hydratrashmeme | Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

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.

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(Inspired thanks to a conversation with Ros. 5+1 format, going backwards in time, so we're starting off with a happy ending)
Team dinners could take some getting used to. Clint and Natasha would be at one end of the table, talking to each other quietly, and that was simple enough. Bruce and Tony, when they deigned to show up, would be deep in discussion, and Thor would arrive, and that was when things started to get lively.

There were six people in the room other than Bucky. There were Natasha and Clint, still in the position he expected, and Bruce making dinner and then plating it up. Thor and Tony were arguing quietly, but judging by how happy they looked they weren't actually arguing - it was more a case of them having a loud discussion and raising their voice. Then beside Bucky, a barrier between him and the rest of the diners, was Steve. Steve was grinning, and Bucky closed his eyes, allowing the noise to just wash over him.

After a few moments he opened his eyes again, checking that all the people were where he expected. They were, although now one of Stark's bots was hovering in the doorway. Tony noticed and went to chase it away, and Bucky sat up smartly as Bruce approached, his hands resting on his knees, bracing himself so that he sat up straight.

"Hey." Bruce smiled, placing a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Steve. He moved in a wide circle around Bucky, putting the food down deliberately and in his line of site, then taking a few steps away. Bucky felt a slight twinge of guilt at how careful the team ended up being around him, but that was swamped by gratitude. He picked up his fork, noticing the food had already been cut up, just like Steve's was. He began to eat.

His gaze was drawn to a particularly fatty bit of bacon near the edge of Steve's plate. He knew he had enough food of his own, but that looked particularly nice, and he reached out with his fork, skewering it on the prongs and bringing it to his mouth. He closed his lips around it, pressing the fatty food to the roof of his mouth so that he could taste it as the panic started. He had stolen. He would be in trouble for stealing, stealing was bad, he wasn't meant to eat.

"Hey?" There was a hand on his shoulder and he flinched, looking up to see Steve looking down at him with a brilliant smile on his face. "You alright there Bucky?"

The bacon tasted strange in his mouth, but he nodded, chewing it as he did so, trying to project a sense of normality. Steve smiled and nodded, then moved a second bit of fatty bacon onto Bucky's plate.
"I know these were always your favourites."
"Thanks." Bucky mumbled, stabbing the second piece with his fork. Steve looked happy, and he didn't want to argue. If Steve was alright with it, then that meant he wasn't in trouble.

Relief flooded through him, warm and grounding, and he looked at the others around the room. It might have taken him a long time, but he had finally found a home, and now he was going to be able to relax.

Ten days earlier, Bucky sat awkwardly on the edge of his bed. Beds were new. He'd been at home for a week now, and he still found beds strange, but he was expected to use them. His hands were clenched in the quilt. He looked at the floor, trying to find the words to argue. The problem was that Steve always sounded so reasonable when he wanted something, even when it was something entirely unfair.

"It won't be for long." Steve wheedled at him. "Just a brief little check up, to see what can be done about your arm."
Bucky didn't answer. He might not want to say anything that counteracted Steve's wishes, but he could express his own disdain. Steve sighed.

"Look, Bucky. I can tell it's causing you pain. If you really don't want to go, I won't force you, but I think you should go there. I'll be there the whole time, if that would help."
Bucky knew when he had lost an argument. If he said no, the pressure would keep on coming, and anyway he wasn't meant to say no. Saying no was bad. Saying no led to more punishment.

Feeling sick, he nodded.

Walking down to the lab felt familiar. He had walked down to many different labs, but they always caused the same cold feeling in his chest. He was going to be examined next. Steve's footsteps echoed on the floor beside him, and he fought the urge to gag. Steve was walking with him. That was a positive.

The door to the lab opened, revealing Tony. Tony didn't dress like a lab technician or a doctor. Tony was the loudest man he had met in the building. He talked a lot, and didn't seem to say much. He was smiling. That wasn't often a good sign.

"How are you feeling today Robocop?" Tony asked. Bucky said nothing, letting his disdain show through. Tony laughed, and Bucky's insides twisted.

Steve sat beside him at a workbench, littered with screws and screwdrivers. Tony had a machine run some scans, and feed back the information. Discussion carried on, going over Bucky's head a little until Tony started work on the arm.

He fought to hold the plates still as they were carefully lifted, Tony muttering about the condition of the wires and the weight of the metal. Tony sounded annoyed, and he couldn't concentrate on that. Instead, he looked at what was on the table.

Beside his little finger, there was a small screwdriver, tiny enough to fit into the palm of his hand. It was the kind of thing used for the tiniest levels of maintenance, undoing the smallest of screws. It had a red handle, with a metal body. He flexed his finger, knocking into it, and it rolled over. He poked it harder, and it rolled down towards the edge of the table.

