not unintelligible.
Bucky snapped his mouth shut.
"I have to say, I'm not sure I see the resemblance. How are you feeling today?"
Bucky turned away. There was something unnerving about the guy, and he wasn't about to start showing weakness now.
"Shy? Strange, the men said normally you don't shut up. You have a very dirty mouth, apparently. They might not have your talented for language, Sergeant, but these men know enough to tell when you're being impolite."
Bucky huffed and blew a few strands of hair our of his eyes. It was really getting too long. If they were really going to try interrogating him about the Steve and the serum again, they're damn right he wouldn't shut up. He'd talk about everything and anything, as long as it wasn't too personal or an answer to something they asked. They'd hit and gag him for that usually, but it was always worth it to see their looks of exasperation.
"Come now. This is your home. You can speak to me."
Bucky sneered. "Keep dreaming. You might as well exchange me now, 'cause that's all I'm gonna be good for. You can hit me all you want. I don't have any secrets to spill even if I wanted to."
The man smiled, rubbing unconsciously at his ring finger. "You think we're keeping you for a prisoner exchange."
Well, not anymore, he thinks. "Obviously," he said.
"Nobody knows you are alive, James. Except us." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand to the other people in the room. "And nobody but Captain Rogers himself would be worth trading you for."
"Why don't you try him? He'll take my place and burn you bastards to the ground. I'd like let him know I'm still kicking anyway. Be doing me a favor." Bucky forced out a laugh.
"James, my name is Dr. Fennhoff," he motioned to the guards, who lifted Bucky up and dragged him towards the table. "You and I are going to get well acquainted very soon. But first we need to get you prepped for our sessions. The technique works so much better when there is something the subject desperately wants to change or forget. I'll be back in a little while, and we can get started then."
Bucky was slammed down on the table, banging his head against the metal hard enough to see stars. By the time his vision cleared, they'd rearranged his restraints so his legs were forced apart and chained to either side of the table, and his mittened hand to one of the corners as well. Then they hooked a thick, heavy collar around his neck, and locked that to the final corner ring. He was effectively spread eagle, with his ass in the air trying to crowd his body on the table's short length.
They started striping his sorry excuses for clothes off with a combat knife, letting it fall to ribbons on the floor. It was actually heated in this room, unlike his cell, but he still couldn't help but shiver. Maybe more out of dread and anticipation than the temperature. He yanked against the short chains. He could shift himself maybe half an inch, but even that seemed too generous.
One of the men propped his chin up with something, forcing him to stare straight ahead at the blank screen. On the other end, he felt something cool and slick hit his ass, and Bucky thought he might shatter into a million little pieces right then and there.
Give it to Me Straight (1/4)
It'd been two weeks. And yeah, it’s bad. It's real bad. But he’d spent longer stashed away in the Hydra factory, so it's not unbearable. Even if Steve thinks he's dead, which he probably does at this point, the war is going to over soon. All the advanced intelligence said so. POWs get released when wars end. He'll be set free or get exchanged for some other prisoner soon enough. It's bad, but he can wait. Bucky's always been good at that.
Bucky was huddled in the corner, trying as best he could to stay warm. It wasn't cold enough to freeze to death, but it was just enough to keep him uncomfortable every goddamn waking moment. He wrapped himself tighter with the single threadbare blanket he'd been given.
Not even a blanket. It was a length of left-over cloth used to make the uniforms his captors wore. But it was something.
If there was one thing he had plenty of, at least, it was free time. The Russians didn't seem to quite know what to do with him until the war ended. They must have known he was American, and that made him valuable. Didn't matter that they were supposed to be part of the Allies. Stalin wasn't exactly known for his humanitarianism.
Sometimes they came in and prodded him with instruments, taking blood and hair samples. Sometimes they gave him drugs and recorded the results, or lack thereof. Sometimes they just came in and beat the shit out of him. Bucky could never predict what kind of day it was going to be. He just ate whatever weird slop they gave him to eat (it was nasty greenish-brown bar that looked like it was made from gum and sawdust, but at least it was filling), and hoped that today wasn't the day they decided he wasn't worth the trouble. But mostly, he just had plenty of time to rest and think.
