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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(Remember this is one giant trigger. Seriously. It's bad.)

-

He didn’t watch.

As vicious as they’d been with Bucky when it had been his turn under them, they’d at least worked up to the remorseless brutality he’d eventually suffered. For Steve it seemed they wanted to cram it all into one night. Listening was its own kind of hell, made worse for the fact that Bucky’s imagination was full to bursting with enough nasty suggestions to tug at his guts and make him sick. Recognizing some of the sounds, hearing them mirror the echoes in his head, was a dissociating experience.

He reflexively opened his eyes when the noise stopped, terrified, for one wild moment, that Steve was dead. He wasn’t. His chest was rising and falling unevenly, blood continued to pump through his body and seep through his skin in new places, and his eyes were open and clear. Bucky cringed at the condition he was in, wishing that he could impart to him one of the crucial bits of knowledge he’d found over the years: that it was okay to go away for a while, and it was even okay to pass out.

Steve was fully here and he didn’t have to be. Bucky wouldn’t think less of him for it. The last time he’d chanced a glance at the scene unfolding before him Steve had been wearing down but steadfast, as if trying to maintain any sense of dignity with a baton up your ass was possible (hint: it wasn’t), but now he was holding on by the tips of his fingers, which, now that Bucky looked, he’d pretty much shredded. He was still digging his nails in, hard enough now to draw blood. They were raw and enflamed and Bucky stared hard at them to discourage a more thorough inventory because he couldn’t, he just couldn’t, sit here and catalogue Steve’s myriad injuries. He looked like hell. The specifics would come later, after they’d escaped, after they’d gotten the hell away from this place and back to some semblance of safety.

There would be an after. There had to be.

He looked around at the men whose lives he would end when this was all over. He should have killed them way back when. He knew that it was ridiculous, but part of him was convinced that he should have been able to foresee this and stop it from ever occurring in the first place, as if he could have known that one day he would be reunited with Steve and protecting him all over again. Or failing to.

He could almost hear Steve’s voice in his head telling him You’re too hard on yourself, Buck.

What he actually heard was faint wheezing and a rattling sound from Steve’s chest.

At some point they’d recuffed his hands in front of him after all, so that he could hold himself up, but now he lay in a heap on the floor, not even trying to sit up, waiting for their next bright idea. All Bucky saw was purple and red and swathes of skin between .

A booted foot nudged Steve’s sac from behind, startling him. “Up.”

Steve struggled back up to his knees, pushing himself heavily off of the floor and riding out the coughing fit that followed.

“Christ, you fellate a few foreign objects and suddenly you’re a pussy,” Moss said. “That’s not the Cap I played with when I was a kid.”

While Steve’s mouth worked to form words, New Guy (whose name turned out to be Ross) pointed out, “I think his chest is fucked up. Solid work.”

“If this is what you were doing to your dolls as a child,” he panted, voice strange from the swelling of his jaw and mouth, hands resting on his thighs, “I understand why you went into this line of work.”

“They were action figures. And that’s nothing. You shoulda seen what my sister got up to with ‘em. Had Cap and Sergeant Barnes fucking day and night like faggots. I shoulda known she’d turn out queer.”

The fact that he could say something that vile and hypocritical with his cock hanging out mere inches from Steve’s face was so absurd that Bucky thought Steve might just roll his eyes. Instead he just stared at Moss like he was from a different planet, exhaustion writ all across him.

Kane was glaring at Steve from the sidelines with a bag of ice on his crotch. Steve had kicked him earlier while he was carrying on his signature speech about what he was going to do to Steve’s ass, how Steve was going to be his bitch, his slave, almost verbatim to the one he’d given Bucky. Steve claimed that it was a reflex, but Bucky thought that it was the speech. Kane had really lit into him after that, stopping only when New Guy had returned with the ice in a cooler full of beer.

But apparently he didn’t feel he’d exacted enough retaliation yet.

“You still got any of that back cream, Shank?” he asked.

“I don’t think you want that on your junk.”

“That’s not where I’m putting it. I think our friend could use it. Looks a little sore himself.”

Steve looked wary and skeptical, wavering where he knelt, but he didn’t react except to roll his head back to look up at the ceiling and keep it there when Kane limped over and ran his foot down the length of his soft cock. Bucky didn’t have a clear view from his position, but he couldn’t imagine that it was anything but painful after the very focused beating he’d doled out.