It teetered on the edge for a moment before it fell down, landing on his leg and slipping to the side, pinned between his leg and the wall. He glanced up at Tony and Steve.

They hadn't noticed.

The examination took over an hour. Through it all, he had his leg pressed against the wall, pinning the screwdriver in place. He was asked questions, and said what he had to in response, but otherwise he disengaged as best as he could. He wasn’t needed during maintenance. Finally it was over and he was released.

As he stood, his hand slipped down and grabbed the screwdriver, and he walked out of the room with it tucked against his palm and held in place with his thumb. His heart was racing.
"So what did you think of it?" Steve asked.
"I think he seems confident." Bucky answered, not entirely sure what had been decided upon. But his answer made Steve laugh.

"He has good reason to be confident, don't worry. We'll get that arm sorted, he's going to have a fibreglass prototype by the end of the week."
Bucky hoped he didn't need that screwdriver.

All the way to his room, he expected his deception to be discovered, but it was not. When left alone, he lay down in his bed, and carefully dug the screwdriver into the frame. It would be easier to sleep here now that he knew it was a symbol to his own little act of rebellion.

The building that the asset was being taken to loomed up in front of him, leaving him feeling ill. His heart raced and sickness swirled through him. This wasn't right. This wasn't right at all. The street layout reminded him of those missions a lifetime ago, which had been with Steve, who was here now as well. But it was different. That tower had never been there, and nor had any of the other buildings.

This was his punishment for his largest act of rebellion. He had chosen to escape from Hydra, to dive into that cold water and pull Steve out. To watch Steve's back like he had on his other missions. This wasn't like hiding food or deliberately getting someone injured. This was a bad thing. There was no way that they could miss that particular act of disobedience.

He wanted to stumble, to walk slower, but the consequences awaiting him were already so large he couldn't make them any worse. So he walked with Steve. Steve's arm was around his shoulder, resting on his arm which was rusting to the point where it no longer had its full range of movement. He carried on walking.

The doors swung open without assistance, and Steve smiled at him, squeezed his shoulder.
"We can't really go back to mine. It's not safe, and anyway someone shot holes in the wall." Steve smiled as he said that. The asset didn't think he would be punished for whatever made Steve smile.

They went towards a lift. The asset did not like lifts, and was confused when the lift started to go up rather than down. He was used to being brought into vaults and labs which were further down, rather than rising up into the air. Rising up was frightening in a way, but enjoyable in another, and he wondered how high they would go.

"You feeling alright Bucky?" Steve asked, and the asset realigned his manner of thinking of himself. He was Bucky. He was with Steve in this tower.
"Just a little..." He shrugged, falling silent, and Steve nodded slowly.
"Must be quite scary... it's okay, you can eat soon, look..." The door opened and they stepped out into a living area, a small kitchen to the side.
"This is the kitchen, anything you need, you can get it from here. My room's through this door, there's the bathroom. This room can be yours."

The door was opened and revealed a large double bed. There were bookshelves full of interesting looking stories, and a desk, and some photographs on the wall. One of the photographs was of him and Steve in an old mission, and there were other old photographs as well but Bucky kept looking at the bed. He didn't like beds.
"You need anything at all Bucky, you just call me. Jarvis will be monitoring you if you aren't able to call."

"Jarvis?"
"Jarvis is the AI...artificial intelligence in charge of the tower. He makes sure everyone is safe. If you have any problems, you can talk to him."
Bucky nodded. He would be being watched. That was alright, he could handle that as long as he was careful not to do anything against the rules. He knew he shouldn't break the rules, but sometimes disobeying felt good, and he couldn't not do it.
"Thank you."

"Let's get some food. You must be hungry. How does chicken soup sound?"
The answer came to Bucky from nowhere, a bit of left over programming from an old mission.
"Well, it kind of sploshes around a bit."
Steve laughed and got Bucky to help make the soup. Bucky thought of stealing a slice of bread, but knew Jarvis was watching, so he just left it. The soup was warm and tasted good, but the price hadn't been mentioned. For a while they sat together, Steve explaining the protocols of the mission - where he could and couldn't go, what he could do, what he couldn't do. Then he taught Bucky all about the people who lived in the tower, making sure he could repeat the answers. Only then did Steve say goodnight, and Bucky head to his room.

He searched his room. There was a camera above the door, and another pointing in it, and a number of speakers. He tried to search in silence.
"Are you in need of assistance Sergeant Barnes?" The question came from the ceiling in clipped British tones, and Bucky tried not to jump. This must be Jarvis.
"Are you watching me?"
"I am observing through three cameras and a number of speakers. However, if you would rather I am able to turn off the majority of the monitoring equipment."
"Thanks." Bucky said softly, and the red lights over the cameras flickered out.

