Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

[trashmod]

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.

[Round 1] [Round 2] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by greenkirtle)] [Round 3 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

Round 3 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 4.

Comments

Re: trash aftercare FILL 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

The stairwell door slammed open, and footsteps raced down the hall. “Sir!” came Murphy’s voice. Rollins went to the door and waved him in. Murphy’s cheerful look vanished when he saw the body. “What happened?” he asked.

Rumlow was getting really tired of that question. “What does it look like?” he snapped. “Get over here and see if you can get this chair working.”

Murphy took the computer in at a glance. “Sir, this is really old tech--”

“I know it’s old tech! Tell me you can get it working.”

“I can try. It’s older than I am.”

Rumlow pinched the bridge of his nose. All he’d wanted was a burger and a beer.

“Hey,” said Murphy, sounding cheery again. Rumlow opened his eyes. “I don’t know this exact system, but it looks kind of like DOS, which I sort of know.”

Rollins rocked back on his heels and gave Rumlow a satisfied nod. Rumlow raised his eyebrows. They weren’t out of the woods yet.

The asset took a deep, shuddering breath. Rumlow turned to look at him, and his eyes cut to the side again. Rumlow took a step forward. “What?”

The asset didn’t respond, but his eyes met Rumlow’s, slid away, and flicked to the side once more. “Jesus Christ,” said Rumlow. “Soldier. Tell me what’s your problem.”

The humming intensified, and the halo pieces began to close. The asset’s face went white and he began to hyperventilate. “Murphy!” Rumlow barked. “Shut it off!”

“I’m trying,” said Murphy, typing frantically. The asset began to pant, his mouth open and his eyes rolled to the side as far as they could go with his head immobilized. Rumlow followed his gaze and put everything together. “Rollins, find him something to bite down on.” They didn’t need the asset to crack his teeth or bite off his tongue on top of all of this.

Rollins tore through the drawers, and in five seconds tossed a hard rubber mouthguard at Rumlow. He caught it and shoved it in the asset’s open mouth just as the halo closed around his head. “Murphy!” Rumlow shouted. He didn’t know what might happen, but if this ancient tech destroyed the asset’s brain, they were all dead.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying!” Murphy’s typing intensified. “I don’t know what I-- okay. There. Okay.” The humming stopped, leaving only the asset’s ragged breathing. “Well. Now I know what not to do.”

Rumlow was cursed to be surrounded by idiots.

“Just give me a couple minutes,” said Murphy. He pulled out his phone and eyed it sadly. “If we weren’t so far down, I could look up the commands. I know the basics, sort of, but there have to be forums--”

“No,” Rumlow snapped. The last thing they needed was for someone to track Murphy’s online activity and put two and two together.

Out of nowhere, there came a clicking sound. Rumlow’s eyes met Rollins’ and he jerked his head to the door. Rollins had the same idea, moving at the same time as Rumlow’s silent command. Rumlow thought rapidly. If it was someone low enough on the roster, they might be safe. Two bodies could disappear as easily as one.

Rollins looked back and shook his head. Murphy had stopped typing, but the clicking continued. Rumlow looked around the room for a camera, although there wouldn’t be anything he could do about it if there was one. The damage had already been done.

Murphy frowned and pointed at the asset. Rumlow looked. The asset’s eyes were closed and the mouthguard was moving rhythmically. Rollins broke the silence. “The hell?”

The asset’s eyes snapped open. The clicking stopped. He looked around the room, closed his eyes again, and resumed sucking on the mouthguard.

“It’s his pacifier,” Murphy said with an incredulous grin. Rumlow couldn’t fucking believe it. The asset, HYDRA’s greatest killing machine, sucking on his mouthguard like a toddler. Rumlow sighed the sigh of the longsuffering. “Get him out of there,” he ordered, and turned to Rollins. “Get him cleaned up enough to move him. We’ll hose him down afterwards.”

“I’m not--” Rollins started, but backed down at Rumlow’s glare. “This is Gillette’s job,” he muttered.

“Paper towels are in the bathroom,” Murphy said absently, tapping on the keys. Rollins shot him a black look, but Murphy didn’t notice, and when Rumlow took a step toward him, Rollins rolled his eyes and went to hunt down a bathroom.

The asset was still sucking, the click less obtrusive now. His head was still surrounded by the halo, and the clamps held secure, but he had stopped struggling and the tension had left his body. Rumlow looked closer. The asset’s right hand was moving, thumb circling the pads of his first two fingertips. Over and over it slid, and between it and the mouthguard, the asset almost looked happy.

The two halves of the halo began to hum again, and instantly the asset stiffened up. But they pulled away this time, retracting into their housings. The clicking stopped, and Rumlow watched the asset’s throat work as he swallowed hard.

“Awesome,” said Murphy. “Now if I can just… hah! Yes!” There was a snap, and the clamps around the asset’s ankles sprang open.

“Fine,” said Rumlow, hiding his relief. “Get the rest off him.”

“I don’t know,” Murphy said, “I mean, that should have worked for all of them.”

“I swear to God, Murphy, if you don’t have him out of there in the next ten seconds--”

Murphy typed frantically. “R-2,” he muttered, “R-5, okay, no, R-2.5.” Another snap. The arm restraints popped open.

For the first time in this whole clusterfuck, the knot in Rumlow’s stomach loosened. Rollins came back with an armful of paper towels and that was even better. He started wiping the asset down. The asset sucked his mouthguard, his eyes half-closed and his whole body relaxed. Snap, snap, one by one his restraints released. When he was free, his eyes closed entirely and he sighed.