Shankman chuckled, rifling through a bag and coming back with a small tube and a pair of gloves. “That shit’s expensive.”

“I think it’s worth it. I’ll buy you a new tube.”

Bucky didn’t know what the big joke was here, but it couldn’t be anything good. Steve looked just as lost and unsure.

Kane pulled on the gloves and unscrewed the cap, then picked up Steve’s cock with one hand and pointed the mouth of the tube down, past where Bucky could see, hidden behind Steve’s thigh.

Bucky’s entire body jolted from shock as Steve screamed for the first time all night, drawn out and ugly and whining toward the end before he could suck in another breath and scream again.

What the fuck was in that tube?

Steve panted, shaking, mouth moving but forming no more sounds as everyone laughed.

“Gee, I’m really sorry. Here I thought I was helping. Maybe if I spread it around.” His arm moved, like he was jerking Steve off, and Steve started squirming, twisting to try and get away, held in place when Moss and New Guy grabbed him around the shoulders. Some part of Steve had to be aware, or else he would have been able to bodily force himself from their grip, but still, even though he fought, even though he couldn’t convince his body to stop moving and fidgeting, he allowed himself to be abused.

Whatever it was they were doing now, Steve seemed just as shocked as Bucky. And he was. He thought he’d seen all their tricks, but they’d never done this to him.

“Ever since that Bogota op,” Shankman said, turning around to face Bucky for the first time since this started, “you know, where you snapped and tried to rip my spine out, that one?”

Bucky knew the one. He’d tried to escape and taken down eight Hydra agents before he’d been subdued. Shankman in particular had suffered a back injury that, last he’d heard, hadn’t been as bad as it looked.

“Back was never quite right after that. This stuff, though?” He pointed to the tube dangling from Kane’s fingers. “Miracle stuff. Capsaicin. You know, I used to think holistic medicine was bullshit. Never woulda tried it if it weren’t for the number you did on me, Barnes.”

Capsaicin. Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Steve. No wonder he was screaming.

Bucky stared with renewed focus at the sweat pouring down Steve’s back. The sting of that in so many open wounds had to be nothing compared to the burn of the ointment.

Steve’s eyes were darting all over the place, this potential escape here, that one there, so clearly telegraphing his motives. His eyes skated over Bucky as he was frantically looking around and there were tears gathered at the corners.

“Yep, this is the stuff that keeps me going,” he continued, walking around to Steve’s front. “How do you find it, Cap? Got a bit of a kick, I’ll give you that. Really does wonders for inflammation, though.”

Steve’s teeth chattered. He kept swallowing, over and over. “We. We. We used to. Use poultices.”

“Not such of a smartass now, huh?” He glanced down. “Careful with that. You get that up his ass and no one can fuck him. I didn’t spend three hours stretching him loose just to jerk off and go home.”

Kane rolled his eyes and pulled his hand back from where he’d had it pretty deep between Steve’s legs. “S’not his ass. Taint one, nor the other.” He snorted at his joke, pulling off the gloves and tossing them to the side.

Jesus, Bucky could smell it from here. It burned his sinuses.

Shankman walked back around Steve, running his fingers through the mess of blood and sweat in Steve’s hair, tugging his head back. “Right about here, actually,” he said, almost to himself. Then he kicked Steve again right in the spine. Hard. Right where Bucky had injured him.

There didn’t seem to be any air left in Steve’s lungs to make any sound. His body seemed to just shrink in on itself.

His next kick wasn’t as vicious, just a practical nudge to shove Steve over. He just barely got his hands up in time to catch himself.

“Finally,” Shankman said. He unceremoniously shoved his dick right in. After a couple of minutes he sighed and pulled out, like Steve was some great disappointment. “You really do give a hundred percent, don’t you? You could pass a baby through there.”

He walked around and hauled Steve up by the shoulders, not enough to be kneeling, but just far enough off of the floor that he couldn’t support himself properly, leaving him hunched painfully. He dug his thumb into the juncture of his jaw, positioned himself, and waited.

Bucky knew what that felt like, and he’d had many a fantasy, right at that moment, of snapping the man’s neck and walking out. Wishful thinking, but it helped. Despite knowing that the only way out was through, despite hoping that Steve would make this easier on himself … despite all of that, when Steve leaned forward and took the man’s filthy cock into his mouth, despite where it had just been, something inside Bucky went very cold and still.

