"He looks dead." And Steve felt dead. They'd blinded him and all his limbs flop uselessly where they'd broken bones or tore up tendons. He'd long since stopped counting the number of bleeding wounds, and his breath is coming in slow and shallow. But he could afford an internal chuckle: at least both his ears worked, which means this is still farther from death than December 1932. Though just by a hair.
"Well, not quite, but getting close... I'd say 2 hours tops at this rate." Ah yes, that's the voice of the guy who decided he wanted to fuck Captain America's guts, and had enough medical training to slice open his belly without harming the intestines. Sicko.
"I ... I guess we should finish him off now?" Someone reached over to try to pick him up. It's the young kid who quickly shed his wide-eyed stare for a chance at shocking his balls with a cattle prod. "Oof, he's heavy as fuck." Damn right, 200 lbs of dead weight. Hah. Dead.
The sound of the door opening and closing. Steve couldn't hear anyone step in, but they must have, since the room was suddenly a jumble of voices.
"Oh hey, Asset, c'mere and help. Gotta toss him out." He felt strong arms pick him up and hoist him over a cold, hard shoulder in a fireman's carry. The pain from being moved makes him miss the next bit.
"... somewhere to bleed out for the next 2 hours. Maybe we should have some display, show the world what happens when you defy..."
"... you know we can't blow our cover before the big day." Dammit, every time the kid gets close to saying which group they're with, the guy with the beard always cuts him off.
"Guys... look at how it's staring at him."
"Oh man, too bad we busted Cap's eyes, if he saw, that'd give him a heart attack and kill him right there." Steve was filled with sudden curiosity -- what was he not supposed to see? The man carrying him, the Asset, remained completely still.
"Hey, Asset, you want this corpse?" The kid again.
The beard guy slaps him. "Shut up, it's not supposed to want things." And then, probably a shrug? "Whatever. Here, the guy's yours. Enjoy."
The sounds of the sadists pulling their pants back on and heading for the door.
"Oh, and clean up the room."
And with that, they trooped out, and Steve was left with silence.
After a quick moment, he felt himself being put back down again. But this time, it was so gentle there was barely any pain. What was the Asset going to do to him? And why couldn't he hear the Asset's movements, even with his enhanced hearing?
He felt fingers pry at his mouth. Dammit, not again. He try to clamp down, but the gut-fucker messed with his jaw, too. Well, what's one more cock, right?
Instead of another hard dick, however, he felt fingers pushing something against his gums. Something hard and bony. Wait, is the guy actually putting Steve's teeth back in? They'd knocked them out after Steve bit the first guy, and he'd been a drooling mess ever since.
This was followed by a gentle resetting of his bones and patching of his wounds. The guy clearly didn't have much to work with -- just some spare rags that felt suspiciously like the remnant's of Steve's clothes that they'd cut off. But the Asset was clearly experienced with field medicine, even making makeshift needle and thread from something.
Somewhere in the middle of that Steve must have relaxed enough to pass out, because the thing next thing he knew he was in a much colder place and some food was being shoved into his mouth. With a tongue.
"Look at the freak, first it plays dress-up with the corpse, and now it's making out with it." There was the sound of someone batting a stick against metal bars of a cage, as if taunting an animal at the zoo. If Steve wasn't so incapacitated he'd be punching the source of the voice. The only guy who had shown any semblance of humanity in this place, was being kept in a cell and being called a freak and an 'it'?
But all he could do is wiggle his tongue, and the Asset took it as opportunity to deepen the kiss and shove more food down his throat. Right. If he wants to punch anyone, he has to heal first.
Even with his enhanced healing, he was still pretty much a rag doll over the next few days. Which meant that he was completely subject to the Asset's strange ministrations. When the Asset was in his cell he never took his hands off of Steve. He'd sit Steve in his lap, or cradle Steve's head and pat his shoulder and kiss his eyelids. He'd fuss with Steve's clothes, or at least whatever he'd salvaged to drape on Steve, and lick the pus from Steve's wounds. And when the Asset laid down to rest he'd tuck Steve against him, pillowing Steve's head on his left arm, which was definitely metal. Odd as he was, the Asset was always gentle. Steve itched to move, or at least that his eyes would heal enough that he could see this strange, silent man.
He'd only put Steve down when he was summoned by the others. They'd open the cell door and say either, "We need the Fist" or "We need the Hound", and he'd leave, as silent as he's always been. It took Steve a couple of iterations to figure it out: when they needed the Fist, the guy came back smelling like blood and smoke. When they needed the Hound, he'd come back smelling like blood and semen.
The more he sussed out about the Asset, the more confused Steve got. Soon. His eyes were already starting to itch, and he could feel his limbs starting to knit together.
When his jaw healed, he tried to thank the guy. But he'd barely gotten half a sound out before he felt strong fingers pressing his lips and eyelids closed, and the metal hand at his throat. Moments later he heard footsteps approaching. Steve got the message: he's only alive because they think he's dead. And for whatever reason, the Asset wanted to keep it that way.
"Hey, Asset." There was a loud clanging as the voice of Beard Guy struck his stun baton against the metal bars. "You're due to be iced in a coupla hours. Enough playing with Cap's corpse, toss him."
And with that, Steve felt himself heaved onto the Asset's shoulders and carried out. Two lefts, one right, some stairs, and another right, and then a blast of fresh air: salty breeze and the sound of waves striking rock. Before Steve could muster his muscles to strike out, he was airborne. He cracked his eyes open enough to see on the cliffside that was now 20 feet away: long hair, metal arm, already turning back towards the compound, followed by 4 men with guns out. And then Steve was plummeting. He'd been tossed clear of the rocks, so there was nothing but the deep blue of waters below. Steve found himself smiling. He was very good at diving without a parachute.
mini-fill "The Kindness of Strangers" Re: Winter and his new toy
"Well, not quite, but getting close... I'd say 2 hours tops at this rate." Ah yes, that's the voice of the guy who decided he wanted to fuck Captain America's guts, and had enough medical training to slice open his belly without harming the intestines. Sicko.