Bucky didn't trust that he wasn't being watched, but it still helped a little to not be gazed at quite so obviously. He looked at the large bed, threatening from the centre of the room, and decided he wouldn't get in there.

He considered hiding beneath, before he noticed the wardrobe. He could tuck up inside of it, presuming that there were no shelves in the way. Opening it revealed that there was space inside of it, and he climbed in, careful not to make too much noise.

He wrapped his arms around his knees and carefully pulled the door closed, knowing that here he was safe. Jarvis was unable to monitor him now, and even in this building, with punishment overhanging him, he had temporarily escaped.

There was a lot of alcohol on the floor today, empty bottles rolling around and a few splashes of alcohol had landed on the asset's hair. The Strike team were drunk, tired, and lazy. They had finished playing with Asset earlier, so now he was allowed to curl up on the floor and rest. He had used his flesh arm, tucking it up beneath his head as a pillow. It was a momentary softness, which he was grateful for. It reassured him to be comfortable.

"Asset." Rumlow called, and Asset crawled over towards him, letting Rumlow rest his boots on the asset's back. There was a lot of drinking, and a glass fell down to the floor beside him, crunching against the floor.

Asset knew that he had to stay there for a while. He couldn't rest, not while Rumlow wanted to rest his feet. He whimpered and tried not to cry out. His stomach growled, and the heel of Rumlow's boot dug into his back.
"Stop whining."

Asset fell silent, knowing that Rumlow didn't like it after the incident before. It had been a long time. He hadn't eaten during the mission, in which he had been on a rooftop for three days, and tonight while he had been allowed to lick at their cocks, he hadn't been allowed to eat.

The Strike team were eating. They had chips that they were eating, and a few crumbs fell to the floor. Cautiously the asset reached out, pressing his finger against the crumb and then pulling it up to his lips, letting it rest on his tongue. It tasted good, and he relished the flavouring of it while it lasted, enjoying the taste. Only after a moment was the taste gone, and with it the chip.

There were other snacks as well, and Asset wanted some of them. There were a lot of bottles of beer, and Asset didn't want them, but Asset had observed them before. Asset knew that the beer made them sleep.

He thought of the packet of crisps, of the popcorn, and the beer. He worked it out, he just had to wait. He stayed still, served them, did what they wanted. Eventually, it was all done. Murphy was first to fall asleep, flopping down on the couch. Rollins followed. Mercer drank another two beers before she slept, and finally Asset could hear the familiar sound of Rumlow's snores. He carefully lowered himself down, dropping himself down onto his stomach and then carefully shuffling sideways so that Rumlow's feet fell off of his back.

Silently, he grabbed the food, opening up the packet and devouring some of the chips, placing each of them in turn on his tongue. Then came a handful of popcorn. He ate that carefully, worried at every moment he would make a noise that would disturb them. His heart was hammering in his chest and he tried not to panic. He didn't want to wake them up.

The food was delicious. Any food was delicious. He carefully swallowed the last clump of popcorn, and laid back down, sliding along to beneath Rumlow's feet. He lifted himself once more, and remained still, knowing he would have to be there when Rumlow woke. He was sick, afraid. But he had won.

"You stupid thing." Rumlow snarled at the asset, bringing his boot down in his side. "You are messing up this mission. You're no good as a sniper. You are useless. But you have some use I suppose. Get undressed."

The asset obeyed. It took off its uniform, and moved into position, its ass up in the air. It disliked Rumlow. Rumlow was not the worst handler, not by a long shot, but he wasn't the best either. It disliked it when Rumlow wanted to beat him, or to hurt him. But now it would be punished, again. It had only been working with Rumlow a couple of times, but each time there had been a reason found to punish it. This time it was going to be punished for a mistake it had made. For the fact it had chosen not to shoot someone due to fearing too many civilian casualties.

"Good." Rumlow sneered, and he hit it again, kicking it. A spark from the cattle prod arched down its side, making it scream. He knocked it to the ground, It was angry. It was so angry. It hated being touched, being fucked, being punished. It hated that. And it hated Rumlow. It wanted to hurt him, for every time it got hurt. Rumlow pushed into it, and it sobbed softly at the pain, trying not to cry. It hurt a lot. It knew it was bleeding, it couldn't stop that.

It was being hurt badly, but it could handle it. It was determined about that.
"Stop crying." Rumlow snarled, and the Asset didn't obey. It sobbed to itself, squirming and shaking, and letting out small whimpering noises. It knew Rumlow had a short fuse. It just had to hope for the best.

"You are an idiot. Can't even follow a simple order." Rumlow snarled, punching it once more, then picking out the cattle prod from the floor.

Face hidden from Rumlow by the angle that it was at, it smirked. A moment later, electricity arched through it, and Rumlow screamed as its body conducted electricity into Rumlow's own.