“Don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Moss said, taking up position behind Steve and pushing in. Steve didn’t even react. “I like it roomy.”

That was the thing, though. It wasn’t roomy. It was still as ass. It just wasn’t going to expand beyond a certain point, and no matter what they said, it still always felt plenty damn tight to him. But maybe he was biased, since it was always his ass being reamed until it was so swollen he didn’t know how they fit anything in there. But it didn’t matter, because they’d always call him loose, tell him he was so open he’d never close back up, always take the opportunity to degrade him. He’d never thought of it like that until watching it happen to Steve, but in that moment, he just knew.

Moss finished before Shankman, maybe because Shankman kept pulling out to rub his cock all over Steve’s face before shoving it back in, and New Guy stepped up to take his place. He didn’t shove in, though. He grabbed the empty beer bottle he’d been playing with and moved it between Steve’s legs.

“Nice and cool, huh?” he said, moving it back and forth, nudging up behind Steve’s balls. “That good?”

“The fuck do you care, Ross?” Kane spit. “We’re not gonna get him off. No one’s touching that thing.”

Steve made a strange choking sound, so sudden and startling that even Shankman pulled back and out of his mouth. He made it again, and again, and Bucky suddenly realized that he was laughing.

Jesus fuck, he was fucking laughing.

Kane slapped him across the face.

Steve spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. “You did.”

“The fuck are you going on about about?”

“You touched it,” he gasped out. “How was it for you? Me, I thought your technique could use a little work.”

Everyone, including Bucky, stared at Steve for a solid ten seconds. None of them knew what to make of him. Bucky knew all too well.

Shankman knocked him flat onto his back and straddled his neck, leaning his crotch into his face and pulling his head up to meet him. He moved Steve’s mouth back and forth along his dick, again and again, viciously slamming in, and Bucky could see that Steve didn’t even try to breathe depending on the angle his head was at. New Guy had stopped playing with Steve and was now just idly shoving the wide end of the bottle into him, turning it this way and that to get it to fit, making Steve squirm again. The dumbass must have smeared the ointment all over the bottle.

Oh, God, Steve.

And Steve … Steve was cradling his genitals, as if it would do any good, as if it could stop the burn or leave him less vulnerable.

Bucky couldn’t look way, now that he’d opened his eyes, even after he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t do it. But it was just so pitiable a sight that he couldn’t help it. He felt like if he looked away, Steve would just disappear between them, and he couldn’t let that happen.

So he didn’t see when New Guy took out his cock and shoved in, but he definitely heard the pathetic whimpering and crying that followed.

“Jesus Christ,” Shankman groaned. “What did I tell you?”

New Guy was curled on his side in a fetal position, making wounded noises.

“Get him some ice.”

Kane tossed New Guy a fresh bag of ice, none too gently.

“I fuckin’ warned you not to get it in his ass.”

“He spread his fuckin’ whore legs,” New Guy howled. “Bitch wanted it.”

Of course he did. He already felt the burn; he knew just what would happen when that moronic goon got a taste. Two down, he couldn’t help thinking, smirking a little with a twisted sort of pride.

Shankman always took forever to finish, but Bucky could tell that he was close, even if he was subtle about it. It had taken a while to figure out when he was just about to go off, since nothing about him changed until the last second, and Bucky had gotten more than one stinging eyeful of come trying to learn his rhythms and habits.

Just before he pulled out, though … Steve flinched, and shut his eyes tight, and tried to turn his head away. Just before he pulled out and sprayed all over Steve’s face. Steve didn’t even look surprised.

Shankman did. Bucky kind of was, too.

“Where’d you get it?” Shankman asked after a few seconds of panting. He lowered his weight so that he was sitting on Steve’s neck instead of over it, exerting pressure.

Steve didn’t answer, trying to turn his face this way and that to get the semen off of his eyes so he could open them. Shankman huffed an angry breath and grabbed Steve’s head in his hands, using his thumbs to pull Steve’s eyelids up. Steve blinked rapidly.

“Did you get hard watching it? Huh? You like this cock so much you know just what it can do? Before you even got a taste? This must be a dream come true for you, then. Did you come watching your little friend get rammed? Like watching him lick up his own sick little pool of spunk?” He forced Steve’s head to the side so he could look at Bucky, and Bucky didn’t understand until suddenly, looking at Steve’s miserable, angry, bizarrely indignant expression, he did.