Rollins wasn’t gentle, but the asset didn’t seem to notice. The mouthguard clicked away as Rollins spat on the paper towels and scrubbed at the drying blood. It smeared into a red stain down the asset’s cheeks and across his chest. He looked less like HYDRA’s secret weapon and more like a kid caught fingerpainting himself. His peaceful expression didn’t change, even when Rollins wadded up a paper towel and used it to scour Coburn’s Last Jizz out of the asset’s crotch and asshole. Rumlow hoped it’d been fucking well worth it for Coburn.

“And, there.” Murphy hit enter.

The humming that had been torturing Rumlow’s nerves finally died. “All right,” he said, hiding his relief. “Let’s get him back upstairs. We’ll leave this motherfucker here till there’s time to smuggle him out and throw him off a cliff.” He reached for the asset, whose eyes twitched open. “Spit it out and let’s go,” Rumlow said.

He held out his hand. The asset looked at it, then up at him. He sucked it once.

“I’m not fucking around, soldier,” said Rumlow through his teeth.

The asset sucked one more time, his eyes fixed on Rumlow, then spit it out into Rumlow’s hand. Rumlow tossed it on the pile with the paper towels and Coburn’s dead body. “Move,” he ordered the other two.

Twenty-three flights took a lot longer going up than coming down. Even the asset was panting a bit when they reached the top. Rumlow checked to see the coast was clear, then waved them into the hallway. The locker room was the second door on the right; Westfahl’s worried face met them when they came in, then brightened at the sight of the asset.

“No,” said Rumlow sharply before Westfahl could say anything. “You are in serious shit, you have no idea how much. How the fuck do you lose a naked assassin, Westfahl? Explain that to me. It better be real fucking good.”

“I,” Westfahl started. “No, hang on, Coburn said you wanted him for debriefing--”

“Why the fuck would I need to debrief him, you idiot? I was there!”

That obviously hadn’t occurred to Westfahl.

“I told you to get him cleaned up and put away. If I’d changed that order, I would have commed.” Neither had that. At least Westfahl had the grace to look ashamed. “Scrub him down,” Rumlow said. “Thoroughly. Inside and out, I want him clean.”

Westfahl looked at the asset, saw the faint smudges Rumlow hadn’t been able to rub away, but said nothing more than “Yes, sir.”

Rumlow turned to go, thoughts turning back to his beer and his onion rings, but a hand caught his sleeve. “Thank you,” came that light voice. Rumlow turned back. The asset’s attention was solely fixed on him. “I won’t say anything.”

Rumlow blinked once. “What.”

“I won’t tell,” the asset said. And wasn’t that just wonderful, wasn’t that fucking perfect, that the Fist of HYDRA thought he could keep secrets just like a real boy. Shit. Rumlow hadn’t wanted to go there, but the asset had forced his hand.

“When you’re done,” he said to Westfahl, “get him to technical and get him wiped. He’s been glitchy since we came in.”

“Yes, sir,” said Westfahl, on his best behavior. “When’s he going back out, Commander?”

The asset’s eyes hadn’t left Rumlow’s face. A betrayed expression flashed across his face, then there was nothing but a perfect blank. “Within the week,” said Rumlow. “Waiting on orders. Clean him, wipe him, put him in a cell. Think you can handle that?”

“Yes, sir,” said Westfahl again. Rumlow twitched his sleeve out of the asset’s hand and left. There was a body waiting for him to toss, and a burger out there waiting for him, and a whole lot of beer, and then maybe half a bottle of whiskey to burn the memory of this whole fucking day out of his brain.

Re: trash aftercare FILL 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

oh bucky, sweetie! sucking on the mouth guard like a paci to sooth himself ;;

and than the ending noooo ;; poor baby ;;

thank you so much for writing this, anon. I loved it!

Re: trash aftercare FILL 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

I'm so glad you like it! I kind of have a thing for repetitive self-soothing behaviors during times of extreme stress. And poor Bucky's life is basically a time of extreme stress.

Re: trash aftercare FILL 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

Oh Bucky! Not the OP, but I've prompted trash aftercare as well in the past and I was so excited to see this fill. It wasn't quite what I expected going in from the prompt, but it was still all kinds of excellent. Bucky sucking on the mouthguard like a pacifier was so heartbreaking, as was his obvious fear of the chair when the pieces were coming down around his head.

None of that compared to the ending though. Ouch! Poor Bucky thought Rumlow had rescued him, and oh just punch me right in the heart at the line about his betrayed expression when Rumlow told Westfahl to wipe him. :( BUCKY AWW. He deserves so many blankets and hugs and other nice things.

Re: trash aftercare FILL 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

Yeah, I know a lot of people write Bucky as STRIKE's whore, and I love to read the hell out of it. :D In my headcanon, though, he's simultaneously too dangerous and too mentally unbalanced for that to be allowed. Plus you get the problem of people falling in love with the asset, and thinking he needs to be rescued, etc etc, so it's just better to have the rule in place. :)

I love Bucky's terror of the chair! I've watched that part of the bank vault scene a lot. A whole lot. I love that he nearly whimpers, but doesn't struggle against it, because that'll do no good. It's going to happen anyway.

I also have a thing for Bucky objectification. He's not a person, he's a thing that needs to be taken care of a certain way. He can talk, so that can be useful sometimes, but you're just supposed to use him as a weapon-- take him out, have him do his thing, clean him afterward and put him away. So Rumlow's not thinking of this as betrayal, just what you have to do to make sure he's working right. (And also cover your own ass.)

In conclusion, YES Bucky deserves all the nice things!