With a swear, Rumlow pulled away and kicked it once more. The cattle prod was shoved into it, and agony drowned it.

Aww yis, I was wondering if you would make it happen or not XD so great <3 -Ros

I love how the tone is shifting over time. It really shows how far he's come.

I'm so very happy someone noticed this! you have made me a happy little author anon!

James Barnes lay on the floor of his cell, panting. His missing arm ached - they took his prosthesis away when he was being left for a few days. They refused to let him have a weapon. Refused to give him anything which might make him a threat.

He felt dizzy. Whatever they had been drugging him with left him nauseous, left him confused, but he understood that they were wearing off. On the worst days, when the drugs were strongest, he didn't know his own name, or where he was. He only obeyed. Having a faint recollection of a name, of a smile, of a blond man and a room he couldn't place, these were the only rebellion left to him now.

Surviving their torture wasn't an act of resistance. It was a curse.

An American hero corrupted as a weapon. He couldn't remember his rank, but he knew he had fought. He didn't know which war he had fought in. Which rank he had been. But he had fought. That was how he knew how to use a gun.

Now he was a gun. He obeyed their orders when drugs coursed through his body, shot who they told him to. He let them touch him. He didn't want to, but he had to, because he couldn't fight. That was the curse of what they were doing to him.

These moments of clarity were becoming less frequent. He could tell that. Every time he got his mind back, he would try and scratch a line on the wall, tally off the days like a prisoner. There weren't many lines, and even the most recent were covered in faint grime. He had been losing himself.

That smile had a name. He tried to recall it, to write out the name, but he could think of the letter S. He tried to carve that as well. His nail dug into the grime, and he started to scrape out the letter.

There were footsteps in the corridor, and Barnes moved away from the wall. He looked up as the door opened, and a blond man stood there. He was smiling, but it was a different smile from the one in his memory.
"Soldier." The voice said, and he swallowed, trying to call up his number, to remember it.
"..." He couldn't say his rank. He didn't know it. Instead, he tried to murmur "Barnes." Before the word got out, a boot shoved into his ribs, kicking him hard.

"Not any more." The owner of the boot told him. "You are Hydra property."

He remembered that Hydra were bad. Or maybe they weren't. He was belonging to them, he was shooting him.
"Come with me." The voice told him, and he followed obediently, not thinking of arguing. Any resistance might have that S taken away.

"So, soldier, they tell me the drugs aren't working as well as they used to be. That won't do. The fact you haven't reported it... well, that's a problem."
"I haven't done anything Sir."

"Of course you haven't." The blond reached out and ruffled his hair, twisting the strands. He flinched. The blond laughed. "Well, we'll get there. We'll get there. The scientists are working on some electronic devices to aid the drugs, but until now, we're going to get there together, you understand that?"

Silently, Barnes nodded. The man led him down the corridor, and he followed close behind.
"Are you meant to have him Pierce?" Asked another man walking past. Barnes looked down, away from the voice, recognising it as one of the scientists who cut him open.

"Extra training. It'll be good for him."

With that, there was no attempt to stop him. No attempt to help. Barnes followed, and let Pierce pull out the needle, injecting it into his blood stream. Pierce smirked, and Barnes felt the world start to swirl around him.

Then the training began. It hurt, but that was the point. The soldier, the asset, had to learn not to lie. Not to keep secrets. There was nothing but Hydra.

When it was done, Pierce took the asset back to its cell. It stood to attention in the room as the door slammed closed, mentally running over the instructions that it had been given. It glanced around the room, searching for any signs of danger. It looked over to the corner, and noticed that the grime on the floor had been rubbed away. It shrugged, and scraped its nails over some of the other marks, hiding whatever had been written on the wall. That wasn't important.

Hydra was.

just reread this whole thing and it is so good and so sad. It makes me so happy that Bucky's in a better place now.

(And Bucky willing to get tased himself so that Rumlow also gets tased! <333)

Amazing! I love defiant Bucky. There’s something encouraging about his strength.

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Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

FILL: Cheaters Never Prosper (1/5+1)

FILL: Cheaters Never Prosper (2/5+1)

FILL: Cheaters Never Prosper (3/5+1)

FILL: Cheaters Never Prosper (4/5+1)

FILL: Cheaters Never Prosper (5/5+1)

Re: FILL: Cheaters Never Prosper (5/5+1)

Re: FILL: Cheaters Never Prosper (5/5+1)

Re: FILL: Cheaters Never Prosper (5/5+1)

FINISHED FILL: Cheaters Never Prosper (+1/5+1)

Re: FINISHED FILL: Cheaters Never Prosper (+1/5+1)

Re: FINISHED FILL: Cheaters Never Prosper (+1/5+1)