Today was different. The guards shifts changed. There were a lot more people moving around outside the cell, and the sounds of equipment setting things up. It was unexpected, but not a huge surprise, when he was dragged out of the cell, and brought to a new part of the compound he hadn't seen before. They wrapped a weird sort of mitt around his right hand, forcing him to make a fist. It made a weird sort of sense. They couldn't exactly handcuff him with one arm gone. They ripped off his worn out boots, the only clothes he was allowed to keep after they found him, and shackled his ankles together. He wished he had his blanket. Or at least some socks. His bare toes were numb against the cold concrete floor.
There was table in the middle, a big heavy metal one with rings fused into it for restraints. Above it, bolted to the ceiling was a shiny new movie projector. The table was pointed towards the screen, and comfy chairs were placed all around like a miniature cinema. One of the guards hit him in the small of his back with the butt of a rifle, sending him crashing to his knees. Bucky felt a knot twisting in the pit of his stomach. This wasn't right.
A balding, pasty skinned man came striding in a few minutes later, gleaming at the sight of Bucky on his knees.
"Hello, Sergeant Barnes. It's nice to finally meet. I'm a big fan of your comic books." His English was rough, but not unintelligible.
Bucky snapped his mouth shut.
"I have to say, I'm not sure I see the resemblance. How are you feeling today?"
Bucky turned away. There was something unnerving about the guy, and he wasn't about to start showing weakness now.
"Shy? Strange, the men said normally you don't shut up. You have a very dirty mouth, apparently. They might not have your talented for language, Sergeant, but these men know enough to tell when you're being impolite."
Bucky huffed and blew a few strands of hair our of his eyes. It was really getting too long. If they were really going to try interrogating him about the Steve and the serum again, they're damn right he wouldn't shut up. He'd talk about everything and anything, as long as it wasn't too personal or an answer to something they asked. They'd hit and gag him for that usually, but it was always worth it to see their looks of exasperation.
"Come now. This is your home. You can speak to me."
Bucky sneered. "Keep dreaming. You might as well exchange me now, 'cause that's all I'm gonna be good for. You can hit me all you want. I don't have any secrets to spill even if I wanted to."
The man smiled, rubbing unconsciously at his ring finger. "You think we're keeping you for a prisoner exchange."
Well, not anymore, he thinks. "Obviously," he said.
"Nobody knows you are alive, James. Except us." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand to the other people in the room. "And nobody but Captain Rogers himself would be worth trading you for."
"Why don't you try him? He'll take my place and burn you bastards to the ground. I'd like let him know I'm still kicking anyway. Be doing me a favor." Bucky forced out a laugh.
"James, my name is Dr. Fennhoff," he motioned to the guards, who lifted Bucky up and dragged him towards the table. "You and I are going to get well acquainted very soon. But first we need to get you prepped for our sessions. The technique works so much better when there is something the subject desperately wants to change or forget. I'll be back in a little while, and we can get started then."
Bucky was slammed down on the table, banging his head against the metal hard enough to see stars. By the time his vision cleared, they'd rearranged his restraints so his legs were forced apart and chained to either side of the table, and his mittened hand to one of the corners as well. Then they hooked a thick, heavy collar around his neck, and locked that to the final corner ring. He was effectively spread eagle, with his ass in the air trying to crowd his body on the table's short length.
They started striping his sorry excuses for clothes off with a combat knife, letting it fall to ribbons on the floor. It was actually heated in this room, unlike his cell, but he still couldn't help but shiver. Maybe more out of dread and anticipation than the temperature. He yanked against the short chains. He could shift himself maybe half an inch, but even that seemed too generous.
One of the men propped his chin up with something, forcing him to stare straight ahead at the blank screen. On the other end, he felt something cool and slick hit his ass, and Bucky thought he might shatter into a million little pieces right then and there.