Bile rose in the back of his throat, coating his tongue with no way to spit it out. The burn was welcome compared to the tearing in his chest that he was pretty sure was the tattered remains of his dignity.

“It was sick,” Steve said finally, more emotion in his voice that he’d had in hours. “It was disgusting. You’re disgusting. Every second of that tape made me ill. You’re animals, and anyone party to this kind of … of … revolting filth should have the decency to die quietly and spare the rest of humanity the burden of their existence.”

“Strong words.”

“Sick minds,” Steve shot back. His chest heaved faster than before.

So that was it, then. Steve had seen … Jesus, there was a tape. They’d filmed him. He didn’t know that. And Steve had ended up with a copy, which made a certain kind of sense. And he’d watched it. Steve had an incredible memory, always had, remembered all kinds of odd, specific shit, stuff that no one else noticed, even before his transformation. But Bucky knew that there were some limits even to his extraordinary mind, which meant … which meant that to have anticipated everything he had, all of the preemptive flinches and the dark looks at jokes he shouldn’t have understood and the strange familiarity with Bucky’s tormentors … All of that meant that he’d watched it more than once. He’d studied it.

And he’d talked to Bucky, worked with him, shared a goddamn room with him … and never said a word. Never let on that he knew this awful secret that Bucky intended to take to his grave. He’d given no indication that anything had changed, and Bucky had had no idea that they had. But they had. God, they had, or this never would have happened, Steve would have let them leave this place and follow up on a real lead if he hadn’t been chasing after these assholes.

And here Bucky thought that this would be harder on Steve if he knew. And he already did.

That small, irrational hurt, the one that bloomed like humiliation when Steve said that they were all sick and disgusting … He knew that it was irrational. He knew that Steve wasn’t talking about him. But he’d been a part of that, and it felt like it was thrown in his direction.

“This really puts a new spin on the whole situation, doesn’t it, boys?” Shankman crowed. “Here I thought Captain Right and Proper of the SS Tight-ass wouldn’t dream of this. And all along, he already does.”

He climbed off of Steve and grabbed the pair of gloves Kane had thrown to the side, pulling them back on. Within moments of kneeling down, he already had his fingers in Steve’s ass, prodding and searching.

He tried for a good fifteen minutes, poking at Steve’s prostate and having a go at his genitals, but nothing worked. Steve was just in too much pain to get even remotely hard, which earned him a round of laughter and a booted foot mashing his dick into his pubic bone.

Shankman laughed again when Steve’s hands reflexively went back to his injured penis, pulling them away by his wrists. “Don’t be so pathetic,” he said. “Maybe your little bitch will kiss it and make it better later.”

Steve lunged forward, using the grip Shankman had on his wrists to leverage himself up and grind his thumbs into the man’s eyes, rubbing his hands over his face.

He shrieked and threw himself away from Steve, who used the spectacle as a distraction, seizing the moment where the other men were focused on their leader to roll himself over to Shankman’s weapon and make a grab for it.

It was unreal how terrible the odds were for them one moment, and the next, before anyone could react, Steve had shot everyone in the room.

Shankman was still sputtering, blood pouring from his chest where he lay on the floor, when Steve leaned over him. “Orgasms make men lazy. Dull the reflexes. But the stupid was all on you. You brought that with you.” He shot him again, right between his red and teary eyes.

He sat still and quiet for a minute, not looking at Bucky, not looking at the carnage. Eventually he crawled over to their bags and rooted around until he came up with a travel bar of soap and a bottle of water and set about washing the capsaicin cream from his hands.

Of course. He hadn’t been cradling himself. He’d been arming himself, covering his bloody, irritated hands in that hell cream and then waiting until the right opportunity to use it.

He scrubbed and rinsed for ten minutes, then tried to gingerly clean anywhere else the stuff had touched. Bucky tried to give him some privacy while he did that, sitting there awkwardly with tape over his mouth and his hands in shackles. In his peripheral, Steve’s shoulders sagged, sinking lower and lower until Steve just lay down on the floor and breathed shallow and slow.