"I ... I guess we should finish him off now?" Someone reached over to try to pick him up. It's the young kid who quickly shed his wide-eyed stare for a chance at shocking his balls with a cattle prod. "Oof, he's heavy as fuck." Damn right, 200 lbs of dead weight. Hah. Dead.
The sound of the door opening and closing. Steve couldn't hear anyone step in, but they must have, since the room was suddenly a jumble of voices.
"Oh hey, Asset, c'mere and help. Gotta toss him out." He felt strong arms pick him up and hoist him over a cold, hard shoulder in a fireman's carry. The pain from being moved makes him miss the next bit.
"... somewhere to bleed out for the next 2 hours. Maybe we should have some display, show the world what happens when you defy..."
"... you know we can't blow our cover before the big day." Dammit, every time the kid gets close to saying which group they're with, the guy with the beard always cuts him off.
"Guys... look at how it's staring at him."
"Oh man, too bad we busted Cap's eyes, if he saw, that'd give him a heart attack and kill him right there." Steve was filled with sudden curiosity -- what was he not supposed to see? The man carrying him, the Asset, remained completely still.
"Hey, Asset, you want this corpse?" The kid again.
The beard guy slaps him. "Shut up, it's not supposed to want things." And then, probably a shrug? "Whatever. Here, the guy's yours. Enjoy."
The sounds of the sadists pulling their pants back on and heading for the door.
"Oh, and clean up the room."
And with that, they trooped out, and Steve was left with silence.
After a quick moment, he felt himself being put back down again. But this time, it was so gentle there was barely any pain. What was the Asset going to do to him? And why couldn't he hear the Asset's movements, even with his enhanced hearing?
He felt fingers pry at his mouth. Dammit, not again. He try to clamp down, but the gut-fucker messed with his jaw, too. Well, what's one more cock, right?
Instead of another hard dick, however, he felt fingers pushing something against his gums. Something hard and bony. Wait, is the guy actually putting Steve's teeth back in? They'd knocked them out after Steve bit the first guy, and he'd been a drooling mess ever since.
This was followed by a gentle resetting of his bones and patching of his wounds. The guy clearly didn't have much to work with -- just some spare rags that felt suspiciously like the remnant's of Steve's clothes that they'd cut off. But the Asset was clearly experienced with field medicine, even making makeshift needle and thread from something.
Somewhere in the middle of that Steve must have relaxed enough to pass out, because the thing next thing he knew he was in a much colder place and some food was being shoved into his mouth. With a tongue.
"Look at the freak, first it plays dress-up with the corpse, and now it's making out with it." There was the sound of someone batting a stick against metal bars of a cage, as if taunting an animal at the zoo. If Steve wasn't so incapacitated he'd be punching the source of the voice. The only guy who had shown any semblance of humanity in this place, was being kept in a cell and being called a freak and an 'it'?
But all he could do is wiggle his tongue, and the Asset took it as opportunity to deepen the kiss and shove more food down his throat. Right. If he wants to punch anyone, he has to heal first.
Even with his enhanced healing, he was still pretty much a rag doll over the next few days. Which meant that he was completely subject to the Asset's strange ministrations. When the Asset was in his cell he never took his hands off of Steve. He'd sit Steve in his lap, or cradle Steve's head and pat his shoulder and kiss his eyelids. He'd fuss with Steve's clothes, or at least whatever he'd salvaged to drape on Steve, and lick the pus from Steve's wounds. And when the Asset laid down to rest he'd tuck Steve against him, pillowing Steve's head on his left arm, which was definitely metal. Odd as he was, the Asset was always gentle. Steve itched to move, or at least that his eyes would heal enough that he could see this strange, silent man.
He'd only put Steve down when he was summoned by the others. They'd open the cell door and say either, "We need the Fist" or "We need the Hound", and he'd leave, as silent as he's always been. It took Steve a couple of iterations to figure it out: when they needed the Fist, the guy came back smelling like blood and smoke. When they needed the Hound, he'd come back smelling like blood and semen.
The more he sussed out about the Asset, the more confused Steve got. Soon. His eyes were already starting to itch, and he could feel his limbs starting to knit together.
When his jaw healed, he tried to thank the guy. But he'd barely gotten half a sound out before he felt strong fingers pressing his lips and eyelids closed, and the metal hand at his throat. Moments later he heard footsteps approaching. Steve got the message: he's only alive because they think he's dead. And for whatever reason, the Asset wanted to keep it that way.
"Hey, Asset." There was a loud clanging as the voice of Beard Guy struck his stun baton against the metal bars. "You're due to be iced in a coupla hours. Enough playing with Cap's corpse, toss him."
And with that, Steve felt himself heaved onto the Asset's shoulders and carried out. Two lefts, one right, some stairs, and another right, and then a blast of fresh air: salty breeze and the sound of waves striking rock. Before Steve could muster his muscles to strike out, he was airborne. He cracked his eyes open enough to see on the cliffside that was now 20 feet away: long hair, metal arm, already turning back towards the compound, followed by 4 men with guns out. And then Steve was plummeting. He'd been tossed clear of the rocks, so there was nothing but the deep blue of waters below. Steve found himself smiling. He was very good at diving without a parachute.