The last thing that Bucky wanted to do was bother him, or, really, have to look him in the eye, if he was being honest, but he was seriously concerned about the urgency of Steve’s injuries and, also, he really fucking didn’t want to sit here shackled and helpless any longer. He rattled the chains just a bit, just enough to get Steve’s attention, and he could tell when Steve heard the clinking, but he still didn’t get up right away. When he moved, a minute or so later (a minute that felt like an eternity), it was just to reach into the nearest pocket and root around. When he came up empty, he rolled the corpse over to reach another pocket, then reached over to another body, moving himself no more than the bare minimum required. Despite having had to do the very same thing during the war, and having seen Steve do it, it made Bucky a little nauseous to watch.

Finally Steve came up with the key and tossed it over to Bucky, then lay back down with his arms over his ribs.

The first thing that Bucky did after he unlocked himself and ripped the tape from his mouth was to spit out stomach acid and keep spitting until his mouth tasted less like pennies.

The second was follow the trail of blood around the room that led to Steve’s beaten body, trying to calculate how much was on the floor and how much was left in Steve. The math made him hurry faster to Steve’s side.

He intended to get Steve help and get out of there and deal with everything else later, but when he reached Steve and looked down at him … when he looked at him, he kept thinking about what Steve had said. About what he knew. Until Steve looked up at him, eyes hazy, covered in blood, sweat, and filth, surrounded by dead bodies that had not even an hour ago been live monsters. Just lying there like it was taking all of his effort to stay conscious.

“Later,” Bucky said. He put his hand on Steve’s forehead, ignoring what it came away with. “Rest. I’ll deal with this. You don’t need to do anything right now. Be here later.”

Steve closed his eyes, nodding absently, and Bucky would have been concerned by the speed at which he drifted off, but he was already fumbling a cell phone out of yet another pocket and calling Natasha, briefly darting upstairs to get a location. If he didn’t get the bleeding taken care of and Steve wasn’t seen by a doctor soon, it wouldn’t really much matter whether he was conscious or not, so why did he have to be?

Up close the bruising was horrifying. New Guy hadn’t been exaggerating. There was something wrong with his chest. How he’d managed to breathe, let alone speak, let alone do everything he’d done, that was a mystery. There was nothing that Bucky could do about that. He focused instead on the lacerations, the handful of burns, and the blood between his legs. There was a lot of it. It had sounded like they’d been going for distance, and that way led to perforated organs.

Bucky palpated his abdomen, feeling for any unnatural firmness that might indicate internal bleeding, and he found it.

Goddamn it, Steve.

He did what triage he could, and when that turned out to not be much, he grabbed a towel from the bag, wetted it, and cleaned Steve up. Steve didn’t stir, losing color and breathing shallowly, forehead cool to the touch.

But not gone yet.

When he was finished, he took off his jacket and laid it over Steve, then lay down beside him, trying gingerly to share his body heat without aggravating Steve’s injuries. He interlaced their fingers and waited for help to arrive.

AMAZING UPDATE IS AMAZING

This is so good. Hurry Natasha!

ILUUUUUUU THANK U FOR THIS GIFT NONNIE

OP

AUGH THIS IS GREAT. The cream in particular was such a creatively awful touch, and the fact that that's what Steve used to finally get the upper hand is just the cherry on top. (...so to speak.)

Also, kudos for not skimping on the nasty internal injuries. Not fun to think about, but if you're going to go there, might as well do it with a character who's got super-healing.

Oh, cool, you're still around, yay. The dumpster really is forever. Thank you, OP (and the other people who left comments). I'm glad it's working for you, and that people are still interested. Yeah, I had to let Steve have that moment. The rest was just SO dark and awful that he needed a win, such as it was.
It's ... looking a little longer. I'm not sure how far I'll take it, but Bucky and Steve have a lot of shit to work out between them. Aftermath is more my thing anyway (uh, not that anyone could tell based on the 8k of violence I opened with). Suggestions and ideas are totally welcome, by the way.

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Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Re: Fill continuation: not so unsullied anymore pt. 4a

Re: Fill continuation: not so unsullied anymore pt. 4b

Re: Fill continuation: not so unsullied anymore pt. 4c

Re: Fill continuation: not so unsullied anymore pt. 4d

Re: Fill continuation: not so unsullied anymore pt. 4d

Re: Fill continuation: not so unsullied anymore pt. 4d

Re: Fill continuation: not so unsullied anymore pt. 4d

Re: Fill continuation: not so unsullied anymore pt. 4d

Re: Fill continuation: not so unsullied anymore pt. 4d